1. We are hooked up to the Internet. (Did you know they have porn and wrestling kittens–or both!) on the web? Why would you make your dreams come true when there are distractions like that?
2. We don’t outline and we got fifty pages in before we hit a dead-end. Now what? Back up and go again? What if I hit another roadblock?
3. Coffeemaker broke and can’t afford Starbucks. We could afford one Starbucks flavored coffee…if we get that barista job.
4. We chose the wrong point of view from the start. We did not realize this until we hit the climax on page 326.
5. Kids, job, sleep…minor, dispensable obstacles en route to glory.
6. Best friend got published. Instead of writing, it is necessary to run in circles around the house cursing god, fate, Random House…not necessarily in that order.
7. Writer’s Block. Urk! It is now necessary for us to attempt a bank robbery for new content. Could also solve #3 if our getaway works out.
8. Depression. Cold, paralyzing depression. “Why haven’t I won a Giller by now? Or at least published?”
9. False starts. Your agent tried a few publishers and dumped you. The acquiring editor took you on with glee (and then immediately switched over to educational publishing.) The journal that was going to feature you went under. Close calls are part of the writing deal.
The MFA meme struck this morning in a big way. I tweeted a few great links about Master of Fine Arts programs. Here they are in one aggregation for your edification and enjoyment. There’s some heavy points among the fun stuff.
Sometimes writers can’t decide from which viewpoint to tell their story. Here’s why your agent or editor rejected your work when, assuming everything else rocked the Casbah, the problem was that the narrative‘s viewpoint failed to engage them.
1. They wished you had gone with the viewpoint you didn’t choose. (They didn’t tell you because that’s not their job unless they’re already working with you.)
2. Your viewpoint choice works, but it’s simply not their cup of pee. It’s subjective. It’s not to their taste. You can’t blame someone for not liking something viscerally (any more than you would blame someone for preferring vanilla to chocolate (even though that choice is inexplicably insane.)
3. Third person is limited omniscience. (No, no one does pure third person omniscient anymore.) First person viewpoint is much more limited in scope. In third person, the author may slide into keeping the reader in the dark. The reader may resent you for it if the execution is flawed.
4. Your first person reads like third person. In other words, third person lends itself to a more dispassionate telling of events. First person viewpoints are parades for character. If the character doesn’t have much character (i.e. unique voice, perspective, expression and sounds like all the other characters) the road to publication ends in a dead-end ditch. If I’m going to be seeing through this person’s eyes for several hundred pages, I want to enjoy the company.
5. The first person’s point of view can be unreliable (not necessarily a con, often a pro) but your protagonist is a static wimp. This is similar to #4, except here I’m talking about action. In first person, it’s easy to fall into the mistake of making your hero (or anti-hero) watch the action. I once critiqued a script that had a lot of action, but the protagonist wasn’t doing any of it. He was always around the action, following it instead of initiating. That won’t fly in the long run.
BONUS:
Do what works for you. Tell the story your way and, keeping these points in mind, you’ll figure out how to proceed. (If you can’t…) An author critiquing at a writers conference once dismissed a manuscript out of hand. His reason? It was written in first person and he didn’t think there was enough of a market for that. There was a guy who had a very limited first person point of view.
I’m not much on preamble, but I’m really excited to share some really helpful stuff in tomorrow’s blog. We’re talking about the book business, yes, but we’re really working on improving the project that is you (and me!)
Tomorrow I’ve got a couple of stories for you about networking. The word has a bad spammy vibe. That’s unfortunate because the traits of an excellent networker serve anyone who wants to promote their book, their business and simply connect with people to enrich their lives. Good networkers are good at life. I’m going to introduce you to a guy who is excellent at connecting at people—a master, in fact. That’s the preview. Don’t sleep. Stay giddy. Tomorrow’s blog could really help you. It’s helping me.
Tonight I want to take a moment to discuss author websites. To get there, I’m going to tell you what a smart buddy of mine said a few years ago. We were talking about investments. I was worried about what to invest in. His reply was, “It’s less important what you invest in. It is essential that you invest.” Don’t suffer from paralysis by analysis.
I thought about that lesson earlier this year when I was talking to an aspiring author. I told her how I was working on this website. She said she knew it was important for her to establish a web presence and get a fan base going. However, she hadn’t started and it seemed she had no plans. What was holding her back? She was concerned that editors and agents would look at her site and find it lacking. Her theory was that they might like her manuscript, but if they didn’t care for her website, the deal would be sunk.
She was waiting for…actually, I’m not sure what she was waiting for. I guess she was waiting for the time to be right, or for the energy to be higher or to develop a ton of content that was perfect. Unfortunately, if you want a book deal some day, the best time to start your website would be years ago at the Internet’s inception. Second best time? Now.
There is no right time, the energy will never be high unless you concentrate on the task and realize perfection is an illusion. Strive for excellence. Reject perfection. Universal acceptance of all you write isn’t any more realistic than is expecting every editor and agent to clamor for your manuscript.
The only time to avoid working on your web presence is when it’s cutting into your writing time. Do not sacrifice your writing time for your website. That’s the caveat. Otherwise, ditch the excuses and start up. Start small if you like and you can choose to update weekly instead of daily. You can choose to upgrade later. Just begin. As with your manuscript, something is better than nothing.
It’s less important what you do. It’s more important that you do.
BONUS:
Tomorrow, in Part I of the networking story, I’ll also introduce you to an awesome author I met at Word on the Street in Toronto. Her name is Sue Kenney. You can check out her website at www.suekenney.ca. And yes, her website is great!
You get the letter or the phone call. You’ve won a short story contest!
What happens next?
1. Dance.
2. Call your spouse. “I knew you could!” they say. “This makes all those times I watched the kids while you wrote…almost worth it! Dinner’s on you tonight, Snoogums!” Get your freak on.
3. Call your non-literary friends. “Congratulations!” they say. Then, “I have to get back to work. I don’t hang around a home office, alone all day celebrating like some people I know.”
4. Call your literary friends. “Congratulations!” they say, through gritted teeth. Make encouraging sounds. Assure them they could have won in your place, but it’s a subjective business. (True, though you will never, can never, think of these small triumphs as mere luck. To continue as a writer, you must know you deserve it all. Otherwise you’ll come to your senses and start making money doing something more people value, like grouting.)
5. Call your parents. “Congratulations!” they say. “How much money did you win?” For most contests, when you buy the celebration dinner tonight, there goes at least half. (I won $1,000 for a short story once. I blew that on paying taxes. Whoo-hoo.)
6. Go out for a coffee. This is an obvious ploy to tell strangers. They don’t care. Tip the barista well.
7. Wait for the prize and or publication. The prize may come along quickly assuming it’s a legitimate contest. If publication is part of the prize, it will be a long wait.
8. Discover typos or tiny changes you’d love, nay, need to make to avoid immortalizing the coming ridicule. They won’t make the changes. The release you signed but did not read said so in a sub-paragraph. You’ll try to pester someone about it, but the happy people who called to say you won will now no longer return your calls. (This is also when you figure out you gave away more rights to the story than you would have if you weren’t so giddy when they called. Don’t blame yourself. When they called to inform, you were like the zittiest kid at junior prom asked to dance by the prettiest girl.)
9. Before you can tell them you’re pulling it, you shall receive rejections from other contests and magazines for the same story who apparently thought it sucked. (Don’t let the spark of your enthusiasm get drowned out.)
10. (a) Publication and then anonymity as history moves on.
(b) Publication on the net will result in comments (possibly even an awful blog post railing against you as happened after one of my tiny triumphs) from a bunch of bitter losers who can’t believe their genius went unrecognized. Oh, they’ll be mean. They’ll demand the judges quit and express disgust at your existence, you know-nothing poseur!
BONUS:
11. Reminisce about your past triumph, write something else, put something else in the mail and sublimate your rage with a passive-aggressive blog post.
A novel is a long journey with many plot developments. In short stories, the major change is in character. It’s up to you to make the ending a satisfying, surprising and yet inevitable revelation.
But sometimes we get stuck. The story unfolds, but we aren’t sure how to end it correctly. When you get stuck for a last paragraph, I suggest you look to your first paragraph. Your ending’s seed often grows from the opening.
The right opening is intriguing, informative, gives a sense of place and introduces the problem. You may think of your closing as a callback (as comedians label a bit, perhaps a finisher, that recalls an earlier premise.) After the last word, ask yourself how your reader will interpret the story. How did the character change? What was learned (without being too obvious or moralistic)?
Short stories shouldn’t be too obvious in their endings, of course, but you have to find a balance between showing a situation and telling your reader what to think. Too often, in an effort to be subtle, writers veer off into the obscure. Sometimes people write arty endings. Some teachers even seem to encourage that. I don’t.
As a writer, a mysterious ending makes me think the short story author is trying to distract me from their muddled thinking. I am not distracted by flowery words that say nothing. I’m irritated by that. As a readers, unclear conclusions feel like camouflage for a place where the writer stopped the story rather than ending it.
Opaque writing is unsatisfying. You can be subtle without leaving the reader stunned into incomprehension. Good short stories, with a proper beginning, have a clear ending. Give it an interesting middle and you have a story.
Tall orders, I know. But that’s what it takes. I’m struggling with a short story ending now. However, I’m confident the solution to that tricky last paragraph will be found in the first.
C h a z z W r i t e s . c o m 
