I've been teaching a novel writing workshop for adults locally in my own town. If you told me ten years ago I'd be doing this, I'd have told you you were crazy.
But I am. And I love it.
We write, we talk craft, we drink fancy water, we share aloud.
It's intimidating, and hard work -- for them and for me. But more than anything, it is fulfilling. I never realized how much I would love it. How unbelievably rewarding it would be.
My students can write. Sometimes the work they share aloud takes my breath away.
But of course, writing a novel, or even a great short story, takes more than just being able to write well, or write pretty, or even beautifully, more than being able to make people cry, or wince, or laugh out loud.
It takes story. It takes tension. It takes conflict. It takes the dreaded plot. And it takes hundreds of hours of butt-int-the-chair.
It takes writing through muddy middles, and quieting the constant "You suck!" voice that seems to lurk in all our heads.***
It takes struggling, and more struggling, then forcing yourself to write right through the struggle.
And, here's the thing I realized the other night talking to my writing students: the struggle isn't stopping you from the writing. The struggle IS the writing. It is an integral part of it.
The struggle IS the writing.
 |
| This week's fancy water was blackberry, lavender, peach. |
Say hi to it.
Get comfortable with it.
Pour it a cup of fancy water.
And then, settle in and push forward.
I'm here rooting for you. And you can always check in here at #Teacherswrite for a pep talk.
So with that said, it's somehow -- unfathomably -- our last week of #TeachersWrite Summer 2017. It flies by too fast every summer, but this one seems to have flown exponentially faster.
Today it's just you and me, but please take a moment to thank all my other guest hosts who spent hours chiming in here, Nora Raleigh Baskin, Josh Funk, Vicki Lame, Amy Dominy (& Nate Evans), and remember to order their titles for your classrooms and share your reviews online if you've read them and loved them.
Speaking of which, THE MEMORY OF THINGS paperback comes out a few short weeks from today. We're very excited about it, and hope that in paperback, Kyle, the bird girl, Uncle Matt, and Marcus find their way into even more libraries, classrooms, and hearts. And preorders are really a great thing.
 |
| My editor holding up the first, lone paperback to arrive at St. Martin's Press/Wednesday Books. :) |
So, if you haven't ordered it yet, please do! Can't beat a paperback. And please share #booklove and reviews.
This week, no excerpt from me (don't ask), it's just about you. Let's finish up strong. You know THE RULES!! I look forward to reading your struggled for words.
xox Gae
*** Don't believe me? Google "Imposter syndrome" and "novel writing" and you'll see how pervasive it is.
Not gonna lie, a little sad to lose this support every day but thank you for giving me the push I needed. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
ReplyDeleteGram liked to teach Alice new words. She said the best minds had the best words. It didn’t mean the words needed to be fancy, just delicious, is what Gram said. Gram always said lavender was the perfect example. She liked the way it felt when it came out of her mouth, and so it tasted good to her. So whenever Alice heard a new word she treated it like tasting new food. She rolled it around letting it skip to the top and back and sides of her mouth. She made a decision about a word based on how it tasted. Alice agreed with Gram that lavender was a delicious word. Other delicious words for Alice were macaroni, both delicious as a word and a food, scallywag, and ruderal.
Ruderal was a new one she learned this week. It means something that can grow even when the ground isn’t good enough for growing. Like a flower in a sidewalk or in a parking lot at Walmart. Alice liked it because it sounded like rude but it was sort of the opposite of rude. It’s not very rude for a flower to grow where it isn’t supposed to. But it is sort of rude for the parking to be put in a place where flowers should be growing instead.
Alice liked the idea of something being ruderal, being amazing when the odds were stacked against you. She thought that was sort of how her family was. They didn’t have a whole lot and they were all stuck inside the non-mobile. But she knew they would all make it out and do something beautiful. They weren’t meant to be in a non-mobile but they would make it anyway.
Wildflowers could be ruderal too, if you thought about it. Gram said wildflowers were her favorite flower.
“Wildflowers can grow anywhere. They are hardy and beautiful. And you see them wherever you go. I could be in Tuscaloosa and see a forget-me-not and then head on over to Denver and see another whole bunch of em. And they don’t need much to grow. They just go on being beautiful and wild, wherever they decide to settle down. I betcha can’t find another flower like that anywhere.”
Alice hoped wherever Gram was right now, she was being ruderal. She was always a bit of a wildflower and hopefully she was surviving.
Hi Meg,
DeleteThis is really beautiful. I like the relationship between Alice and Gram and how Alice learns and "tastes" a new worddd that expresses herself and her outlook on life. Thanks for sharing in Teachers Write this summer.
Meg, Meg, Meg,
DeleteWhat a tremendous way to finish out the TW summer with this bea-u-tiful excerpt. I love everything about it. Every paragraph, every word. Thanks for teaching me ruderal.
A few of my forever favorites are kaleidoscope, calliope, cacophony, and shmetterlink. Okay, fine, that last one is german for butterfly. (and I realize the other three have the hard "kuh" sound in common. Hmmm. . . :)
Keep going!
I love this! I love the characters Alice and Gram, and I love what you wrote about "ruderal", especially the line " But it is sort of rude for the parking to be put in a place where flowers should be growing instead."
DeleteMeg,
DeleteThis is so fantastic. I love this line, "So whenever Alice heard a new word she treated it like tasting new food." I love this idea of hanging on to words. Excellent!
Thank you ladies. Gae, just catching up on all the posts and your feedback. The time you put into our writing is unbelievable. Thanks again and see you all next summer!
DeleteThank you Teachers Write authors and Friday Feedback contributors. Even though I haven't had or made as much time to write as I would have liked, I have enjoyed all the prompts and created some quick writes I can revisit and develop.
ReplyDeleteToday I'm sharing a section about my grandfather receiving his first letter overseas from my grandmother, who was a stranger to him at that time. The words in quotes are actually from his first reply, and at this time, I really don't want to alter those. But everything else rough and has been quickly written, and I look forward to your feedback on how to improve it!
“Dear Verna,”
I wish those words would come to life and the rest of the letter would write itself. August 15. Dad talked her into sending his son in the army a letter, and she actually did. Who knows what stories he told her or how he convinced her. He’s almost as quiet as me, so he must be worried about me over here to even strike up a conversation.
And she did. She actually wrote. Now, what do I write back? I’m not witty. It would probably take me months to gather up the courage to speak to a girl I wanted to get to know back home. The letter has been sitting on my desk for five days. Probably read it a hundred times. Started a response at least three times a night. Always end up balling them up and tossing them in the basket. As they hit the ground, I promise myself I’ll have something to say tomorrow.
“Dear Verna,
I received your letter of August 15. I’m glad you wrote to me under the circumstances. Hope you aren’t sorry now and never will be.
Today I am spending my second birthday in the army, and if I must say so I am taking it pretty easy since it falls on a Sunday and I’m not working Sundays now….”
Hi, Jen,
DeleteOh how i love this and all it can become. I have all my dad's letters to my mom from Viet Nam, and have always loved the idea of somehow incorporating them into story as you are doing here. . . So kudos. I think the spark of authentic letter writing is a great jumping off point.
I'm really only offering up some thoughts here because I feel like it's my job ... what you have is strong and compelling as is.
If I were to push you somewhere it might be to really up the tension and one way to do it might be to make your MC's voice more stilted and staccato and let us see his emotion a bit more, compared to the rather formal tone of his nervous first letter to her (isn't his "Hope you aren't sorry now and never will be" just heartbreaking and beautiful?!) which could happen just by moving the last part up front and tweaking it a bit, because this would make the opening of this section more curt and revealing of his discomfort? And i'm making this up on the spot just for the idea of it... not the skill or lack thereof of my execution:
"Dear Verna,"
I stare at the paper, then crumple it up, and toss it in the basket to join the four other crumpled starts in there.
I slide out a new sheet of paper, and begin again.
"Dear Verna,"
I wish those words would come to life. . .
But these are really things to look at LATER on revision, though a good chance for me to illustrate how moving things around just the smallest bit, can often up the drama/tension.
Cannot wait to hear how the project/story unfolds. <3
Keep going!
xox gae
p.s. my comma after the word up is not needed. :P
DeleteJen,
DeleteI have loved this idea of your grandparents letters since you first wrote about it. It is such a fascinating story. I think in your line when you mention, "Dad talked her into sending his son in the army a letter..." you could take out the "in the army" part. I stumbled over reading that sentence a bit at first and you mention later about being in the army.
Great story!!!
Gae,
ReplyDeleteThanks again for another wonderful time of Teachers Write and to all the wonderful authors who helped out. I love your encouragement about struggle. I struggled last week to get something posted, technology and I often collide. I struggled to write this summer because of family issues and now it will be back to work and the "Free" time of summer is gone.
But this struggle also included wonderful words shared by others during Teachers Write. It included fantastic tips and a connected feeling that helps me want to continue to write.
So a big thanks. And now just another little snippet from my WIP called PARTS: Hope you enjoy, thanks again and best wishes in your up coming writing.
This scene takes place at large party:
I'm surrounded now. Lights flash from cameras and phones. My vision clears only to be blasted again. Voices come next. I think I hear Mom and Benedict but I can't say for sure because of all the people shouting my name.
I claw at my throat. I can't get air in my lungs. A body presses into me and then another. Hands grab for me. Suddenly I'm back in time when it was Luke Layfet's hands on me. Twisting my breasts, scratching my thighs as he pushed them apart.
Trent gets me out of the room. He covers me like a human blanket, his touch the only one that doesn't slice like a knife.
"When...Trent," I ask. "When will Luke's ghost stop beating me?"
He tightens his hold. "Someday, Maze."
I hope someday comes before I grab a bottle of pills from the bathroom cabinet.
What a powerful, emotional scene! Also, it relates well to the theme of struggle that Gae posted today. I love the "human blanket" - so much feeling in that simple phrase.
DeleteWow, Martha,
DeleteWhat an intense (and difficult) moment. I think you have done an expert job here. I feel for your character, and the brutality of the line, "Twisting my breasts, scratching my thighs..." was a gut punch.
I hope Luke's ghost lets up. Poor Maze. I look forward to you seeing her through.
Great work. Keep going. <3
xox gae
Wow, poor Maze.I like that I could feel the intensity and how uncomfortable the situation is. So, I keep thinking about names, since our quick write day when we discussed names. I slightly obsessing over the names you have. I love them and they have me intrigued to know more about the characters.
DeleteI will echo the other wows Martha. This hurt my heart, which is a testament to your writing. Am I compelled to keep reading? Yes. Am I compelled to jump into this book and be there for Maze? Yes. Great job.
DeleteThank you to everyone! I've already purchased some books from our authors and am looking forward to more. I requested several books for our local library, too. These four weeks have been very rewarding, thank you!
ReplyDeleteMy last Friday Feedback excerpt is just a snippet of the end of Frankie's story.
A new beginning. What a fucking cliche, but it’s true. I need this new start, it’s time to leave. I parked my car on the ferry below with all the tourist cars leaving for home. Up the metal steps and through the inside seating area and out to the upper deck balcony. The bellow of the ferry horn echoes above my head, up to the clouds. The ferry begins to pull away. I watch the dock as the ferry pulls out of port. No one is there. I secretly want Alex there waving goodbye, but he’s not. I sip on my bitter coffee, I hate when I pretend I don’t need sugar. I watch the island become smaller and smaller as the ferry pulls further and further away. Goodbye my home. This shouldn’t feel so hard. I turn away and start to head back down to my car.
Someone grabs my elbow, “Frankie.”
Frankie's voice is so strong here. I'm intrigued and wondering who is grabbing her elbow. I really liked how she admits her secret dream. And I wondered, if she's still not putting sugar in her coffee and it still bugs her, how much of a new beginning is this, because that habit seems to suggest she hasn't changed.
DeleteAnne Marie,
DeleteGreat work here. I can hear that ferry, feel that dock (you might even give us more... because the setting is compelling. How does it smell? What is the air like? Sunny or overcast? Maybe the "...ferry horn echoes above my head, up to the threatening clouds." OR. .. "up to the lightening clouds... or sun-drenched clouds..." Because in this particular setting that can affect everything, can't it? Especially near the end, it can really tell the reader something...) If it is close to the end, do feel free to take your time... but I adore what you have and love the line about the bitter coffee/sugar. It, too, tells us so much, as Andrea touches on -- that she's still struggling with herself. And that last moment. So good. Because I NEED to know what happens next. (WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?!?!?)
Great work. Keep going!!
xox gae
p.s. come back and tell me what happens next!!! :D
Thank you for all your support and encouragement this month. It is no small task to read these varied submissions each week, attend to the words, and care for the hearts of the writers -- and yet you and your guest authors take it on week after week with such kindness.
ReplyDeleteI will share just a few more poems from my novel -- a little bit further along in the story. This is where Santa from page 1 comes back into the story (around page 126 of 180):
Sam’s Place
Kitchen is pristine,
labels face the same way.
Living room is cozy,
worn leather sofa, floral recliner.
Bedroom is boyish,
plaid comforter, sports posters.
“I’m going to shower,” he says.
“Here’s a t-shirt and shorts.
You can take a nap.
I bet my bed is more
comfortable than the floor-
no offense.”
He closes the bathroom door.
A full length mirror faces me.
I watch as I
untie my apron,
pull off Luigi's tee,
peel away my black work jeans,
and see
my body.
I untie my hair,
cowlicks and curls,
dress my shoulders.
I feel beautiful
in this space
beyond my home.
Sam hums.
in the shower.
I smile
to myself
in the mirror
and watch
Sam's shirt,
Sam's shorts,
Sam's bed,
welcome my
body.
In seconds,
I am asleep,
wrapped in
Cubs and Bears.
Waking
When I wake,
Sam is
watching me,
lying beside me,
reaching for me.
He smells of Irish Spring
His hair is damp.
He is wrapped in Hawks and Bulls.
“So you must really like Chicago sports, huh?” I say.
“You. Are. Beautiful.” he says
pulling me into his chest.
“In your clothes?” I ask.
“In my clothes,
(kiss) in an apron,
(kiss) in a parka,
(kiss) in a frown,
(kiss) in a tear,
(kiss) in a smile,
(kiss) in my hands.”
I feel how his hands move me
to breath more deeply.
I feel how I can move him
by pressing my hips against his.
And I love that our feet are hanging off the bed.
And then Sam rolls over.
“Man, you drive me crazy.”
I pull at his arm, but he shakes me off,
throws his legs to the side,
sits elbows on knees.
“You should get dressed.It’s time.”
I pull off the Cubs shirt,
toss it on the bed,
linger in my bra,
to see if he’ll take a peak.
He does, but says,
“Don’t.”
Second Shift
No awkward silence.
Sam sings in the car --
every word to
every song.
As we clock in,
Luigi gives me a wink,
says I have a couple
early birds waiting,
table nineteen.
I tie on my apron,
a few sauce stains from lunch,
knot my hair in a bun- no tie,
march over to nineteen
and say, “Hi, my name is -- , “
And there sits my
6’ 6” Santa Claus
with his wife..
“Sadie,” Santa says.
Oh. My. God.
Ever notice how Shame is never far away?
Six months dormant,
the consciousness
of my disgrace
arises swiftly,
painfully.
“Of course, Sam’s Sadie.
You are lovely, just as Sam
said. And so hardworking
and smart. Your parents
must be so proud,” Mrs. Claus says.
“Sam says,” Santa leans in,
soft-voiced, “Sam says
that he’s going to marry you someday --
you know after you go to college.
He says he won’t make a move
until you have a degree..”
“Hon, that was private.
The shot you did with Luigi
must be going to your head,”
Mrs.Claus says.
“Wow, you’re Sam’s parents,”
I say, shame mixing with embarrassment.
“So nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Moher.
Sam didn’t say you were coming home”
“It’s a surprise, my dear.
Will you call him over?
Tell him you have some
tough customers,”
Mr. Moher says.
I step away
thinking
Sam has said more about me than to me.
thinking
This must be what he wanted to say.
“Oh, and Sadie,” Mr. Moher calls.
“Glad you seem to be making
better choices.”
I blink away a drop of shame.
I love this. You take me through a gamut of emotions and I feel with your characters, with Sadie. What a great twist- that Sam's dad is Santa, the cop, right? You somehow manage to capture these characters so well in few words. I want to read more! Thanks for sharing.
DeleteRight. The cop from the beginning is Sam's dad. Thank you for your encouragement. I am finding that I really like making revisions now because I get to spend more time with these characters. I loved writing the intimate scenes for Sadie because this girl needs touch.
DeleteWow, Sarah, i agree with Jen. And that third one -- amazing how well you use compelling verse to drive STORY.
DeleteI adore the wrapped in sports references in the second.
two minor questions:
Do you need the period after hums here?
Sam hums.
in the shower.
It actually distracted me -- popped me out of the poem -- trying to figure out why it's there since the next line doesn't start a new capitalized sentence.
And here, do you mean breathe not breath?
I feel how his hands move me
to breath more deeply.
Such magnificent work. Keep going! (I know you are...)
xox gae
Ty, Gae for all your time and nervy. I am in the research stages of my newest PB bio, so at a different stage then drafting. My last attempt at a PB bio did not work out & I tried it so many ways w/so many structures. Turned out, not enough primary resources even though i love the topic. So it took some bravery on my part to open anew folder, name it for my MC and begin again w/a man who has lots of info but is not as well known as he should be to the general populace. And he's one kids will LIKE. Bravery always to write to us all and how about some fancy water now?? What's the recipe. I so appreciate what you and all our authors gave us this summer. Happy writing to us all.
ReplyDeleteKathy, congratulations on your bravery! I think PB biographies are so challenging, even more so that fiction PBs. I hope you can find a way to bring the life of your interesting person to light.
DeleteKathy, I'm already intrigued! "... a man who has lots of info but is not as well knows as he should be..." YES, I want to read about him.
DeleteAs for the fancy water: water + ice + whatever fancy ingredients you want to add. One week it was strawberries, rose petals and lemon balm... this week was blackberries, lavender fresh from the garden and sliced peaches. Another week saw cucumber, fresh mint and lime.
As with you writing, with your fancy water, be brave. :)
xox gae
Thank you so much to everyone for your time and support during Teacher Write!
ReplyDeleteThis is a new story I am working on. I am trying to get into the problem more quickly.
“You’re trying out for the lead?!” Victoria sneered. “Do you really think that’s a good idea after last year?”
The feelings came back with the memory: my robot reading voice stumbling over the lines, smirks and giggles from the hopefuls in the audience as they watched. It was so embarrassing!
“Well… good luck,” Victoria said with a dismissive hair flip. She would never feel embarrassed. After all, she was famous. You could see her every night in the toilet paper commercial they played incessantly during America’s Got Talent. Who did they think watched that show anyway? And why did they think we needed so much toilet paper?
I looked at the sign up list for the auditions. Victoria’s name was first. She had signed up in bright purple ink and put a little heart over the i. Her loopy cursive writing was so big it took up two spots. I looked at the space beneath, wondering if I should even bother.
“How long does it take to sign your name?” Shaun asked, bumping into me as he stopped beside me in the hall.
“Maybe I shouldn’t even bother,” I said to him. “Remember last year?”
Shaun sighed and took the pen from me, writing my name on the list.
Yes, Molly, we all remember last year,” he said. “And we aren’t going to forget it until you try again and knock’em dead!”
I looked at my name on the sheet. Shaun had written it in big loopy handwriting and turned the “o” into a happy face. It took up three spaces.
“Now I just have to be ready for the audition,” I said to Shaun apprehensively. “I don’t read well enough to try out without practicing first and Mrs. Lewis never shares the script ahead of time.”
“No problem,” Shaun said. “I’ve got a plan.”
I'm curious about what Shaun's plan is!! I really like the way the handwriting shows so much about the characters.
DeleteOh, poor Molly, those cold readings can be brutal! You have me rooting for her immediately in this brief snippet and I'm glad she has Shaun by her side. I laughed out loud at the reason for Victoria's fame!
DeleteI do find that I want to feel more of her flashback embarrassment without being told she's embarrassed. What did it physically feel like? How did she react to the laughter around her? That would really put me there with her!
This has such potential and I see so many ways it can go- you've definitely jumped in with the/a problem! I'd enjoy reading more. Thanks for sharing-
I agree, Mrs. Murrell, I believe you have jumped in WELL with the problem -- or at least *a* problem. I think this scene works beautifully, and love the interaction between Molly and Shaun.
DeleteOne thing to watch are those dialogue tags. Anything other than "he said/she said" or "asked" should be used pretty sparingly (I know we often tell our students to be descriptive... IMHO, DON'T! ;) ) The dialogue when strong -- as yours is here -- will do the job of the dialogue tag and the tag should really only be used for clarification of who is speaking and DISAPPEAR. Tags like sneered or said apprehensively are often not needed where the dialogue is strong (again, yours is!) and rather pop the reader out of the story wondering how exactly that would sound. Maybe instead of telling us apprehensively, you want to show us her chew the end of her hair, or bite a fingernail, or see her eyes dart to the floor (a show version of her apprehension rather than a tell version). Same food for thought with "It was so embarrassing!" Maybe you want to show us Molly's face burning hot just with the thought of it, rather than telling us... but these are minor quibbles -- or rather, just me pushing you -- in a scene that is pretty darn perfect!
Keep going!
xox gae
Thank you so much for a great experience with my first TeachersWrite. I have purchased several books (I just started reading Samina's Voice last night) and I also requested some for our school library. I have appreciated all the feedback, but I have really enjoyed the inspiration from reading other's work as well. Below is my final paragraphs of the story I wrote from my own experience of when my brother died when I was 15 and he was 19. He was hit by a drunk driver and died a few days later. I did "inherit" his car, and he was an avid skier, climber, and loved being in the outdoors. Last spring, I made copies of this story and let my AP lit class read it. For one of the classes, I did not tell them I was the author, and they really opened up and talked about the story. With the other class, after they found out it was my story, it seemed like they felt weird to discuss it, and one student said he found this ending unbelievable. Maybe it is, but I feel like it is what I wanted to do if I could. What do you think?
ReplyDeleteAfter school, I had to go on an errand for my mother. I had to drive right by the place where Chris' accident happened. Suddenly, I found myself swerving off to the side of the road. The car behind me honked and sped on past me. What am I doing here? The doctors said that he didn't feel any pain, but he still lived for two days. His brain was dead. Where is that guy who hit him anyway? He's not even in jail. He has some wrist thing on or something, checking in with his probation officer. What a waste. A gigantic semi roared by me shaking the car. I realized I was trembling. I looked over my shoulder and when it was clear, I got back on the highway. Then, the tears started to come. The months of keeping my feelings deep inside gushed as I headed home, but instead of pulling in the driveway, I drove down the street to the dirt road that led to the gully.
I sat in the car and cried and cried. Why didn't I get to go on my first rappel with you? Why didn't I know you could do a 360? How come you never took me anywhere? Why didn't you take me skiing with you? If you hadn't died, we would have gone on that ride, right? Right?
"Why?" I screamed! I got out of the car and grabbed a rock and threw it at the car. It bounced off the front glass. "I didn't want your car either!" I lifted the trunk, still sobbing. All of Chris' climbing gear was there; and I grabbed a pick ax. I swung it at the passenger side window and it shattered. I ran around to the other side and smashed the other window, and then I fell down on the frozen ground crying.
Finally, after a couple of minutes, the tears stopped. I slowly got up and looked around. The evening sun was setting over the magnificent mountains. The rays shot over my head and made my eyes squint. I turned to look as the sun glistened on the car. I took my coat off and carefully pushed the glass off my seat. The glass fell on the gravel like icicles from a roof, sort of a calming pretty sound. I got in and drove down the road as the cold wind blew through my hair, on my face, drying my tears. It felt good.
This is truly heartbreaking, Kay. I can feel your anger and grief, your cursing of the universe and your longing for more time with him. So, the emotion is there. The questions directed at Chris are powerful.
DeleteI wonder if you can build on the moment of fury and grief and slow it down a bit. What if you pull multiple objects out of the car and fling them away before you get to the pick? What it the window doesn't break on the first hit? (I don't know if that's possible.) Does the cold creep into you as you sit on the ground? Do you stiffen and struggle to get back up before you refocus and notice your surroundings?
I like the transition to sunset and the calming of the scene. I love the "glass fell on the gravel like icicles from a roof".
Have you considered ending on "as the cold wind blew through my hair, on my face, drying my tears"? I'd leave out the last line. Just a thought.
This is powerful. Thanks for sharing!
Kay, let me first say that I feel this story -- feel your pain -- feel the loss, and that is what writing is about. You are doing that, and bravely sharing it with your students. That's incredible.
DeleteSecondly, Jen makes some great suggestions... while she was commenting, I was making you the proud (???) owner of a superspeed flash edit. I did this just to be illustrative but not for you to accept my edits blindly... i did this quickly. But what i think is that, if you finesse your writing a tiny bit more (this is a REVISION task, not a first draft task to be sure) pulling back in some minor places and also making the writing more fluid and less stiff in places -- I did this, then this, I felt this, etc. -- that by making the story more fully come alive, it will resolve the ending feeling not quite totally believable even though it was. See if you can see what I'm talking about by the work I did. FYI, the clearest example is the line "'Why?' I screamed" which is, of course, probably totally true, but in writing feels over dramatic and isn't needed because the writing around it is strong and moving. We get that so much more was felt and screamed. Without the melodrama of the line, more around it feels authentic... or so I hope. See what you think (p.s. adding space into the writing helps too!):
After school, I had to go on an errand for my mother, which took me right by the place where Chris' accident happened.
Suddenly, I found myself swerving off to the side of the road. The car behind me honked and sped past.
What am I doing here?
The doctors said he didn't feel any pain, but he had lived for two days. His brain was dead. Where is that guy who hit him anyway? He's not even in jail. He has some wrist splint on, nothing more, and only has to check in with his probation officer. What a waste.
A gigantic semi roared by shaking the car, or maybe I was trembling.
I looked over my shoulder and, when it was clear, got back on the highway. Then, the tears fell. The months of keeping my feelings deep inside gushed as I headed home, but instead of pulling in the driveway, I drove down the street to the dirt road that led to the gully.
I sat in the car and cried and cried.
Why didn't I get to go on my first rappel with you?
Why didn't I know you could do a 360?
How come you never took me anywhere?
Why didn't you take me skiing with you? If you hadn't died, we would have gone on that ride, right?
Right?
Fury overcame me. I got out of the car and grabbed a rock and threw it at the car, but it merely bounced off the front glass.
"I didn't want your car either!"
I ran to the trunk where all of Chris' climbing gear was still nestled, and grabbed a pick ax, still sobbing, and swung it at the passenger side window and watched it shatter.
Window after window, I swung Chris' ax, until the ground was covered in sparkling shards and crystals. Then, I curled up on the frozen ground beside them.
I don’t know how much time passed, but when I finally stood up again, the evening sun was setting over the magnificent mountains, its waning rays, sharp and forceful, piercing the dusk and making me squint. Sunlight flooded down and glistened on the car.
I took my coat off and carefully pushed the glass off my seat, its calm pretty sound upon the gravel like icicles falling from a roof.
Then, I slid back in and drove, welcoming the cold wind, breathing as it blew through my hair, and dried up the tears on my face.
Such brave beautiful work. Keep going.
Thank you so so much for the feedback! These ideas are great.
DeleteKay, also THANK YOU for buying and ordering in library books!!! <3
DeleteThank you, Gae, and to all the hosts and participants this year! Teachers Write is truly a highlight of my summer and even when I'm not posting, I'm reading and enjoying, learning and absorbing through others' work and feedback. Thank you so much!
ReplyDeleteThis is a snippet from the middle of my WIP. Grace Ann hasn't seen much of her father lately, but he has appeared at her bedroom to talk. He sits at her desk, on a swivel chair not facing her.
“We think it’s a good time for you to move into the dorms.”
My stomach twisted. I’d wanted this since my freshman year when my dad had been adamantly against it. Eventually, after my wheedling and my stepmother’s input, he conceded to maybe senior year. But this wasn’t right. Not now.
“You’ve done well in your classes and we think you can handle it.”
“Bullshit.”
My father’s head jerked towards me and he actually looked at me. Our eyes met. For a second or two.
“What?”
I considered repeating myself, but I knew that wasn’t what he was asking. I took a shaky breath.
“You’re not doing this because I proved myself. This isn’t a reward, this is a punishment. You’re doing this because I screwed up.”
“What are you talking about, Grace Ann? I thought this was what you wanted.”
“Now? Are you kidding me?!” My voice rose and I clutched Lola’s unicorn tighter. “You can’t stand seeing me after. . . after. . .” My last words came out in a whisper. “. . .after I lost Lola.” I swallowed hard and tried not to hate him. “You blame me.”
“Of course, I don’t.” My father moved over to the bed and put his hand on my knee, but I jerked away. Why does he do everything wrong? Why do I mess everything up? It didn’t used to be this way. “No, Gracie, we thought you’d benefit from being around kids your own age. We. . . we haven’t been good parents lately.” He sighed heavily. “We thought you’d be pleased.”
“Well I’m not. I want to stay here. I want to be here for Lola.”
My dad ran his fingers through his hair. “For Lola? Oh, Gracie. . . it’s not. . it’s not going to make a difference.”
“I.want.to.stay.here.”
Wow, Jen, this excerpt actually took my breath away. I write about this kind of guilt in Summer of Letting Go, and it really is more painful than I can bear. This whole passage is pretty expert.
DeleteTwo tiny little things, if you want me to ;)
First, this feels like it should be in past tense since everything else is:
"Why does he do everything wrong? Why do I mess everything up?" ???
And secondly, I don't know if this is the end of a chapter or mid chapter, but if the former, I really think you should end it on "It's not going to make a difference." That took my breath away. SO painful. Perfection.
(if you like pain, that is).
Good work. Keep going.
Hey Gae! I can't tell you how much I've loved my first #TeachersWrite. Every prompt, every feedback, every mini-lesson was a Northern Star guiding me at just the right time. I kept saying "what are the odds that today's feedback is about rhyming or conflict?" Monday warm ups drew me way out of my comfort zone too and..I found out I liked it. And whaddya know? I desperately needed today's words, Gae!
ReplyDeleteYou may not know that I've been on a self-imposed writing lock down for over 40 years. I quit the Forth Grade for two weeks to write my first story. After getting caught (and told how I'd fail as a writer) I locked it all away. That voice has been knocking louder of late and so I decided to take a chance and let her out. That's when the struggle bus showed up and boy, did I want to throw her back in the bus barn!
Remember Liza Jane Romaine? The girl who saw the world in the cow pasture across the street? I totally agree with feedback (and MS critiques) that she needs conflict. However, I've thrown just about every conceivable type of conflict at her and....it's crap. It feels like throwing gravel in the gears of the story. It feels totally forced and stilted (for those reading along, it's a PB ya'll).
One critiquer suggested that I didn't know my MC well enough for conflict. Laughs...oh yes I do. It's me! I totally invented worlds in my front yard and the cow pasture across the street(I grew up in a town of 400 folks). And yes...that could be a motivation for LJR too: she's stymied by her current world view and needs to expand it. Buut...when it comes to throwing that bit of explanatory dialogue at the beginning, it's not very..um..conflicty. This particular struggle with finding the right conflict for LJR is driving me nuts! I love the stuffins out of her imagination (and really wish I was a good enough artist to illustrate it - but I'm not).
So..that's my biggest struggle right now...and I needed to hear today "Make it your BFF and write through it." Thanks for giving your words wings, Gae.
Oh...one last thing. So..about me writing PBs. I tell stories to 936 K-5 students all day, every day. I thought that writing PBs would be a natural extension of that. I think I was wrong.
MG\YAs were the dark side of the force without the cookies....all rules and sustained dialogue and stuff. But then, dang it, you guys threw out prompts for a MC point of view and what do you know? The words flowed sooo easily! I could throw conflict in like a *boss!* Scorn? Got it! Rejection? Totes! Stuck in a cave with moldy bread and cheese? Yup. Check! Fabulous fight scenes with a girl protagonist kicking butt? Okay I didn't write that but it showed up in my mind.
The unexpected surprise of #TeachersWrite is I learned that maybe a MG or YA wasn't that scary, and that I kinda liked living in that world. Don't worry: I'm not going to use this revelation to run away (again) from Liza Jane and my problem with conflict (thoug it may damage my delicate sensitivities lol)...but I think I want to pick up Rowan's story again and see what happens.
I also learned that it's easy to let multiple rejections and struggle buses cloud your writing world view. But I do have writing Sherpas along the climb; I found a ridiculously strong community of fellow writers who are on the bus with me (with fancy water, no less!); I'm heading out to my first Regional SCBWI conference in October; and I learned that it's going to be a really long and bumpy ride but I'm not alone.
And it feels good to be back, struggles and all. :)
Thanks again for a great experience, and I really hope to see you all next year!
Love everything about this note (except the hard parts) Crystal, and can totally see you have an especially amazing MG voice. So, yay!! Run with it!!!
DeleteAs for LJR, I wonder if you're looking too hard for the conflict, or for two big of a conflict. remember that the conflict can simply be (hah) emotional. What does LJR want most in the world? What is stopping her from getting it? That is her conflict. <3
Keep going!!!
xox gae
ooo000oooh...just...plain ol' *emotional* conflict. *snaps* Two roads diverged in a yellow wood (or cow pasture), and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth (or the Great Pine Forest of NYC).....
Delete*grins*.....(Cue Professor Higgins!)
Also....*grins* thanks for the MG encouraging word. We'll see...
I can't thank you enough to have this time to read and write with others just like me. Every summer I think I will be a writer, I will finish everything I've started and send it to someone, be a published author and then see it on the shelf somewhere. But I don't. I do love Teachers Write and it is the best writing I do! Thanks so so much. I also enjoy your novels. So glad to have found such good books to read. This is an excerpt from what was a short story but seems to keep building on itself. It is called Parts. I shared the opening last Friday. This is part of the same scene.
ReplyDeleteWhen he was mad he walked faster. I tagged along again, sometimes running.
“You said he apologized for hurting you. How did he hurt you?”
My mind hums here. My mom is sniffling now. My dad’s patting hand is still. This is the part I wanted to keep quiet. I squeeze my hands together hard in my lap, stifling the rocking the only thing that makes the humming stop. I could feel them looking at me. Embarrassing. The room is so hushed I can hear his voice. He is whimpering next to me on the ground that first day we drove until there was no gas. His skin smells like earth. His fingers and mouth taste like cigarettes. I was tired and sore and scared.
After everything tasted like pennies and rain. After I felt heavy and stiff. After that time he gave me medicine to help me sleep. After I stopped asking to go home. Did they know?
I closed my eyes and began, aware my mom was holding her breath. I cannot say that there are those parts you are not supposed to see, those parts Mom would say are privates. My mind stops because there they are. Not private at all but not connected anymore to anything either. Just there. Sharp, painful always poking parts. “His were white as a bleached sink,” I blurt, too loudly. My mother cries out and my father curses.
The gray suit lady is writing when she looks shocked. “What was? Tell me what you see.”
The humming is so loud I can hardly hear my mom’s sniffling. Everyone is the room is floating away while I am wondering why this is so clear yet I can’t remember his eyes. What color are his eyes?
I can feel them waiting for me to go on as I pick at my cuticles and watch my legs shaking in my new too stiff, too clean jeans. Then I see his teeth. So I shout, “I remember his teeth.”
Wow, Diane... another powerful excerpt this week. I especially love his skin smelling like earth and "His were white as a bleached sink" but many gorgeous, compelling moments in this writing.
DeleteMy best advice for LATER (aka Revision) would be to read it aloud to yourself and see where the writing is a tiny bit unclear in places and needs to be clarified and/or tightened. But that is the work of revision, and for now you are doing great work.
Keep going.
xox gae
I am sad to see Teachers Write come to an end, but I am so thankful for the commitment and generosity of everyone who makes Teachers Write possible. My experiences here have had an enormous impact on me as a writing teacher.
ReplyDeleteThe scene I'm sharing today is a conversation between Nina and her grandmother as she is getting ready to leave her home, which she has sold, and move into an assisted living residence.
“I miss your grandfather every day,” Nina’s grandmother said, looking into her eyes. “There’s not a day that passes that I don’t turn to say something to him before I remember he isn’t there. That’s maybe what I miss the most. Having him there to share my thoughts with.”
“I miss him, too, Grandma,” Nina whispered, not wanting to break the spell that seemed to have taken hold. “I miss his silly jokes and the way he would sing funny old songs coming down the hallway and the way he’d say, ‘What’s new, Granddaughter?’ whenever I walked into your house. And I miss the way he’d sneak me tiny sips of beer in paper cups when no one was looking.” Nina giggled quietly at the memory, almost forgetting for a moment that it had been years since her grandfather had passed her the tangy golden liquid barely covering the bottom of the cup, forgetting that he would never do it again.
“So, how can you leave this house? How can you sell it? So much of Grandpa is in this house. It’s like losing him all over again.” Nina was surprised at the words coming out of her mouth. She hadn’t realized until that moment that this was what she was feeling, that this was the reason she had been feeling such sorrow since her grandmother had given her the news. Looking up at her grandmother, Nina saw tears pool against her bottom eyelids. She hoped this was a sign that her grandmother had come to her senses and realized that she could never sell this house.
“Oh, Nina. I know this is hard to understand. You love this house. I love it, too. But your grandfather isn’t here.” Her grandmother gestured lightly around the room. “He’s here,” she continued, and placed her hand on her chest. “Everywhere I go, he goes with me. Do you have to be in this house to remember him and to feel his presence?”
“No,” Nina whispered again, this time because the lump in her throat made it hard to breathe and even harder to speak.
Her grandmother was right. Even though sometimes she had trouble picturing his face or hearing his voice, she felt her grandfather’s presence everywhere. Sometimes in strange places at the oddest times. Like when she rode her bike and the wind blew back her hair. Or riding in the car with the warm sun streaming through the windows as the scenery outside whirred by in a blur. Even sitting in math class she’d sometimes feel him beside her, whispering words of encouragement.
Ah, Amanda, adding ALL THE FEELS via your excerpt today. You guys are trying to crush me with the feels. :)
DeleteThis is a beautiful scene, I really feel the emotion of it, the evocative memories, and especially love that you give us a piece of the grandfather's dialogue so we get to feel him too.
On revision, your job will be to pull back on writing that isn't needed -- explanation or description that the reader can imply vs almost becomes cumbersome when the writer tells is. So for example:
Looking up at her grandmother, Nina saw tears pool against her bottom eyelids. Can just end at the words pool. We understand what that looks like especially with an old woman, and somehow the extra words then become a distraction, as if I need to picture something exactly (and figure out does it work that way?) rather than letting the moment wash over me. Does that make sense?
Really good work! Keep going!
Thanks so much to everyone for taking the time to read and comment, and to Gae for the opportunity. I'm going to miss this Friday Feedback! It has been motivating and inspiring. Here's what I was working on today:
ReplyDelete“Ayla, are you okay? You said you’d let me know. Didn’t you see my messages? I didn’t want to call in case you were still feeling sick but I was so worried.”
“I...um...sorry. It was something I ate. I’m better now.”
“Oh.” There was a long pause. “I wish you’d let me know you were okay.”
I couldn’t tell her the truth—that I'd been busy seeing Dr. B and working on Mission Dig-It-Up. “Sorry. I had to do some stuff with Whisper.”
“Oh.” There was another long pause. "It’s good you’re feeling better. I’ll talk to you later. I have to go help Emmie.”
Was she mad? She didn’t say anything about the party or about meeting up again. What if we weren’t friends anymore? Being friends with her was a big part of my argument for getting rid of Whisper.
“What should I do, girl? Should I call her back?”
Whisper edged closer and poked my leg with her nose. I had no idea what that meant, until I noticed I was still holding the dog treat. I opened my fist and she took it gently out of my hand. I thought she’d run away, but she settled down next to me in the grass, her hot body pressed against my leg.
It was nice that someone wanted to be my friend. But it was the wrong someone. Soon I’d have to go in and convince Mom that Whisper had to go.
Ah, Andrea, I'm starting to believe that your MC doesn't really want Whisper to go. She just thinks she does. . . :)
ReplyDeleteThis is so lovely. You do a great job of building the tension between girl and dog, and letting the reader in on things maybe before your MC is. A good thing.
Keep going!
xox gae
Gae, thank you so much for your feedback!! That is exactly what I wanted the reader to be thinking. So glad to know my revisions are making a difference!
DeleteSo here I go again...no longer afraid to post! Thank you so much for all your help and support in the writing process!
ReplyDeleteDarrell beams as he sits down. Johanna smiles at him. He waits patiently as the heaping platters are served to the table by a lady who is not Josh’s mother who everyone calls Ermine. He remembers his mother telling him that some women aren’t very good at things like cooking and cleaning so they hire other women to help out. She always has a smile that looks different from her regular smile when she tells him to be proud of how good women from St. Lucia are at these jobs because it allows them to help other families. Today, he is glad she is not helping because he is so happy to be sitting next to his mom at the Thanksgiving table instead of waiting at the apartment for her to come home on the 8:57 with leftovers that Miss Margaret packs in a Tupperware container and carefully places in one of thos Sax 5th Avenue Bags that his mama says are “good sturdy bags,” not flimsy like the Target bags.
Josh fidgets in his seat as he waits for the plate of stuffing to reach him. When it does he says, “Can I have 2 scoops? I love stuffing!” Without a word, Ermine fills his plate with stuffing. Josh knows he probably won’t finish all of it, but he doesn’t care. It’s Thanksgiving and he’s not the only kid at the table this year. After dinner, he and Darrell can go to his room and play more Minecraft and maybe he can show Darrell the Lego Storm Trooper he has been working on. It was almost like having a cousin. Or a brother. Just someone so he wasn’t always alone with his parents and Grandma.
Darrell’s mouth waters as the plate of stuffing reaches him. As Ermine puts a scoop of stuffing on his plate, Darrell remembers what his mother told him. Mind your manners. Say please and thank you more times than you can count.
“Thank you,” Darrell says.
“What a polite young man,” says Ermine. She smiles at Johanna who smiles back politely.
Conversation bounces quickly between the adults and Darrell notices that Johanna does not partake. He finds it odd that his mom is so quiet. When they invite Lamar’s family over after church, she is always the louder of the two women, but today, aside from, “Would you like some more turkey, Miss Margaret?” Johanna is quiet. Every so often, he glances at Josh and wonders why his mother cuts his turkey for him. Still, Darrell is thrilled to be at this large table in this elaborate house with more food than anyone on his block could ever imagine!
Suddenly a large sound interrupts a debate of whether or not the environmental impact of hybrid cars are really worth the money. Josh jumps out of his chair as water fills his plate and turns his Ralph Lauren Polo shirt a much darker shade of blue.
“Ermine!” Elizabeth calls.
Ermine comes running with a mop and some paper towels and Johanna jumps up to help. Instinctively, Darrell jumps up too.
“Sit down, Darrell,” Johanna says. Her voice is stern but not angry.
Darrell sits down as Ermine and Johanna help clean up the pitcher of water that Josh dropped.
Elizabeth sighs, exasperated. “Josh! I told you not to try to lift that heavy pitcher. Why didn’t you ask Ermine to help you?”
“Darrell poured the pitcher of water himself and he’s the same age as me! I wanted to do it myself! You treat me like such a baby!” Josh’s pale cheeks flush angrily as Darrell tries to look away.
Darrell glances at Elizabeth and Ron who are seated and eating their food. He wonders why they don’t help Ermine and his mom clean up. He understands why Miss Margaret isn’t helping. She’s in a wheelchair. But it seems like Elizabeth and Ron are being very lazy. “Laziness is the devil’s work,” Lamar’s mom always tells the boys when they want to play video games instead of reading a book after school. Of course, he doesn’t tell them they are being lazy. He knows he is supposed to be polite.
Jess, there is so much you do in this scene and there are layers and they are very, very skilled.
ReplyDeleteI really have nothing critical at this moment -- anything would be saved for (go ahead): revision. But right now in terms of building character and laying the foundation for their friendship and the story, and making us feel and see both their differences and all the places they are the same. . . it's really good. Keep going. <3
Thank you so much! This made my day!!
ReplyDeleteGae, thanks for Friday Feedback. It's been so helpful and educational. I'm only sorry I couldn't get to it until late in the day. No worries if you can't get to it. xoxo
ReplyDelete“Ulysses, huh?” he says, pumping my hand, when Tyler makes sullen introductions. “That’s a helluva handle. What your parents were thinking.” He surveys our work, arms crossed over his chest, stopping at my battle scene. “Tyler, you draw this?”
“No. Use—Ulysses did.”
Mr. Percevetti lifts an eyebrow at me. “You trace it?”
“No,” I answer.
“I did this one, Dad,” Tyler says with a smug glance at me.
“I wouldn’t brag about that, I was you. Is that a supposed to be a horse? Looks like an overgrown dog. I knew those art lessons were a waste of money. Who cares about art? Your mother and her idiotic ideas. You don’t want to be a starving artist anyway. Come on, we’re leaving. And go change your clothes. You look like a slob. We’re picking up Veronique and then going to the club for dinner, you can’t wear that.”
Mr. Percevetti goes back upstairs without saying goodbye. No one talks while we text our parents to pick us up. Halley and I exchange a glance, Dominic gets very interested in the assortment of golf clubs nestled in a carved wooden stand, and Sofia uses her phone to check her makeup. Tyler’s hands are stuffed into his pockets and he stares at his drawing, his face and neck red against his blond hair. I never thought I’d feel sorry for Tyler Percevetti. I’ve been humiliated plenty of times but not by my own father. (At least, not intentionally. But I would like him to never again wear his “Come to dark side, we have cookies” t-shirt to a school function.)
“We should use yours,” I suddenly say to Tyler. It’s like someone else is talking and I’m fascinated to hear what’s next. “Battle scene, I mean. It’s really good. Your Crazy Horse looks just like one in Wikipedia.”
“Shut up, Useless,” Tyler replies, and he stabs his sharpened pencil into the upper right-hand corner of my drawing and slowly forces it diagonally across to the bottom, leaving a messy, jagged rip in his wake.
Oh, wow, Laurel. This scene, and especially those last two paragraphs. So painful to see Ulysses try to "go high? and do the nice thing, only to literally be ripped for it. I really felt that moment.
DeleteMy wonder -- for on revision -- will be to pick and choose the places where the humor may actually either slow down or take away from the emotion vs. serve as needed and great comic relief. I can't really tell without knowing what comes before it, but the place my gut is telling me is that Dark side t shirt. I Adore it and it made me actually chuckle out loud, but I still wonder if it would be so strong ending that line simply at "not by my own father." Maybe that gem of a humor gets relocated elsewhere. But who cares now. That's for later on revision. Great scene. And in addition to the last two paragraphs, I really love this skilled and minimal moment:
He surveys our work, arms crossed over his chest, stopping at my battle scene. “Tyler, you draw this?”
“No. Use—Ulysses did.”
Mr. Percevetti lifts an eyebrow at me. “You trace it?”
“No,” I answer.
Great stuff. Keep going. :)
Thank you. That was one I wasn't sure about myself. Will leave it for revisions and see how it sounds then. Onward (but backward to add an earlier scene. I'm still counting that was writing forward.) :-)
Delete:)
DeleteWow. Hard to believe it's the last week. It sure went fast, but I'm thankful for all the great advice on my first attempt at a YA novel. I have all of your books, of course, Gae. And I'm looking forward to reading your new one, as well as others from these amazing guest authors.
ReplyDeleteHere's my last submission for constructive criticism. It's a pivotal moment between my MC and her mom. Would love anything you can offer to help make it better. Thanks so much!
I know I used to be that way. But this past year, and my relationship with Tony, has made me change my mind. I’m actually the one who smooths things over with my friends and their boy/girlfriends. I help fix things,” Heidi said.
“You’re like a modern-day Dear Abby,” her mom laughed.
“Dear who?” Heidi asked.
“You know...Dear Abby. The advice column."
“Ummm...never heard of it,” answered Heidi.
“Really? First you have no idea who Jake Ryan is, and now this?”
Heidi remembered watching her mom’s favorite movie, Sixteen Candles, and hearing about her crush on that guy leaning up against the red sports car.
“Sorry mom. Maybe you can fill me in. And what does this have to do with my friends, or your bad dates?” Heidi asked.
Cassie quickly Googled Dear Abby and clicked on the link. She handed her phone to Heidi, who skimmed over the About the Author section.
“I’m actually surprised she still writes her advice column,” her mom admitted, “since I haven’t read it since my 20s.”
“Look. It says here that she started helping her mom when she was only 14. Just a year younger than I am.”
“And she has over 100 million readers. That’s more followers than people get on Twitter and Instagram,” Heidi added, impressed.
“She’s actually ON Twitter now. And not the mother anymore, but her daughter. Getting full credit for the column,” her mom said.
Heidi thought for a few minutes while looking up the #dearabby hashtag on her Twitter account.
“You know, mom, you’ve had quite a few interesting online dating stories over the last few months.”
“I don’t know if interesting is the word I’d choose. Try creepy, frustrating, humorous...”
Heidi laughed. “You’re probably right, although I’m sure you don’t share every detail with me.”
“Have you thought about trying something like that Dear Abby column? I mean, from an online dating perspective.”
Cassie’s eyes lit up. “I do like blogging, but I don’t know about revealing all the personal details of my life online…”
“Well, it could be like a hybrid blog/dating column. With maybe a lesson learned in each one. I could help. Give my opinions."
Cassie thought for a moment.
“That’s not a bad idea, honey.”
“Yeah...and i have lots of experience giving advice to my friends who, no offense mom, sound a lot like you. Giving guys the benefit of the doubt. Making excuses. Lowering their standards. And then blaming themselves when things go wrong.”
Her mom squirmed, but had to admit that Heidi was right.
“So you think that others might be able to learn from my experiences,” she asked her daughter.
“Yes, they’ll certainly learn what NOT to do,” Heidi joked.
“Gee, thanks,” Cassie replied. “Glad I can help out.”
Sandy, I wrote so much (because it's you!) so I have to break it into a few comments! Here's part one:
ReplyDeleteSandy, I'm super excited each week to see this story blooming and taking off!
I think for a first draft, you've got great work going here and you should just plow forward. But for "learning purposes" and because you asked, here's some thoughts to save later for REVISION:
I think a few things would breathe more life into this, YES!, pivotal scene:
1. Some of your rough draft dialogue is a little stilted and offers too much information which makes it feel more like a tell than a show. It feels a little unnatural and maybe not as emotional as it could. I played with it some to try to breathe a little energy and emotion into it. I mean, I imagine the mom has some real emotions going on in this scene -- both excitement at the prospect of a joint venture with her daughter -- I mean, how many moms get that?!? -- but also a bit of embarrassment that her dating history is fodder for her daughter to need to give advice. I think you can bring this out more by digging for the emotion in the scene -- again, I quickly play with some places in this edit. Im also going to find the link for Geoff Herbach's cracked dialogue video I have shared over and over again. As you move forward, really think about how these conversations might go, with things being left out, people being interrupted, talking over one another (especially in excitement) etc.
2. I think sometimes going back and forth between referring to her mom as "her mom" and "Cassie" gets a bit confusing, though this may just be because the scene is out of context. Later, when you revise, read aloud to yourself and see how it feels in that regard.
(continued...)
3. The other thing that may make your writing/scenes feel even more authentic as you go along is to really deepen your characterizations, so we get to see a little bit more of who they are as this scene unfolds. Things we already know about them and expect from them, or don't know yet. For example, how they really FEEL about what another/layers of their character, e.g. does Cassie have a nervous tick that her daughter knows and has to walk on eggshells not to bring out? Does Heidi feel a mix of embarrassment and amusement at her mother's dating escapades? Does she vow never to be like her mother. Remember, even if you're basing this off a real life situation, once you're writing STORY you can veer off and really run with the layers. There need to be stakes involved for Heidi. What are they? If this Dear Abby thing she just suggested takes off, does she worry about her mother's weaknesses being revealed, or is she merely excited at the prospect?! Push the emotion in the scenes just the tiniest bit and you will find that the stakes raise and the scenes come alive and matter even more. Hope that makes sense. Here's a minor edit (though not with Me pushing much emotion, because I can't know what those are yet for your characters, only you can!:
Delete
DeleteI know I used to be that way. But this past year, and my relationship with Tony, has made me change my mind. I’m actually the one who smooths things over with for my friends when their relationships are a mess. I guess I help fix things,” Heidi said.
“You’re like a modern-day Dear Abby,” her mom laughed.
“Dear who?”
“You know...Dear Abby. The advice column."
“Ummm...never heard of it,” Heidi said.
“Really? First you have no idea who Jake Ryan is, and now this?”
Heidi remembered watching her mom’s favorite movie, Sixteen Candles, and hearing about her crush on that guy leaning up against the red sports car.
“Sorry mom. Maybe you can fill me in. And what does this have to do with my friends, or your bad dates, anyway?”
Cassie quickly Googled Dear Abby and clicked on the link. She handed her phone to Heidi, who skimmed over the About the Author section.
“I’m actually surprised she still writes her advice column,” her mom admitted, “since I haven’t read it since my 20s.”
“Look. It says here that she started helping her mom when she was only 14. Just a year younger than I am. And she has over 100 million readers. That’s more followers than people get on Twitter and Instagram,” Heidi added, impressed.
“She’s actually ON Twitter now. Not the mother anymore, but her daughter. Getting full credit for the column,” her mom said.
Heidi pulled up the #dearabby hashtag on her Twitter account and scrolled through it.
“You know, mom, some of your dates have been, um, interesting over the last few months.”
“I don’t know if interesting is the word I’d choose. Try creepy, frustrating, humorous...”
Heidi laughed. “Exactly, although I’m not sure I even want to know all the facts. . . What if you did a Dear Abby-like column? Shared stories about your online adventures?”
Cassie’s eyes lit up. “I do like blogging, but I don’t know about revealing all the personal details of my life like that, online…”
“Well, you could choose. . . and, I could help. Give my opinions, and stuff like that."
Cassie thought for a moment, but already the thought of sharing a project with her daughter was exciting her.
“That’s not a bad idea, honey.”
“Yeah...and I have lots of experience giving advice to my friends who, no offense mom, sound a lot like you. Always giving guys the benefit of the doubt. Making excuses. Lowering their standards. And then blaming themselves when things go wrong.”
Cassie’s heart sank. It was embarrassing that her daughter was right.
“So you think that others might be able to learn from my experiences?” she asked. “All these disasters can save someone else?” She laughed uncomfortably.
“Yes! You can be like the What NOT to Do,” Heidi joked.
“Gee, thanks,” Cassie said, but the idea was already taking shape in her head. “Glad I can help out.”
But again, Sandy, this is all work that can be done moving forward and ON REVISION, and you have a wonderful story chugging forward and coming alive.
Keep going,
xox gae