Churn: Keep the Waters of Story Roiling

I’m reading  A Swim in a Pond in the Rain: In Which Four Russians Give a Master Class on Writing, Reading, and Life, by George Saunders, author of Lincoln in the Bardo. In this must-have reference work, Saunders asks a key question and answers it. “Why do we keep reading a story?  Because we want to. Why do we want to? We read a bit of text and an expectation arises. We could understand a story as simply a series of such expectation/resolution moments.” What Saunders is saying isn’t rocket science, but it takes work to achieve these results. One way to do that is to raise the reader’s expectation in every scene.

Scenes are the building blocks of story, and there are almost as many types of scenes as there are scenes. These include to provide backstory, a beginning, characterization, a complication, description, dialogue, an ending, a foreshadow of a coming complication, plot movement, a reversal, setting, or a transition. Great scenes serve more than one purpose. One might even say that if a scene doesn’t have a purpose, it shouldn’t be there. And one thing every scene must accomplish is to cause the reader to expect something and at some point to provide it.

This doesn’t mean every scene should be like a holiday gift box, nicely filled and neatly tied with a bow. What it does mean is that when the writer sets a scene, she literally sets the reader up to expect something. Here’s an example:

• Two people who were once lovers meet after many years. Will they fall in love again? Are they free to do so? If not, will they succumb anyway? That’s the initial setting of the scene. Add to this context and stakes. The lovers are married to other people, people they love and care for and with whom they have built a life, a home, a family. Will they risk all for a moment or more than a moment? If so, what would prompt such a decision?

It's getting at the why of a scene that makes it plausible, relatable and viable. By setting a scene like the one above, the writer sets the reader up to expect an outcome. Whether the reader can guess the result or not, it’s the working out of the resolution that makes the reader keep reading. One way to do this is to add an element of discovery to the scene, thus to the story.

• In this case, the lovers meet, decide to act on their feelings and learn—what? What will the lovers learn that will give the story depth and memorability?

The answer could be as simple as you can’t go home again. Or it could be the realization that the two lovers are still deeply in love with each other and made a tragic mistake getting involved with other people, people they care for but are not the right match for them and never were. It’s the reunion that spotlights this reality. Thus begins the next exploration. What will the lovers do now that they realize the truth? Thus, the expectation/resolution cycle continues.

Still, it’s possible to get the cycle wrong. One common mistake is when the writer contrives a scene primarily as a way to get from Point A to Point B. Instead, the writer must approach each scene and each aspect of the scene organically, in a way that feels both inevitable and innovative. How can the writer achieve both?

Here are four key questions to ask:

• What is each lover afraid will happen if they act on their feelings?
• What is each afraid to discover?
• What is each afraid will happen if they don’t act on what they feel?
• What do they fear discovering then?

To make the most of those questions, also answer why for each.

Of the four questions, perhaps the most important is: What is the writer afraid will happen to these people, their families and lives, and the overall story if such a decision is made?

The underlying impetus for each question is fear. This doesn’t mean every story must be a psychological thriller. Rather, it means that fear puts its finger on the pulse of the beating heart of the characters and their stories. Tell me what you’re afraid of, and I’ll tell you what matters most to you. We ask “fear” questions to get at the emotions and longings that often lie buried because we fear what will happen if we let them out. It's this approach, the churn and roil of story, that moves the story forward by discovery, among the characters and within the writer.

Tip: Watch for scenes that are too much alike. In this situation, select the more important scene, not necessarily the most well-written, but the one that best reveals the heart of the story and the characters in it.

Reference
A Swim in a Pond in the Rain: In Which Four Russians Give a Master Class on Writing, Reading, and Life, by George Saunders

Happy writing!

Adele Annesi’s novel of autofiction and cultural heritage is What She Takes Away (Bordighera Press, 2023). She co-authored Now What? The Creative Writer's Guide to Success After the MFA and was managing editor of Southern Literary Review. Her MFA in creative writing is from Fairfield University, and her podcast is Adele Annesi on Writing.

Make It Great, But Make It Plausible

One of my favorite flying films is Top Gun. I first saw the movie with my brother, Skip, a graduate of Bainbridge Academy and a submariner in the US Navy. As we watched the aircraft carrier takeoffs and landings, I asked him how something that big can float. “You can float anything as long as you displace the weight,” he answered. What’s true in physics is true in fiction. It’s called plausibility.

Emerging and established writers alike face the challenges of how to float something big—whether characters or stakes or storylines. Here are ways to employ craft elements to support plausibility:

• Beginning: A story with a big start makes a tacit promise to the reader. To keep that promise, follow through on what you present at the beginning. Even if your beginning is a red herring, don’t wait until the last page to support it.
• Characters: Big characters should be realistic, even if only in the world of your story. To achieve realism, get to know your characters inside and out.
• Conflict: Conflicts and complications can be big in size and scope, meaning you don’t necessarily need a dire medical diagnosis to have a big story. The complexity of a conflict, the degree to which it impacts the characters and story, is just as far-reaching.
• Dialogue: To deepen dialogue, use subtext. Be deliberate in crafting not only what the characters say but what they mean. You can also have almost as many conversations as characters in a scene, with each saying what they want to get across so that you’re advancing story and developing the characters at the same time.
• Ending: If your story has a big start, it needs a suitably satisfying ending. One way to do this is to bring your discoveries and those of the characters to bear on the conclusion. And don’t forget to surprise readers. It’s the mint on the reading pillow.
• Plot: One way to support a complex plot is with subplots and a braided narrative. Subplots add intrigue; a braided narrative, with more than one point of view, adds depth and breadth.
• Reversal: Reversals often represent a major shift in the direction of a story and the lives of its characters. Some of the most poignant are when what a character most fears happens. Just treat the reversal in a way that’s sensitive not sensational. Let the reader provide the emotion.
• Scene: A scene should be developed sufficiently to convey the reason it’s there. To accomplish this, edit each scene once for each character who appears in it, and count setting as a character. It’s fine to include the unexpected in a scene, as long as the unforeseen element doesn’t feel as if it was dropped in as an afterthought or a way to prop up the story.
• Setting: Vast settings can appeal not only for what they are but for what they represent. The key is to have the description match the scale. This doesn’t necessarily mean using bigger words, but precise words that are appropriate to the theme. If you’re writing genre fiction, use the right terminology without being technical in your description.
• Stakes: Regardless of degree, stakes must matter to the overall story and the characters. Most important, readers must know why the stakes matter. As a note, the why element may change over the course of the story. Some stakes that were important at the start may be less so at the end.
• Story: Family saga, fantasy, historical fiction, sci-fi and cli-fi genres naturally lead to big stories. But such tales need depth to float. In these instances, world-building is critical. And the key to world-building is detail that is concrete and thematic to support what the story is about.
• Suspense: This great staple of storytelling works for any genre or writing style. The key is knowing what to offer the reader and what to withhold, along with when and to what degree. Don’t withhold critical information that keeps the reader from engaging with the story or give too much away upfront, a delicate balance that’s easier to achieve after the first draft.
• Theme: Big themes are like big stakes. Generally, the bigger the better. But even a cosmic theme must be worked out in the individual characters’ lives and the story’s day-to-day. Otherwise, the result is theory, not theme.

These days it won’t do to say, “I get to that in Chapter 3.” Plausibility must make its entrance from the start and build throughout a story. One way to achieve this is the daisy chain approach. Before you begin writing, review what you last wrote. You’ll discover that the final work is clearer and more believable. Readers will find the same.

Reference

The First Five Pages, by Noah Lukeman: Although this work should be retitled The First Five Sentences, it’s still a classic comprehensive guide to all the essential facets of good writing.

Happy writing!

Adele Annesi’s SPD bestselling novel is What She Takes Away (Bordighera Press). She co-authored Now What? The Creative Writer's Guide to Success After the MFA and was managing editor of Southern Literary Review. Her MFA in creative writing is from Fairfield University, and her long-running blog for writers is Word for Words. Her podcast is Adele Annesi on Writing.

Telling a Good Story Takes Spontaneity

Last month we said telling a good story requires preparation. While that’s true, telling a good story also takes spontaneity. My dad still makes for a good example. Not only was he a custom men’s tailor who prepared each day’s work the night before but he could also decide to take us to Italy at the drop of a tailor’s ham. So besides being spontaneous, he was a risk-taker. Writers should be both, too.

Spontaneity can mean doing something spur of the moment or trying something new or different without overthinking it. This is where the writer’s instinct and willingness to explore the unfamiliar come into play. We’ve all had those ah-ha moments for a new story, a twist or turn in our current narrative, having a character do something seemingly out of character, or following the story down an unfamiliar path of setting or events.

These adventures can be fun and inspiring, but there’s a price tag attached to the approach. Taking the road less traveled takes time, energy and the risk of one or more wrong turns. But even rabbit trails can offer writers and readers a new perspective, like a detour along a scenic road. Two common questions about being spontaneous are:

• How do I get rolling?
• How do I know if the path I’ve chosen or the decision I’ve made is the right one?

Here are considerations for both of these queries.

First, to make spontaneity worthwhile, ask yourself these questions:

• What aspect of your story needs a bit of novelty or adventure?
• Where would you, your storyline or one of your characters benefit from taking a risk?
• What aspect of your story have you considered exploring but avoided, and what’s holding you back and why?

As you may have guessed, even spontaneity can take a bit of planning or at least some forethought. But once you’ve primed the pump, don’t overthink it. If writing a new story or scene is daunting, which it often is, give yourself a writing time limit. If an hour is too long, try half an hour or 20 minutes. And rather than contemplate what you’re writing as you’re writing it, just write. When you’re done, read what you’ve written. Before making substantive changes, set it aside, possibly until the following writing session. That way you won’t destroy what spontaneity can do for you—open doors to new places.

The next question is how do I know if what I’ve written works?

Two key elements in answering this query are time and distance:

• Rather than edit what you’ve written the same day you’ve written it, wait until at least your next writing session. Even then, before you edit, read what you’ve written to find what shows up as unexpected. Writers who are more planners than pantsers will be tempted to start fixing. Resist the temptation. Instead, embrace the new and see what benefits the unexpected can bring to your story and your writing.
• Once you’ve had a chance to embrace the new, consider how and where what you’ve written could fit into your project. Could it be part of what you’re already working on, or is it something entirely new. To answer this question, assess whether what you’ve created is substantive enough on its own—whether it has enough scope or the potential for scope. In other words, is there enough there, there?

Sometimes what we’ve created on the fly doesn’t work in its entirety but has elements that could work quite well. For example, you might find a gem of a phrase or a germ of a new narrative thread or character. Either way, just because you can’t use your effort in its entirety doesn’t mean it isn’t beneficial. Even if you don’t use any aspect of what you’ve created exactly as you’ve created it, the fun and freedom of free writing can be liberating. And if you write for a living or with that kind of dedication, this type of exercise can put the joy back into your labor.

I usually tell the writers I work with and who attend my workshops that for every principle we set forth, for every craft element technique we discuss, there is at least one equal and opposite possibility. The key is knowing the elements and how they work. Even then it’s possible to be clueless about what certain craft elements do and still write a great story or one with great potential. That’s the fun and freedom of writing because it’s where discovery happens.

Reference:

• For a great how-to reference on craft in any genre, see Now Write! Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror: Speculative Genre Exercises from Today's Best Writers and Teachers (Now Write! Series), by Laurie Lamson (Editor). Regardless of what genre(s) you write in, you’ll find these insights and exercises fun and freeing.

Happy writing!

Adele Annesi’s SPD bestselling novel is What She Takes Away (Bordighera Press, 2023). She co-authored Now What? The Creative Writer's Guide to Success After the MFA and was managing editor of Southern Literary Review. Her MFA in creative writing is from Fairfield University, and her long-running blog for writers is Word for Words. Her podcast is Adele Annesi on Writing.

Telling a Good Story Takes Preparation

My father often said, “Preparation is everything.” He was a custom men’s tailor who each night prepared the next day’s work and each morning made sure all was in order. Preparation gave him a sense of what was needed before the need arose. Some writers are equally fastidious in planning their work; others are pantsers, flying by the seat of their pants. In reality, all of us are both, and that’s important in storytelling. But, first, a bit about preparation.

There’s more than one way to prepare to write. Some writers have rituals that help them diffuse the nervous energy that often attends a writing effort. Nobel laureate Ernest Hemingway often ended his writing time before finishing a scene so that he would know where to start the next day. When he was stuck for a way to begin a day’s work, he often went back and edited the prior day’s effort.

One definition of preparation is the action or process of making something ready, or getting ready for an event or undertaking. And writing is certainly an undertaking. To help us begin, we can ask questions of the work and of ourselves as writers. The following queries are most helpful for developing scenes:

• Clarity: What aspects of the scene need clarity, whether due to imprecise prose or an incomplete rendering of the scene’s real purpose in the story? There’s nothing wrong with leaving something, or even a lot, to the reader’s imagination, as long as it’s intentional and not due to the writer’s oversight.
• Dialogue: What part of the dialogue should be overt or spoken aloud, and what should be part of the characters’ interiority? Rendering part of a dialogue as what’s going on within the character gives the character and scene layers and subtext, and shares something with the reader that the other characters may not yet know.
• Questions: What questions arise from the scene that need to be addressed, whether in the scene or later in the story? If the missing information should be filled in later, we can make a note to ourselves. Whether we fill in the gaps now or later on, we should decide how to present the information, for example, by a person or another medium, such as a news report.
• Repetition: What recurrences appear in the scene? This query relates to whether the redundancy is helpful, as in for emphasis, or is a case of the writer saying the same thing more than once with no rationale for the duplication.
• Revelations: How should a flash of insight, an epiphany or a revelation be disclosed? Sometimes straightforward is best—through a direct narrative statement. Other times the revelation of something new and important can be enhanced by putting it in the mouth of a character we wouldn’t expect to deliver the insight. Still other times the insight can come from within the character, for example, through a trigger, an aspect of setting, a memory or a lesson learned. One way to decide is to match the importance of the revelation to the extent of the surprise, and to consider whether the character needs to own the moment or whether it’s better coming from someone or something else.
• Tightening: Where does the scene need to be edited? More words don’t necessarily equal better writing. Sometimes they obscure rather than clarify a point.
• Viewpoint: Have I considered the scene from the viewpoint of each character in it, including the setting? Doing so gives a scene balance and texture.

We ask these and other questions to find out what’s needed before it becomes clear to the reader but missed by us. Think of telling a story as inviting friends to share a meal on a special occasion. No matter what form the gathering takes—informal, buffet or sit-down dinner—it’s best to prepare the food and venue in advance. This engenders trust from our guests and gives us a chance to spend time with them. That’s what readers look for in a story—a place to go where a satisfying experience awaits.

References

• If you haven’t seen the film Genius, on the friendship and writing relationship between editor par excellence Max Perkins and author Thomas Wolfe, it’s definitely worth seeing.
• If you haven’t read Look Homeward, Angel, Wolfe’s masterwork, it’s worth reading or rereading for the sheer experience of the prose.

Happy writing!

Adele Annesi’s SPD bestselling novel is What She Takes Away (Bordighera Press, 2023). She co-authored Now What? The Creative Writer's Guide to Success After the MFA and was managing editor of Southern Literary Review. Her MFA in creative writing is from Fairfield University, and her long-running blog for writers is Word for Words. Her podcast is Adele Annesi on Writing.

Keep Me in Suspense, Please!

Some years ago I was working as a marketing communications manager for a small IT company when the handwriting was on the wall for a merger and layoffs. This happened around the time I wanted to switch gears and go into writing. (I had no idea then that the next step along my career path would be to work for Scholastic during their Harry Potter heyday.)

While crafting an exit strategy and career transition, I read writing magazines cover to cover and decided I should attend a writing conference. I chose Wesleyan Writers Conference because it was nearby and because of their stellar offerings. When I was accepted, conference manager Anne Greene wrote on the acceptance letter, “I hope you can attend.” Never underestimate what a kind word can do for a struggling writer. I took encouragement and set off.

That year one of Wesleyan’s workshop leaders was acclaimed novelist Madison Smart Bell, now an agent with Ayesha Pande and the author of Narrative Design, a delightfully complex book on story structure. One of Bell’s first questions was, “Do you think suspense is necessary in storytelling?” Bell posited the question to a group of people interested in the craft and art of literary fiction, so his question initially met with silence. But the unspoken answer was that suspense was more of a ploy writers used to buoy a story that didn’t have much else going for it. Over the ensuing days, Bell proved that suspense is essential in all good writing.

However much we want to avoid being on tenterhooks in real life, we like it in stories. It’s safer there. But suspense is important for another reason, one that relates to how we define the word. The dictionary definition is “a feeling of excited or anxious uncertainty about what may happen”. For storytelling, we could also say that suspense is the intentional withholding and revealing of key elements—information, an event, a change in a character—to create a richer, more gratifying story that is elevated by the very technique we might otherwise relegate to lesser works.

Although we might agree that suspense is necessary to story, we don’t always know how to achieve suspense that works effectively. To use this craft element well, we can ask these questions: 

• Who in our story will do the work of revealing and withholding?
• What form will the reveal and concealment take?
• Where in the story should we hold back, and where should we reveal?
• When in a scene do we withhold and reveal?
• Why is the revelation being withheld or shown?
• How much do we reveal and withhold?

While suspense doesn’t equal surprise, one outcome of effective suspense is surprise. A great example appears in Career of Evil, an upmarket crime fiction novel by J. K. Rowling, writing under the pen name Robert Galbraith. We might figure out who done it or even why before the story ends, but there’s still a surprise at the close. Here’s how the writer used suspense in this instance:

• Who: The main character and perpetrator share the reveal, which further solidifies the main character’s reputation as a private investigator.
• What: The perpetrator appears as a reliable character who is anything but.
• Where: The writer showed the perpetrator early on but in disguise.
• When: The ultimate reveal is at the very end of the novel.
• Why the revelation is withheld or shown: In this case, the writer both showed the person and kept them hidden. Not even the person closest to the perpetrator had any idea who the individual really was.
• How much information is given: Just enough information is provided for the reveal to make sense and not make the reader feel cheated, as when a character comes out of nowhere to claim responsibility. 

Leave it to a writer of such consummate skill as Rowling to provide a contemporary example of suspense. And did you notice that I hinted early on at the person I would use as the example without saying so? It’s always good to practice what one posits.

Tip: Effective suspense takes practice. Create a short scene between two people, one with a secret, one who suspects there’s a secret but isn’t sure what it is or who knows it. Use the above questions to render the scene more than one way before deciding how to present it.

Happy writing!

Adele Annesi’s SPD bestselling novel is What She Takes Away (Bordighera Press, 2023). She also coauthored Now What? The Creative Writer's Guide to Success After the MFA and was managing editor of Southern Literary Review. Adele received her MFA in creative writing from Fairfield University. Her long-running blog for writers is Word for Words. Her podcast is Adele Annesi on Writing.

How to Prepare for Publication and Improve Your Writing

I recently did a seminar on how to prepare a project for publication in today’s volatile climate that offered the unexpected bonus of helping writers improve their skills.

No matter what we write or how long we’ve been writing, it’s hard to get into someone else’s head while we’re crafting and completing a project. But as we begin the submission process, we can get into the mindset of the industry professionals who will consider our work and improve our writing at the same time.

Here’s an overview of what publishing professionals look for in our writing:

• Agents seek fresh concepts and the ability to articulate those concepts—in our unique voice. They also look for a polished, fully realized project with enough scope to be full-length. And they require the ability to follow submission guidelines, which will help us, too.
• Editors have the same criteria as agents. They also seek projects that complement but don’t duplicate their current projects.
• Publishers have the same criteria as agents and editors, but they also look for writers whose works can build an audience and carry the promise of more to come.
• Marketers seek writers with staying power but also crave high-concept works. This doesn’t mean the work is superficial, only that it can be presented in a clear, concise and impactful way.

So how can writers improve their writing as they research and work with each category of industry professional?

When querying agents, don’t assume your final version is your final version. While following the submission guidelines, study what the agent is asking for. Loglines, queries, synopses, chapter outlines and marketing proposals are genres in themselves, so treat each item with the same care as you would your manuscript. And don’t send anything without first sending it to yourself. Instead of submitting your materials to all your first-tier agents (or other professionals, if you’re going directly to a publisher) in the first round, stagger your submissions and study the responses. If you don’t receive any, review your materials. In today’s publishing climate, a lack of responses doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve done something wrong, only that you’ll likely find ways to improve the quality of what you’re sending.

Consider researching editors who work with your type of project. Find out which writers they work with and what their projects are. Select one that is similar to yours and see where yours differs. This can help you hone that difference to make your project stand out. While doing so, see how the differentiator impacts the project as a whole.

Despite industry volatility, publishers still seek writers with longtail promise. No publisher wants to invest time, energy and finances developing an author only to lose them after the first book. If this sounds like the onboarding phase of starting a new job, it is. Consider what seeds you can plant in your current work that might bear fruit as a sequel or series.

The high concept stories many marketers crave don’t have to be superficial and can use the same techniques as filmmakers, regardless of genre. Here are the seven key elements for fiction and nonfiction, respectively:

1. Characters / people
2. Conflict / challenges
3. Dialogue / conversations or interviews
4. Plot / events
5. Scenes / situations
6. Theme / topic
7. World-building / location

Additional techniques you can use to prepare your project and hone your writing include beta readers, critique groups, editors, events with a critique element, excerpts, mentors, readings, time and distance. Regardless of what project you’re working on or which publishing route you choose, there’s still no second chance to make a first impression so let’s make that first impression a good one.

If you’d like the full handout from the Page to Publication seminar, including industry resources, or a PDF of the book club study guide of my bestselling novel What She Takes Away (Bordighera Press, 2023), on the warp and weft of artistry, ambition and family in bella Italia, email Word for Words. 

For more on writing, check out my podcast Adele Annesi on Writing.

The Advantages of Indie

A couple of weeks ago I attended the Ridgefield Independent Film Festival (RIFF), now in its ninth consecutive year. I’m a community curator, or screener, for the festival, but this was my first year attending the full event, where it was a delight to meet film afficionados, actors and filmmakers. One particular highlight was the filmmakers’ panel, on the perks and pitfalls of independent filmmaking. As it turns out, these intrepid creatives have a lot in common with writers working with independent presses.

As you might guess, or know firsthand, independent publishing has its disadvantages, including the marketing and distribution of authors’ books. These stark realities became even more evident when on March 28 Small Press Distribution, one of the last remaining independent book distributors in the US, suddenly announced its closure. Thankfully, organizations like the Community of Literary Magazines and Presses stepped in to help independent presses (and authors) get the information they needed to help fill the void left by SPD.

To hear our RIFF filmmakers tell it, they face similar issues. Obstacles range from raising money to securing production staff and equipment, to finding venues, locations and the right actors to play the parts. And all of this is happening while most filmmakers are also writing, directing and producing their own original material. If the challenges of independent filmmaking sound familiar, they should. Writers working with independent publishers face similar obstacles, including marketing their work and getting (and keeping) it before the public. Indie filmmakers face these hurdles, too, underscoring the importance of film festivals like RIFF and book festivals like those of the Connecticut Authors and Publishers Association.

So why do indie creatives still put themselves through such wringers?

In the case of indie authors, some have tried the traditional route and either found no room for their work or found the terms set by traditional publishing too stringent. But now, given today’s publishing climate, more authors are making the indie route their first choice. (If you haven’t seen the Oscar-nominated film American Fiction, I’d suggest it.) Indie authors feel they have the talent, stories and entrepreneurial spirit needed to face such efforts. Moreover, they like the freedom of working with independent publishers, who often have the same mindset.

Of all the benefits of an independent route, RIFF filmmakers cited storytelling as the main reason why they feel indie works best. They have stories they believe should be told and feel that, in the end (and the beginning), they’re the best ones to tell those stories. The flip side of the indie coin is that these filmmakers also like collaboration. They enjoy working with editors, sound experts and other industry professionals, because each of these people brings their unique expertise to the table to help shape the filmmakers’ vision for their projects. In essence, indie artists like creative control and have the independent spirit needed to make the most of being in the driver’s seat.

Of course, this isn’t true of everyone in the arts. Many writers, for example, still prefer literary agents to provide a liaison with publishers, help with contracts and help with shaping their projects. And many authors enjoy the prestige of having an agent and a traditional publishing house. But one advantage of today’s often chaotic publishing industry is that authors can decide to change direction, from traditional to indie to hybrid to self-publishing. These choices and their timing no longer depend solely on what works best for the agent or publisher, but also on what works best for the author at that particular stage of their life and vocation.

All things considered, whether for film or publishing, a little independence can go a long way.

For more on the Ridgefield Independent Film Festival, click on RIFF. For more on the closure of Small Press Distribution, click on Publishers Weekly. For more on the Connecticut Writers and Publishers Association, click on CAPA.

Happy writing!

Write Poetry to Stretch Your Creativity

Novelist and short story writer Connie Keller talks about how shifting gears and headspace toward writing poetry expands the writer’s creative muscles and broadens the mind.

Q. As a novelist and short story writer, how have you worked with poetry?
My favorite poetry focuses on images. On seeing something common in a new way. For me, poetry restores the wonder in an object or person I’ve taken for granted. In my work, I use poetic images to deepen the emotion of my writing. Specifically, I use metaphor and simile to add pathos to an object or a situation that could easily be overlooked. Poetic images become a way to show, not tell.

Q. What was the impetus for switching gears in writing this poem?
I’d finished writing a novel and taken a two-month break. But I still felt burned out. A friend who is a poet told me about winter garden poetry. While winter garden poetry was new to me, bringing poetry into the public view was not. The city of Winston-Salem, where I live, began a Poetry in Plain Sight program in 2013 where poetry is displayed in public places. Streets, businesses, even the sides of buses—and I love seeing literary art there.

We often see sculpture in public places, but written art is rarely on view, and you only find it in books and journals. But there’s a movement to put poetry in public spaces, and in the case of a winter garden, poetry is encased in ice and put along a garden walkway where passersby can see it. On a larger scale, the Library of Congress has paired with the National Parks Service to bring famous American poetry into seven of our National Parks.

Q. What was the inspiration for your poem?
Several winters ago, I was taking a walk next to the woods and the bare tree limbs crisscrossing the sky caught my attention. It was as if the sky had turned the branches into lace. I fell in love with that image and planned to use the image in my novel. But I never found a place for it. When I sat down to work on a poem, I remembered the image.

Q. How is writing poetry similar to or different from writing fiction?
I write upmarket fiction, which gives me the opportunity to use words in beautiful ways. But poetry gave me an opportunity to explore an image deeply. Like looking into the facets of a jewel.

Q. What other projects are you working on?
I recently finished a novel, and it’s with my literary agent. I’m pondering another poem. And I’m taking notes on a new novel, which means I’m exploring the characters, the setting, and the plot. From that, I sketch scenes.

Q. What else would you like writers and readers to know?
If it has been a long time since you wrote a poem, or maybe you’ve never written a poem—try it. If it seems too intimidating or new, it might be helpful to have limits. For example, write a poem about an image you’ve had in your head for a while. Or, go on a walk and write a poem about something you saw on your walk. Or, find a literary journal that has a themed issue, and write a poem based on that theme. Remember, you’re writing the poem for the joy of it—to stretch the creative muscles in your mind.

Novelist and short story writer Connie Keller is represented by Chris Bucci of Aevitas Creative Management and graduated Phi Beta Kappa with a BA in English from the University of California. Her background includes a variety of experience, from cytogenetic technician to subject indexer to Latin teacher. Connie lives in the Piedmont of North Carolina with her husband and wages a losing war against the deer who always find a way to eat her flowers and vegetables. For more on Connie, visit her Merry Heart blog.