Time

The Marche region of Italy, a great place to take time

Time — there's no substitute for it. Especially for good writing. The kicker, though, is that you don't necessarily need copious amounts of it, but you do need the right type. For writing, especially the editing phase:

• Slow down to read and ponder each word — is this really what you want to say? If not, what's the best word to describe it?
• Take time away from a piece before returning to edit it.
• Take time in a different setting to read your work.
• Don't be afraid to let your mind wander to imagine the possibilities for your story. This frees up the imagination to embrace new paths.
• Great meals take a bit longer to prepare, but that just makes them more satisfying to savor.

Now, did that take too much time?

Have a great weekend!

Stephen King to the Rescue: Using Imagery to Bring a Story to Life

I just read an article that has literally changed my writing life. I was stuck on a plot problem and couldn't figure out how to resolve it. The problem? I couldn't imagine what happened. Since I like to inhabit my work, it's more accurate to say I couldn’t see what had happened. Not what should happen, but what had happened, and I couldn’t see it. Why? I hadn't taken the time to imagine it.

As providence would have it, I was in Starbucks waiting for a friend and catching up on reading when I came across an article in the August issue of The Writer. It was a magazine archive piece by Stephen King called, "Use Imagery to Bring Your Story to Life." And life is what every writer wants, and what every story and the people who populate it need.

Here are snippets from the piece and observations to accompany them:

• "… the most important thing that film and fiction share is an interest in the image…" — without image there is no story, at least none that's memorable
• "…story springs from image: that vividness of place and time and texture…" — without imagery, there is no texture
• The difference between ideas and images? "Ideas have no emotional temperature gradient; they are neutral."
• "Imagery is not achieved by over-description …" In fact, less usually is more.
• "Imagery does not occur on the writer's page; it occurs in the reader's mind."
• "Good description produces imagery …"
• As to the oft-asked question what to leave in? "Leave in the details that impress you the most … the details you see the most clearly; leave out everything else."
• How does this "imagining" occur: "… we must see with a kind of third eye—the eye of the imagination and memory."
• Why do this? "… to write is to re-experience, and as you write, that image will grow brighter and brighter, becoming something that is very nearly beautiful in its clarity."
• Why is this crucial to good writing? "…image leads to story, and story leads to everything else."
• It also benefits you, the writer: "… remember that a writer's greatest pleasure is in seeing, and seeing well."

To borrow another maxim, "when the eye is good the body is full of light," and so is the writing. The point is to see, and to inhabit the scene. To experience it. And experience is the best foundation for writing.

To hone this skill, slow down. And imagine. Make King's writing prompt your own:
Close your eyes and see. Imagine the scene you want to convey. Per King, "You opened your eyes too soon." Close them and try again—give yourself 30 seconds, maybe even a minute. OK. Go ahead."

I recommend The Writer magazine and the article; I certainly recommend the technique.

A Poet's Perspective for Writers: Charles Rafferty's "Maxims and Observations"



A Less Fabulous Infinity
by Charles Rafferty



In keeping with our conversations on creativity, our  guest this week is poet Charles Rafferty, whose insightful and elegant prose stirs the creative soul.  A National Endowment for the Arts grant winner in 2009, Charles offers much wisdom to writers:

• There is a difference between the predictable and the probable, between the vague and the mysterious, between deviation and variation. The poet must learn when each is acceptable. Reading widely helps.
• Exclamation points are too often a cry of wolf. I prefer people to scream when they are actually on fire.
• Some poems end like surgery—the problem solved, the pain a memory, the stitching so tight that nothing leaks. Other poems end like a diagnosis.
• We respond to clichés the way we respond to form letters and junk mail — something the writer didn’t bother to craft, a kind of boilerplate for the soul.
• Having too strict a meter can be like having the bass up so high on your stereo that you can’t make out the harpsichord. Too loose a meter can be like static.
• There are no five-leggers. Nature prefers symmetry.

Charles' books are available on Amazon.

Advice Also to Writers: Poet Charles Rafferty's "Maxims and Observations"

In keeping with the Words for Words focus of conversations on creativity, we have guest posts from Charles Rafferty, a gifted poet whose elegant prose elevates the thought process to an art form.  A teacher and winner of a National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) grant in 2009, Charles brings the loftiest ideas within reach with his maxims and observations for poets.  All writers can learn much from his astute observations:

• Some poems fail because of just one word — as troubling as a hornet on the railing of a crib.
• One vase lets you see the scum and filmy water that power the bouquet of goldenrod. Another one doesn’t. Which is better? Beauty or the beauty that tells us where it comes from?
• The predictable occurrence of stressed and unstressed syllables becomes more pleasing when the pattern is violated, here and there. We prefer a bouquet with a few broken petals for the same reason. We don’t guess for a moment it might be fake.
• The thing that is most accessible is not always the best material for a poem. There’s a reason the pyramids were not constructed of sand.
• On listening to poetry that I know is not: The wind can howl in the midnight pines but morning will find them standing.
• Details should be chosen as carefully as if you were covering up a murder. A poem is a lie you must make the world believe.

For more information, visit Charles Rafferty/NEA. His books are available on Amazon.

Beauty in the Breakdown: Editing Description

This is the next installment in the series Beauty in the Breakdown, on how to edit various aspects of a story. We've been talking about description. Here's the last installment on that subject—for now.

In queries about description, writers often ask which details to include and how much. The question sounds good, but often shows the writer hasn't made enough effort to figure out not only what she wants to say, but why she wants to say it. That's the benefit indirect description, which can also be conveyed through dialogue. Here's an example based on the premise above.

Diane opened the living room curtains.
Joe stood behind her. "Still watching that maple?"
She turned to him. "Do you think we should take it down and plant another?"

Knowing the story's background, this conversation says far more about what are now two characters suffering through another loss. And that's the key—knowing the story. If you're still unsure about your description, don't ask yourself what you want to say; ask yourself what you want to convey.

One rule of thumb in editing description for length: Longer is better to set a languid mood, convey a literary feel or slow the plot. Shorter is better to create suspense, convey accessibility or quicken the pace.

In the coming installments, we'll talk more about character description, dialogue, narrative and scene. All stories include these building blocks, but that doesn't mean we can afford to overlook how to best use them. On the contrary, if we don't use the best material properly, we can expect the story we thought was carefully constructed to crumble.

We'd love your input. To pose a query on a writing topic, e-mail Adele Annesi. You can also visit my online writing workshop, the Art of Editing in Writing.

Beauty in the Breakdown: More About Editing Description

This is the second installment in the series Beauty in the Breakdown, on how to edit various aspects of a story. We started with description. Here's more on that subject.

Let's start with the function of description. Because we're continually bombarded with information, it's easy to believe the purpose of any description is to convey facts. Yet, for writers, this isn't description's primary function—just stating facts rarely reaches the core of a piece. When you describe something or someone, you reveal its essence. Interpretation is up to the reader. This approach is most satisfying—to reader and writer.

Here's an example. "Though it was spring, the maple was bare." This, on the surface, is direct description. It's a clear, descriptive sentence, maybe even a bit poetic, and it conveys a fact—that the maple tree has no leaves. The underlying question, though, is why tell readers this? To add layers to a story, there should be a good reason to make this statement.

If the purpose of the sentence is to say the tree has no leaves or that it was a rough winter, then the description is adequate, but static. It doesn't take the reader anyplace because it doesn't advance plot or reveal character. But if I use the same sentence in a paragraph where I show that my character has just had another miscarriage, then the barren maple becomes indirect description, and serves to show my character's acute sense of loss, especially when she's expected to be "in bloom," a perceived shortcoming of which she's continually reminded.

More on description next time. To pose a query on a writing topic in the meantime, e-mail Adele Annesi. You can also visit my online workshop, the Art of Editing in Writing.

Beauty in the Breakdown: Editing Description

When autumn arrives, I go into academic mode. Blame all those years of school when fall not only meant new things to wear, but new things to learn. With this concept in mind, we'll start September with the first installment of a series called Beauty in the Breakdown. It will cover how to edit various aspects of a story, starting with description, dialogue, narrative and scene.

Since these elements are common, we often take them for granted and don't make each word count, because we can still get by without each word saying exactly what we mean. Yet, it's increasingly important to be selective about what to keep and discard, because in this competitive environment more people are writing, but not everyone is writing well. So, here are reasons to perfect your craft: to distinguish yourself from other writers, learn about writing through your work, hone your editing senses, and improve your style and technique.

The best time to edit—whether it's description, dialogue or narrative—is after giving the work a rest. If you're editing your own work, paper is still a great way to see your writing from an outsider's perspective, as is reading it somewhere besides where you normally write. It's also important to look back over a section after you've finished the next. This provides a perspective you wouldn't have otherwise. While editing, slow down so that you can see—and hear—the words and phrases.

One of the commonest facets of fiction and nonfiction is description. Whether you're describing a place, an event or a character, description is everywhere, so much so that we often fail to view it critically. And a critical perspective, in the constructive sense, is key. If you catch your missteps, your work will be more highly regarded and more publishable. Description is important, too, because through your portrayal, you're asking the reader to trust you, and today more than ever that's a tall order. Still, trust is essential, and a writer must prove worthy of it. Look for more on editing description in the next post.

For a free online editing workshop, visit my website Adele Annesi.