Writing

Hatchet Jobs

/ Ann Aubrey Hanson / Leave a comment

The Omnivore is a website that rounds up reviews, bringing readers a cross section of critical opinion. Currently, they are running a Shortlist of nominations for 2013’s best “hatchet job.”

Last year, Adam Mars-Jones won for his review of By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham.

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As the Manifesto on the website states: “[The Hatchet Job of the Year 1012 award] rewarded honesty, wit and good writing. It condemned mediocrity, sycophancy and lazy adjectives. It put the reader first.” Furthermore, it wasn’t just about being snarky and clever: “But this is not just about wielding the axe. Our guiding philosophy is compassionate criticism.”

And so, on the site, they list the contenders for this year’s Hatch Job. Among the contenders, a review about a biography of Hitler, a book by Martin Amis, a sequel to Treasure Island, and a “poetic novel” about mankind. Each of the reviews on the shortlist is scathingly honest, and even if you don’t agree with the reviewer, you have to admire the conviction within the review.

But I write about this because the reviews are excellent guidelines for writers: What Not to Do!

Read the reviews and see the concerns of the reviewers. How has each book failed? What traps might you best avoid? For example, Allan Massie reviews The Divine Comedy by Craig Raine. Here is an excellent criticism:

“Nevertheless some of the writing is very bad. Example: ‘He watched Rysiek’s brown lips move deliberately in his carefully trimmed beard, as if his mouth knew how handsome it was.’ You might be pleased for a moment to have written that sentence. Then you would read it again, and strike it out. Raine left it in.”

That’s called “slaying your darlings.” I’ve written about that before. When you edit your work, as you must once the first draft is complete, you should seek out those “darlings” you created, those lines that sing of your great creativity. If they sing to you, then they’ll stand out in the novel, and not in a positive way. They will likely intrude on the reader’s experience of story. For that reason, you must annihilate them. Never should the author intrude on the story.

Then there is this criticism from Craig Brown’s review of the Odd Couple by Richard Bradford:

“IMAGINE that we had all trooped into Skyfall to find it a mish-mash of all the old James Bond movies, with a couple of freshly shot scenes, and the producers had just trusted we wouldn’t spot it.”

It’s true that every story has been told, but that’s no excuse for lazy or sloppy writing. Tell the story anew. Don’t simply rehash what has come before and hope that the reader won’t notice.

Richard Evans is harsh about Hitler: A Short Biography by A. N. Wilson:

“It would take more space than is available here to list all the mistakes in the book. Most obvious are the simple factual errors. The ‘Aryan race’ in Nazi ideology was not ‘the Eurasian race’; it did not include ‘Slavs’, ‘Latins’ or ‘Celts’. … Wilson purveys many hoary myths long since discredited by historical research.”

When you are writing, whether fiction or non-fiction, do in-depth research. Don’t assume ignorance on the part of your readers. I once had a writer decline to work with me because I told her that “historical fiction” did not mean that she could change the names of historical figures “just because.” If you’re going to write about the  54th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry, you must name the commanding officer Colonel Robert Shaw. He is a well-known figure from history. You can’t change the known facts. If you want a different officer, you can certainly invent him, but you can’t change the commander. She was rather indignant with me and wrote, “Ann, perhaps you don’t understand, this is historical FICTION and I can do anything I want.” I sincerely believe she simply hadn’t done her research, and didn’t want to take the trouble to do so. Needless to say, we parted ways.

I suggest you read these “hatchet job” reviews now and take notes. Further, I suggest that you make it a habit to read reviews on a regular basis, to see both the good and the bad in writing, and to gauge what readers want in their books these days.

The Darnedest Things

/ Ann Aubrey Hanson / Leave a comment

I learn the darnedest things in my job.

I’m currently proofing a college textbook on Biology. Fascinating stuff. Next comes a textbook on Mathematics. I don’t typically edit or proof textbooks; my line is more academic books…books published by professors on their expertise (diplomacy, literature, psychology, philosophy, religion, DIY Indonesia, music of the Fifties and Sixties, etc.).

Every book is filled with new facts and insights for me. That’s why I love my job. The biology book immediately grabbed my attention, with its discussion of Gregor Mendel’s work with genetic inheritance, and an indepth discussion of the workings of mitochondria. Another fun fact was about desert ants and how they navigate back to the nest after wandering for hours and many kilometers in the searing heat.

Experiments showed that the ants don’t use landmarks to navigate, but they do use the relative position of the sun. Plus, they count steps.

The pedometer hypothesis suggests that the ants always know how far they are from the nest because they track the number of steps they have taken and their stride length. The idea is that they can make a beeline back to the burrow because they integrate information on the angles they have travelled and the distance they have gone—based on step number and stride length. It doesn’t matter that they have wandered off on tangents on the trip away from home, because they can calculate a direct-line return.

To test this innate ability, scientists created three test cases: the legs of one group of ants were shortened by cutting off the lower segments; the legs of the control group were left as-is, and the legs of the last group were lengthened with the use of  prosthetic “stilts.”

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All of the ants were then released into a 10-meter-long channel and allowed to wander. When it came time to return to the burrow, the control group returned with no problem. But, the group whose legs had been shortened stopped short by about 5 meters before looking for the nest opening, and the group on stilt legs passed the opening by 5 meters. Over time, some were able to recalculate and find their way unerringly to the nest, while almost 50% never made the adjustment. Fascinating!

Okay, so now I place that information in my mental lockbox, and keep it safe for use in my writing at some point in the future. Which brings me to my point: even if you aren’t force-fed new knowledge as I am on a daily basis, as a writer you should make it your task to read outside of your knowledge base. Do the random Wiki reads, or pick up a book of facts and peruse its contents regularly. You never know what you’re going to find that will feed your imagination and give greater depth to your writing.

(For starters, if you’ve never read the short story “Leiningen Versus the Ants,” by Carl Stephenson start there.)

Music As Inspiration

/ Ann Aubrey Hanson / Leave a comment

My son is home for the summer, visiting us in Sao Paulo.

These days, I spend the majority of my days sitting in my office chair and editing academic books. Typically, when I edit, the house is quiet, the only sound from within the soft snore of terrier pups, or their bated breathing as they battle over bones (well, antlerz).

From the street sounds the hissing susurration of streaming traffic, punctuated by the peppered peeping of petulant, dyspeptic people on mopeds as they swerve and squeeze around slow-moving sedans.

But with Scott home, my days are made melodious with music. I love the sounds of strumming strings and my scion’s singing as he stands on the veranda, serenading the city scenery! His tempered tenor is truly transporting!

When he’s not singing and playing guitar, the music continues, as he introduces me to new bands and new melodies. I usually can’t concentrate with cacophonous chaos, but his music choices are mellow and mellifluous, so I don’t mind. My own writing is enriched by the influence of these songs, as I listen to the transporting tunes.

Listening to Scott’s own compositions, I am enchanted by his use of language in his lyrics. In the past, I have pooh-poohed some of the people whose music he preferred, proffering my opinion, pronouncing lyrics pedestrian and poor. But not so with his. His lyrics are poetic and pure, punctuating his empathetic personality. Proud parent, perhaps, but picky. He proved his prowess.

When I run dry while writing, I welcome music. I listen to what others have wrought, and I find my own creativity whetted and welling.

Music is a mighty motivator to maintain my momentum when writing.

(Okay, so this is an odd entry; I thought I’d answer a challenge put forth by the WordPress crew. Writing for sound.)

Books That Disappear

/ Ann Aubrey Hanson / Leave a comment

A friend sent me this story. I haven’t yet digested the need for such innovation, however.

“Book printed in ink that vanishes after two months

“We’ve seen a few innovations that have offered a twist on traditional reading habits, from offering short works by new authors based on the duration of train delays to a temporary edible book made of pasta and a smokeable book with pages made from rolling papers, printed with the lyrics of rapper Snoop Dogg. Taking elements of both of these ideas, Buenos Aires-based bookshop and publisher Eterna Cadencia has released El Libro que No Puede Esperar – which translates as ‘The Book that Cannot Wait’ – an anthology of new fiction from Latin American authors printed in ink that disappears after two months of opening the book.

“Silk-screened using a special pink ink, the book comes sealed in air-tight packaging that, once opened, allows the printed material to react with the atmosphere. The result is that after two months, the text vanishes. The more the text is exposed to light the faster it disappears, so unread pages may retain the text as long as the reader doesn’t skip ahead in the book. The ink is made from a “secret” formula that is highly reactive with sunlight and air.

“With much discussion currently centering on portable electronic readers and e-books, deemed to be bringing about the death of the physical novel, the creators aimed to add a bit of magic to the anthology, as well as encourage buyers to actually read it once they’ve received it instead of leaving it in their ‘to do’ pile. As the authors inside are all previously unpublished, the concept, developed with help from ad agency Draftfcb, acts as a way to ensure that readers engage with as much of the material as possible while they have the chance. The sense of urgency was important for the publishers to encourage readers to give new authors a chance and force them to digest the content quickly.

“The book has proven popular with Argentinian customers, with the first printed batch selling out on the first day it was put on sale. There is no word from the publishers on what they propose readers should do with the book once the text has vanished — however, leatherbound and with thick pages, it could easily be re-used as a high quality journal, for example.

“El Libro que No Puede Esperar adds an element of urgency to reading — motivating readers, promoting authors and benefiting physical book publishers by creating a buzz around a new release. Is this a business model that is as shortlived as its product, or could this be developed into something more sustainable?”

Ok, so a book that vanishes. I guess that’s okay for an author who isn’t interested in writing the Great American (or French or German or Swahili, etc.) Novel. But even then, to say you’ve written a book that vanishes is almost as bad as saying (as I have twice in the past) that you’ve written a user’s guide to software (which is almost immediately obsolete upon publication).

I know that articles in People magazine are written in lengths that are conducive to the “average bathroom visit,” but books that can be read during the time of an average train delay? What. Is. The. Point? And, weren’t those once called “short stories”? And edible books printed on pasta? Okay, novelty, but why not just print the dictionary on pieces of pasta and let people construct their own pasta prose before consuming? (Hey, I like that idea!) And books written on rolling papers…folks, they get the munchies, not the must-reads!

Still and all, folks will say, at least it’s getting people to read. To which I answer, baloney. (Ah, and there’s another idea!)

Cockroaches and Science

/ Ann Aubrey Hanson / Leave a comment

I am a firm believer that more you read, the better your writing will be. One reason is that if you read good writing, it will somehow be “absorbed” into your psyche, and your inner voice will be accustomed to the rhythms and cadence of good writing, and the proper use of grammar and punctuation. Of course, by reading, I mean reading good writing…the classics, or even respected authors today, both in print and on the Web. It’s a matter of value in, value out, and garbage in, garbage out. It won’t do you any good to read many of the blogs on the net, where ideas are primary and writing is secondary. Oh, read for ideas, by all means, but don’t use these as guides for your own writing.

In that vein, I recommend reading for another reason: to broaden your horizons, which is vital for a writer. Read about people and places you have never experienced first-hand. This is valuable, not because you’ll likely write about those new people and places, but because they will now inhabit your stable of characters and locales, from which you can draw as needed when you write. I’ve just edited a book about memoir writing of Muslim women of the diaspora. Likely, I might never have encountered this subject on my own; I read voraciously, but this wouldn’t have been high on my list. But, as a result of editing the book, I opened my horizons and read on some of the subjects mentioned in the book. As a consequence, my stable of characters has new dwellers.

And then, there are the bizarre facts that you will learn, facts that can later be used to enhance your storyline,  or your characters’ backgrounds. Take this, for instance: cockroaches and science (watch the video at the bottom; fascinating). The subject matter initially repelled me, but I overcame my repulsion and read the article. I’m glad I did! What wonderful ideas now come to mind, for plot lines and interesting ideas for character background.

Read. You have no excuse not to. You may be overworked, but at some point, you must relax. Read. You may live out in the boonies, but if you’re reading this, you have Internet. Read. Prowl among the shelves in libraries and bookstores, pulling out books on topics you might never before have broached. Read. Broaden your horizons, and enrich your writing.

Use a Claude Glass in Your Writing

/ Ann Aubrey Hanson / 2 Comments

While editing a book on travel writing (circa 1768-1840), I came across a new term: Claude Glass. Intrigued, I looked it up.

A Claude Glass was basically a slightly convex pocket mirror with a surface tinted slightly dark.  These compact mirrors were used by Picturesque landscape artists as a means of isolating an image, so that it could be rendered independent of anything around it. Thus, fewer distractions, for the artist as well as for the viewer. Black mirrors (as they were also called) have the effect of abstracting the subject reflected in it from its surroundings, reducing and simplifying the color and tonal range of scenes and scenery.

Claude glasses could range in size from pocket-size to much larger, as you can see below.

(This is a drawing in the British Museum by the artist Thomas Gainsborough which shows an artist, possibly a self-portrait,  holding a Claude Glass in one hand and drawing implement in the other, to record what he was seeing in the glass behind him onto the paper on his lap. The Claude glass is named for Claude Lorrain, a 17th-century landscape painter, whose name in the late 18th century became synonymous with the picturesque aesthetic.)

You can even make your own Claude glass by using your side rearview mirror. (Warning, things in the mirror may be larger than they appear!)

So, what does this have to do with writing? Too often, writers (myself included) try to squeeze too much information into a sentence, a paragraph, or any other element of writing. We know so much about our characters, for example, that we want to tell everything about them. We want to tell what they look like, give their background and foretell their futures, or describe in the minutest detail where they are walking and what they are sensing. It’s a case of information overload, sure to prompt readers to toss the book (if they’re anything like me) and run screaming down the hall. Overwriting is sure-death for a story.

That’s where the figurative Claude glass can come in handy, helping you to focus only on what is germane to the moment, and letting all else blend into the edges, into temporary (or permanent) obscurity. My friend Meg Gardiner once accused me of “setting the table” when I started a story: putting everyone neatly in their places, their placards filled with information and aligned at their designated spots. She said I was incapable of just leaping into the action, damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. She was right. (I have since corrected this habit; I think.)

Essentially, when I write, I must make myself use the Claude glass, identifying what should be in focus, and what should fall by the wayside. When my protagonist is standing in the middle of a mine field, is it absolutely necessary that we know that he is six-foot-four, has blond hair, and plays the cello when not at death’s door? No. His size might be important, but I’d have to determine that as I write. Color of hair? Definitely not. Plays the cello? Only important if the cello figures into his death or rescue. Of course, I must know all of this as the author, but I need to use the Claude glasses to determine what the reader must be told. What matters to the story at this moment?

Clarity of focus. Narrowness of vision. Perception of reality. Thanks, Claude!

Meet Your Characters

/ Ann Aubrey Hanson / Leave a comment

I’m working with a couple of new  clients as they take the next step in writing their first books. As is common with many new writers, they have an idea for a story, and have thought out where they want the story to go, but their characters are cardboard cutouts, useful to them only for furthering the story. So far, they have no idea how rich the characters can be, or the depth they can add to a story.

What they don’t yet understand is that if they want readers to care about the story, the readers must first care about the characters, and what happens to them in the story. Who are these people, I ask. The reply is basically, well, this is the main character, this is another character, and this is another. They have no real idea who the characters are, what their backgrounds are. Without knowing that, they can’t write honest actions and reactions for these characters.

I tell my clients that they must let the characters BE. Don’t have them talk and react as you need just to continue the story. Allow your characters to surprise you. You don’t have to let them derail your story, but allow them to speak their minds, to react honestly, and you’ll see some great developments in your story.

One of the exercises I do in my classroom and with my freelance students is to have them write two scenes: one is a conversation between two characters, and one is an interview between the writer and a character. That’s it. That’s all the info I give them.

Once they’ve written the scenes, we talk about what works well, and what doesn’t. The most frequent problem is that the author has dictated the scene. Well, of course, you say, the author is dictating, because the author is the writer. But that’s not what I mean. In order for the conversation to work, the author must let go of the reins. The characters must be allowed to wander off topic, if to do so will tell us something about that character. The author must be willing to be surprised by the character.

I’ve written characters who I thought I knew, only to find out, once I let them have their heads, that I didn’t really know them at all. One character in a story of mine, a wife named Mamie, was supposed to be a supporting character. It was her husband I was interested in. But it turned out, Mamie didn’t want to be a supporting character. She had things to say. She had things to do. She very quickly over-shadowed her husband, and I think the story was the better for it. Mamie surprised me, once I quit shoving words in her mouth and telling her what to do.

In the next segment of this post, I’ll show how this exercise is handy for getting your characters speak in their own voices.