The One Week Manuscript

Become a Manuscript Whisperer

You’ve seen those strange shows. Reality tv aimed at getting your pet/horse/strange Japanese youtube character to follow some unspoken direction. Creating a cohesive whole – otherwise known as story design – is a lot like getting some animal to animate in convincingly human terms.

‘Writing’ is ‘what I did on my summer vacation/personal fantasy on the train’ – but ‘Story Design’ is laying the bricks of a very rugged and methodical oven. It’s so unlike initial creative instincts to ‘just write’ – because it’s practically antimatter by comparison. It’s supposed to invisibly hold everything together, creating a speed and direction that seems like magic to the outside observer.

Writer’s Myth # 1:

Writers come up with a what-if and that becomes the premise of the story, right?

You’d think, but not from what I’ve seen. New writers get zapped with what-ifs meant to drive the dialog, but they usually end up being the arc of a specific scene, which will echo by and then be recorded. The larger story design has yet to materialize.

Which brings us to the tools of Manuscript Whispering…

Manuscript Whispering Step 1: The Notebook that Never Was

Keep the smallest moleskin possible on your body at all times. You are diabetic, and that notebook is the antidote. Be subtle if you need to, make it an address book, etc. but you need that notebook more than your laptop, keys or the litany of other usual suspects in distracting devices.

When some what-if story idea appears, one you really feel strongly would be a good story, write it down. You’ll know when it’s the right kind of thought bubble. It will demand your pen immediately. But before you set your pen down afterwards, write down whatever the characters would do or say in that situation in order to…

A. PHYSICALLY and EMOTIONALLY *GET* to that scene…
B. REACT after it happens… (and with who?)

You will naturally come to the end of the scene using these before/after prompts, and what’s more, you’re creating cohesive, self-contained units of story building blocks that don’t depend on you knowing the end of the entire story arc to constructively develop on their own.

Other uses for your Whisperings:

a. character names
b. ironically juxtaposed character profiles
c. titles and unusual little symbolisms
b. your theme/pitch/unique gimmick.

This is your primordial goo of evolving ideas. No one should see it but you. Moleskins come with convenient elastic straps for this purpose. You’ll be surprised how many people feel better once their loved ones have their votes reneged.

Manuscript Whispering Step 2: The Gimmick that’s Not

Give up on the idea that you would never use a ‘gimmick’ and understand your ideas will need to be looked at with a critical marketing perspective. Something unique or starkly differentiating your story from all the others like it – that is a gimmick. That’s all it is. You can have a pure art. Finding a playful way to make it worth reading to someone other than you is unavoidable. Also, it’s easier to agree with yourself on that gimmick from the beginning. Back-peddling on this is a bear.

Writer’s Myth #2

Pitch-writing is hard and takes a certain extroversion writers don’t have.

I will challenge you to a duel on this one. Writers are excellent communicators. Most writers who find they can’t pitch will discover the problem is with their ‘gimmick’ or uniquely differentiating idea. It’s not there. Ideas which are cliche are going to sound lame because they are. A little secret? Your gimmick is your story arc. They’re like mirror twins. Don’t look!

Manuscript Whispering Step 3: The Character in the Negative

A lot of a writer’s time is spent on defining what a character IS. This isn’t bad. But what if you read the blocks of story dialog you’ve collected over, say, a six month period, realize what kinds of characteristics are being projected in these discrete expressions of your growing story DNA, and then reversed them?

Balance in a story is what conflict is made – and resolved – from. If you have a lot of blocks that are red (heated dialog) – what is their common subject? If not a subject, a motivation. Once you’ve defined the similarities, next come up with characters to defy the one’s you’ve already created on these common themes. If you already have too many characters, as many detail-oriented writers tend to create, begin to consciously ’shadow’ the negative characteristic in another character. Likewise, a villain can only be so ‘bad’ before he or she is totally inaccessible, and therefore unrealistic, un-scary, and even worse, un-problematic. People cause us problems because we care about them. Dabbing similar shades of kindness and cruelty from your villains to your catalyst gatekeeper-types and vice-versa will give you the bridge conversations to ultimately net your story blocks together.

Even with the extraordinary adventures of every-day life, I’ve slowly built up an armory of these personal blocks. Writing software brags about them, but to DIY makes you a writer and gives you a chance to come up with the illusive, so-called “unique” idea that every writer is after.

You’ll dog-ear and number those blocks – it even helps to keep different color pens to separate them, or quickly color-code the mood or character of your off-hand writing in your notes. And in a about a week of on-the-side typing, you’ll have something you’ll actually like. It will stand on its own legs and look finished, even without the sheen of buffing and editing that will finally send it out of the plant.

Now does it sell? That’s a post for another weekend. But if you’re tired of manuscripts taking forever, and shouting the story out as a one-block continual narrative doesn’t work, try a little whispering.

Plain English Initiatives, Four Legs Good, Recommended Books for Crystal Clear Writing

A serious group in the UK is tacking the source of unintelligibly high-brow writing, suggesting that people be able to read what has been written. (Gasp.) Frequently the question of whether something is difficult to read depends simply on whether the reader agrees.

A certain amount of willful ignorance tends to make HOW you craft a narrative every bit as important as WHAT the narrative says.

Writers reflect and respond to this intuitively, it would seem. Some use humor, some mystery, and some cult of personality. In a recent interview, Maya Angelou suggests those who read her latest novel should be willing to take her on a small amount of faith to follow the journey and truly enjoy her novel. This is a departure from the often-quoted (and perhaps over-quoted) “keep it simple” mantra of trying hard to offend none, challenge none, and change none – a mentality that makes for bookshelves stocked with simple yet predictably retold parables. It’s efficient for a time, but like many aspects of a thriving society, is not infinitely sustainable.

With a recent study citing “1 adult American in five believes that the Sun revolves around Earth” I think we still have some discussion to go on what exactly makes for unclear vs. unwanted information. While some hide the unwanted nature of their work in unclear or highly technical jargon (in this case unwanted meaning undesired inspection from the reader on certain key and often misleading points being glossed over by the issuer) there are also times when bad writing is spiked up with purposefully aggressive unsavory terminology just to get an interaction where otherwise there would only be flat terrain. It isn’t an easy judgment call when looking at the motives and benefits of social communications. Largely it’s the psychology of understanding WHY the reader wants to cling to certain points, and HOW that effects the reception of other valid points.

Though why anyone might believe the sun to revolve around the earth, besides a bout of cherry or mild dyslexic hiccup, I can’t tell you. Perhaps it’s a mystery worth writing about.

Ask Me How! Real-World Writing & Editing Process

While floating about the blog flotsom a few minutes this morning, I discovered this:

“Whenever I want to write a book, I am obliged (by contract) to submit an outline to my publisher first. My editor reads it, decides if she likes the idea, the premise, and the story I describe in a 40 or 50 page outline, that is supposed to include the characters, plot, and details of the book, broken down by chapter. The fact that I have to do that always surprises people. They assume that after all the books I’ve written (107 to date), I can just write whatever I want, send it off, and my publishers are thrilled. That’s not how it works in real life, or not mine anyway. (I used to have to submit several sample chapters or even half the book. Now I just have to submit the outline). The editor then calls me or writes to me, and makes lots of comments about what they don’t like, want changed, or what doesn’t work… After that, with their notes well in hand, and my outline, I write the book.”

That’s a pretty honest assessment of being the author of a specific genre. Genre work can be reliably warm and connecting, but also very scrutinized and monitored by protective publishers who know (or believe they know based on the numbers) their audience very, very well. The author goes on to discuss personal editing in an equally frank passage:

“Re-reading it is like looking in a huge magnifying mirror where you see every pore, speck and flaw on your face. And then, finally, I send the book to my editor, and the real worrying begins…”

I think I must have read some of these books as a kid, holed up in hot summer breezes behind ruffled white curtains in my grandmother’s pink arm chair sorting through towers of hardbacks, sifting for the action. There’s always action in any story, of a kind or another. Some prefer travel tales. Ladies prefer bodice ripping and shaggy-shouldered gasps of air. At least, that was my general impression at the time. Then I discovered the stash of “Lady’s Magazines” unassuming and innocent looking as they collected rumpled circles beneath the mid-day tea glasses. You can either be a grandmother, retired and catching up on the revolution through these conveniently covered issues touting baking bits and health elixirs, or you can be a seven year old picking up basic anatomy through the letters to the editor pages. I’m sure both are equally divine.

Semicolon Love & The Twink That Binds Them

For incredibly useful information on screenplays, professional writing queries, and just about everything else, John August is a staple. In his deconstruction of the inaugural speech, which was quite the syntactical paragon in the attempt to lift up rather than dumb down, he has this to say…

“Looking at the full text of the speech, I’m struck by something else: the punctuation… Yes, a semicolon. Best known to most Americans as half of a winking emoticon, this elite and misunderstood conjoiner has a friend in Obama. Yes, he’s using it as more of an oratorical pause than a semantic adhesive. And yes, this sentence likely went through several writers before its debut. But the fact our new President feels confident using it is another small cause for celebration on this very happy day.”

It gets more interesting when you cross reference Obama’s speech writer, 26-year-old diet coke sipping Jon Favreau with the amazing list of speeches that have come out of this past campaign. At 26, he’s still molting baby down feathers professionally, as witnessed when a prank (even the smartest boys tank about 60 iQ points when placed together with a web cam) led to revelations of private schoolboy MILF fantasies of Hilary Clinton’s cardboard cut-out splashed about on Facebook. In a benevolent pinch of the cheek, Clinton’s press coyly announced: “Senator Clinton is pleased to learn of Jon’s obvious interest in the State Department, and is currently reviewing his application.”

But still. Who knew writers could get themselves in so much trouble in this day and age. It’s inspiring really. Apparently the more genius they are, the more desperately they try to act normal.

George Orwell’s Diaries + Random Application of Kevin Smith

Two words: Silent Bob. Maybe I was just the right age to see the grainy black and white from his first hit. Gloriously unashamed to be the self-professed D&F man about town. He wouldn’t be particularly funny, but somehow he is. In live talks he will make you snort milk out of your nose. Smith still smokes and laughs at his own lines before he can get them out and doesn’t believe in writing classes, which is understandable if you can imagine what some prissy wax-lipped insectoid junior high substitute teacher must have said about his formative Summer vacation revelations on morning salutes and adult movie stars he would one day have home to dinner.

This common horseshoes and hand grenades mentality is shared by a lot of writers, most of whom have successfully burned without notice or proudly embraced whatever work they’ve done that has downright bombed. You can or you can’t. The ideal of willpower and determination replaces what other writers chain smoke over as “the craft” and “natural talent.” Others work hard against the idea that they could ever be branded with public criticism. One day reality hits anyway, and there’s a lot of silent mental cursing. Once the idealistic fantasy of “talent” gets replaced with the personal determination to do anyway, belief can’t help but become a questioning fuel for everything.

For anyone looking for the atypical writer’s perspective from the recovering ’30s, there’s a blog on George Orwell’s travel diaries where you can find out all you ever needed about the foreign post office waiting lines of yore.

George and Silent Bob seem to have a lot more in common then you might think.

Not The Sports Page. Not a Magazine…

I am powerless to resist a link to poet Bomani Armah’s blog.

Timothy McSweeney’s Literary Critique of Modern Business

Proof positive that inspiration can strike anywhere.

And not to be missed by any self-respecting literary mind, The Economist has a debate on the curiosity for culture overpowering the tendency for the dumbing down of individual knowledge. The best debate so far. Sushi for the writer’s soul.

Free from Amazon: How to Write a Great Query Letter

The very thoughtful Noah Lukeman has created a free how-to book available from Amazon.com here. I haven’t sampled it yet, as free things are best shared first. Hopefully he’s god’s gift, as the further heavenward talent gets, the easier it becomes to share the golden eggs that drop through fingers from on high.

In other events, I finally downloaded the pilot to Pushing Daisies. Had me in stitches. The wittiest I’ve seen in a long time.

According to series creator Bryan Fuller from his IMDB Profile, “I got into writing to become a ‘Star Trek’ writer. I was a rabid fan …I couldn’t have imagined a happier career. But after writing for ‘Star Trek’ for four years and bumping up against the parameters of the storytelling, which sometimes were very restrictive because there was always that magical reset button and you could never carry story arcs over the episodes because they were so heavily syndicated that it simply wasn’t allowed, I began to get itchy…”

It’s really too bad it’s cancelled. I’m assuming there was some shark jumping involved, or else it was a case of networks’ collective fear of attracting an audience too intelligent to speed dial every Flowbee and Hairigami to blue screen of death across the infomercial hour on the Summertime re-runs. God forbid we find a better business model. You know. Like the internet. Hail, the Long Tail Theory.

Rumored Return of Federal Writers Project

While a long shot, The New Republic posts an article mentioning the possible return of the FWP, a program that originally ran from 1935-39. If you’ve ever had the pleasure to read old articles from, say, The Atlantic from that time period, and they were real gems back then, you’ll understand that good journalism is writing worth encouraging. Of course we’ll probably have this rumor overshadowed by other issues, but it is nice to hear it’s at least being considered on the table. Even if it isn’t, as rumors go. More here:
TNR.com

Draw Your Weapon, It Is Mightier Than Swords

I read one of the best defenses of writing for social causes this morning. The old adage swords are swift but quills sharper and easier to work with when you’re eating the morning toast comes to mind. At several pages it’s a real bit of actual writing, and is a deliciously thoughtful memoir by none other than author Neil Gaiman. He gets into the gritty of why edgy writing can ultimately help speak out about the realities people face, and in allowing possibly derogatory writing to exist, we generate the potential for a society which must face and react to it.

Gaiman argues (in a rather valiant effort) that by taking charge of our own preconceptions during the reactionary process of absorbing shocking art, we are ultimately growing into our own social responsibility. We’re allowing ourselves to become accountable as a society for much more powerful human experiences we may not have ever been presented with before. These things challenge us into understanding and forming an opinion on them. They make us think and decide and draw lines and ultimately solve the problems they highlight, and that’s a very good thing. At least, I think that’s what he’s saying.

It’s an excellent explanation for why writers must be at the forefront of shocking ideas – it becomes the responsibility of the writer to explore and make the reader aware of that which is hidden, shied away from, and instinctively rejected due to the limits of social propriety. I’m not saying embraced, but acknowledged, and accounted for in that human realities are not always (read: mostly never) what’s on the cover of the storybooks. The pat interpretive simplicities we are raised on give us the flat terrain of early childhood to enable us to grow into adults and that’s the point – growing into adults who can feel practiced enough on the bunny slopes of ethics to finally go after a few black diamonds in our broadening horizons. They offer space to place new steps of change.

Reach out for those diamonds, kids, for they shine the longest and are worth more than all the riches of any writing that came before.