10 Traits of a Good Writing

1. Relevance. Stories that are timeless today were all relevant back then.
There’s an intriguing glimpse at the hopes and fears of the past which highlight our own.
2. Dialogue. The ability to communicate effectively and minimally.
3. Character. Character like good dialog is the creation of an insider world with the tools of subtext, linking each scene to the next for payoffs and paybacks to keep the readership or audience paying attention to the clues along the way.
4. Story. Story is the reflecting basic human archetypes, no matter how we may scramble them up like a rubik’s cube.
5. Clarity. The ability to write actions and activity which externalize characterization is essential for stage.
6. Metaphor. Externalization of action creates easier visualization for readers as well as audiences, often in the form of a unique symbolism that lives on after the work is finished.
7. Complexity. Modern and ancient readers never went for Dick and Jane. We misunderstand and oversimplify rich and forgotten subtexts from cultures we’ve moved too far away from to recognize in earlier works. B-plots have always been around, and were used correctly to balance the more difficult material encountered in the main message.
8. Structure. You can be the brightest literary genius of all time, but if you don’t understand how to frame your work, your reel will never play through at a scale your readers or audience can watch. It will always be stuck in your head until you discipline your work not to exceed the limits of human endurance.
9. Brevity.
10. Stealth. Never let them see it coming. Use externalization to create vivid visualization for unique metaphors your story can call your own. A unique metaphor means the connection is not overused and will be less likely to give your surprises away.

10 Traits of a Good Writer

1. Persistence. For those tapped to write, there is no choice in the matter. Persistence is the art of refinement.
2. Insight. Writing isn’t about gaining attention, it’s about giving insight – rare and hard won experiences you don’t want to tell.
3. Daring. Throughout history the best loved minds were mostly beheaded. This isn’t a warning, it’s a call.
4. Discipline. Writing is the art of starting. It doesn’t happen without planning – an outline, a beat sheet, and coffee.
5. Forgiveness. Single note emotions prejudice the story. Layered onto the deepest, darkest emotions, a little levity must fall.
6. Wonder. Perspective refreshes an old view. The untried angle is found through wonder.
7. Memory. A good memory creates a reality in writing that outdoes the detail we take in through normal experience. Writing has a resolution much like high definition.
8. Ethics. If a writer lies, the stories go stale, and if writers tell the truth, they live by it as well, producing the greatest stories.
9. Hope. Whether it’s a rejection pile or the character rising for act four, hope really does float us all.
10. Desire. If a writer has nothing else in the whole world, let it be desire because that sparks all. We are after all, only human.

In response to the frequent displaced aggression at Salinger’s “The Catcher in the Rye” – especially per the NY Times article fawning over Harry Potter as the superior role model (do either of these authors seriously consider their protagonists the superior specimen in human achievement? And besides that, did Harry and Holden actually want to crawl into the ring to get a piece of each other? Would either of them throw that all-important first punch?) – let me forward on another take: Margins.

I recently discovered one of the few young adult bloggers out there making their way without the training wheels of the typical fan fiction love story. Yes, even I was surprised, and pleased. Thank god this kid isn’t writing the nineteenth fanfic slash to appear in the google hits for IMAX show times. It’s leggy stuff, beautifully written.

And if that gets too much, meet the emu call of heartbroken teens everywhere: Relationship Obituaries: http://relationshipobit.com ex. “Cause of Death: Dagger through the Soul.” Interview with the creator here.

And for anyone brave enough to ask a real woman what it’s like being a modern parent, all I can say is material here:
http://clairecollins.wordpress.com/2009/06/05/time-to-wake-up/#comments

Admitting is the First Step…

For anyone who notices inconsistencies in movies, say a Timex watch in a battle scene of Spartans or a station wagon zooming along in the distance behind the supposed terrain of Hobbits, or as I have, the particular sunny clothing of a pair of friends as we walked through the sunny urban park amid drizzles of coarse bleached white sand and white cotton “snow” stitched up around the trees to give the impression of Winter in July, there’s something to consider in the power of combining forces with other writers – historic or otherwise.

Writers of this persuasion fulfills a specific niche that is sadly underrated, and often in need of a wake up call. Writing is not about being a detail monger or a comedian, it’s about becoming a critic – with something important to say.

If you understand context, you know something about the way stories themselves are stitched together. It’s not what’s on the page, but the symbolism behind what isn’t said because it is universal and doesn’t have to be. A man hitting a baseball is nice only in the image or mood it stages – and the stage up to that point is empty. Babe Ruth hitting a ball after promising a boy on his death bed that the next home run is for him – that is a story.

Culture is the same way. It’s the grandfather of thought and the writer’s secret weapon in an age of conformity. The sort of stuff they don’t teach you in cliche investigation of everybody’s feelings as in many writer’s classes. It’s too risky for most people to really delve into the polemics, but that’s how it also becomes that much more relevant. It’s rare.

Ideas and culture, not just money, passes from hand to hand like invisible gold. Why then, asks the collaborator’s argument, shouldn’t the ideas of books? This argument in particular makes it sound like the evolution of thought is mandatory. And, well isn’t it?

That’s precisely how conversations about collaboration should start:

Collaboration: The argument for Freedom of Speech, Assembly, the Press, and Adaptive Learning through Human Knowledge

It’s inevitable that cultural ideas be borrowed, and there’s no legitimate argument against the passing along of basic tribal wisdom – the glue that helps collaborative efforts from ratifying constitutions to deciding who’s going to pick the kids up. Culture is practically reality itself. This is not to say stealing is in any way related to writing, but understanding where you are on a map of cultural conditions is a key to grasping where you’re heading.

Rhymes with Orange

Some things you just can’t place. They seem so new and shocking it’s hard to believe they’re old hat. Others are so diluted their trademark is long gone. They are the gears that keep our cultures tick-tocking along. They are big and heavy, and we see them all the time, like the eagle clutching arrows, the blind lady justice, the twinkling city scape glowing behind the pillar of the Washington monument. Each of those was reverently borrowed from the Romans and Europeans, who were themselves borrowing from the Egyptians and the Greeks. And who came before the Greeks? Somebody of course. They shared as well – if they could. That’s evolution after all. The cultural choices they made formed successful cohesive societies.

To go to the grand scale view, those are all the reasons we are here writing now. Present tense. No one ever thinks that one idea, once as common as the term “bandaid” or “Kleenex” could become so forgotten and yet still intrinsically carry so much human value that it could be resurrected a thousand years later as a 500 level dedicated college course. But it happens all the time. What we discuss now as fossilized language was their every-day reality. Why, then, can’t we write about what we’ve learned from our own little tribal nooks and vantages?

This is the appropriate argument for open sourcing tomes of knowledge like Plato’s “Republic,” as well as the late great-aunt Maude’s “Blueberry Preserves: Secret Recipe – and Others” (leather bound) for the greater good of the public domain. Human information that would otherwise be extinguished with the author is preserved and carried on.

Human beings learn most efficiently from one another (some would say most efficiently from the written word) and with more options they learn rapidly, building great things together. Sometimes these things are the Incan highland cities of Peru, thrumming turbine fields, and hybrid cars, other times they are the atomic bomb and the Radon Girls. But we learn.

We learn the point of tribal knowledge is not to go there again if it was bad the first time. Why keep burning ourselves in future generations? Seems downright uncivil not to course correct with a little polemic and earnest discussion when the ideas in need of moving are all the greater in present force. Non-interference seems a weak excuse when we are Prime – not some value, but the very living source – of Vanilla Ice lyrics and too much metal hand waving fame. Of Elvis the Pelvis and also Miriam Mekeba bringing joy where there was once apartheid. She was a polemicist and she was prime – willing to sing out and cause change. It wasn’t about her back yard, it was about everybody.

Writers are about everybody. Remember that every day that you write. A prayer for relevance and the power to turn heads and do great things.

When we consider who owns what idea, be it a boy on a flying kite, or a plan for a sub-atomic missile, all of these elements play into the final judgment call.

Human stories are open to being retold and given richer meaning and symbolism to grow legs and get away from us, and get closer to other people who need those ideas for their very survival. For anyone to try and stop that sharing and divide the human race out of some misguided notion of fossilized perfection, which itself inevitably misuses the term “perfection” in support of some unrealistic, imbalanced social power, the splitting of hairs is exactly what poetic license was created to overcome.

The truth is, throttling and chaining down the meaning of what we have learned drowns the whole purpose of wisdom in the first place. Power is supposed to spread – through the generations and new experiences. It’s supposed to flow like water. It’s not meant to congeal like spattered blood. Congealed power is decay, and we don’t want that. We want to share our crayons.

The Rabbit Hole: The Special Advantages of a Writer-Collaborator

That lack of understanding of where “borrowed” becomes “lost” is by far the biggest problem we have today as professional writers. It may seem odd that in the solitary profession of writing, collaboration is pushed as such a necessary source of (sometimes painful) inspiration. But writers will only sync up for brief periods with the rest of society unless their wares are specifically engineered with a public target in mind.

The truth of the professional writing process, be it screenwriting, fiction, or even autobiography, is that writers start out the givers, and only end up the takers later on as the market allows. There can only be a few bestsellers a year. Even with the break-down of the traditional model of book and movie sales. While we are already as a culture allowing more niche options available over non-traditional distributional methods, there’s still only so much bandwidth the consumer population can have. For this reason the temptation is strong to follow the buzz extolling the fast track of “the formula.”

While there is certainly a real craft to mixing the right formula of entertainment, suspense, and laughter in any project, there’s also the higher art of contextualizing the work resonate with reality, social need and the warning of the dangers to come. Writers who jump to rephrase their work in the cookie-cutter format of whatever sells is missing a huge point as well as possibly further sabotaging their own work. Instead of bending your ideas into the shell of a specific meme, find the cultural significance in what you as a writer are actually trying to say.

Writing at the end of the day is a public service, and writers are responsible for being the scouts as well as the poets in order for a thriving society to continue abiding its checks and balances.

Never forget this rule. Follow it, and you will find your readership.

There’s something the best writers all have in common by the time they are known (or even more more importantly, worth knowing) and that is the ability to write on command. This doesn’t mean that writing is something that comes about by being on command, but it’s a skill not a gift, and fortunately one that can be learned. As I sat by the pool, I felt totally unable to even begin at the time I wanted, and that’s just a reality. But today, maybe it was the flash of sunshine – I was able to start, and that’s where the best part begins. Take the time to take in your surroundings – they become inherent and sometimes integral parts of the working habits of your story.

A change can sometimes do the most good to lift the tone of a droning one-note story idea. For the frustrated, or those who will see this and feel the much needed smack of guilt, here’s what some other notables are saying…

“The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.”
– Mary Heaton Vorse

“The secret of getting ahead is getting started. The secret of getting started is breaking your complex overwhelming tasks into small manageable tasks, and then starting on the first one.”
– Mark Twain

“You don’t start out writing good stuff. You start out writing crap and thinking it’s good stuff, and then gradually you get better at it. That’s why I say one of the most valuable traits is persistence.”
- Octavia Butler

“What I try to do is write. I may write for two weeks ‘the cat sat on the mat, that is that, not a rat.’ And it might be just the most boring and awful stuff. But I try. When I’m writing, I write. And then it’s as if the muse is convinced that I’m serious and says, ‘Okay. Okay. I’ll come.’”
- Maya Angelou

“Don’t get it right, just get it written.”
- James Thurber

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 than you might think.

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