So, Joanna wants to know how writing makes things possible?

Well, duh, Joanna.  What DOESN”T it make possible? (grin)

Writing makes everything possible.

For example:

Writing down instructions on how to build things.

Writing down instructions how to do things.

Writing down lessons for children so they can learn.

Writing down ideas for children so they can think.

Writing down the hard lessons for adults.

Writing down advice to make those lessons easier.

Writing down wisdom from generation to generation.

Writing down stories to inform.

Writing down stories to entertain.

Writing down stories to escape.

Writing down history so it won’t be forgotten.

Writing down possibilities so they can be met.

Writing down dreams so we have something to aim for.

Writing down anything we can imagine so we forget our limitations.

Writing down our hopes so that we don’t let our disappointments tie us down.

Writing down our wishes so that we know exactly what we are trying to accomplish.

Writing–just the mere act of putting words on paper–shapes the possibilities of our lives. Things we’ve learned. Things we want to share. Things we want to pass on to other people and other generations. Ideas. Philosophies. Poems. Emotions. Stories. Drama. Comedy. History.

If there was no language, we’d barely be able to communicate at all–certainly not the grand, huge, bigger-than-life things that make exploring life at all worthwhile.

But, if there were no writing, how would we share these Ideas between generations? Would the world still know that Galileo proved the Earth circled the sun? Would we still know about Socrates? Plato? Aristotle? Would Americans remember the ideals the founding fathers fought for in 1776? Would the Magna Carta be as bold an example of democracy? Would we even have democracy in any form? Would there be art? Would there be any point to anything other than mere survival? Would we have gone to the moon? Explored the world’s oceans? Been able to build a ship in the first place?

Writing–the mere act of putting words on paper–makes everything possible.

Amen and Hallelujah.

You may think that, as the writer, when you tell a story or write an article, you are leading your readers exactly where you want them to go. But is that really true?

Have you ever watched a dog out for a walk?

The person walks along in a straight line, glancing around a bit, but not deviating from the path. If there’s another person, they’ll be having a conversation, but very little attention is paid to the actual walk.

The dog, on the other hand, is busy. Sniffing around, veering off the sidewalk, looking for squirrels, and generally immersed in the Walk Experience. He doesn’t care that it’s almost the same walk as it was yesterday. The smells are still there for the sniffing. The sun is just as warm on his fur. He is out of the house and doing something fun, where anything can happen.

What does this have to do with writing?

Too often as writers, we get so wrapped up in trudging along the same old path, talking amongst ourselves, that we take for granted the wealth of possibilities around us. We come, we write, we get the job done, and then we move on.

But, to our readers, it’s all new. The stories and articles we write are filled with potential, like that moment in a movie theater when the lights dim and you are facing two hours of possible greatness. A reader opening a book, or clicking to a blog post, is ready and open to being entertained, or informed. Their eyes are open to possibilities.

It doesn’t matter if your mystery’s villain is predictable, or that your inspirational posts (cough) are trite. (Well, okay, it matters a little, but still.) You don’t expect to finish the latest John Grisham book feeling blown away with its originality. You’re reading John Grisham because he brings familiar things to his writing–his style, his vocabulary, his characters. The situations may be new, but the stories are familiar.

Just like walking around the block.

Your job as the writer? In this regard, it’s twofold.

First, provide the story. Just like your dog can’t enjoy his seemingly boring, every-day walk around the block on his own, you have to WRITE the story/post/article/essay for your readers to have someplace to go.

Second, let your readers bring themselves to the story. You might feel like the last thing the world needs is another romance novel, or how-to blog post, but every one offers the reader something they can’t get anywhere else–a chance to interact with you and your writing. For example, a scene you thought mundane might resonate because your reader had done something similar. Maybe a bit of throw-away dialogue might exactly mimic the fight they just had.

And, if your mundane writing efforts can resonate that way?

Think what your best work can do.

Talk about happily wagging tails.

It’s puzzling.

One of my responsibilities at my day job is writing and designing the company newsletter. Since newsletters, even the best of them, can be boring, and I figured it couldn’t hurt to put something in each issue that clients would want to look at. A reason to open the pdf that shows up in their mailboxes.

So I added a monthly puzzle.

The type of puzzle varies from issue to issue. I’ve done basic word-finds, as well as crossword puzzles and sudokus, but also double acrostics and labyrinth puzzles. Anything I can think of.

I was working on this issue’s puzzle the other day–a labyrinth puzzle. The player is faced with a grid and a list of words, and must put the words in the correct places on each line so that, a path of shaded squares leading from the center will spell out a sentence, a clue to the key of the puzzle.

As the puzzle’s creator, I know exactly what that key is. I know what the clue needs to be to solve it, and all I need to do is lay out the grid and pick the random words accordingly.

Really, it’s a lot like plotting a story.

In fact, I think the reason I’ve enjoyed doing these puzzles all these years is because I like knowing the answers. I like having the inside knowledge as to how everything works together. You can layout a crossword-puzzle grid like a Scrabble board and then, when it’s full of interlocking words, you come up with the clues … but unlike everyone else, you know exactly what the finished puzzle is going to look like. Or you plot in all the words for a word find and then throw in random letters (or, better, almost-words to through the puzzle-seekers off). Interested in Sudoku? Fill in a completely blank grid and then subtract numbers to the minimum needed for solutions.

Puzzle-creating is backward-engineering.

You start with the solution and work backwards to what will be the beginning point for everybody else.

The tricky part is that you have to be careful. If your clues are too obscure, nobody will be able to solve the problem. If there are too many complex steps, the players will be scared off. If it’s too hard, they won’t play at all.

Similarly, when you’re writing, you know exactly where you’re going, and you need to take your readers along, step by step.

If you throw too much at them at the beginning–too many facts, too many characters, too many twisting, winding paths embedded with clues–they’re going to get lost or give up. You need to make the early clues easy, to draw them in, get them hooked. If you need a Phd to solve a crossword puzzle, the puzzle’s creator has failed. (Unless the puzzle was designed strictly for, say, a specific university department and is meant to be highly detailed, but you know what I mean.)

Plots, like puzzles, need to hold together under scrutiny. All the pieces need to interlock correctly so that the finished piece can stand on its own, even if a reader has missed a clue. You can make them as multi-layered and complex as you like as long as you never, ever, ever forget that you have to make the ultimate solution accessible to a reader who doesn’t know all the ins and outs of the story like you do.

You are the mastermind, the puzzle master, but if you make your puzzle impossible for everyone else, you’ve failed. If your plots are too outrageously complex, or if you make a crucial step too obscure, you’ve failed. Your object, as the creator, is to be standing at the finish line, at the center of the maze, ready to congratulate your readers as they arrive.

In other words, writing is exactly like creating a puzzle.

See? Maybe this whole plotting business isn’t as puzzling as you thought!

What do you think?

Wanted: A Literary Agent Who Will Love My Book as Much as I Do.

I’ve tried those online dating services, like Writers Market.com, but still haven’t found The One yet. You know, the Literary Agent that will read my entire manuscript and be so enchanted that she or he will go to any lengths to put it in the hands of just the right book publisher.

Sure, there are dating services that promise to help match me up with just the right Agent, but that process is so sterile, so cookie-cutter. It can work, of course, and I’m not knocking it–you have to do what works for you–but my experience has been disappointing. The search criteria meant to help pinpoint just the perfect agent seems less than helpful. Too many of the suggested agents aren’t accepting new clients, or only clients that have been recommended (an option that WM doesn’t seem to have a filter for).

And then, the bullet-list feel of some of the entries, that just list a series of genres, without saying what the agent actually likes. What’s with that? If you’ve got a science fiction novel and they say they like sci-fi, that’s great, but how do you know what kind of sci-fi they like? I entirely understand a person (and Literary Agents ARE people) having a variety of interests, but bullet-lists just don’t cut it for me.

No, the mix-and-match online services just don’t seem to be working for me. I want to find the Literary Agent of my dreams naturally, you know? Bump into her at a coffee shop, get introduced by a mutual friend. Maybe we could both be reaching for the same book at a bookstore, and our eyes will meet, and she’ll say, “That’s one of my authors, you know.” And then I’ll say, “But, I LOVE her. She’s such a strong influence on my own novel.” “You have a novel?” she’ll ask, eyes kindling with interest …

Too romantic, you say? No such thing, say I! A relationship between Author and Agent should be so much more than a contract for mutual benefit. It should be more meaningful. Just because it should be profitable for all parties concerned doesn’t mean that there should not be fun, affection, and passion as well.

I’m not looking for just any Literary Agent. No, I’m looking for one who will read my book and fall in love with it, like I did. I’m not saying I want him or her to be blind to its faults (I’m sure there are some), but if she can’t see the wonderful points, why should either of us bother? I don’t want some fly-by-night business relationship, I want the kind of long-term partnership I’ve heard other authors dream of. And yes, I mean Partnership. Equal give and take, support, mutual esteem, respect, and … did I mention the fun and passion?

Because, let’s not forget, I’m looking for someone to help guide the interests of my baby, my 124,000-word collection of inspiration, wonder, hard work, and perspiration. I don’t want just anybody taking care of it. I need The One. Someone who will be as committed to its care, feeding, and welfare as I am … and who will be as delighted as I to see it grow and prosper.

Is that really too much to ask?

Title: Writer Mama: How to Raise a Writing Career Alongside Your Kids

Author: Christina Katz

Publisher: Writers Digest Books, 2009

I’ve had a copy of this book sitting next to my computer for months now because I wanted to write a review for you, but ironically, I’ve been too busy and too distracted to actually write it. It’s gotten to the point of ridiculousness, though, and if I don’t write this review now, I’m going to forget all the things I wanted to tell you, so, here goes.

You already know, I’m sure, that a lot of people (women especially) are trying to make a living by writing these days. It seems like such a simple thing to do–you can sit at home with your kids and, with minimal access to email and the telephone, can earn money to help support your family.

It’s not as simple as it sounds, though, and while there are a number of excellent books out there with advice on how to freelance, this one focuses on how to do so while raising your children.

Which means that, in between solid tips about how to write a cover letter, or finding an article topic, you get tips for finding the time to write (during naptime, or when your kids are playing). Advice on connecting with other writers so you won’t feel isolated. A discussion on the pros and cons of using childcare. You know, tips that a non-parent doesn’t necessarily need–and can’t find in those other books.

Now, my only child is of the four-legged, barking variety, so a lot of the mom-related advice in here doesn’t really apply to me. Dogs are a lot more self-sufficient than a human child, and you can’t go to jail if you have to leave them at home on their own for a few hours, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t find some good advice in this book.

The writing focus leans strongly on the “write articles for magazines” side, and the author goes into detail about cover letters, relationships with editors, and how to find ideas. All solid advice that I’ve also read other places. But other books don’t have the helpful, friendly asides to help the stay-at-home-mom adapt her lifestyle to not just being a mom, but to being a freelance writer mom.

Quibbles? Honestly, content-wise I can’t think of any. I’ve read some freelancing books that go into more detail on some specific topics, but this touches on all the important ones I can think of. I like the friendly tone, and the frequent sidebars have some of the most creative tips.

My biggest quibble is actually the physical format of the book. First, there’s the odd, almost-square size that makes it awkward to fit in a pile of other books. The spine juts out from its mates, but it’s too short to match the others in height, so it doesn’t play well with the others on my crowded, double-decker bookshelf.

And while I like the teal accents in the pages themselves and find the font easy to read, and all, there are no section headers on the page to tell you which chapter you’re in, making it hard to flip through, looking for a specific page. (Yes, there’s an index, but sometimes all you remember is that it “Was in the section on editorial guidelines” and need to browse.) But, hey, if the worst thing I can say about the book is that I didn’t like the shape and wanted better signposts?

Definitely a book worth looking into.

Do you prefer stories where the bulk of the action, the stuff that drives the story, is external to your main characters? Or do you prefer internal engines?

Engines make a good metaphor, here.

Imagine your story is a boat. You need to get it from point A to point B, but there are options as to which way the story can go.

External Drive

Your story could be an action-packed thriller where your boat is buffeted by storms, swamped with waves, attacked by sharks, all before the navigation system fails and the mast breaks.

At this point, your characters are so busy trying to deal with the repercussions of events, they don’t have time to sit and think philosophical musings on the purpose of life, or what they had for lunch, or even question which decision to take. They have to act, and act now!

These kinds of stories can range from the action-adventure style where things like breaking masts and shark attacks literally happen in the stories. Characters are held at gunpoint, flooded by hurricanes, have their homes invaded by armies.

The action can be more subtle, though. Your story doesn’t have to be what we think of as “action-packed” to be driven by events.

Your characters may be dealing with a fatal illness. A series of small events like flat tires and having the ATM machine swallow their bank card could add up to a bad day. Your character could be George Bailey, trying to get out of Bedford Falls but always dragged back by the struggling Savings and Loan.

These stories–the ones driven by events–are the kind I think of as being externally driven. Your story is the boat carrying the cast, crew, and purpose, but all they do is react to events. They may have a destination planned, they may get along or not get along, they may be calm and purposeful … but ultimately, whether they arrive or not is dependent on external forces and how they deal with them.

Internal Motors

Or, perhaps, your characters know that the ocean breezes are determined to steer them off course, and instead set out in a high-powered, strong-engined cruiser that doesn’t need to turn aside for anything. Sharks? Ha! We laugh at the puny sharks following in our wake.

Stories like these are driven by the characters. By their interaction, their purpose. Things may happen around them, but they don’t change the characters’ direction.

Your character may steadily go to work day in, day out, timely as clockwork, but the entire action of the book comes from the vivid imagination churning away inside his head. Your story might describe what appears to be a perfectly ordinary weekend of chores and family get-togethers, but the years-long bitter struggle between the main character and her domineering mother is what the story is all about. They might sit calmly together, sipping coffee, and all the action is in their heads, and in the way they pointedly do NOT talk to each other.

Stream-of-consciousness books are excellent at this sort of thing. Heck, some of them don’t have a discernable plot at all. Plot? What plot? We’re all about emotion and character interaction. Deep feelings, and subtle glances. Our characters sit and chat about the meaning of life rather than ever getting up and going bowling.

Stories that are purely driven by internal engines often look boring on the surface–the water is one, constant flow of waves sparkling in the sun, and while the ship sails onward, it looks the same on page 427 as it did on page 3. All the action is happening down in the engine room, in the galley, under the calm, hypnotic surface.

Or, They Can Be Both

Truthfully, I think the best books are the ones that are prepared for both. They set out into the literary ocean prepared with sails, back-up engines, lots of provisions, and keep their eyes peeled for circumstances and adventure.

I get bored with books and movies that are all about physically reacting to Events. I always want to know what the characters are THINKING after they’ve diffused the bombs or saved the baby from the fire, but there’s never time. There’s always one more crisis. The heros there barely have time to say, “Thanks, partner,” after she tackles the maniac with the gun instants before he was ready to shoot. And that “Thanks, partner” is about as deep as it gets.

The books that are ALL about feelings and emotions, on the other hand, frustrate me in other ways. They’re the fictional equivalent of watching paint dry. In fact, there are stories that follow a painter through his day of stirring paint, applying primer, eating lunch between coats–all while he muses about his ex-wife’s having run off with his best friend, and wondering whether they’re going to paint their new bedroom, and if they might accidentally trip and drown in it, and at least he still has his dog waiting at home. (Yawn.)

No. Upon reflection, I like stories that do both these things.

Stories that set the characters on course with a good stock of provisions. That is, a back-story, a purpose, a set of friends and foes, and enough skills to get to wherever they’re going. And then things happen. The author throws in a phone call about a daughter’s car accident. The protagonist learns his ex is getting married, or his house catches fire. Someone plots to kill the President and only he sees the way to save him–but how can he do that and make it to his son’s wedding, too?

These are the stories that are interesting. Where events happen, and characters react, but they also ponder the repercussions of their acts. They think about how they’re going to explain themselves to their spouses, they have the awkward conversations, their knees shake after the President is safe.

Ultimately, the best stories are the ones that not only have action, but which have the emotional committment to make them meaningful. Why do you think action-adventure movies almost always have a cute child to be saved in the nick of time?