Where the Story Comes Alive

Posted by Lynne Griffin

Last week I finished a first draft of my second novel. Two days after writing the last line, I turned to the first chapter. I had planned to give the whole draft a rest, but about month or so ago, I read that Joyce Carol Oates writes the last chapter and the first chapter of her works-in-progress simultaneously, to ensure consistency of voice. I'm no Joyce, but I thought it made sense--knowing what I now know about my story ending--to plunge right into revision.

Many months ago, when my dear friends at the Writers' Group read my opening chapter, each member questioned whether or not the first chapter really was the first chapter. Guess what? It may have been the means by which I propelled my novel forward, getting words on the blank page, but once there was a full draft, one where major story lines were revealed and character transformations set down, it was clear to me it wasn't the true beginning of the story.

In previous posts, first drafts have been referred to as the journey of discovery draft. The first draft has also been compared to sculpting, while subsequent drafts compared to painting. At this year's Muse and the Marketplace conference, Lisa and I attended a brilliant workshop on revision given by Karl Iagnemma. By giving participants three versions of one of his fantastic short stories, Karl showed us his process, one he likens to using different types of sandpaper, as a framework for revision. He suggests beginning revisions on the broadest story level, then moving on to the scene level. Finally revising paragraphs, sentences, and words.

Hallie Ephron, in her terrific book, Writing and Selling your Mystery Novel, talks about flying high, what she calls big picture revision, and flying low, the little particulars in need of refinement.

The way I see it, there are three levels of work to be done in revision:

1. Reworking--This is the work of wholesale retooling of a part of the story.
   
2. Rewriting--Perhaps a chapter is partially moving the story forward, or exposing some of what readers need at a particular point in the story, but portions or parts need to be rewritten.
3. Refining--This is the final polishing that every manuscript needs. Though it's tempting to skip this step, either because of exhaustion related to 1 & 2 or belief that you've done all you can do to tell the story, this step makes all the difference in getting an agent's or editor's attention.

So I'm off to rewrite and refine my work-in-progress. Does anyone else have a model they use for the revision process. While some find it a daunting task, I think this is where the real magic of story telling happens. This is where the story comes alive.

Final Stretch

by Hannah Roveto

Really, truly. I know how grateful you are that my posts do not consist of progress reports: I'm editing. I'm revising. Still revising. Yup, editing. Still, I have to tell you this week, I believe myself to be in the final stretch. How do I know?

Tess Gerritsen did a post a year ago on her revision process. Of all the interviews and posts ever written on this topic, this one I saved. Every so often, I find it, scan it, compare my progress against her words. As I did just last week:

First, make the plot hang together. Make the story's set up match the story's resolution. I have gone back over my own WIP, and made sure it all connects. As character motives shifted, so did plot, and I had to go back through and redo quite a bit. You'd think after two (much-worked-over) drafts, I'd have known them, but sometimes three's the charm, apparently (or four, five...)!

Second, refine and deepen the characters. With those crystallized character motives have come insights into behavior that change first appearances on the page to small quirks in certain situations. Check, again.

Third, heighten the poetry. Gerritsen notes that some people think fiction -- and mystery -- is not in need of poetry. For the record, even humorous fiction is all the better for a little poetry in its presentation.

Fourth, clean up all the inconsistencies. Funny how my antagonist's last name was one thing at the start, something else halfway through. Did he meet with the old woman in March or April? Appearance details, timelines, everything has been doublechecked.

Fifth, reorder the scenes to heighten the tension. Gerritsen writes each subplot start to finish, then weaves them together in the second or third draft. I don't, although maybe it would have streamlined my progress, who's to know? Still, I have done exactly that, shifting scenes so the characters are shown a certain way at key points and the plot is pushed to (I hope!) up the stakes.

Sixth, figure out chapter breaks. I thought I had, but going back through now, I am realizing they are not where they should be. Thus, I am merging a couple of chapters together and considering breaking one apart. After that, well, I'm feeling quite good about it!

Certainly I'm not relying solely on Tess' words to measure how far along I have come. It struck me, though, this time when I found the post and read through, I was able to check each piece off. Tasks one through five: done; task six, on its way. As am I, I believe, at last. So let me toss this out, to those of you revising Novel One, or Novel Three, or Novel Five, do these steps ring true for you as well? Any others would you add? I am all ears!

The Evolution of a Page

By Amy MacKinnon

I think it was our second meeting when I submitted twenty pages of my manuscript, then tentatively title TETHERED, to my writers' group. This is Hannah's feedback from that night. I was wreck showing it to them, but see how kind her notes are -- and they weren't overwhelming either.

This second page is what I submitted to Grub Street's Muse and the Marketplace two years ago. I signed up with Little, Brown editor Asya Muchnick. Beforehand, she read 20 page of my manuscript, making careful notes on each. It was waiting in line for my critique when I met Gail Konop Baker; what a blessing that's been. Asya gave my manuscript a careful, thoughtful edit. I floated out of there.

Now this third page is probably the most marked-up of the bunch. That handwriting belongs to my editor Sally Kim. After sending me a two page editorial letter with an overall structural critique (what needs tweaking, what doesn't work, what needs more depth), she then did a careful line edit of the manuscript. Now don't let anyone tell you editors don't edit anymore. Here's physical proof they do and do it beautifully.


And then the lovely, lovely copy edits. Now when it's your turn to open that huge bubble-lined manilla envelope and pull out your manuscript, you'll be tickled to see a key with all of your characters' names, every major business, each setting. It's quite a kick. It might also intimidate you a bit to know a professional grammarian has laid eyes on your words. Not to worry, s/he is on your side to make your book the best it can be. There will be a lot of marks. It might scare the bejesus out of you so much, you close the envelope back up again -- for a few days. I'm not saying I did this, but I might have. Once you plunge in, though, you find it's not nearly as humiliating as you feared. In fact, I asked my bestest friend Heather Grant Murray, also a copy editor, to go over it as I did. I love copy editors.





Then the best part happens. Your first pass pages arrive. For the first time since you sat down at your desk all those years ago, you see how your words will appear on the page. Isn't it magnificent? Lynn Amft designed the interior layout and she is brilliant. The very first design I was shown, I loved. She captured the tone perfectly.


Looks like quite a bit of work by many hands, doesn't it? But imagine, that's just one page...

Copy Edits

Posted by Lynne Griffin

Lisa's story arrived in pictures on Monday, Amy's galley on Tuesday and Hannah's inspiration just yesterday. What did I get in the mail this week? My copy edited manuscript. It is really a thrill to see it, all marked up with purple pencil, with little green Post-its littered throughout.

The process of getting a manuscript through production includes a thorough read by an expert stylist and grammarian. You'd be surprised at how many little details and inconsistencies even the most meticulous writer misses.

Some of you are old pros at this part of the publication process, but for those of you who aren't, let me share how it works.

The manuscript was sent to me via UPS with a tracking number--the mere thought of all that work getting lost is frightening. When it arrived, I pulled it from its envelope and went through each page to get a sense of just how much work there would be to do. You see, my job at this stage is to go through and read the manuscript word-by-word. When I get to a correction made by the copy editor--it could be as simple as to add or delete a comma, or as complex as to change a whole sentence, for readability--I am to decide whether or not to accept the change. If I accept it, I do nothing; just leave it and keep reading. If I disagree with the change (and I would if the change interfered with meaning, or characterization, and the like) I write the word STET next to it, which means leave the material as it was written.

Through the manuscript on Post-it notes, there are what are called queries. The copy editor is in fact asking me questions. They can be easy questions such as, do I like the sentence change, to more complicated ones like would this character really do this? I even had to do a bit of research on some queries, like do certain trees hold their leaves as long as I said they did. Great pick ups like this assure a quality read for readers. My copy editor did an amazing job with another important task--reading for consistency.

Enclosed in the package sent to me, is what is called a style sheet. Imagine a set of directions that covers everything from how unique words will be spelled, (one-two punch & hit and run) how dates and times will be managed, (spell out the quarter hour & use a.m and p.m.) and (this is my favorite) a character listing, one that includes physical traits and plot details. It even includes a brief summary of each chapter. I loved seeing my novel captured this way by a fresh reader.

All of this work done by someone you may never meet, but should certainly thank, is a generous gift. To know that someone who loves books took tons of time to read and fine-tune my manuscript is awe inspiring.

My copy edits are done now and will go back to my editor. She in turn will send it back over to production so that the changes can be incorporated into the manuscript. Next step is galley creation, like the one you saw Amy holding this week. Each of these essential milestones take me closer to publication. It's hard work, but thrilling.

Those of you who've gone through this process, feel free to add info I've left out via the comments section. And if you have questions, feel free to pose them here.

Slimming Down the Prose

by Hannah Roveto

For those accused of putting too much food in your scenes, this post is for you. For those of you who keep your characters thin, well, feel free to nibble as well. I have been accused, rightfully so, of overfeeding my readers. "Too much food." "They're eating again?" "He drinks too much coffee. Didn't he just have a cup?"

In real life, much happens around food, doesn't it? People who would never be caught together, for any reason, meet over food. Reunions and ruckuses ensue. Major issues are raised -- tentatively, forcefully -- as we are trapped between a salad and the main course. Our best sides and our worst arise as we gather with the ones we love, the ones we are trying to like, and the ones we, well, would rather never see again. And we show our best sides to the latter, the worst to the former. I read once that Sarah Jessica Parker said she and Matthew Broderick talk some evenings about how lovely their first cup of coffee will be in the morning. That one detail changed her from someone I knew existed to a soul sister.

Even my memories of funerals have food details. I remember only two things about my grandmother's funeral: it was open casket, and at the reception afterward, two women were talking about the lemon chiffon pie brought by my grandparents' housecleaner (and friend and possibly an earthly saint). The conversation quickly went from how wonderful the pie was, to the fact that it was made with fresh eggs, which made all the difference, to a comment on how its baker kept chickens, said in a tone of voice that implied a great deal about social status.

Oh, but am I talking too much about food? Apologies. You see, I discovered how to cut down on food, at least in my writing, at a funeral reception my protagonist had to attend. How to get him through socializing with a hundred people, moving through rooms with tables of food, drinking coffee and perhaps sneaking something stronger, without talking about food?

I pulled him aside, or rather, had him pull his sister and a friend aside for a key conversation. I kept the scene focused on what I needed to convey, and left the food literally in the background. He didn't even bring a cookie to munch. When he returned to the group, he shook hands, accepted sympathies, closed out the scene.

Plot above setting, action above food. Chew is not an action verb. I'd finally gotten it.

Scanning back through the manuscript, I was able to mark every sip, every bite, and decide whether it was necessary. At times, yes, I allowed them to indulge. After all, the fact that someone drinks a lot of coffee can be useful, as long as the reader doesn't get the jitters, too. I did allow my protagonist a sausage sub at a baseball game, and indeed, a juicy burger at a bar. But for a reason. This is a man whose peers eat lamb chops and drink Grey Goose vodka. That he would prefer a sausage sub and a burger with a draught beer means something, as long as the reader doesn't have to dab at the grease while listening to conversations and watching the events that are the real action.

So, yes, it is possible to move characters through the day without making sure they have every beverage and snack, every mouthful of their three squares recorded for posterity. I am living proof. Focus on the comment about keeping chickens; keep the pie to a single reference. Focus on the interaction between the man with sub and the woman with the diet soda, their relationship falling apart with each word, not each bite. Don't track every meal; the reader will assume they ate. Pull characters aside and let them act and react with something other than food. Even the heartiest of writers will find it is possible to trim down the prose and let the proof of a story be in the pudding. (Sorry!)

Mapping It

By Amy

I've learned a thing or two since the last novel. Mostly about craft, some about faith. It's my hope that this assuredness will help the process move along a bit faster this time. You may recall the first chapter in TETHERED took me six months. Yes, that's right, six months.

So what have I learned? It's important to listen to my protagonist for months before I commit a single word to paper. Like any other relationship, it takes time to learn about the person. The protag from my current WIP introduced himself months ago. We exchanged pleasantries and as we became more familiar with each other, he started sharing aspects of his life. I knew this time around not to rush him, that he'd just pull back, afraid of my urgency. He's a lifelong birder; he has a congenital syndrome that he almost never speaks of (I noticed it the first time he introduced himself, but was too polite to say anything); and people tend to underestimate just how bright and capable he is, him most of all.

Does this sound strange? It is. But there's a point to be made. Before a word is on the page, a writer needs to know the main theme of her work and she must know her protagonist well enough at the outset to design the threads to showcase that theme. His hobbies, fears, his greatest desire are all catalysts for the main -- and some of the minor -- themes.

Okay, something less elusive now. Setting. I love to create setting. There are times when it's necessary to be direct when describing place and time: "Inside the efficiency apartment, it’s the expected scene: scraps of paper and unopened bills littering every surface; half-eaten plates and cartons of food forming a banquet across the one counter; tattered furniture and a filthy white sheet tacked over a pair of windows." Other times, it works better to slip it in, give the readers enough hints, but leave them to wonder a bit: "It was a mid-September blue sky – cerulean Principal McDaniels might have called it – ripe with the sort of clouds the children would have wondered at during recess..." This sentence tells you right off the bat that the protagonist is at a school though without saying so. Setting can do something else. What do those sentences tell you about characters? The first hints broadly that the person who lives in that apartment is probably poor, damaged in some way, desperate. The second sentence tells you that the character is probably someone who enjoys the simple things in life -- sunny days, a child's laughter -- but feels that Principal McDaniels is a bit pretentious. It also tells the reader the protag knows the uncommon word cerulean. Hmmmm...

Another lesson I learned is the value of having a map. Reading the comments section of Lisa's post yesterday made me realize just how many people wing it. Absolutely terrifying. I do to a certain extent, but I must know where to begin and end; those first and last sentences never change no matter the number of drafts. I also have to know the crucial plot points along the way. Think of them as landmarks on a map. I may not know the names of the streets, how many miles in-between, but I do know to take a right at the pink doughnut shop and that the exterminator's office (you know the one with the giant cockroach on the roof?) will be just past the bridge. I think plotting comes back to the main theme. If you know what that is, you know what message you're trying to convey and the impression you're trying to leave your readers.

Probably the most important lesson I've learned is to trust my characters. Whenever I panic, say page 100 and then again at 150, I let them lead me. They know where to go and how to get me there. It is their story.

The Last Place I Looked

by Hannah

This morning the house was in an uproar. My son lost his hermit crab, a tree crab with a metallic green shell that wandered away yesterday as my son played guitar, and that he forgot (which is rare) once it was out of sight. We ripped the house apart this morning at six, when he should have been catching his last bits of sleep and I exercising; at least for some reason he remembered.

When my daughter came down, she asked where we'd looked. Everywhere, we said, starting with the dining room where it was last seen, with the two farthest rooms the least searched: my son's bedroom and the office. She disappeared down the hall and a minute later said, "Found him!" "Where?" "In the paper towel tube on the bedroom desk that says Krabby's Tube." Which, of course, is where the crab really was left; luckily the critter didn't get it in his little head to venture past it.

This relates to fiction how, you ask? Well, like this:

When a story isn't working, the most frustrating thing is to find out where that element went. After all, everything was in your head at some point, wasn't it? What didn't make it out? You check in with all the characters, you re-examine setting, you add stakes, you firm up the voice. Still, not quite.

Then one day you find out that you didn't really look everywhere, or perhaps not as carefully as you thought you did. I, for example, needed to up the stakes after the last round of reading, which as I've said before, was fine with me. The challenge was to add more and yet wrap it all tighter. I knew what I wanted to add, but hadn't known before how to weave it in more fully, and thus had left it out.

One of my characters finally whopped me upside the head. Not my main character, mind you, who has been trying to present himself as sympathetic despite a raffish streak. No, a relative of his gave me a Look and said, "Don't you know him well enough by now? He's a game player. Think hard on that, dear." Funny how in a book in part about games, I'd worked it out on one level, then two, but what it really needed was yet another, third level of interplay.

She was right, of course. (Funny, because she is the character I trust the most within the story.) My main man had been less than forthcoming, as had another character, in fact. And after examining that last dark spot more carefully, I pulled out pieces that fit together and fit into the whole of the story. So next time I find myself with a dilemma like this, I'll know better. You rarely have to go outside and bring in new things. The need is to recheck, carefully, all the corners. Don't skip even the most obvious places, the ones labelled with big block letters in Sharpie marker: Krabby's Tube. Game Players. The last place you look is, of course, always right in front of you to start.

Get Back!

by Hannah

The dilemma was this: As I waited for comments on Novel One, I took more than a step into the world of Novel Two. This was not a good thing to do. Then again... well, let me explain.

There didn't seem to be a conflict even as the Group shared reactions to Novel One; despite their concerns that they'd overloaded me, I was excited. They liked a great deal about the revision, yet wanted more. There were more layers to be revealed, opportunities to go deeper, richer yet, they said, and I agreed. I left the meeting in good spirits despite the work ahead.

When I got home, I started to think through the changes. I could add that character I'd debated from my female protagonist’s background. I can kill off someone, maybe two? ("Kill, kill, kill!” as said by Arlo Guthrie in Alice’s Restaurant reverberated in my head.) I could expand my main character in a particular way. There was only one hurdle, plot-wise, that needed to be gotten around in order to make these things happen. I let my mind go blank…

and in stepped Novel Two characters, who’d been pushing into my thoughts for some months, only to be told to remain on the doorstep. Until recently. With the draft on the Group’s laps, I’d welcomed them inside, chatted with them, one by one and sometimes as a group. They showed me flashes of moments and story arcs, dutifully transcribed on 3x5 cards.

Suddenly, so close to getting Novel One pushed to the Next Level, I found myself uninterested in it. The main character annoyed me, no longer dashing and intriguing. Why had I ever wanted to get to know him at all? Clearly, if I felt this way, readers would, too. Well, so what, then, if I moved on to Novel Two? These new people were so engaging. Tempting.

I became frustrated, impatient. Why had I spent so much time investing in this character, this story? What about it all would make me so willing to give up on it with the end in sight?

Epiphany moment.

I pushed the Novel Two gang out the front door to consider this. Why was the story not clicking for me, right now? What did I need from the story, from the characters? What would make me fall in love with them all over again, to reinvest myself in their lives? In the answer came the solution to the hurdle.

Despite their banging on the windows, their complaints about the drop in temperature outside, the Novel Two folks will need to amuse themselves without my attentions for a while longer. It will be worth their wait, I know, given everything I have learned from Novel One. It certainly will be worth my wait, and I don't think I'll be waiting all that long.

Making a Literary Life Friday: Emendate

Amend. Emend. Edit. Correct. Improve. Right. Change. Recast. Rehash. Revamp. All are synonyms for revise, an important word around here at the Writers' Group. We're all doing it. A mention of the word sends some of us into paroxysms, for others, jollity. For all, though, it is a time of revelation. Each of us discovers themes our subconscious planted months before. With the advantage of time and fresh eyes, we're able to see them, explore them fully -- A-ha! That's true of writing, though isn't it? The act reveals layers of ourselves we may not have been fully aware of, calling to the surface aspects we may never have chosen to acknowledge or characteristics we'd always hoped to have for ourselves. What about you?

Lisa
Months ago I was blessed to get a call from a well known, very experienced agent in NYC who said those magic words: "I finished reading Little Boy Hiding, and I like it, I like it a lot. I want to represent you as a writer." Well, he shopped it to a handful of editors, each of whom had positive feedback about the quality of writing, but they had the same criticism too: My main character is telling someone else's story, not her own. Huh?

I have work to do. Though I am finishing my current YA WIP, February 1st, I'm back to Little Boy Hiding (which isn't even called Little Boy Hiding anymore). Oh, how the plot has changed. The character's love for her younger autistic brother prompts her to take risks that, well, enough said, but it's her story now. Funny thing is that I thank God that novel didn't sell when it was shopped around a few months back. Really! It's night and day. Ah, revision!

Amy
Growing up, I used to procrastinate something terrible. School assignments, chores, later bills and social engagements. Oh, the stress! It caused more anxiety attacks this bad habit of mine -- in me and others. I was discussing this with my daughter the other day, she said she disliked that about herself, that she put off those things she doesn't enjoy doing (honestly, I don't see it, but she is a perfectionist). That's when I realized I no longer procrastinate anything. With all of the demands of me over the past years, it was imperative that I manage my schedule so as to allow time to write. It's that crucial, I was able to free the albatross I'd strung myself with. Now that I'm deep within revisions, I'm tickled to realize there's no anxiety. I will meet deadline, this aspect of the writing process I dread so much, I've managed because I love writing. What a revelation.

Hannah
The Group gave me edits last week, and I was pleased. Go ahead, give us more, they said. The basics are in place, now give us the depth. Ideas that had floated but were held back -- will it be too much? am I complicating things unnecessarily? -- settled like snowflakes into place. One small thing to work out and I'm chugging along again. Then... !

Lynne
I read and reread the new scenes I added to my novel. Last night I hit send! Though I didn't have significant edits in terms of work, the edits I made had a significant impact on the pacing and tension of my ending. A good editor is a treasure!

In other news, my editor for Negotiation Generation shared good news with me this week. Penguin will go back to press for a second printing of my parenting book! I am beyond thrilled. And if you live in the Boston area, come join me this Sunday for a book talk and signing at the wonderful Newtonville Books at 2 pm.

Questions & Answers with Gregory Maguire

Posted by Lisa

Last spring Grub Street Writers in Boston gave me the wonderful opportunity to interview Gregory Maguire, a fascinating and inspiring writer. Here's the interview, originally published in the Grub Street Rag...

For years, Gregory Maguire didn’t think of himself as a writer. He considered himself a person who liked to make things, who rearranged items in a pleasing fashion, whether elements in a plot, or colors and fabrics in a piece he was weaving. Majoring in both studio arts and English, Gregory says he knew one day he would have to concentrate on one thing or another.

Gregory Maguire is the author of Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West (1995), Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister (1999), Lost (2001), Mirror Mirror (2003), Son of a Witch (2005), as well as several children’s books. He received his Ph.D. in English and American Literature from Tufts University. In 1986, he co-founded Children's Literature New England, Incorporated, a non-profit that focuses attention on the significance of literature in the lives of children.

Gregory has lived abroad in Dublin and London, and now makes his home in Concord, Massachusetts.

How did you become a writer?

I steadily avoided ever taking any kind of degree that would prepare me professionally to have a job. Even when I was five, the only job I could think that I might like to have would be maybe a baker, and stand behind a bakery counter and sell doughnuts to kids. By the time I was about eight, I realized I wanted to be an artist of some sort and I didn’t want to work in an office. I didn’t want to have colleagues or a boss. I wanted to make things.

I made drawings. I made sonnets. I made plays. Anything I could touch and turn into something else, I did. I had the problem of having a modest amount of talent in a lot of directions. It was hard to settle on being a writer. At some point there must have been some sense that my writing skills were strengthening. I don’t remember that happening but I know it must have happened.

Tell us about writers who influenced you as a child.

When I was about twelve or fourteen, I began to notice how chapters were put together and which sentences stood out to me. I realized there are aesthetic beauties in the art of writing that are separate from the enjoyment of narrative. One of the writers who was a great influence on me is Jane Langton. She wrote a series of books, beginning with The Diamond in the Window, in which children of a somewhat impoverished background go through a series of dreamlike adventures at nighttime and in the daytime lived their normal everyday lives with family squabbles, trouble with money.

I was absolutely captivated because the entire book is a kind of metaphor about what the arts do, which is give us a broad and almost mystical other-worldly vision of our own lives. We go into a novel to lose ourselves and accidentally find ourselves more deeply than we intended. And I thought, wow, that’s why I want to become a writer. I want to influence people’s ability to approach their own lives with a little bit more nourishment, and a little more energy, and a little bit more courage. Though I don’t think I would have put it that way when I was 14.

What is your writing process?

It’s a little bit different for each book. I write fairly cleanly as writers go. That being said, I still go through anywhere from three and seven drafts of a book, but by draft very often I mean I am doing copyediting on myself.

One day I was on a train, and I was about halfway through writing my new book. I hadn’t really plotted the second half, but suddenly I began to see what was going to happen. It was like seeing a set of rooms: there’s the dining room, the kitchen, there’s the back pantry, the backyard, there’s the yard next door. I had a set of index cards with me and I just started writing what happens, one thing after another, and, in a sense, I outlined the entire second half of the book in minutes.

Once an outline is done I make a graphic chart of it that has several strands with the three or four main characters. I see where they come up in the book and then I will be able to look back and think of it as an aesthetic arrangement. Do I need more foreshadowing of what going to happen on page 80? Do I need something happening on page 20 so it doesn’t come out of the blue as much?

What I used to do for many years, for Wicked and for the books that immediately followed, was to work in the kitchen and use the doors of my kitchen cabinets as the sections. That’s why my first four books all have five sections, because there are five kitchen cabinet doors.

At Grub Street, many writers dream simply of being published. How does it feel to have met with such tremendous success?

One cannot attach any kind of shininess to the fact that I happened to have hit it. It is just luck. There’s no morality attached to luck. It’s not a question of virtue. It’s not a question of skill. It’s a matter of luck. It’s a matter, a little bit, of intelligence. I knew if I did Wicked well it would do well. If I did it poorly it may do well anyway. There are any number of novelists whose every sentence is polished and burnished and has a pearlescent sheen, and they have not had the luck that I’ve had.

What were your low points as a writer?

There were two low points and both had to do with Wicked.

One was eighteen column inches of my first New York Times review of Wicked. It was so bad I actually wept bitter tears of regret and venom. And I thought my career was over before it had begun. I thought maybe I should have stayed with drawing or playing the guitar. Maybe I had been feeding the quarters into this particular meter for nineteen years too long.

The other time was the night that Wicked didn’t win the Tony’s for best Musical. By then I had become such good friends with the creative team and many of the cast that I felt it personally.

What are you working on now?

I’m working on a sequel to Son of a Witch. I now conceive that there will be four books in what I call The Wicked Cycle: Wicked, Son of a Witch, the one I have now, which is kind of a palate cleanser. It’s short. It’s a dish of lemon sorbet in between the rich first two courses, and the final flaming dessert. I’m trying to keep it short. I’m trying to keep it intense. I’m within about ten pages of the end of the first draft, and I don’t know whether it’s working at all. It’s very nerve wracking.

I also would like to write a play after almost thirty years of writing fiction. I did have a small idea for the opening scene about six weeks ago. Now that I’ve seen Wicked so many times, I’m beginning to see things visually on the stage rather than in a kind of omniscient way, looking down at a plot.

I would like to do something new.

The Characters Are Dead, Long Live the Characters

by Hannah

The Land of Revision is Disney meets Hunter S. Thompson: fun-scary with the belief that eventually the story will live happily ever after, blended with surreal, bitter truth-telling moments. When I presented Draft One to the Group earlier this year, I knew before it left my fingers it needed real work. (Draft One, by the way, was in turn the culmination of several versions along the way.) What I wanted from them was confirmation of my gut instincts on what was strong, what could be dumped; they did not disappoint, for which I am forever grateful.

Understanding a work’s weaknesses doesn’t mean one can plunge back in right away wielding a pen or ink cartridge. I spent several weeks in thought, walking around the house, driving the car, lying in bed, standing in the grocery store, and yes, with my head in the dryer. I read with no particular agenda and listened to writers.

Ideas swirled in my head like Disney bluebirds on Thompson acid. Just when I thought I'd never corral them into anything useful, they landed and I knew what I had to do. Kill Jill. Kill Aunt Pat. The problem was, I didn't know why.

As I played with the text, picking out what Jill and Pat scenes were important and considering how to keep them, other existing but weak characters stepped to the plate. One minor player appeared only in the beginning in Draft One, and the Group suggested she be dropped into backstory. By taking one of Jill's scenes from the middle and giving it to this other woman right up front, everything began to change.

Another Jill scene was taken by, of all people, an elderly gentleman merely mentioned once or twice in the first draft. I moved him from Boston to Chicago, where he stretched out and proceeded to make himself quite at home. He became more integral both to backstory and action, extending them, making them better.

Finally, without strong Aunt Pat, the weaker aunt became clearer, and -- amazingly -- her weakness was important. Again, opportunities appeared to tighten the original story and simultaneously give it more depth.

Changing this all took me quite a bit of time, as I learned not only what needed to be revised, but how to be more organized as I write and revise. I was an outliner before, but never a 3x5 card person. Now my entire story is jotted onto a stack of cards tucked into a funky plastic box from Staples. Bits and notes of my next story are already on 3x5s, ready to shuffle and roll.

Last week, Completed Draft Two went to the Group. Could it use another massage before it goes to an agent? Sure. I already have a few ideas. This time, though, it could be a matter of edits and tweaks. Rather than jumping into the fray immediately, I'm content to wait for comments. The changes I make will happen far faster, far more efficiently this time.

For the moment, I am happy to scribble down more whispers from my next protagonist, and I already have a sharper take on the key supporting characters than I did at this stage last time. I have time as well to do projects around the house I’ve been ignoring. To perhaps, for once, get ahead of the holiday shopping. For the first time in months, I'm sensing less Fear and Loathing, and more that a Happy Ending may be in sight after all.

The First Goodbye

By Lynne

I received my editorial letter and suggested edits for my novel last week. My outstanding editor offered spot on suggestions, ones so in sync with my characters and the goals of my novel that you would've thought my characters were real people and she and I were chatting about the locals over coffee. I clicked open my document ready to make changes.

Reading the first sentence of my novel, a sentence that hasn't changed since the first time I sat down to listen to what my characters had to say, I froze. The realization that this would be one of the last times I would spend time in the seaside town I'd created, it's sunlit harbor filled with one mother's secret, the local park hiding a family's truth, I actually got teary.

I've spent over two years discovering my story, massaging it and sorting through the details to include and details to leave out. I've taken one unlikable character and revealed her humanity on the page so that she can finally be understood. I explored the truth, mine and my characters, tucking it in with the care of a mother laying her child down for a nap.

To write the best book I could, I spent dark cold mornings on my window seat typing out a scene before work. I stole weekend time from beach outings or picnics in favor of spending time in a fictional grief counselor's office or a lost child's bedroom.

And now begins the time to say goodbye.

While my sadness centers around the knowledge that there are only a few more times I can touch it, effecting any change, the wonderful news is that because I'm willing to let it go, my story will live forever in the form of a hardbound book.

With each final edit, copy edit and galley proof, there will be less and less I can add or change. Each pass through now means trusting all the revisions I've made to date and embracing the idea that while no story is ever really finished, at some point it will exist in an imperfect state.

I only know one way to grieve the end of writing a treasured story, and that's to allow the feelings to come. Like leaving a child at school, it's hard at first to let go of her hand, but let go you must. And it does get easier with each passing day.

Letting it go and moving on for me comes in the form of a new story. One that has the power to comfort me and pull me in to a new world. My work-in-progress consoles me. My new characters distract me with their stories. I am a writer and I must pay attention to the next story begging to be told.

Missing Details

Posted by Lynne

Take a look at the following tidbits from my novel.

His office looked and smelled yellow, a combination of a bad paint job and cigarettes. Before I sat down, I noticed two empty packages in his wastebasket. Nicotine gum and Good-and-Plenty.

**

I breast-fed him on demand. I dressed him in well-washed clothing, everything had snaps. Nothing with zippers for fear I’d catch his tender skin in their teeth. Harry badgered me, saying I was overprotective, but I made safe choices, controlled every variable I could. When I look back, I need to believe I did that.

Writing details that capture our characters' personalities, their motivations, is essential. Yet only some of these details will make it into the finished novel; that's up to you. Both of the passages above captured important information I needed to know to draw authentic characters. But only one of these passages remains in my novel today, the other passage was cut in the revision process.

Even though the snipped out passage remains in a document file I call snippets and keeps, I will never use it again. Sitting in that file are several treasured phrases and paragraphs of mine no one will ever read; I killed them in revision.

While there are those of us who underwrite and those who overwrite early drafts, each of us in the end must make difficult choices to remove certain details that tell the reader the specific traits, quirks and desires that round out our characters. Amy and I call this word-by-word examination, the painful revision.

Your readers may never learn that your antagonist was bullied by a much smaller boy when he was growing up, or know that your protagonist once stole a candy bar from a convenience store when she was hypoglycemic and broke, but you know these things and each detail informs your writing; whether or not your readers will ever find these details on the page is irrelevant.

And though it hurts at first to let go, these fine distinctions of character are never truly lost. They stay in your mind, and because of this your characters embody them. Whether in the story or in your imagination, each facet helps your characters to shimmer. In this way, less is more.

So do you wonder which of the above passages lives on the page in Life Without Summer? Take a guess. And while you're at it, do you care to share with us how you feel about killing your own little darlings?

The Mirror

by Hannah

Unlikely there is anyone out there who ever wrote a perfect first draft. And how many writers revise and revise and revise until the piece is a shell of what it should be, as the path through the threads and plotlines and the point of the whole thing is lost?

Indeed, someone noted the other evening that there is no such thing as the perfect novel. At the least, an extremely rare thing. Even if I were to achieve my idea of perfection as revisions to my current project hit the home stretch, I suspect there would always be elements tempting me to tinker. In turn, my writers' group will have its opinions, as will potential agents, then publishers, the public.

So where is this headed? Somewhere in between, and I offer up the suggestion that this is not a bad thing.

Somewhere in the middle -- between first draft and overwrite -- does not mean compromise, or a lack of principle or daring or beauty. Somewhere in the middle is a spot where the story holds up a mirror to reflect a truth the author wishes to explore and paint in such a way that the rest of the world might see it anew. At that one particular angle, the author and a large number of readers do, indeed, see into that story. It may not be perfect; there might be a very slightly different angle at which even more readers could be drawn in, but to aim for that could, perhaps be overkill.

After all, as we develop our work, if we hold the mirror one way, only the author is reflected. Yet to over-revise means the author cannot see herself at all. The mirror is a tricky tool, awkward in our fingers as we try to hold it, shift it, get just the right perspective.

Maybe the goal is not perfection. Maybe the goal is to get the angle of the mirror just so, so that we can still see ourselves fully, and so a respectable number of readers see not just author effort, but a piece of themselves as well. That's not so bad, is it?

To Read or Not to Read

by Hannah

Lynne and I went to a revision class taught by Hallie Ephron this spring. When Hallie asked for volunteers to read first paragraphs, Lynne was one of the brave ones, rewarded by Hallie’s deserved interest. My hand stayed down because in skimming my own potential offering, I came to an undeniable conclusion.

Yuck.

How many things were wrong with it? Let me count the ways.

No surprise, then, if I tell you that feedback from the group at about the same time was unanimous. With regard to the first chapter or so, as that is the focus here, the critique was a useful and literary "nope," for all the right reasons. In fact, the question was posed, shouldn’t the story start much later, well after that first chapter?

We don’t always take suggestions, it is true, even if all three others are in agreement. On this particular subject, all four of us agreed. I sat down to cut off the offending text.

I couldn’t do it.

I knew how I wanted to change the story, and a secondary character introduced in the first chapter would show up again once revisions were made. In addition, the protagonist’s experience with this secondary character showed certain motivations, or lack thereof, and to some degree propelled him forward. All well and good at a rational level, but not enough to catch and push the reader forward.

I started to play with them, deepened their quirks. I read it aloud to myself and decided it still needed something before it was read aloud anywhere by anyone.

The trick came in setting. I maintained the storyline, but shifted the action out of a restaurant (Sit! Eat!). The chapter opens now in a beautiful place both characters love, then shifts to a location only the protagonist adores. In doing so, the protagonist and secondary character fell further into place, their personalities became more pronounced.

Bingo! A first chapter I couldn’t wait to read aloud again and to email to the others. The lesson learned has carried me through every step since. Every bit – not just most bits – revised thus far, I would be willing to read aloud in a class, any time. Aha...

That First Chapter

By Amy

It was never intended as a first chapter.

I was intrigued by C. Michael Curtis, Agni and Ploughshares, the Bellevue Literary Review -- especially Bellevue because that literary journal was founded by Danielle Ofri. I'd read both of her memoirs of what it was to become a doctor and wanted desperately to write something that would impress her half as much as her writing touched me.

Short stories are difficult animals to tame, invested with a nature I find elusive. When recommending fiction to Post Road, I consider an accomplished short story to be dynamic, have a compelling voice and characters unlike the 10 other male ennui submitted that quarter, I want to be moved by something transformative. Like pornography, I know it when I see it. But my goodness, it's awfully hard to write, don't you think?

Mr. Curtis, past fiction editor for The Atlantic, believes first-person present tense is an affectation; Sven Birkets, the editor of Agni, expects language to arrest his attention; and frankly, I've never understood the tastes of those at Ploughshares. But Bellevue, I love the pages of that literary journal. It contains writing that is bound to this earth, sensible and enthralling, nothing that strains credulity. Its editors seek out stories that demonstrate an understanding of craft, a facility with language, and honest insight into the human condition that other journals can only reach toward. So when I finished my short story, I sent it to Bellevue, knowing Dr. Ofri wouldn't read it. It was enough someone there would.

Weeks passed, I was distracted by an illness in the family, a move to a new home. And then an email appeared from the Bellevue Literary Review. It had to be a rejection, I expected nothing more and surely it was from the fiction editor. Well, yes and no. It was a note from Dr. Ofri:

"We considered this story strongly. Good writing, nice tone. But the ending isn't as strong as it could be; it seems to stop rather than end. It also feels like we need some more mortar in the story: We need to know early on that woman is embalming and that narrator is female, how old. We need a bit about her life, how long has she worked there, what is private life like. It was a touching moment when little girl wanders in, but reader needs to understand how narrator's life is like the girl's. If you decided to fill the story out, we'd be happy to read a revised version if you submit it late summer or early fall (during our next reading cycle). -Danielle Ofri"

I must have read her words a hundred times. Everything she wrote made sense, but nothing more than, "...it seems to stop rather than end." The problem was I hadn't written a short story at all, I was inept as ever. What I'd done was write the first chapter of a novel. I knew this was true, knew it at my core, because my characters wouldn't leave me be, they had so much more to say.

A few moments of Dr. Ofri's time spent reading my submission and a hurried email with editorial feedback encouraged me to take a path I'd never intended. Perhaps she'll be happy to know I worked on that first chapter for five more months before continuing on with the rest of the story. Like the reader, I, too, needed to discover how old my protagonist was, more of her private life, and the ties that bound her to the little girl. As Dr. Ofri said, I had to build the "mortar" of her life. I've done that, I think. We shall see if it's good enough.

So thank you, Dr. Ofri, you were right. It wasn't an ending at all, just the beginning.

Too Much Going On

Posted by Lisa

My first chapter wasn't working. When I shared it with my writers' group so many months back, they complimented my setting and said kind words about my main character. But, I can't remember if it was Hannah, Lynne or Amy, who suggested, directly, that my first chapter was busy. Too busy. So I pared it down, or so I thought.

I 've finished a complete draft of this YA novel, and I'm sending it to my writers' group today. But even yesterday, that first chapter still wasn't strong. So I did something desperate: I asked my husband to read it.

I know, I know, that's a risky endeavor. I hear your voices loud and clear. But my marriage is strong. Surely it's strong enough to withstand a critique of ONE chapter. He read it while I puttered in another room.

"It's good," he said, "your writing is solid." But... there was a but in that sentence, and I wanted to hear it. "But," he continued, "there's too much going on. There's three things going on. I think there should be two."

"Thanks," I said. "No problem," he answered. Then he picked up his Blackberry and wandered out of the room.

Bingo. Hello. Well, duh. Light bulb moment.

He was right. I knew it the very second he told me. I edited. I re-read. I repositioned bits and pieces of the story. It's much improved, far from perfect, but it seems to read better; hopefully it intrigues without overwhelming.

The same as you, I keep on learning. I suppose one of my latest lessons is about what makes a good scene. A scene must be long enough, without being lengthy. Enough must happen, without confusing the reader. Sometimes the hardest thing is to cut a scene in two. When you take something out of a scene, you must find somewhere else to put it - never easy. Like a house of cards, you take one away, and the rest of the house starts to tremble. I suppose that is editing. And frankly, that is a lot of work, but painstaking work we must do.

Obsession

by Hannah

My children pity me. Here it is, summer, and their mother is working like a devil.

"Call a friend!" I say, and I offer popcorn and even Nerf dart guns, leave far behind any promises to myself to never let them switch away from PBS. I am on the computer; if they come in to peer over my shoulder, they see PR emails to editors and producers, draft press releases. Ninety percent of the time, however, the second they walk from the room, the screen changes. Hey, they try to do it to me all the time. They believe they are hiding an extra half hour on Runescape or Webkinz as they pretend to email friends. I am hiding my revisions.

They don't think it is "real" work. Even when I am doing paid work, my daughter comes in and tries to chat. As I finish a marketing plan, she starts to update me on which fellow student thespian knows his or her lines, then she launches into the HONK! songbook. I explain that my office is to be respected as much as Daddy's office in the city, that I need her to find something else to do for twenty minutes.

She leaves, humming. I finish the plan in ten minutes; I pull up the story for ten more. If I can get through this chapter today, I think, I will be in good shape. I live fully in the minds of these characters, in that place where it is easy to start writing each chance I get and so, so hard to pull away. I pull it up multiple times a day, for ten minutes, half an hour, two hours. When I am not writing, I am taking notes, or reading. Reading good books as I sit poolside watching the children and their friends makes me want to get back to writing all the more.

I tell myself it is a good thing this mania hit during summer; it would be so easy to let the story slide in the battle for time. The energy to write always ebbs and flows to some degree, but this is full moon high tide. I don't know why, but there is an urgency to this now for me. It is not a need to finish, per se, although that is indeed the goal, a self-imposed timeline in place. I simply have to be writing, getting the story out accurately, refining the details, upping the ante, pushing myself in a way that is infinitely rewarding even though thus far I am the only one to see the results. At the least convenient time of the year, I am obsessed. This is my work, and I need to do it.

Not Right Now

By Amy

To be perfectly honest, I don't feel like writing this post. No offense, people, but my personal life is upside down, I'm a bit peckish, woefully tired, and, frankly, I'd rather spend my time living in a world I created than the one I've recently been handed. That's not to say my protagonist is having a better time of it, it's just I know the outcome to that particular tale of woe.

I'm thick in the revision process (thank you, Therese, I needed that), and even though it's summer, even though a plethora of amazing books have been released this year, and, yes, shamefully, even though my family needs me, I want to ignore reality, sit here at my desk in my stuffy office, with a puppy in desperate need of a bath (but, my goodness, he is the sweetest dog in the world, isn't he?), and write.

So, please excuse me for this short post, but my time is no longer my own and every moment has become precious. I'm close, so close, and I really need to get back to my writing.

Before you go, a favor? So that I may live vicariously through you, take the kids to the beach and be sure to pack a good book for me.

Truth and Revision

Posted by Lynne

He is cliches of beauty. Tall, dark and handsome. My soulmate; he understands me or least he's always willing to try. But those are not the reasons I adore my husband. It's because I can count on him to always tell the truth. In the beginning his truthfulness was applied to skirts that accentuated post-pregnancy hips. Or first attempts at complicated recipes gone wrong. Now he tells it like it is about my writing.

I would be blessed beyond measure if I only had Tom's honesty when it comes to my work, but I'm fortunate enough to have a cadre of trusted readers. Amy, Lisa and Hannah are the most generous--and forthright--writers I know. No sugar coating, no gratuitous compliments, though no critique for the sake of boosting their own egos, either. For them, it's all about making the work better, encouraging each of us to grow as a writer.

Along with Tom, Amy, Lisa and Hannah, I have another special reader, let's call her E.

Back in January, thrilled I'd been capable of polishing a first draft of my novel, I sent it off to E. I was naively hopeful. Her first words to me after reading it were, "You asked me to be honest, so I am going to be. It isn't there yet."

Yes, I'd asked for honesty. I honestly wanted you to love it, I thought. What in goodness name do I do with, it isn't there yet. Couldn't this person I trusted tell me where it was supposed to go; I would willingly take it there if only I knew. She gave minimal suggestions, some that felt true to the story, some that did not. With the support of my other trusted readers--chiefly Tom and my writers' group--I shouldered the blow, and got to the job of revising.

I submerged myself in classes, books on revision, and the chair I sit in to write. I'd often ask Tom if he was okay with me, going to that place. If you're a writer, you know the one I'm talking about. The place where you're connected to people you adore who don't exist, to places you love but can't touch. Whether I spent an hour there or twelve, Tom kept saying, "I believe you have to tell this story."

I'd love to end this post by telling you my revisions are complete and my manuscript will be published. The news I received this week was good, but not that good. The truth is I finished a third draft and sent it to my trusted reader E. Her first words to me this time were, "Revision is a wonderful thing." She said my story has come alive.

Her earlier honesty was hard to hear, though truly her words were a gift. My story wouldn't be the story it is now if she hadn't had the courage to tell me the truth. I wouldn't have pushed the story, or myself.

Like a ball of yarn, truth and revision are intertwined. Pull at the knot with honesty, free the tangle with revision, only to come upon a new knot. Anyone who's tackled it knows, it's by no means an easy thing to do--you need the truth to do it.