Thursday, May 18, 2017

Editor's Notes #32: Inner Dialogue & How to Punctuate Thoughts

Punctuating dialogue has so many rules, depending on whether there are dialogue tags, split sentences, spoken words, or internal thoughts. Most of the rules are hard and fast, but there can be a little bit of flexibility when necessary.

As with any guidelines that allow for exceptions, the key is to be consistent. There's nothing more confusing than a lack of consistency, and nothing that will turn your readers off more quickly by pulling them out of a story.

My partner in crime, S.K. Anthony, covered all the how-tos of punctuating spoken dialogue in her article "How to Correctly Punctuate Dialogue for Novels" (aptly named, eh?), so if you'd like to know how to . . . um . . . correctly punctuate dialogue for novels . . . then pop over to Writers After Dark and read all about it. As for me, I'm going to tell you what to do if the dialogue is all in your character's head.

So here are the basics, and the POV you're writing from can help you decide which is best for you with relative ease:

Most people will write a character's thoughts in italics, either with or without a dialogue tag. It makes sense because the italics set off a visual cue in the reader's mind that we're hearing thoughts, not spoken words. The sample using omniscient POV uses a dialogue tag, since the reader needs to know who's doing the thinking, and the omniscient point of view gives you a little bit of everyone while keeping the author as the dominant voice.
I don't understand, Lynda thought as she looked around the kitchen in a panic. Why would Kat have eaten all my brownies without telling me? And to think I was going to surprise her with them for breakfast! 
Kat walked in, empty coffee cup in hand. "Heyyy, 'sup? Any of those brownies left for breakfast?"
You don't need the dialogue tag for regular third-person POV, since it will be clear who's speaking and whose thoughts are happening.
"G'morning." Kat yawned, holding out an empty coffee cup and glancing around the kitchen. "Any brownies left? I couldn't stop thinking about them last night."
Like you don't know. Unless you're a sleepwalker . . . and a sleep-eater. "Well, I was going to ask you the same thing." 

You could also do this exact exchange with no italics, and it would still be clear because of the POV. All it needs are a few tweaks in the verb tense.
"G'morning." Kat yawned, holding out an empty coffee cup and glancing around the kitchen. "Any brownies left? I couldn't stop thinking about them last night."
Lynda looked as baffled as she felt. Like Kat didn't know. Unless she was a sleepwalker . . . and a sleep-eater. "Well, I was going to ask you the same thing." 
There's an additional complication, though, in certain instances when characters communicate telepathically. In Alex Cavanaugh's CassaSeries (CassaDawn, CassaStar, CassaFire, CassaStorm) the Cassans have the ability to communicate this way. Cavanaugh does a nice job of differentiating the types of thoughts. If a character is simply in his own head, then there are no italics or dialogue tags. If two characters are sharing thoughts with each other, italics come into play.

Two important things to remember:

  1. NEVER use quotation marks for internal dialogue of any type. They're reserved exclusively for spoken words and will only confuse the reader if you add them anywhere else.
  2. Be consistent, whether you're using italics with a tag, italics without a tag, no italics and no tag, or a mixture as in the book series mentioned above.
So what do you think, folks? Did you learn anything today? Did you already know it? It's entirely possible that you just don't care, because you're never going to use ANY dialogue in your book—and I would love to read a book that used only clicks, grunts, shrugs, eyebrow raises and elbow nudges to communicate, don't get me wrong—but I doubt any of you currently have that as your WIP. 

I hope.





Thursday, May 4, 2017

What's Your (Tag)Line?

                tagline


noun \ˈtag-ˌlīn\

Definition of tagline

  1. 1:  a final line (as in a play or joke); especially :  one that serves to clarify a point or create a dramatic effect

Have you ever had an "off" season? A terrible month, or—worse yet—a terrible year?

Those are the times when you need your friends the most. But you're kind of screwed if they're also going through an awful time . . . unless your friend is S.K. Anthony. Then your friend comes up with a tagline you both can live with until saner times prevail. And yes, the following screenshot is typical of our conversations. Off-the-cuff genius, says I.


So far, 2017 has not proved itself to be our friend. We've complained, we've laughed, we've cried, and we've gotten belligerent about it. But somehow, having a tagline/punchline to perfectly sum up the joke that passes for each of our lives right now has brought the humor back to where it should be. There's something to be said about being able to laugh at something so awful that it borders on the ridiculous. That, I think, is a superpower unique to certain individuals, and I'm glad I'm one of them. It doesn't make the garbage go away, but it reminds me that someday I will look back at this bump in the road—and maybe not laugh, but at least realize it didn't kill me.

What would be your perfect tagline? Whether you're going through a good season or a bad one, do you have a one-liner that would perfectly sum things up for you? I'd love to hear it. And if you don't have one, I have this really creative friend who pops 'em out like Pez from a dispenser.

Thursday, April 20, 2017

Editor's Notes #31: My Role as the Enforcer


For those of you who have editors you love (or at least love the quality of their work): how much control do you give them over your manuscript?

I find myself with a multitude of "control levels" when I edit, depending on the author. I tend to be rather tentative when working with an author for the first time, for a number of reasons. I think part of it is that I don't want to scare anyone before they get to know me. I believe (and please correct me if I'm wrong) that most authors are a tiny bit possessive of the manuscripts they've worked so hard to polish. By the time they give it to an editor, they're about as ready as they can be, but they're probably apprehensive of what the editor will tell them. [Love it? Hate it? No affirming comments whatsoever? And what does that mean?] 

My job is to correct what's wrong, yes. But my job is tricky, because I need to do these corrections in such a way that I don't break anyone's spirit or cause discouragement. Make no mistake: there are some things that are black-and-white wrong or right, and those things need to change no matter what else happens. But there are other items that often need attention, and tact is the name of the game.

When I'm working with someone new, I tend to leave a lot of margin comments. Sometimes I do this to explain why I've changed something—such as when there's a common error that "everyone" assumes to be correct, or there's a situation where I appear to be inconsistent but am actually correct. For example, the average reader isn't aware that the word after a colon isn't usually capitalized unless what follows the colon is a question. There are, of course, exceptions, as there always seem to be, but that's the basic rule. So if I have a capped word after a colon in one spot but not in another, the author may think I have no idea what I'm doing. Many authors do know this particular rule—but just in case, I figure it's better to be safe than sorry, so I'll add a margin note to explain the edit.

My basic premise when editing (and I tell people this up front) is that I correct and approve all changes that are nonnegotiable. I'm not going to take the chance that someone will either a.) undo everything I've worked on by hitting the wrong button, or b.) think that proper punctuation is optional and only a suggestion.

I once edited someone's short short (nonfiction) story about her husband's descent into Alzheimer's-induced dementia, and each time she sent the paper back to me, all the changes I'd made were gone. Now, I need to clarify that she was not a paying client—just a friend—and is an elderly lady who admittedly was "just dumb sometimes" (her words) when it came to word processing programs. I must have edited that thing six times for every one time the changes stayed put. She kept saying things like, "I thought I'd mentioned that I wanted to add such and such," and "What happened to the section on so and so?" and I would point out that I'd already added such and such, and the section on so and so was right where we'd left it. In my copy, that is.

Lesson learned. I ended up making all the corrections one final time, approved every dang one of them, relabeled the document, and sent it to her with strict instructions to DELETE every other copy she had in her possession. I told her I still had her original if she needed it, but that the final copy with all the corrections was the only one she needed to keep and/or read through. It was frustrating and funny at the same time, because she was obviously not an experienced writer and couldn't figure out what she was doing wrong.

My tentative attitude goes away bit by bit as I work with an author more often. Those authors I've worked with multiple times trust my judgment on what needs to move along and what can stay, and it makes my job easier with each subsequent book.

Each author has his or her own preference, though, and I will abide by their wishes if the reasoning makes sense. Otherwise, I will of course tell them why they are wrong and need to obey listen to me. S.K. Anthony is a classic example of someone I trust completely when it comes to doing the right thing. She trusts that I know what I'm doing, but she wants to approve all changes herself (even the nonnegotiables) because she uses the read-through as a teaching tool. Her theory runs along these lines: if she has to approve every change, one by one, then she will know what she did wrong for next time, and there will be fewer errors. She also describes herself as a control freak when it comes to her manuscripts, and though I won't argue with that (there really is no winning an argument with her), she is a lovable control freak so I go with it and she approves all changes.

Other authors run the gamut from "this is what I pay you for and if you do it wrong, your name is on the editing credits for people to blame" (fair enough) to "we've worked on enough books that I trust your judgment even on the subjective stuff; just do it and I'll be fine with it." The cool thing about the latter sentiment is that the author gets back a pretty clean-looking manuscript and has the ego-boost moment of "hey, there weren't many changes to be made . . . I rock." Of course I'm always quick to wipe the (fake) sweat off my brow and talk about how hard I worked to make it look that clean.

Overall, the important part is to have an ongoing communication between an author and me so we're all clear on what responsibilities fall on which side of the table.

What is your preference?

Thursday, April 6, 2017

Editor's Notes #30: A Question of Random Capitalization


One of the things that stands out to me whether I'm reading for edits or reading for pleasure is the misuse of capitalization. It reminds me of handwritten letters from previous centuries and their Randomly Capitalized words of Importance. In fact, the US's own Declaration of Independence is full of them.

As I puzzled over this, and—more importantly—researched it, I discovered that the German language capitalizes their nouns. Not just proper nouns (those words which describe a specific person, place, or thing) but all the nouns. Trust me, it's a thing.

Because Johannes Gutenberg (inventor of the printing press in Europe, circa 1440) was German, this was undoubtedly his practice when using his shiny new press to produce any number of papers for distribution. As more and more people became literate, this capitalization habit was already commonplace.

In the English language (as in most other languages), nouns are only capitalized if they're indicating something specific. In older writings, people would capitalize words they deemed important—to heighten emphasis or simply for dramatic effect. These days, we can show where to put the oomph in our words with italics, or hit the bold key for the force we need, but back in the day, they used capital letters. It's all they had, the poor dears.

The problem I find these days is not a matter of emphasis, but rather a matter of not knowing. When people capitalize things like "I saw the King waving from the castle balcony," more often than not it's because they assume the word king should be capitalized because he's someone important. Of course, if it's Elvis waving from the balcony, then yes, capitalize it, because the King is one of his names rather than an official title. Also, have your eyes checked, because he really is dead and shouldn't be up on a balcony at all.

There is much confusion when it comes to titles of all types, whether religious, civil, academic, sovereigns, or military. Because I've edited a good number of books with characters in the military, and a handful that include royalty, I feel I'm fairly well versed on the yeses and nos. Here are but a few to keep in mind, most of them directly from my beloved Chicago Manual of Style:

  • Civil titles
    • the president; George Washington, first president of the United States; President George Washington
    • the chief judge; Timothy C. Evans, chief judge; Judge Evans
  • Titles of sovereigns and other rulers (Most titles of sovereigns and other rulers are lowercase when used alone.)
    • Nero, emperor of Rome; the Roman emperor; Emperor Nero
    • the king; King Abdullah II; the king of Jordan
  • Military titles (These vary, depending on where they are. Military titles are routinely capitalized in the literature of the organization or government with which they are associated. Nonetheless, in formal academic prose, most such titles are capitalized only when used as part of a person's name.)
    • the general; General Ulysses S. Grant, commander in chief of the Union army; General Grant; the commander in chief
    • the captain; Captain James T. Kirk, commander of the Starship Enterprise
  • Religious titles 
    • the pope; Pope Leo X; the papacy; papal
    • the archbishop; the archbishop of Canterbury; Archbishop Williams
    • the Dalai Lama is traditionally capitalized, but previous dalai lamas are not
Something I run across with regularity is the title commander in chief. Most people want to capitalize it because, of course, the guy is in command of important stuff. Many people also want to hyphenate it, and I'm not sure where they get that idea but they need to get rid of it. No hyphens and no caps. (I had a beta reader once tell me, "It seems to me that it should be this way." I replied to him that it seemed to me that the actual written rules on this were the way it should be.) 

One of the first things I do when editing a book with military or medical titles is to do a find/replace for doctor, captain, lieutenant, sergeant (often misspelled "sargent"), commander, ambassador, and the like—and there are usually a lot of replacements. When referring to a captain or a doctor and not addressing that person directly, no caps are needed. However, if your character says, "Well, Captain, I've blown out our last remaining engine," then the word captain requires a capital letter because it's a substitute for the captain's name. The rule is pretty consistent for most titles.

If you are prone to randomly capitalizing words in your sentences, you may find yourself and your own reasons somewhere on this terrific list I found on The Straight Dope, where their motto is "FIGHTING IGNORANCE SINCE 1973 (it's taking longer than we thought)." I don't need to know where you fall on the list; the important thing is to learn from it.

And here's one final gem for fun or the development of a permanent twitch: a sign that not only showcases random capital letters, but random punctuation, a misplaced apostrophe and an unexplained lighter ink color for the most important part of the sign: WHAT is closed for repair? 


*For those who care: the best explanation I found for the capitalization of nouns in the German language was on Quora from July 21, 2012, in an answer written by a German exchange student. I'll just give you the link, rather than take the space here. Cool stuff.




Thursday, March 23, 2017

Editor's Notes #29: Apostrophes v. Plurals




I think apostrophe placement is sort of like spelling: you either have the gift of it or you don't. This is not to say it can't be learned, but let's face facts and say that most people who don't "have it" will probably struggle their entire lives with whether or not to use one—and if so, how.

Here's the basic rule:
The apostrophe's primary job is to form a possessive
or
to stand for missing letters in a contraction.
Why do so many people get it wrong?

I firmly believe—and this is based on zero scientific evidence, mind you, but you are likely to agree with me here—people who misuse apostrophes figure they're going to add a little flair to their words to . . . "fancy it up," so to speak, in the same way some try to speak more formally by using the word "I" instead of "me" in their sentences, regardless of whether it's correct or not. This usually results in such conversation as, "It's been a splendid time in Paris for her and I." The written equivalent for these fancified people would be something like We drank many fine wine's and went on numerous tour's.

While looking up information on this phenomenon, I saw it mentioned as the "greengrocer's apostrophe" more than once. (Picture BANANA'S on sale.) Perhaps grocery stores are the ones who made the error commonplace for so many others, because many people are under the assumption that any printing posted for public use is automatically correct. Many of us can attest to this being false as we look around our cities and towns and shake our heads in dismay. My city, in fact, has a bar which advertises itself as YOU'RE NUMBER ONE NIGHT SPOT, right up there on an expensive, lighted sign for all to see. Well, I'm flattered, but I was unaware that I was the number one night spot. Don't tell my husband.

We can't base our apostrophe use on things like "I think it looks good" or "it seems to me that I've seen it this way" when we should be weighing in with the "because it's correct" factor. There are hard and fast rules that need to be followed.

  • When forming a possessive, the apostrophe goes at the end of a noun, followed by the letter "s":
    • The girl's coat fell to the floor. [One girl, one coat.]
  • If the possessive is a plural noun, the apostrophe goes after the "s":
    • The girls' coats fell to the floor. [More than one girl, more than one coat. Notice that "coats" is a plural and has no apostrophe.]
  • When forming a contraction, the apostrophe takes the place of the missing letters:
    • The girl's coat's dirty from falling on the floor. [One girl, one coat, and the apostrophe is used in the contraction for "coat is" dirty.]
  • Or how about this?
    • The girls' coats' mud was falling off in clumps. [This is a ridiculous sentence, although it is technically correct. More than one girl, more than one coat, and the mud that belongs to the coat. You're best off rephrasing the entire thing for clarity.]
  • Never use an apostrophe for a plural, especially when dealing with abbreviations or numbers:
    • The 1920s were a roaring good time for all. [All the years included in that decade.]
    • There were so many CDs to choose from and only so much cash in his wallet. [It bears noting that Blogger keeps trying to force me to put an apostrophe here, much in the same way MS Word will "correct" your grammar to the point of gibberish. But that's for a future post.]
  • Feel free to use an apostrophe with numbers or abbreviations if they're possessive:
    • The DJ's speakers had too much high end, making them painful to listen to. [The speakers belonging to the DJ.]
    • I have to say, 1987's recording artists were a mixed lot. [The recording artists "belonging to" the year 1987.]
  • Also feel free to use an apostrophe with numbers or abbreviations if they're part of a contraction:
    • The DMV's known for taking some awful photos. [Used here for "DMV is."]
    • Overall, 1989's a year I'll never forget. [Used here for "1989 is."]
  • There are some tricky areas, though, and here's where a nice, thick Chicago Manual of Style comes in handy:
    • No apostrophe is needed in the word "how-tos," even though, once again, Blogger and MS Word will try to tell you otherwise.
    • No apostrophe is needed in the phrase "dos and don'ts" other than the apostrophe in the contraction for "do not."
    • No apostrophe is needed for "ins and outs" and other similar phrases.
  • Aaaaaaaannnnnd it would not be the English language if there were not exceptions to the rule that seem completely in opposition, such as this gem:
    • It's = it is. Simple enough, because it's a contraction. But . . . 
    • Its = the possessive form of "it." A possessive which does NOT use an apostrophe, which seems to fly in the face of all we've been talking about. Just memorize it and you'll be fine.

Use these examples the next time you're in need of a little help when using apostrophes and plurals, and anyone who reads your writing (including your editor) will mentally shoot you some instant credibility for your diligent work—and a huge "thank you."

Happy writing!


Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Editor's Notes #28: Parentheses in Fiction: Do They Break the Fourth Wall?


Breaking the fourth wall: this stems from a theatrical term. The "fourth wall" is where the audience sits—they're basically looking "through" it when viewing a traditional stage with three sides. If an actor spoke a line directly to the audience, he broke the wall, removing that separation.
I think one of the toughest things for a writer must be finding a way to say everything he wants to say while keeping the reader entertained and not bored or overwhelmed.

Sometimes, however, an author needs to pop just a bit more information into the narrative here and there, and there's some disagreement as to the best method of doing this. The one I'm going to focus on today deals with a character's thoughts.

In a first-person POV, every so often I come across a writer who uses parentheses in the thought process, and I've got to tell you, it bugs the crap out of me.
I didn't understand. All my brownies were gone, and Kat was the only person who'd been in my kitchen. (I'd known her for years and couldn't imagine her doing something so unthinkable.)
Why are there parentheses in the first place? This is not really any different from the rest of the thought, and it follows through with the "why" of my confusion about the brownies.

I've also seen things like this:
He saw the officer coming toward him, and recognized his old friend, Jim, from military school. "How in the world are you, buddy?" (He remembered spending holidays with Jim and his wife, going to his children's birthday parties, standing by him during loss, and more. They'd had too many adventures to count, lost track of each other over the years, and now here he was, assigned to the same base.)
In the above situation, by the time the "buddy" responded with "Not so bad," I'd already forgotten what the answer was in reference to and had to reread. And what about this?
I knew I had to check the basement to find the source of the awful stench. (I had noticed the smell days before and had tried to pretend it wasn't there. Why did I buy this haunted house, anyway? And what made me think I could avoid the basement for the rest of my life?)
More often than not, using parentheses for thoughts in a novel can be a negative experience for the reader. It's almost like the author is physically tapping you on the shoulder, saying, "Oh, and I forgot to mention this, but . . ."

Parentheses can have a more "formal" feel to them, whereas an em dash—most writers' favorite form of aside—is slightly informal in nature. Em dashes feel more like when you're talking to a friend . . . let's say an Italian friend . . . and she can't quite stay on track because she feels the need to add the odd detail here and there. Not bad, because you can still follow the story. But parentheses remind me of when someone puts a hand to the side of his mouth and whispers, "She's completely crazy, you know," while talking loudly in positive tones.

Breaking the fourth wall can be jarring, a reminder that you're reading and thus a pulling from story immersion . . . unless you're a character in Jasper Fforde's The Eyre Affair or any of his Tuesday Next novels—in which case, the characters are fully aware that they're characters in a book but they need to keep living their lives anyway. In his case, though, that's the way the story is designed, so it's more a whimsical tool rather than a diversion, cleverly done and entertaining.

In Fix Your Damn Book! How to Painlessly Self-Edit Your Novels and Stories by James Osiris Baldwin, his view is clear:
"Brackets/parentheses should be avoided as much as possible in fiction. You can get away with it in some kinds of novels (expository, experimental, some first-person point-of-view books), but they tend to annoy readers and editors if used too often or at all. You especially should never use them during dialogue unless you're planning to break the fourth wall. Replace them with commas or em dashes. Brackets in non-fiction are fine (within reason)."
Brackets (parentheses as they are known more commonly in the US) are found more often in business documents, so that might contribute to the overall feel of wrongness in fiction. A happy skimming of the Chicago Manual of Style can give you a good idea of how many things are great in technical manuals or propaganda, but NOT okay in fiction writing. Parentheses rank right up there.

As I was working on this blog post, in fact, my hubby, who has read G.R.R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series multiple times, showed me a passage he just happened to be reading in the third book, A Storm of Swords, and said, "Doesn't this look weird to you? Why are these even here?" and he pointed to this:
Then came some strolling pipers and clever dogs and sword swallowers with buttered peas, chopped nuts, and slivers of swan poached in a sauce of saffron and peaches. ("Not swan again," Tyrion muttered, remembering his supper with his sister on the eve of battle.) A juggler kept a half-dozen swords and axes whirling through the air as skewers of blood sausages were brought sizzling to the tables, a juxtaposition that Tyrion thought passing clever, though not perhaps in the best of taste.
Is it just me, or did any of you also picture Tyrion looking away from the feast and directly into a camera (or the reader's eyes) and saying that line? That one line in parentheses pulled me away from saffron and peaches and feasting, and it took more than a few lines to get me back to the story, rather than my awareness of the writing.

One person describes it as such: parentheses "joggle" in the same way footnotes "joggle," like someone bumping your elbow to get your attention; it's also described by others as "intrusive" and "jarring." Who wants their writing to be intrusive and jarring?

The answer is: no one. Authors want to keep their readers engaged and lost in the world they created. Period.

Monday, March 13, 2017

Come and Visit Me Somewhere Else Today!



Hi, everyone!

My friends at Writers After Dark asked me to do a guest spot this week, so you can find my real blog post over there today.

It's called "Parentheses in Fiction: Do They Break the Fourth Wall?"

Some pretty exciting stuff, eh? I live a wild life.

I'll be putting the post up here on Wednesday so I have it in my own archives, but for the first couple days, I'd like to give them the blog traffic. If you've never visited Writers After Dark, you're missing out on a great resource for authors. There are terrific how-tos, there's news, and there are videos from our two wonderful co-hosts, authors Raymond Esposito and S.K. Anthony.

Show them some love today, and then don't forget to come back here in a couple days to read the exact same article all over again, pretend you've never seen it before, and leave me comments so I don't feel lonely and ignored.

Thanks, everybody!

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Do I Have to Love a Genre to Edit It?

As a reader, I can choose whatever book strikes my fancy, and if I don't like it once I've gotten part way into it, I can simply stop reading it.

As an editor, the "put it down" option is nowhere to be found. If I take on a job, I finish it. That's what I'm hired to do. So there's the question: Do I have to love a genre to edit it?

The answer is a big fat NOPE.

I've edited a decent number of books from a decent number of authors, and it goes without saying that those authors don't all write at the same level of skill. If a book isn't ready for edits (major issues), then that's one thing, but if a book is ready and I take on the job, it's now a matter of accepting that the writing level is either good or waaay good. Genre really doesn't factor in.

[I should clarify: genre is only a factor if someone asks me to edit erotica. I'm no prude, but I don't think editing erotica is compatible with my job as assistant to the worship leader at a large church. Call me crazy if you must, but I'm pretty sure I'm right.]

Anyway, I've found that, regardless of my typical reading preferences, the genre of a book I'm editing doesn't matter in the big scheme of things. I've been pleasantly surprised at how much I've enjoyed certain books I wouldn't think to pick up for pleasure reading. Now that my kids are no longer of the age where I sit down to read to them—and we did read aloud to them well into their teen years as a nighttime thing so we could all enjoy a good book at the same time—I rarely pick up juvenile fiction, or even young adult fiction, and yet I enjoy editing those books when they come my way. Part of it is, I think, that it reminds me of how much discovery is out there for kids who read, and part of it is that I've just worked with good writers who tell an entertaining story.

The one thing I have to be cautious about (and I don't think I actually do this, but it's always good to be alert) is to not change an author's voice while editing something I'm not really enjoying. A few years ago, I agreed to beta a novel for someone who approached me through Goodreads. I was between edits at the time and thought it would be nice to do a new author a favor. The book was science fiction, which I love, so I thought it would be enjoyable.

Silly me. The book was not enjoyable. It was a confusing read, because it was full of time travel and the dialogue was written in the present and future tense at the same time . . . and it took me a long time to get into the flow of it enough to read without constantly rereading. It also pushed an agenda, which I do NOT like in works of fiction, even when it's a viewpoint I might agree with. It was super lengthy, too, and was only the first part in a ten-part series, from what I gathered.

The bottom line: even though I was beta-reading this and not really editing per se, I had to be careful to not let my (lack of) enjoyment cloud my judgment of whether the book was ready to publish. The book was written skillfully, and the author did a heck of a job self-editing (which I would never recommend to anyone as a general rule). Though there were many things I would have wanted to change, it was just fine the way it was. I felt like a huge success just by being able to give a neutral opinion when I did my report.

It may be difficult, but editing should not be a matter of opinion. I try to think of it like a doctor thinks of his/her patients. Wouldn't you always want to deal with the pleasant people who are fit and attractive? Or be the dentist whose patients all have great teeth?

Editing is like that in many ways. The manuscript is the sum of its parts, and it's my job to make sure all the parts are in the condition they're supposed to be in so the whole is at its best. It's not my job to judge whether the parts are attractive to me personally, because those same parts, when put together as a whole, will be attractive to someone else.

Thursday, February 9, 2017

Editor's Notes #27: Hooked On a Feeling

Writing fiction is all about plucking at people's emotional strings, whether you're aiming for tender feelings, indignation, laughter, fear, or any number of the bajillions of things that encompass the spectrum of emotions.

How do you get people to feel what you want them to feel? I've gotten steaming mad at a character's stupidity or self-centeredness. I've also laughed along with a protagonist who happens to be a serial killer. [Only semi-related side note: if you've never read anything by Tim Dorsey, you're missing out on an absolutely entertaining killer named Serge and his sidekick, Coleman, as they enjoy everything Florida has to offer. "Quirky" is not quite the word for it. I came across the "why dead people show up in later books" section of Dorsey's site, and couldn't believe how many more books he's released since I last picked one of his off the library shelves. And now, back to our regularly scheduled program . . .]

The classic "show, don't tell" is one way of getting those emotions across. Think about it: if you're telling someone about a traumatic event that happened to you, they're going to respond in a completely different way depending on whether you're listing "this happened, and then this happened," or whether you're trembling and fighting back tears as you struggle to choke out the words. Why would writing a scene be any different? Show how a character is physically dealing with things, and you're on your way.

With a sympathetic character, you can create a sort of bond between the character and the reader, so there's a bit of investment there. This can be brought about in a funny way, like how you just can't help but root for Tuck Watley (Tuck Watley: Freedom Fighter Fighter by Brandon Meyers and Bryan Pedas) because he's just so . . . well, he's indescribable, but trust me, you're rooting for him for the sheer entertainment value. Or you can root for the underdog who's been screwed over way too many times, because everyone's been treated or judged unfairly at least once in their life. Or maybe you can even root for Nick or Kevin from S.K. Anthony's series, The Luminaries, because they're incredibly sexy, yet intelligent good guys who are also some of the baddest guys around. Whatever tugs at you will pull you in if it's done well.

You could also create a character who is NOT sympathetic, and make the reader hate him. The emotion is still a strong one, and they'll not forget him easily. However, take care to not make him unlikable in every way—I edited a book once where a character was such an absolute jerk that I couldn't stand him . . . and he was supposed to be one of the protagonists. I ended up telling the author that I didn't even care what happened to him and would not want to keep reading if I had bought the book. Fun fact: turns out this particular author (who I knew was actually a skilled writer) had cowritten that particular book and was not happy with the other person's contributions (that awful character being one of them). All that was needed was a neutral voice (mine) to allow the author the necessary backup to break ties with the other writer and redo the book completely.

Letting your emotions into the writing can be an odd thing. If your character is insane, I'd imagine it's a tough call for exactly how crazy to write him. Will people think he's over-the-top freaky? Will they think you're like that in real life, and that's how you write crazy so well? Will they think you're wimpy if you're a guy who writes a really tender scene? Do writers even care if anyone thinks they're writing from experience? I need to know these things.

Have you ever written anything really strange and wondered what someone would think of YOU after reading it, even though it was fiction?

Thursday, January 26, 2017

Can You See It?


When I read, one of the things I take for granted is that I can picture what's happening in the book as easily as if I were actually watching the action in front of me. Some writers make that experience richer than others, adding texture galore that rounds out the feel of things.

The ability to "see" what I'm reading is a perk for me, although it can backfire at times when a movie is made, and I'm irritated that something is "not how I pictured it at all." Of course, with books nearly always being better than their movies, I just tell myself I'm right and the movie director is horribly wrong.

A friend of mine who's an avid reader has always said, "I guess I must have no imagination, because I can never picture how anything is supposed to look when I read a book." When Fellowship of the Ring was made into a movie, I remember saying something about how so many scenes were even better than I'd pictured, and she stated that she loved seeing it because she hadn't been able to imagine any of it.

Turns out she's not lacking in imagination, or comprehension, or anything else. She simply suffers from a condition called aphantasia, the inability to conjure up visual imagery.

Doctors and scientists are only recently discovering how this works—or doesn't work—in the brain. Aphantasia may affect up to one in fifty people, so it's certainly more common than you'd think. Those who suffer from it are often unaware that most people can easily do what seems impossible for them.

As a reader, a person can compensate by focusing on the facts and descriptions of a character or a scene, even if that person can't conjure it up visually.

But what if you're an author? If your mind's eye is essentially blind, are you able to write scenes that will move your audience? Can you add the elements that stimulate all five senses in a way that's vivid enough?

Ever since I read about this a year or so ago, I've wondered if there are, indeed, authors who suffer from this, and if that's why some writers can take a scene over the top while others fall flat. Perhaps it's not immature writing or lack of skill, per se, but simply a lack of ability to see it as they write.

What do you think? When you write, do you picture the scene and write what you're seeing in your mind, or do you write the action and then go back and fill in the details? I'm curious.