The Paradox of Voice, Plot and Prose in Fiction

Writers may have a unique voice, an imaginative storyline and distinctive prose and still find that the sum of the parts doesn’t equal a cohesive whole. Why? One reason is the writing.

The writer who aims to present a well-developed voice and story is a writer who aims high. Aiming high is good. The paradox is that unless the prose, the actual writing, effectively conveys these and all the other elements needed for quality fiction, the individual elements won’t matter much.

So how does a writer skillfully create prose robust enough to convey all the elements of craft? By starting with a right perspective and a critical eye.

Perspective in art is the ability to draw something on a two-dimensional surface in a way that accurately depicts the object’s proportions and position. To achieve perspective, the artist must step back and ask questions of the work. Does it look like the intended object? Does it occupy the proper space in the overall drawing? Does it tell the viewer something more than just the object's identity? In short, the artist—and the writer—must view a work with a critical eye.

The last thing we may want in life these days is criticism. But this isn’t criticism in the pejorative sense. It’s critique in the analytical sense. And it’s a skill that finds its most effective use after a first or an early draft. In a first draft, the writer is still telling himself what he thinks is the story. In later drafts, the writer is discovering the story. And attentive writing—intentional writing—actually helps this process.

The additional paradox is that it's usually when writers create beauty, lovely writing, that they most often have trouble figuring out how to sculpt the prose—the actual writing. But lovely can easily get in the way of clarity and character development, and that can’t be allowed.

So what steps can a writer take to avoid this trap? Here is a list of steps writers can use to strengthen their prose:

• First, put the first or early draft aside for at least a week, and work on other things.
• When you return to the work, enter a mindset that is aware of and expects the need for changes.
• Read a small section of the work, just the first paragraph, and look for ways to tinker.
• Remove every unnecessary word.
• Remove all unclear words and phrases, and replace them all with precise words. Use a thesaurus or Word's synonym feature.
• Restructure what’s left for the greatest impact.
• Reorder paragraphs for the order in which events happen.

The key to this process is to take each step individually. This means going through a paragraph or section once per step. This will enable you to see the "before and after" of a sentence, paragraph, scene or section. Then the better you get at editing, the more steps you can combine at the same time. For particularly natty sections or chapters, revert to the one-step-per-read approach.

For added help, trying printing the section and reading the hardcopy, preferably somewhere you don't usually read it. Or imagine having to present the work to someone else for review. You might select a beta reader to do just that. Additionally, you can read the work aloud, for example, over Zoom, to a trusted audience of one—yourself. You can even record the reading and play it back.

Admittedly, this is a process that requires determination. But remember the caveat of Noah Lukeman in the classic The First Five Pages: The art of writing can’t be taught, but the craft of writing can.

Apex and Nadir: The Peak and Valley of Story

All fictional stories have a high point and a low point. To make sure that enough happens within the story from beginning to end, writers should assess these points in the story to determine whether they’re different enough from each other.

Whether a writer uses a chapter outline, a three-act outline or just notes, most writers find a way to plot their stories. One reason for writers to do this is to assess the story’s pacing — the speed at which the moves forward — and its progression — the degree to which the plot unfolds along the way. But it’s also important to compare the story’s apex and nadir.

Apex, in this context, could be the story’s climax. But a more interesting and deeper way to consider the apex is to find the story’s most complex and interesting point. That means the nadir is the story’s lowest point — the point at which all seems or is lost.

Here is a list of what to consider when assessing whether there is enough differentiation between and development of these two points.

For the apex:

• Describe what is happening in the story at its most complex and interesting point.
• List the major theme and subtheme present at this moment.
• Briefly outline how the reader might expect the story to unfold afterward.
• Also briefly outline how the story does unfold.

For the nadir:

• Describe what is happening at the story’s darkest moment.
• Consider whether the main theme is adequately addressed.
• Briefly outline how the reader might expect the story to unfold afterward.
• Also briefly outline how the story does unfold.

Once you’ve followed these steps, compare the apex and nadir to see whether there is sufficient differentiation between the two points. There should be enough emotional and actual distance between the highest point in the story and its lowest point to make the story a real journey, not a just plot that makes readers feel they’re running in place. Then look over the story’s individual plot points to see if there are other possible outcomes at any or all of these points. And make sure to include the setting in your consideration.

Since this approach also works for characters, the writer can follow the same approach for the primary and key secondary roles to see if there is enough development in each of the characters. Writing students can use this approach for literary analysis and criticism to understand how writers bring stories and characters from the start of a work to its completion.

What are the highs and lows of your story?

How to Fall Back in Love — With Writing

If you’ve fallen out of love with writing — and everyone does at some point — here are some ways to rekindle the fire.

Whether or not you’ve been published, or been published recently, there’s a sense in which all writers should retain an amateur standing. The word amateur can mean anything from one who has a taste for something to a lover of something. It can also mean a dabbler, as opposed to a professional. Regardless of a writer’s status or list of writing credits, all writers ought to remain continual amateurs, as it frees us to always keep learning from others and ourselves.

Rekindle the joy of writing. With the many challenges facing us these days, it’s easy to lose the joy of living let alone writing. But the French have a saying: Eating builds appetite. So, too, writing can stimulate a taste for more. Forget (for now) the deadlines, the self-imposed restrictions and goals. Sit down to the page and begin. If you’re in doubt or stuck for a way to get back into writing, write a journal entry about writing. Ask yourself what first drew you to write, what prompted you to write that first poem or journal entry. Once you begin, you’re writing again, and as you reread what you’ve written, you’ll find that you’ve validated your perspective by putting it into words.

Don’t be afraid to dabble. You don’t have to be a professional writer to enjoy writing. Many writers say they enjoyed writing a lot more before their work moved into the public eye. Sometimes a writer’s underlying fear is that their work won’t measure up—either to what they expect of themselves or what others expect of them. Forget the haters, no matter who they are. Get out your favorite pen or stylus or whatever, and go back to doodling. One way to begin is to go to a window and describe the scene beyond the glass. This is especially helpful now, when a view through glass is the closest many of us can come with the outside world. Writing like this offers a way to get back in touch with that world.

Rediscover the joy of learning. Regardless of your writing status or list of writing credits, all writers are continual amateurs, because we’re always learning from other writers and ourselves. Think back to the first time you felt your pulse race when you read your favorite poet’s or writer’s work, and go back to that piece. See it with fresh eyes. What is it about the work that captivates you? What technique(s) did the writer use to create that effect? How might you emulate the writer’s method(s)? Not only do we learn from other writers, but we also learn from ourselves. Go back and reread something you wrote a while ago. What still moves you about the piece? In what ways have you grown in your writing since then? As a next step, go to something you wrote recently. Where does the piece engage you? Where are the opportunities for development? Either way, you’ve reminded yourself, “Yes, Virginia, I am a writer.”

One way to squeeze the love out of a relationship is to make it more about obligation than enjoyment. This is as true of our relationship with writing as it is of our relationships with other people. After all, one way to define writing is the relationship of the writer to words. And while there are nearly as many reasons to stop loving the craft and art of writing as there are writers, most reasons relate to disappointment or failed expectations (reasonable and otherwise), whether with self, others or the process. Regardless of why the love of writing has ebbed or been lost, one way to rekindle it is to take the pressure off. When in doubt, open a page and lament. At least the words will be there. Regardless of the words, reawaken the pleasure of writing by writing, even in a grousing journal entry well-written.

What’s keeping you from your love of writing?

Micro-Revision in a Macro-World

It’s no secret that a great way to become a better writer is through revision. But in a world where we’re constantly bombarded by information that requires a response, it might be less obvious that slowing our writing down to do concentrated revision can be an even bigger help.

Whether you write fiction, nonfiction or hybrids, if you’re on deadline for a story, you may not have time right then to focus on the details of your writing. But taking time to self-consciously tinker with your prose can yield more progress than hours at the keypad. Why? Because you’re not just paying attention to the before of your writing; you’re also paying attention to the after.

If you’re like me, you enjoy watching makeovers. Whether it’s a living space, a person or a business, it’s encouraging to see change for the better. It gives us hope. But when we watch a makeover, we rarely see the details of each individual step in the process. As writers in charge or our own work, we can learn how to improve our writing style and structure simply by paying attention.

For example, taking time to add sensory details to a descriptive paragraph can make the difference between a lifeless picture and one that rises from the page. If we pay attention to the effects of our changes as we go, we can learn what works and what doesn’t and do it in real time. More importantly, we can learn why the changes work. Once we learn this, we’ve learned technique, and what we learn becomes part of our experience. When this happens, we’ve gained a repeatable skill that can remain in our writing toolkit.

Here’s an example of the tinkering approach:

• Before: The highway to the beach was bathed in sunlight, and the temperature in the car was getting hotter and hotter. Carlo wiped his forehead and rolled the window partway down. He couldn’t see the shore from here, but he could feel it.
• After: The road to the shore shimmered in the sun as the temperature in the Fiat rose like a kiln. Carlo wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and rolled down the window. He couldn’t see the sea from this flat strip of asphalt, but he could feel its heat and the pull of it like an outgoing tide.

Tip: To tinker with your prose, select a descriptive paragraph, and revise it slowly, word by word, sentence by sentence. Then do the same with a short scene. An added benefit of this technique is that it helps settle the mind for improved focus.

Ridgefield Library and First Annual Muse & Music Evening Cabaret

Thank you to writers from the Westport Writers' Workshop, Gerry O'Hara and Austin Scelzo of the Angry O'Haras bluegrass band, author and singer-songwriter Chris Belden, the Ridgefield Library, and you - our wonderful audience - for a wonderful first annual Muse & Music Evening Cabaret.

Readers, clockwise, included: Gillian Grant Lavoie, Chris Friden, Carolyn Toner, and Connie Briones.


Singers and musicians
(left to right):
Adele Annesi
Austin Scelzo
Gerry O'Hara
Chris Belden


Muse & Music Evening Cabaret
Come in from the cold Friday, February 7, for a festive evening of songs, stories, and more at the Ridgefield Library's first annual Muse and Music Evening Cabaret, from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m.

The Muse & Music Evening Cabaret will spotlight a variety of new works from area writers affiliated with the Westport Writers’ Workshop, plus a blend of original music from Austin Scelzo and Gerry O'Hara, of the Angry O'Haras bluegrass band, and singer-songwriter and author Chris Belden. Hosted by the Ridgefield Library and sponsored by Word for Words, the cabaret-style evening includes a wine and cheese reception.

The event is free and open to the public, and registration is on a first-come, first-served basis. For more information and to register, go to Muse & Music Evening Cabaret.

A preliminary program is below, along with the performers' bios.

EVENING CABARET PROGRAM
Set I:
Duet by Chris Belden and Adele Annesi: "Marion Ettlinger"
Jillian Grant Lavoie: Excerpt from "The New Build"
Michele Dawson: “A (Brief) Parody of Pride and Prejudice”
Connie Briones: Excerpt from Isabella-A Poet’s Journey
Chris Friden: Excerpt from his YA novel, The Student Code
Set II:
Music by Austin Scelzo and Gerry O’Hara of the Angry O'Haras
Gwen Mitrano: Excerpt from her novel
Marc Heller: Excerpt from his novel, Redemption
Maxine Paul: The true story of afterlife communication
Music by Austin Scelzo and Gerry O’Hara of the Angry O'Haras
Intermission
Set III:
Carolyn Toner: Short story, "They Go To Die in Palm Beach"
Jackie Kamenstein: Short story "Potted Plants"
Music by Chris Belden and friends


WRITER BIOS

• Connie Briones is a middle school teacher with a master's in history. The idea for her novel developed during her thesis on the English Protestant Reformation and its impact on the literacy of women.
• Michele Dawson is an English teacher and writer living in Sherman, CT.
• Chris Friden is a lifetime storyteller whose career highlights include directing for television; producing and hosting a sports-comedy program; playwriting; and board game publishing. He is currently revising his young adult manuscripts, and both teaching and learning at the Westport Writers Workshop.
• Marc Heller studies novel writing at the Westport Writers’ Workshop and is at work on two novels.
• Jackie Kamenstein is a short story writer who studies advanced fiction at the Westport Writers' Workshop and has studied short fiction at Sarah Lawrence College.
• Jillian Grant Lavoie holds an MFA in Fiction Writing from Sarah Lawrence College and is currently working on a collection of short stories. She lives in Fairfield, CT, with her two young children, who occasionally go to sleep and allow her an hour of writing.
• Gwen Mitrano is the mother of two high school age daughters and a pampered pup named Penny. Her career as an event producer for a wide range of clients, and twenty years as a Darien resident, provide regular inspiration for her satirical writing.
• Maxine Paul is a retired lawyer, who is: an expert in Foreign Medical School Education by day, a theater producer and story teller by night, and a Helicopter Mom 24/7.
• Carolyn Toner is a Trinity College graduate, with a creative writing minor, as well as an actress, children’s theater instructor, and short story writer.

MUSICIAN BIOS
Chris Belden is a musician, singer-songwriter and author of Shriver and Carry-on, and the award-winning short story collection The Floating Lady of Lake Tawaba. He teaches at the Westport Writers' Workshop.

Gerry O’Hara is a founder of the Angry O'Haras bluegrass band and part of the Worship Band at the First Congregational Church of Ridgefield.

Austin Scelzo plays fiddle for the Angry O'Haras and On the Trail bluegrass bands. He also teaches bluegrass for all ages and abilities. His monthly music series is the FCC Bluegrass Coffeehouse.

EMCEE BIO

Adele Annesi is an award-winning editor, writer, and teacher. She is co-author of Now What? The Creative Writer's Guide to Success After the MFA and a founder of the Ridgefield Writers Conference. Also a development editor, Adele teaches at the Westport Writers' Workshop.

WESTPORT WRITERS’ WORKSHOP

Westport Writers’ Workshop is a premier writing studio based in Westport, CT, with workshops for all levels and interests conducted in a friendly, supportive atmosphere to encourage, inspire, and spark the imagination. Since 2003, and now with over 75 workshops for all schedules, including Zoom distance learning, Westport helps writers discover and develop their unique talent and voice to achieve each writer’s individual goals. For information, see Westport Writers' Workshop.

Got Stories? Consider Creating a Collection

Whether you write fact-based stories or whole-cloth fiction, crafting a collection gives you freedom to combine elements of your favorite writing forms to transport you and your readers to places both familiar and faraway.

What’s your favorite writing form — memoir, poetry, short stories, experimental? Maybe you like mysteries or family sagas. Or maybe for you, it’s less about genre or form and more about the individual story. If any of these is true, then compiling a collection might be just the ticket.

One great way to determine whether you have the makings for a compilation is to inventory your work. If you tend toward writing fiction, you may have a file of short stories that, with a bit of weaving, could work as a collection. Or maybe you started what you thought was a novel but now feels more like a series of different but interconnected stories than a continuous saga.

Taking inventory works for nonfiction, too. Start by perusing blog posts and postcards, journal entries, letters, a book you may have started writing —any written communication — for a common thread. Maybe you’ve traveled to distant lands, raised exotic pets, perfected a particular hobby or started a memoir about a turning point in your life. Any of these topics can serve as a framework for a montage of pieces with a larger point, such as people you discovered in your travels or lessons you learned along the way.

So how do you develop a story collection?

Think of it as creating a scrapbook, album or webpage. You can start by selecting pieces on similar or compatible subjects or themes. After that, you can arrange them in a particular order, for example, by most recent or farthest back, or by ascending or descending degree of importance. You might even try a patchwork approach, where the pieces are less about order and more about proximity: which pieces work best next to each other.

While these are good ways to begin a collection, you’ll need to strengthen the sense of connection among the pieces for them to truly work both as standalones and as integral parts of a whole. For this, two things are required. First, develop each piece to its greatest degree. Second, meld the pieces together for a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts.

Sounds good, right? So how do we create links, and where do the various styles of writing come in?

One way to create links is by repetition, for example, through characters, people, or settings that show up in more than one story. You might even have recurring motifs and interconnecting storylines or plotlines. Once you discover where the connections naturally occur, you can further develop them by using elements of your favorite writing forms. For example, if you’re writing a series of family stories, perhaps based on the holidays, you might include short recollections and images of what people wore, served for meals, or talked about in the kitchen.

Don’t feel compelled to create a clear connection between the events and the images they may evoke. Instead, you might focus on theme, for example, that one particular family member or constant guest who somehow always managed to be the centerpiece of every gathering.

To further connect your stories, consider how stories are told in the oral tradition. Such tales aren’t always told linearly or chronological order. Instead, one memory sparks another and another. Don’t worry if there’s a bit of mystery in how the stories unfold. The understanding of linked stories often comes through sensory details and the emotions they stir up.

To decide which writing form — poetry, flash fiction, new article or other — would best enhance a piece, consider what would best showcase the scenes in the piece without overshadowing them.

Last, most collections usually feature a signature story that acts as a polestar for the compilation and is often the one that sparked the rest. It rarely appears at the beginning of the collection, though it might appear at the end, as a form of tie-in for all that has come before. More often, however, the pivotal piece occurs somewhere in the second third of the compilation, where it functions as the beating heart of the work as a whole.

Whether you enjoy creating fictional pieces or stories based on fact, crafting a story collection offers an opportunity to use your favorite writing styles and experiment with those you’d like to learn better.

Happy writing!

When Absence Makes the Writing Heart Grow Fonder

Let’s face it. We’re busy people, with lives, loves, problems, any or all of which can keep us from writing. So how does one get back into what iconic Southern gothic writer Flannery O’Connor called the habit of writing? And might what we learned in the meantime even inspire us?

Whether you step away from writing for moments or decades, it can be tough to get your head back in the game. And the mind is where the proverbial rubber typically meets the road. In reality, it’s easier to leave off writing than stick with it. People do have lives, after all, families, pets, doctor appointments. We all get hungry, tired, bored, distracted. We have jobs, needs. And sometimes what we need is a break. Even when we don’t need one, we want one.

That said, I don’t necessarily believe in writer’s block, as people usually mean it: “I sat down to write and couldn’t.” If you sit down and grouse about why you can’t write, you’re cured. But you may not be cured of what many really mean by writer’s block: “I can’t write what I want, how I want.”

Another view of writer’s block is the mental jam-up that occurs when your mind churns out reason after reason not to sit down and just do it, or to stop doing it because it’s too hard. You don’t have time. Your writing is bad. You haven’t had an original idea in recent history. Your work will never go anywhere; neither will you as a writer. Even if you do write, by the time you’re good at it, everyone will have beaten you to the publisher, possibly with your very own idea. With internal diatribe like this, who could turn out another word, let alone one anyone would read?

While we agree that the return to writing isn’t easy, it is straightforward: Write anyway. No time? Write anyway, even a few notes to start. Bad writing? Write anyway. The more you write, the better you’ll become. No originality? Write anyway and revise what you write. Tired, no prospects for your work? Write anyway. You’re likely to fall back in love with it and continue. For this, the French have a saying: “Eating builds appetite.” So, too, with writing, and once you finish a piece, you can seek a home for it. From blogs to podcasts, there are more venues now than ever, and they need content, thus writers.

Even as I say this, sometimes I’m still stuck for a way to start writing. At such times, I use two basic techniques. If I’ve already written something, I edit it. If I’m trying to write something new, I write down my ideas and plans. Then I revise what I’ve written until it’s as clear as I can get it at that time. With the first method, the result is a more polished piece. With the second, I have an outline, which I can divide into sections and revise until they sound more and more like the actual piece I want to write.

As an example, I had an idea for a novel that I thought might work as a political thriller. I love this genre in film because it’s engrossing, and I usually learn something. But writing a thriller requires an airtight plot. So I called on a former mentor, a plot guru, who first had me write a three-act story treatment. From that, I wrote a 12,000-word chapter outline. If you’ve heard the adage that even a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, that’s especially true in writing. My thriller plot outline is now becoming a novel. It’s no longer a political thriller—the genre is too tightly circumscribed to work with my original story idea—but had I not gone through the plotting exercises, there’s no way I could have written the current outline, for a work of historical fiction with magical realism elements.

But what about all that time away, did I learn nothing I can use now? Sometimes stepping away from writing can yield a project of its own. If you’ve seen a film, read a book, been to a concert or visited an interesting place, you might write of the experience. You might even find a venue to publish what you’ve written. If your time off from writing didn’t yield an experience you want to share, the break can still be beneficial by sheer dint of having been rest.

If getting back into the grove after all this still seems too much, remember the old Nike slogan: Just do it.

New "Jackie O." Poetry Chapbook by McEntee Explores "Compression" Writing

Writer, poet and teacher Jessica Noyes McEntee explores “compression” and other writing techniques in her new poetry chapbook, Jackie O. Suffers Two Husbands and Other Poems, from Finishing Line Press. Here she answers questions about the project.

What prompted you to put together the chapbook?

I put the chapbook together for the 2018 New Women's Voices contest held by Finishing Line Press. I didn't place, but they said they wanted to publish me. I found this really amusing and surprising (I wasn't good enough for the contest yet I was good enough to be published!), and then I figured I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. The poems represent a smattering of my work from a particular period, as opposed to a collection centered on a theme.

How does your approach to poetry differ from your approach to fiction?
I felt my prose was becoming too verbose and that I was straying from specificity. Then I read that one of my favorite authors, Jenny Offill, had studied poetry for ten years while writing Dept. of Speculation. I started out writing the poems to learn compression, the poetic device of saying exactly what you mean with high-energy words that pull their weight and other editorial techniques — I was like a parasite trying to suck my host dry so I could move back onto my larger prey of fiction. Soon, I found I quite liked poetry itself. In contrast to writing a novel, a multi-month if not multiyear endeavor, I could generate a poem and hone it within a few weeks. I fell into a pattern of writing poetry during the fallow periods in between writing novels. I don't typically write both at the same time.

What main challenge did you encounter in creating and/or completing the poetry and chapbook, and how did you overcome it?
As someone who's really quite new to the genre — I had studied a bit of poetry in college and beyond, mostly Elizabeth Bishop and Gwendolyn Brooks – I'm still refining my ear. I don't totally trust my instincts yet so I remind myself to embrace this sense of uncertainty. I'm not really tied to the idea of myself as a poet, but I think this frees me to experiment. I'm grateful for my poetry teacher, Charles Rafferty, who leads a fantastic class out of Westport Writers' Workshop, and for my classmates, who are all wonderfully encouraging of each other. The workshop is hardly a staid atmosphere; we laugh a lot and goof around with language.

What primary writing lesson did you learn while creating the project?
In my experience, a lot of playfulness goes into writing the initial drafts of a poem so I try not to get too tied to an idea of what the poem “has” to be. As my writing process evolves, I have to become more and more definite about what I'm trying to say, giving great attention to my selection of each individual word. Unlike prose, a poem demands a lean precision. I have to root out anything that doesn't pull its weight. I suppose all of this happens with generating prose, too, although with poetry you're working on a more granular level. 

What would you like to add that you feel is important for other writers to know?
Because the genre of poetry is so distilled, I think great poets demonstrate the power of consistent voice and style. A short list of contemporary poets I'd recommend for total newbies are Ada Limon, Jenny Xie, Meghan O'Rourke, Billy Collins, Stephen Dunn.

For the chapbook by Jessica McEntee visit, Jackie O. Suffers Two Husbands and Other Poems.

A graduate of from Amherst College, Jessica Noyes McEntee worked as an editor at John Wiley & Sons and taught at St. Ann’s School in Brooklyn Heights, NY. She currently teaches fiction at the Westport Writers’ Workshop in Connecticut, and her work has appeared in Ragazine. Her poetry chapbook, Jackie O. Suffers Two Husbands and Other Poems will be published in June 2019 by Finishing Line Press, and she won an honorable mention in the 2019 Third Wednesday poetry contest judged by Robert Fanning. For more on McEntee, visit her at Jessica McEntee.

For more on the workshops, go to Westport Writers’ Workshop.