My Tiff with Bill (W. Somerset)

by Hannah Roveto

Bill and I are having a bit of a disagreement; Bill, of course, is W. Somerset Maugham, and this tiff has gone on for three days. The whole thing started with The Grub Street Rag, which offers news of the local literary scene and tempting class offerings, and my favorite, a quote of the week. This week they reported our dear friend Bill once said: "There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are."

When I first read that, I started to agree; on further thought, I had to argue the point. You see, I have started in on Novel Two, unleashing what has been percolating in my head for some months. At the same time, a neighbor called. She has thought of writing and wants to know how to make the dream real. As a result, I had been giving this Rules of Writing A Novel thing some attention, and I have proposed to Bill three rules I think are undeniable.

Rule Number One: Have a plan. Writing a novel is a journey you need to think through a bit before you head out upon it. Say you live in Boston and something inside you has always wanted to travel the U.S., east to west. You decide you want to end up in L.A. You get maps and you plan for supplies and provisions and clothing and lodging; you mark out routes and alternate routes. A novel requires this, too. Some people get very organized and do outlines. Those people actually end up in L.A. with their manuscripts. Other people plan and yet allow for a bit of a surprise; they end up in Portland, Oregon, which meets the goal equally well.

Rule Number Two: Employ sitzfleisch; strong gluteus maximus muscles put to use to achieve what you want. The rough English translation is stick-to-itiveness. Bill can't deny this one. He wrote his first book at 16. He worked on his second book every night while he was studying for his medical degree. He proof-read Of Human Bondage outside of Dunkirk while working as an ambulance driver during World War II. No matter what else goes on in life, you write. And edit. Every day you touch the work in some way. As on any journey, the more you do it, the easier it gets, because those glutei get stronger with every use.

Rule Number Three: Learn and build on your craft. You have a story in you. Break it down. What do you imagine this story to be like when you are done, and what do you need to do to have the craft to produce that book? Plot, characters, setting and other elements of writing are the supplies you need for your journey. Know what they are, and get them onboard. What is the voice? What the heck is voice? Find out. Read. Take classes. Read again. Write it and rewrite it. Edit, fine-tune as you take more classes and refine again. An artist constantly works on craft. What you wrote yesterday was good, if you put your heart into it. What you write today will be better if you want to make it so. What you write tomorrow will be your best.

What you put in the novel is up to you. How you structure it, the story you wish to tell, the guidelines you wish to follow or learn well enough to break are yours to choose. There, it's wide open territory. Bottom line, though, you can start that journey if you follow three rules, and I've given you my suggestions on those. Meanwhile, Bill hasn't gotten back to me with his thoughts, which makes me a bit nervous. Or should I be more nervous if he does respond?

Spotlight On You

by Hannah Roveto

A crossroads of thoughts came somewhere between watching Ted Kennedy speak on Monday night and reading Amy's post yesterday. Having a book out makes an author a public figure, subject to being recognized, approached, discussed, analyzed. Yet other professions that generate public figures -- politics, or sports or entertainment -- offer a distinct advantage in that their years of junior experience train them not only in their chosen field, but force them to be increasingly public people along the way.

When I was younger, I worked in state government. Once a week or so, I would write a press release for the Commissioner at the Department of Revenue and when it was approved, march it up to the press offices under the golden dome of the Massachusetts State House. As I headed to the rooms where the wisecracking reporters sat, I would pass the young politicos. They were my age, and the young men and women alike eyed my long skirts, short-sleeved tops and flat shoes with suspicion.

Clearly, I was not one of them no matter how comfortable I looked pushing in and out of heavy oak doors. They wore suits, wandering the marbled halls looking earnest, practicing their public faces. They moved from being aides to assistants, meeting constituents, coordinating public meetings, rising and flourishing under increasing public visibility, until some eventually launched their own bids to represent their neighbors. They, like top athletes and entertainers, moved from small stages to ever-larger venues over a career.

Writers do that to some degree. We can publish a piece in a local paper, by-line for a regional magazine, perhaps have a story published in a literary journal. We can network, teach or go to conferences or work through a master's degree. Still, the growth and change and development happens mostly in the shadows. Our craft is quiet and private and happens behind the walls and doors of our homes. Then, with hard work and determination, one day:

Tah Dah!

When the story leaves us, the shield of invisibility comes off and there we stand, in our local libraries, in a bookstore, in the grocery store, blinking into a quick spotlight. With luck, we have acquired some of those tools elsewhere, so that when we are required to handle that moment with grace and aplomb, it's as though we, too, have been practicing all of our lives.

And so to a question: What are your thoughts about the moments when you have sent or will send a story out into the world... and you must follow it out, as well?

Free PR Advice

by Hannah Roveto

In my other life, not the one where I make PB&Js and play taxi, but my other-other life, I am a national public relations consultant. You probably have shopped at my clients' stores, bought their stuff, seen them on TV or read about them in national magazines or local newspapers.

When PR types sit with a new or potential client, we ask them to explain in their own words what makes them unique or what makes their product better than anyone else's, and of course, what kind of media attention they expect us to deliver. What's fascinating is the number of successful clients who cannot articulate a precise vision of who they are in the marketplace and what kind of response is realistic.

"We're going to make shopping fun." (Mmm. How precisely? Are customers really in need of spa grocery stores?) "We meet the needs of real people." (That's not an answer until you can define real people, what their needs are and again, why they want massages on aisle six.)

"Our paradigm is such that we optimize the experience and deliver results." (Hunh?) "We want you to get us on the front page of the New York Times." (Not with a paradigm nobody understands, you won't.)

Aspirational statements do not sell a story. Producers and editors hear hundreds of pitches a day, people like me calling and emailing them begging for time and attention. Their antennae are finely tuned to select subjects that are clearly defined, offer something truly fresh or a twist on expectations, and that will be presented quickly, efficiently and in an entertaining fashion. Here's the trick: Nobody wants to know why my clients are great. Lots of people sell stuff. What the media want to know is why their audience is going to care enough to perhaps take action.

Before you go anywhere in the public eye -- and for writers that can be as early as looking for an agent, never mind hitting the bookshelves -- you need to know clearly who you are and where you want to go, and be able to explain quickly why your audience -- agents, editors, readers -- should care.

Consider yourself not from within, but from without: What makes you and your story interesting, a little different, enough to pique curiosity (without making them roll their eyes)? What will they connect to emotionally and/or what is the twist? Last, make sure you can explain all this in a sentence or two, in such a way to draw a nod of interest from a total stranger.

Sound bytes. One sentence, two sentences. Lisa Scottoline tells writers to draft their own New York Times bestseller list blurb. Do it for your story and for yourself, too. That way when you meet an agent, a book editor, a television news producer, you'll be ready. Plus, you'll impress the heck out of the marketing team as a bonus!

The Pen is Mightiest

by Hannah Roveto

For anyone excited to read a review of powerful writing that seeks to correct wrongs and fight injustice, my apologies. I like that idea, perhaps a kernel for a future post, but that's not what's got me going. Instead, come with me to a modest gray-shingled Cape a short walk from the ocean, emerald grass across its front lawn, catbirds mocking each other in the trees.

Our Writer sits at her computer, iced coffee in hand. The morning is warm, the silence promising. She turns on the computer, excited about having created two hours to fill with ideas and poetry. Or at least, a last round of revision.

"Fatal execution error."

(Dear reader: Fill in this blank with the word of your choice.)

"Press okay if you want to continue." Does she? Sure, why not. A large message screen pops up, threatening to eliminate all that lies behind the glass. "Continue" is still an option, teases the computer. Our Writer does want to continue, but knows this is a trick question.

What the heck. Nothing bad happens, although the Internet connection doesn't work, which is fine as the antivirus software is sending a warning to the screen every two minutes saying it is shut off and can't go back on. A quick call to the boss means there may be even more time to write, as no emails will get through, no research can be done.

Our Writer turns off the computer, prostrating herself before the Muse for inspiring her to back up the WIP a day earlier, an infrequent occurence. She pulls out... a pad of paper and a pen. Our Writer heads down the hall to curl up on the sofa, coffee moved to still be within reach. She goes through the outline of her manuscript and notes she has made as to small changes that need to be made. Over two days, as the Dell is nursed back to reasonable health, pages of lined paper covered with blue ink are written over in black ink, red ink, pencil, until everything from dozens of scraps of paper are all compiled into one source. The result is satisfying; a feeling of accomplishment and preparedness makes Our Writer woozy with delight.

In fact, those two days of pen and paper leave a fond memory that almost overshadows the frustration with technology. The feel of pen in hand, the smooth hush of paper, the corner of the sofa with its soft pillows. She thinks of authors who write everything longhand the first round; could that be a possibility for the next project? Perhaps. For the pen is not only mightier than the sword, it has proven itself mightier than the computer. And these days, that is saying a great deal.