Category Archives: Writing Process

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Writing Tip #109

Make your chapter endings count. A book club member recently commented that she enjoyed the ending of each chapter in Baby Grand: “They made me want to keep reading.” Yay, I thought, I’ve done my job. The way I see it, chapter endings should serve two functions:

  1. To end whatever scene is going on in the book at a logical place that feels satisfying to the reader — the plot has moved forward and the reader had learned something new.
  2. To keep the reader engaged enough to want to turn to the next chapter.

I’ve read books, particularly thrillers, with chapters that just seem to end willy nilly, as if the author took a knife and just randomly cut one big chapter into two. Perhaps the author thought some of his chapters were getting a bit too lengthy or unruly and needed to be shortened — thriller readers seem to like brief, tidy chapters. Still, to me it just seemed like a waste of a new chapter heading.

Chapter endings need to make sense, need to bring a scene to a close. They should make readers stick in their bookmarks and wonder, Hmmm, what will happen next? And if they’re really good, the reader will reopen the book to find out.

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The Middle Malaise

As I wrote on my Facebook page the other day, I had been discouraged lately because I was having so much difficulty with my second novel, In the Red. What the heck? I mean, I’ve done this before, right? Baby Grand, yes? What gives?

Suddenly — and truly it was like one of those Aha Moments — I remembered that writing a novel IS hard and that I had to give myself a break. It’s kind of like parenting — you forget how hard it is until you’re back to stressful, sleepless nights. And, trust me, I’m stressed and sleepless.

So, faced with blank pages and lingering doubt and fear, I did what I always do: Just write. Sit down and do it. No excuses. Hard shmard. Go for it. Eye of the tiger.

And as I pushed myself to keep writing — and, trust me, there’s quite a bit of pushing — at some point, the writing got easier. I could feel the adrenaline starting to pump again, my excitement once again building, the words coming to me more readily, unlike the “pulling teeth” of weeks prior. And, boom, another Aha Moment. Could I have forgotten all about this too? A little something I like to call The Middle Malaise.

Writing the middle section of a book, at least for me, is the hardest. The beginning is easy. As I like to say: Anyone can start a novel (but not anyone can finish one). You’re full of excitement and inspiration and tons of energy, and then about a hundred pages in, all of that wanes. You question your motives, whether any of this is interesting, and you’re not exactly sure what the heck is going on now, who these characters really are, and whether any of it makes sense — even WITH an outline. Ah, The Middle Malaise. Gotta push through, push through. And, suddenly, everything becomes clear once again. You see how the ending of the book will come about, like the proverbial light at the end of a dark, dark tunnel. I found myself muttering, “Yes, that will work!” or “Oh, I can do this!” and the clouds cleared and narratives tied together and — lo and behold — writing was fun again.

So, for those of you who are out there in the middle of your manuscripts and faltering and stumbling and questioning your decision to write, remember: If you can get through that Middle Malaise — and remember that writing is hard — chances are that you’ll not only pass the finish line, but you’ll do it with a feeling of accomplishment that you will not believe.  Now, THAT I remember.

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The Next Big Thing

I had been racking my brain wondering what I’d blog about on the final day of 2012 — the pressure of coming up with something poignant and/or intelligent that I discovered about myself as a writer or about the publishing industry over the past year — when, as luck would have it, the lovely Ellen Meister was kind enough to tag me in this blog chain/self-interview titled, “The Next Big Thing,” which totally took the pressure off. Whew!

As part of this blogging chain, writers answer 10 questions about their recently published or soon-to-be-published works (see Ellen’s answers here). I had the pleasure of interviewing Ellen this year about her book, The Other Life, for the television show, The Writer’s Dream, and am so looking forward to reading Farewell, Dorothy Parker — her fourth novel — which will be published by Putnam in February 2013.

Now, without further ado, here’s my 10-question chat:

  • What is the title of your book? Baby Grand
  • Where did the idea come from for the book? I truly wish I could remember exactly how and when I came up with the premise for Baby Grand. All I know is it happened sometime in my twenties, when I was working as a full-time editor in Manhattan. I used to commute every day by bus and/or train and would read lots of thrillers by authors such as John Grisham, Michael Crichton and James Patterson. I loved them. Devoured them. And, for some reason, I always thought I had it in me to write one.
  • What genre does your book fall under? Thriller
  • Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition? Although Robert De Niro was the inspiration for my villain Don Bailino when I came up with the concept in the mid-1990s, he’s kinda too old to play the character — although, as luck would have it, he’s now a perfect fit for Gino Cataldi (hint, hint). Bobby Cannavale, actually, would be an amazing choice for Bailino (I just saw him in Glengarry Glen Ross on Broadway — he stole the show). And I think Ginnifer Goodwin would make a great Jamie Carter.
  • What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book? A curly-haired toddler, a down-on-her-luck writer and the bad guys who brought them together. (Not quite a sentence, I know, but it does the trick.)
  • Was your book self-published or represented by an agency? Self-published

Continue reading →

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Writing Tip #107

Feeling ‘trapped’ when penning a sequel. A fellow writer, Betsy Arnold, sparked a very interesting discussion on my FB page today. She said — with regard to penning a “companion book” to a novel:

“I keep having to go back and check the facts from my first book which were throwaways at the time. Now they are parameters with which I’m stuck. Is that true for you?…I keep having to consult my maps and timelines. Ugh. I want to change a few things in the first book, but can’t. It’s a strange feeling.”

Indeed, it is. And she is totally right. In a sequel, or companion book, you are confined by the “throwaways” (good word!) that you created in the first book — your character was born here, in a place and time that you provided for him, whether purposefully or arbitrarily (it makes you realize how very important every decision you make in your novel is!). As I told Betsy, you can always have a character dye his hair or decide he doesn’t like mashed potatoes anymore. But it’s true that that character has to be born where you decided he was born in the first book — unless, of course, the entire first book was a hallucination or dream (Bobby Ewing, anyone?). Although the novel I’m working on now, In the Red, is a stand-alone, my next book will be a sequel to my first novel, Baby Grand. I’ve started working on it a bit, and already I’m experiencing the things Betsy mentions: Having to check back to the first book to make sure I’m being consistent so that fans of the first book won’t be standing outside my house with pitchforks demanding a public apology or a new edition.

Yes, it can feel confining, but remember that only those starting points have to remain the same (character names, descriptions, etc.). Characters can move, change their minds, denounce their families, find a time machine and do just about anything they want to do. Although some things may be etched in stone, the rest is a wonderfully blank canvas.

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Writing Tip #106

No Naughty and Nice lists here. One of the most interesting comments I’ve received about Baby Grand came from my 15-year-old son. He said that he liked that there was no underlying message or moral to the book, that the bad guys weren’t always punished and the good guys weren’t always rewarded. And it’s true. I tried to create very real characters, put in real-life situations, in Baby Grand, and to do that, I think, you need to recognize that there’s good and bad in all of us and that nice guys do sometimes finish last. Separating our characters into Naughty and Nice does a disservice to them in that it doesn’t allow authors to fully realize their potential and it does a disservice to readers who may be looking for something other than the usual knights in shining armor and evildoers in black hats and wiry mustaches. While it’s tempting to take sides, we need to treat our characters, both good and bad, with the respect they deserve. Leave the playing favorites to Santa.

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What Is It About Short Chapters?

I remember when I was writing Baby Grand people used to ask me all the time: Are your chapters short?

I thought it was such an odd question. I mean, of all the things to ask a writer about her work-in-progress…

I would answer, “Yes, for the most part.”

“Oh, good,” they’d say.

And then when Baby Grand was published this year, people told me how much they enjoyed the book, especially those short chapters. They said that they provided a natural place to stop reading or, perhaps more often, enticed them to read just a little bit more before going to bed.

Which is great. But I find this phenomenon so interesting. Don’t get me wrong: I think short chapters are terrific, as long as they’re tightly written and meaty. I guess with so many things vying for our attention these days, being able to read something in tidy digestible chunks is helpful. Totally.

Still, I often stop in the middle of a chapter when I read. I have no problem putting down a book at any point in the reading process, rather than only at chapter breaks. Am I weird?

How about you? Are you a strictly end-of-chapter bookmarker? Or does anything go?

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Writing Tip #105

Don’t be alarmed if your writing process changes from book to book. As many of you know, I wrote the second half of my first novel, Baby Grand, fast and furiously — 1,000 words a day for six or seven weeks. So, naturally, when it came time to write my current novel, In the Red, I planned on doing it the same way — you know, stick to what works. The plan was to sit my butt in a chair and crank out 1,000 words a day, every day, no exceptions.

And I have. Sort of.

For some reason, I’m finding that the 1Kaday writing process doesn’t seem to be working for this book. Some days I’m on track. Others not so much. Sure, I’m distracted and full of self-doubt, but I was while writing Baby Grand too. That’s not the problem. Things just seem… well, different:

  • The music I used to motivate myself while writing Baby Grand doesn’t work this time around. While a song seemed helpful and inspirational two years ago, now I listen and think, This song reminds me of Baby Grand. In fact, it sort of feels like it belongs there. In that world. It would be like asking Bailino to make an appearance in my current work-in-progress.
  • With Baby Grand, I wrote often at night. With In the Red, I find that I write more during the day — and I like to write out of the house, particularly at Panera Bread.
  • With Baby Grand, I pretty much stuck to a linear process. I wrote the book from beginning to end. Now, I’m all over the place — writing the ending before the middle and then heading back to the beginning.
  • The other day, I wrote and wrote and wrote and ended up netting about 200 words, because I had cut a lot out during the process. If this had been Baby Grand, I would have sat there until I had written a net of 1,000 words. This time, though, I felt it was enough to have netted the 200 and, guilt aside, decided to power down until the next day.

What gives?

With regard to that last point, at first I thought I was just slacking off. But now I’m not so sure. I’m well into In the Red. It seems silly to chastise myself for not sticking to a schedule when whatever it is I AM doing seems to be working: As of this morning, I have about 61,000 words written (227 pages), which somehow I managed to do without my closely monitored 1,000-word-a-day regimen. (Baby Grand was only about 79,000 words when I finished the first draft back in August 2010).

In other words, I’m close, and I’m getting there. And I think in the end that’s all that matters.

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Always Watching

I’m often asked by people, “As a writer, how do you turn it off? Are you always in writing mode?”

The answer is: I don’t. And yes.

Being a fiction writer has consumed me in ways that journalism never has. As a general-assignment freelancer, my work is kind of like cramming for a series of school exams — you study up on a field of knowledge, spit out answers in the form of an article, and then move onto the next assignment. In between are usually large periods of sleeping, eating or catching up on my DVRed shows.

Novels, on the other hand, hover over me. For months. For years. Forever.

I guess it’s the nature of long-term projects — I had a similar experience while working on Good Girls Don’t Get Fat and other nonfiction titles. But novels, in particular, haunt me, because the stories themselves aren’t external, but internal — they originate in me and become a part of me, extensions of my world. And you know the saying: Wherever you go, there you are. In other words, there’s no escape.

Even when, like today, I manage to write 1,000 words of my work-in-progress in the morning, leaving the rest of the day presumably carefree, I am still thinking about those characters, that scene. I don’t mean to. I just do. My characters just pop right in during dinner or while watching Dancing with the Stars. I’ve said this before, but it’s kind of like that last scene in A Beautiful Mind where Nash and his wife, Alicia, leave the auditorium in Stockholm where Nash has just won the Nobel Memorial Prize in Economics, and he sees Charles, Marcee, and Parcher — figments of his imagination — standing to one side and watching him.

They are always watching.

Like Nash, I kind of learned not to fight it, to just accept it as part of my life as a fiction writer. Plus, the truth is I kind of like having these people around. I never feel alone.

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Writing Tip #103

If it ain’t broke… I have a confession to make. Generally speaking, I’m not a big reader of “how to write” books or articles or blog posts. (Ironic, I know, considering I pen writing tips every week.) I find the amount of information out there on any particular topic overwhelming — and often contradicting. I’ll be cruising along and minding my own business and then read about the enormous success another writer is having doing something in a completely different way from the way I do it, and I’ll think, “Should I too be doing it that way?”

More often than not, I’ve found the answer is no, that how I’m going about things is perfectly fine, because it developed organically, in a way I didn’t really think about because it just happened. Trying to emulate someone else’s process can be like trying on someone else’s clothing because you like the way they look on that person — problem is, they may not look the same on you.

Therefore, I tend to seek out writing help only when I need it — if I’m in trouble, stuck on something, at my wit’s end. For example, I remember when I was working on the first draft of Baby Grand in the summer of 2010 and I was stumped on a death scene. I felt like what I was writing was so cliche and uninteresting. So I went to Twitter and asked if anyone had any suggestions, and someone replied with this: Do something that would otherwise be humorous if the situation weren’t so dire. And just with that advice, written in under 140 characters, a light bulb turned on over my head, and I finished my scene. (I am forever grateful.)

Another example: Recently, I was interested in turning Baby Grand into an audiobook, so I attended a recent ASJA (American Society of Journalists and Authors) seminar on audiobooks. My research tends to be very focused and concentrated. If I have a question, I’ll seek answers. Otherwise, I treat writing like I do parenting — I just go with my gut. I keep my eyes and ears open, yes, because sometimes you come across information (hopefully, on this blog) that can help you out, but overall I find that all the answers to the questions I haven’t asked I already have.

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The Role of the Agent

As the publishing industry undergoes tremendous upheaval and change — mostly because of the arrival of eBooks and self-publishing — there has been lots of talk about the role of the literary agent in all of this.

As readers of this blog know, I secured representation for Baby Grand in January 2010. And even though two years later I decided to self-publish my debut novel, I’ve said this before: Having my agent for those two years was invaluable, and Baby Grand is a FAR better novel having gone through the traditional publishing process in the early stages. Why, you ask. Not because my agent helped me to write Baby Grand or gave me ideas or even did “light editing,” as I’ve seen a literary agent’s “role” described on websites. My agent actually did no editing at all.

What she did do — among other things — is similar to what is depicted in this scene from Walk the Line, the 2005 film based on the early life and career of country music artist Johnny Cash and starring Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon. Here, Cash and his band/friends are auditioning for a record label executive, who is explaining to them what he needs in order to sell their music. He’s not asking them to be something they’re not. He’s not asking them to sing the songs HE wants them to sing. What he does is what I think a good agent does for writers — pushes them. Pushes them to dig deep down and find their true voice. Pushes them when they think they have nothing else to give.

So while, yes, there are sure to be changes in the industry regarding agents’ role in the writer/publisher relationship, to me it seems the core of the writer/agent relationship will always stay the same.