Common-Sense Tips, Great Resources, and Creative Techniques to Finally Manifest the Book You Dream of Writing--from Internationally Published, Award-Winning Author and Teacher Mary Carroll Moore
Pacing—a delicate affair in writing a book—depends on a balance of expanded and contracted moments. Good pacing creates a rhythm between the two. This week’s exercise lets you notice your natural (often unconscious) tendency of either expanding or contracting too much. If you adjust, correct, and balance, your writing will soar.
1. Set a kitchen timer for fifteen minutes. Begin to write about a childhood event that influenced you greatly. Don’t overthink this exercise, just let it rip. No editing along the way!
2. Read the piece out loud. Whenever you get interested, as you read, highlight the paragraph that pulled you in. (It’s essential to read out loud—you’re switching from a writer’s viewpoint to a reader’s.)
3. Contract (condense) the paragraph into one sentence, as short as possible, without losing the essence of the larger paragraph.
4. Now expand this one sentence into five new sentences (a new paragraph).
Which was easier for you, expansion or contraction? Think about whether this short exercise helped you see anything about your natural tendency as a writer.
5. Return to your original freewrite about the childhood experience. Select your favorite section, a paragraph or two.
6. Apply the aspect (expand or contract) that was the most difficult for you in steps 3 and 4. If you had trouble with expansion, expand the section to three or more paragraphs. If you had trouble with contraction, condense the section to half its length.
Read the new writing out loud. Can you notice the difference in flow, in music, in pacing?
We are such a visually oriented culture. But we are trained in school to communicate with words first. Images are considered random, illogical, somewhat dangerous. In my experience, writer’s block occurs when we become too word-based. Freeing ourselves requires tuning into our natural, childlike ability to perceive images.
This week, explore the two languages we use as writers: the language of words and the language of images. Both are necessary to a good book.
For ten minutes, pay attention to images around you. What can you perceive when you remind yourself of details perceived via the five senses?
This week's exercise can be transformational. You begin by listing your personal minimum requirements for staying healthy and balanced in your life. Look at these arenas:
physical (health, sleep, exercise, food) emotional (relationships with family and friends, self-care, private time) intellectual (learning and growing, staying current) spiritual (faith in self, belief systems)
Ask yourself, What is required in my life to feel in control, balanced, and healthy?
Make a second list or chart of what you need to have in your life, to get your book written. Be very specific: privacy? time? feedback? supplies? resources? working equipment? good scheduling?
Rate the two lists as far as reality. What do you have in place? What is missing?
A writer from Minneapolis emailed me: "I just came across an idea for your writing exercises. You may have heard of it already, but it's a new one to me and has me quite intriqued as to how I'll write about it. It was in the [Minneapolis] Star Tribune under theatre performances."
Here's the exercise, from Workhouse Theatre Company: "You are passing through to eternity, and you must select one memory you can take with you--of everything you've ever done, felt or thought. You have one hour. Choose."
Cool idea. Use it for your writing this week. What memory--of everything--would you take with you? Write about it. Click here to learn more about Workhouse.
Anton Chekhov wrote, “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
Showing is a demonstration of emotion through specific details. Telling can bring in an almost intellectual assessment of what happened. Showing, the opposite, requires very little intellectual language. It relies instead on sensory detail (smells, sights, sounds). While telling backs away from the moment, summarizing feelings from a distance, showing places the reader squarely in it.
The key to showing is to demonstrate. This means not interpreting the things you are placing in front of us.
Robert Olen Butler, author of many wonderful stories and novels and instructor at this writing at Florida State University’s MFA program, talks about this in his book From Where You Dream (Grove/Atlantic, Inc., 2005). To deliver emotion in its purest form, don’t dilute it with interpretation. Butler observed that emotion can be delivered to a reader (shown, versus told) generally in five ways. Here is my translation of his terms:
• what I am feeling inside my body (goosebumps on my arm, itchy foot, tight throat)
• what I am observing in your gestures and movements (tearing a small paper napkin into bits, jiggling foot)
• specific memory
• fear, anticipation, desire (projections into future)
• sense selectivity (during moments of extreme emotion, all but one sense goes away)
During the developing stage of book writing, whenever I need to change a scene to more “showing,” I will go through Butler’s list and ask myself how I can bring in one of these.
This week, translate a passage that "tells" into one that "shows," using one of the above techniques. What happened?
William Wordsworth said, "Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart." We're not all poets. But all of us have these breathings of the heart, which some call voice.
Voice is your passion, your style, the things you must write, the way you must write them. But voice can easily be squelched. It can go through silent passages, coming out in a mere whisper. The biggest problem in silent passages is that you don’t know they’re happening at first. They start innocently—a tiny bit of boredom with your characters, a chapter that feels rough with no inspiring fixes. These pile up and an overactive Inner Critic can make them seem worse. Slowly the silence inside the writer grows, until words trickle to a stop.
Educator Steve Peha from Teaching That Makes Sense http://www.ttms.org/ says voice is a combination of choices a writer makes. In other subjects, we all learn the same rules and theories. Think: math equations, history facts. Creative writing is supposed to showcase the individual and how individual they can be and still communicate well.
“Everyone’s writing needs to be different from everyone else’s,” writes Peha. “The set of all the different choices a writer makes, and the collective effect they have on the reader, is what is often called ‘voice’ in a piece of writing.” Choices include your style of language, the words you use, the length of your sentences and paragraphs, tone. Just like in conversation.
And conversation--with yourself--is the key. Having a regular writing practice is the single most important way to gain and belief in yourself, and keep the writing voice warmed up.
This week, try writing every day for 5 minutes. Just 5 minutes. Observe the excuses and grumblings that might float (or thud) in during the first few days. Then observe what happens once your voice gets warmed up.
Check in here to let our book-writing community know how your 5 minutes/day went.
Like changing seasons that move elegantly into each other, a good book has an almost invisible rhythm called pacing.
Excellent pacing creates music a reader can resonate with. Pacing makes writing memorable.
An Important Tool for Your Writing Pacing is one of the most complex and exciting tools in book writing. It’s the speed of the story, the balance of anecdotes and concepts, the ebb and flow of the writing. Pacing determines your paragraph and sentence lengths, where you put in a line of dialogue, where you muse, where you wax lyrical over a setting.
Two-Page Squint
To study how different writers deliver pacing to a reader—find a favorite book. Open it, hold two pages up, squint at them, and see the balance of white space to text. Notice how conversation sections have more white space, description has less. So dialogue usually equals faster pace, and description (summary) equals slower pace.
Studying the Pacing in Your Own Writing
Now study the pacing in your own work. For this week's exercise, find two favorite pages of your writing. Read it aloud.
Freewrite for 10 minutes on these questions:
What rhythm do you perceive?
Is the pacing fast or slow?
Where does it vary?
Painters know the concept of “negative space.” I learned it in art school. Negative space is everything that is not the main object in a still life or portrait.
(If you can't imagine this, picture a painter getting ready to capture three yellow apples on a fuscia plate, with blue cloth as background. To the painter, the apples are the main objects. Plate and blue cloth are negative space.)
Negative space is kind of like what's not said in your book. Sometimes this speaks louder than your words. The silences, the spaces between things. The hum of what's unspoken brings more tension. Especially true for memoir and fiction.
You have to have the main object and the negative space in constant conversation in a painting; although some experimental artists disagree, I’ve found one doesn’t work as well without the other. The apples in my painting above, without plate or cloth on the table, float in space, unanchored and possibly unbelievable. And without the plate's intense background, the apples' luminous golden color would not be as sharply defined and contrasted. Negative space serves to define and illuminate the main focus.
So it is in book writing.
Consider a chapter of your book-in-progress this week. List everything that's not being said. Is it creating absences of tension or omission?
Then ask yourself about the negative space in your life: How does your book writing co-exist within your life? Is there a conversation going on? What kind? One of harmony and back and forth acceptance? Or one of conflict, avoidance, irritation?
Spend 10 minutes writing about negative space, both in your book and in the relationship between your life and your writing.
A book could be just a list away. This week's exercise encourages you to start a simple list in your writing notebook: possible topics you could write about.
Ask yourself, What could become a scene or section or small moment in my book?
Your challenge: add three items to your list each day this week. Watch your book build.
Go wild: Allow yourself to include things that don’t seem to fit, like a color, image, snapshot memory, dream, desire, smell, favorite meal. Use your own special shorthand and descriptors to jot these ideas down. Choose image-rich words, if you can, so your imagination will be triggered when you read them. The most successful brainstorming lists immediately put the writer into a scene full of senses.
Examples from my current novel's list:
red stain in the carpet
nighttime trees in the orchard behind Molly's (main character's) house
Molly saying no to Lisa--finally
This week's writing exercise: Take five minutes to watch this amazing video. Let your right brain follow the shapes and movement, then write for 10 minutes. Do new levels emerge? Does your writing change (and your blood pressure lower)? Click here to try this exercise.
A blog reader from Minnesota sent in this great link to an interview with author Ethan Canin (America, America)--where he talks about his writing process. He storyboards (one of the main techniques I teach in my writing classes). She writes, "He uses color-coded index cards on a big piece of foam core. Neat!"
This week, think about what you would need to have in place, in your life, to get your book started, to keep going, to finish it. Be very specific.
Examples from writers in my book-writing weekly classes:
privacy (where my daughter can't use my computer) dedicated time to write each week/each day kind and helpful feedback (not from my mother or spouse!) supplies--pens that work, legal pads, computer paper resources for research and inspiration a laptop that works writing schedule I can live with respect from my family--permission to be alone better goals
Pick one area you could improve on this week. What's one small step you could take? Even a small movement forward helps free us up on this amazing book-writing journey.
Share other mimimum requirements you've discovered.
"Compliments of the way we use the parasympathetic nervous system," Okerlund says, "introvert bodies are designed to let our busy brains focus and concentrate deeply for long periods, which makes them feel alert and happy. . . .In the practical everyday world of communicating, writing is a good tool for introverts. Writing a note - or even a letter! - or sending an email allows our characteristic thoughtfulness to come out in a way that may feel easier than speaking. "
Writing Exercise of the Week--Music to My Ears
To access theme in your book, you may need to talk with the nonlinear side of your brain, sometimes called the right brain. So do something nonlinear: For this writing exercise, listen to a favorite piece of music without doing anything else.
Write for twenty minutes about what you heard and felt as you were listening. Then write anything that comes that answers this question: How does my book's theme connect with what I just wrote?
Be non-logical, nonlinear as you explore this on paper. Be prepared for VERY COOL surprises...
What happened? Post it here.
Writing Exercise of the Week--with thanks to Carol Bly List your most important life values (refer to Carol Bly's wonderful book, The Passionate, Accurate Story, for more information on this exercise). What means the most to you? Are these values represented in your writing? Are they demonstrated in your book?
For me, writer's block can come from not aligning my book writing with what I hold dear in my life. Writing about something superficial, for instance, when I am in deep pain feels very incongruous. When I realign, I write better.
What do you think of this idea?
PS Carol recently passed away but her writing (and teaching) lives on. She was a profound influence on my writing life.
Red Smith's "Opening a Vein" versus Stephen King's "Do It for Joy"
When Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith said, “There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein,” he was talking about the vulnerability a writer must bring to the page.
What does that mean? Vulnerability for writers is how much they reveal, show, let the reader see about themselves. Some writing teachers call it “showing up at the page.” Many of us struggle with this vulnerability—how much should be shown, how much should be hidden, and how much “letting it all hang out” will cause the rest of our lives to fall apart.
Last year, when I began writing another nonfiction book--this one about how to write a book, since I'd written and published twelve and was asked so often if I had one on my writing methods--I was also working on two others. They were at various stages of drafting and almost-completion. My novel was being shopped to publishers, who were giving me feedback and suggestions for changes. The novel's sequel was in second draft, with all the sections written and pasted together; it did not yet resemble a book but it held promise. The third, the nonfiction monolith, was in the proposal stage and I was beginning to draft chapters.
