Who cares what the chair is called?

A few months ago, I found myself in a conversation with other editors about a description that was given to a particular type of chair, asking whether people would actually know what a writer was referring to if they just used the name of the chair. There was a photo posted with the original post of some rusted chair that glided back and forth. You should have seen the comments that went back and forth about locality and age of editors. It was mad. Then I piped in, looking at the sample writing that was provided in the original post and the clunky description that was given to the chair.

In my comments, I provided a potential rework to the passage to smooth out the sentence flow and highlight the significance of the chair itself, but in my rework I had changed the name of the chair from glider to rocker. OMG, I was lynched, because apparently there is a big difference between a glider and a rocker.

My response to the lynch mob: Who cares what the chair is actually called? What matters is why the character is noticing it in the first place. (I think I actually wrote that on the forums too.) What is the significance of this chair, whatever it was called, to the plot?

MacGuffin: A Literary Term Defined

How many times have you been in a conversation with fellow writers and they have spouted off some term that you had never heard of before? And how many times have those around you nodded their heads, like they've heard it all before, making you feel even worse for not knowing the term?

Well, this particular feeling happens to me all the time. And you know what: it doesn't make me any less of a writer for not knowing the terms. In fact, like today's literary term, most of those random words are insignificant, but today's term is doubly so.

A MacGuffin (also written McGuffin) is an object or goal sought by the characters of a story, keeping the plot moving forward, though the object itself lacks intrinsic importance.

Should you read Stephen King’s On Writing?

Among the resources page of this website, I have a list of books that I highly recommend to writers to read. Some are craft books, focusing on certain aspects of crafting fiction. Some are just resource materials that can help bring some realism into our stories. Others are "How To" books, associated with non-writing related topics that writers still need to get their heads around.

On the main page for my recommended books list, I highlight that the list is far from exhaustive, inviting others to send me book suggestions for the list that I need to investigate further. However, I also mention that if I honestly don't believe that the book is suitable for writers of all levels, then the book will not make the list.

For the longest time, I was resistant to include one book in particular on the list. There were some who bounced up and down, saying that it's the best book ever about writing. (Okay, maybe they don't use those exact words, but they'll use something similar.) But in my opinion, it was a book that was often given too much credit and viewed out of context. I'm talking about, in particular, On Writing by Stephen King.

There’s an Art to Providing Feedback

Over the last two weeks, we've been talking about feedback: how to handle feedback and how one might go about finding critique partners. But there is another aspect to this equation that also needs to be covered. I'm talking about the act of actually providing feedback to other writers.

It's all great to be given feedback, but when the tables are turned, you'll be asked to give feedback too. However, providing feedback is more than saying what it is you do and don't like about a piece. It's about more than just pointing out the grammatical errors. And there is a trick to providing that feedback, so you can stay true to yourself while providing honest, useful feedback, but avoid crushing the souls of other writers.

So, let's get started.

Critique Partner Dating

Working with critique partners and beta readers is an important part of the editing process. These are people who are looking at your manuscripts when you have become too close to them and help you identify the weak areas. There are differences between critique partners and beta readers, each having a different focus and coming in a different stages of editing.

Your critique partners tend to be involved during the early stages of editing, looking at a story's development. As such, their purpose it to help you identify weak areas of your manuscript, where the writing itself needs to develop or you need to look more into the nitty-gritty of your subject matter.

A beta reader, on the other hand, looks at the full manuscript and is there to provide you with those reader reactions. You can even employ a special breed of beta reader known as a sensitivity reader, who is one who focuses on the way in which you handled the subject matter.

Understanding what these two different types of readers do is one thing. Finding them is something entirely different.

Handling Feedback

The Real Costs of Editing. Here we go again!

Within my various editing groups, there seems to be a common complaint among editors, and it revolves around the issue of appropriate rates to charge. We editors seem to be in this "damned if we do, damned if we don't" position.

Most of us encounter those who look at our quoted rates and balk at the price — but as one said to me the other day, it's not necessarily the people we think either. (She sent out two quotes the week before, with the same rate quoted: one to a lawyer and the other to a retired gentleman. It was the lawyer who complained about the cost. The retired gentleman smiled as he paid the bill.) The flip side of this coin is that some look at our rates and compare it to the rates offered by others, and go, "Oh, you mustn't be very good. You're not charging anywhere near enough for what you say you do."

What are we editors to do?

Most of us encounter the former type of writer more than anything. Let's face it, there's this inherent nature that people have to be stingy with their finances, complaining that they can't get something for free. There's not a lot I can do about the second category, but with the first, I can educate writers about what it is they really face when working with freelance editors.

The publisher wants double hyphens & triple dots…

Recently, I found myself in a Facebook conversation about ellipses and em-dashes. There was a whole thread about spaces or no spaces and the merits of each, along with the side effects associated with different practices and typesetting issues.

The original question was with regards to Scrivener and the way it handles ellipses. Obviously, this is something that I can comment on as a regular user of Scrivener. So, I piped in.

Within Scrivener, you can convert ellipses into triple dots at the time of compile, just like you can convert em-dashes into double hyphens.

My comment was a bit longer than that (just a tad), but it sparked another thread of conversation.

“Why would you ever want to convert em-dashes to double hyphens?”

My answer: “Some publishers require it.”

What Exactly is VOICE? A Literary Term Defined

I love your voice. You need more voice. We're seeking a strong voice.

I don't know how many times I've seen strong voice listed among the desirable traits on an agent's wish list, or comments on those critiquing blogs about lacking a distinctive voice. Meanwhile, the comments from various writers climb: What exactly is voice?

To put it simply, voice is the personality in the writing. It's about understanding how to get your personality, or that of your characters, to shine through on the page. Everything else is meaningless.

Here's the thing about voice: it's something that develops over time as you become more confident with writing. Basically, there really is only one way to develop a strong voice: write, edit, write, edit, write, edit, lather, rinse and repeat.

Is First Person Really More Intimate?

Some time ago, a writing buddy of mine received a “Revise and Resubmit” (R&R) on her crime novel, with an attached editorial note stating that the editor thought it would work better in first person.

For a moment, I want to reflect on the simple fact that she got an R&R. People, this is an awesome thing for a writer to get.

It's not a rejection.
The acquisition editor saw something in your story and writing that has great potential, but they felt the manuscript wasn't quite ready to take before the powers that be who issue and sign contracts. The editor is giving the writer another chance.

If you get an R&R, celebrate! Then take the time to look over the editorial notes and seriously consider their merits.

Okay, so after we finished celebrating the fact she got an R&R, she told a group of fellow writers about the editor wanting the manuscript in first person. There were roughly ten of us around the table that day, and several piped up quickly to say, "first-person narratives were more intimate." There I was, sitting on the other side of the table, biting my tongue. The others in the room were so adamant about their view, and nothing I could say would change their point of view. More importantly, my writing buddy agreed with them.