Craft Book of the Month: The First Five Pages

Well, friends, here it is. My last post of the year (unless I have some pressing revelation before midnight on the 31st) and my last post on this wonderful book which has occupied my thoughts for the past 8 weeks.

If I had but world and time, I would type out the entire epilogue of The First Five Pages for you. It is, quite simply, a love letter to writing. I want the final paragraph to be in my obituary, it is that good.

Do not be discouraged, Noah Lukeman tells us. We writers need to hear that every day, in what is often a laborious task with more rejection than glory. Noah Lukeman goes on to say,

If you stay with it long and hard enough, you will inevitably get better at your craft, learn more about the publishing business, maybe get published in a small literary magazine--eventually even find an agent. Maybe your first book won't sell; maybe your second or third won't either. But if you can stand the rejection, if you can stubbornly stay with it year after year after year, you will make it into print. I know many writers who wrote several books--some over the course of thirty years--before they finally got their first book deal.

(Thanks, Mr. Lukeman. I have another ten years to go!)

Noah Lukeman continues by advising the writer to make an effort to be social. ("While the craft of writing has little to do with being social, I can assure you the business of writing does... You may learn more about publishing from one party in one afternoon than from entire volumes.") He asks next about whether writing is the number-one priority in your life. (Did you know that Thomas Mann didn't even interrupt his writing to attend the funeral of his son?) He talks about Genet writing on toilet paper in prison, of Dostoyevsky's struggles, of how Conrad--without a word of English before the age of twenty--went on to be one of the great writers in the English language, and of how Faulkner toiled in factories and post offices. Then, he asks, If these writers could overcome such obstacles, how can you give up after a few rejection slips?

And now comes the final paragraph, the one I want read at my funeral:

The ultimate message of this book, though, is not that you should strive for publication, but that you should become devoted to the craft of writing, for its own sake. Ask yourself what you would do if you knew you would never be published. Would you still write? If you are truly writing for the art of it, the answer will be yes.

AND THEN, EVERY WORD IS A VICTORY.

YES, YES, and YES!

P.s. In these days of google alerts, I received a very nice e-mail from Noah Lukeman. In it, he told me about his blog, http://www.askaliteraryagent.com/, where he answers questions about writing and the industry. You can also sign up for his free ezine, which is filled with tips for authors. And if you visit http://www.noahlukeman.com/ and click “FREE,” you can download over 100 additional pages of free information of help to authors. You can also find links to follow him on Twitter and on Facebook.

Noah Lukeman seems to be a generous soul, and eager to help writers. I can think of no better way to help your writing self than to read and study (again and again!) The First Five Pages.

See you all in 2011. I'll have a grand new writing book to discuss with you, one high on inspiration. All will be revealed the first Wednesday in January. Till then, it's Auld Lang Syne and Happy Hogmanay! Bring on the haggis.

Craft Book of the Month: The First Five Pages

I hope you are all having a wonderful Christmas Eve. Our house is abuzzing as presents begin to appear under the tree and the smell of baking fills the air. The kids are counting down the hours.

So, what better time to discuss Noah Lukeman's Chapter 18: Setting. No word of a lie, this is the one part of writing where I feel the greatest challenge. I tend to get wrapped up in what my characters are doing and saying, and setting gets left on the backburner. But, if Noah Lukeman is to be believed, I'm not the only one:

It is amazing how often setting is neglected, employed only as necessary. This is such a mistake because, when brought to life, good settings can add a whole new dimension to a text, a richness nothing else can... At its best, setting itself becomes a character, interacting with the other characters.

"...no settings whatsoever, settings described in a way that stops the flow of the narrative, settings that hardly change, settings that never come to life, settings with which the characters never interact, and settings that never affect the characters at all."

Among the solutions he lists are: bringing settings to life by the tiniest details; drawing on all five senses to describe a setting; using climate to define a setting; and having characters interact with a setting.

Lukeman ends this chapter by exhorting writers to train themselves to look for details in settings, everywhere they go. Go on, he says, "Practice right now, in the room you're in. Find ten unusual details--it doesn't matter how small--and write them down."

It's great advice, as usual. But, sorry, Mr. Lukeman; I've got to dash. Got a party at the other end of town. But I promise I'll look for those ten details at Uncle John's and Aunt Barbara's house. And who knows? If I do a good job, perhaps I can slip in some unusual detail in my new novel's first draft?

Happy Holidays, everyone. I hope you enjoy the company of family and good friends over the next few days. I'll be back on Boxing Day for Microfiction Monday, in between preparing for a "Boxing Day Tea Party," something we're doing this year to make my mother, visiting from England, feel at home. Till then, Merry Christmas!

Craft Book of the Month: The First Five Pages

As I've read and inwardly digested The First Five Pages, it has struck me that I could just quote page after page of its gems. How's about this, for example:

Writing is like steering a ship: one will inevitably--and constantly--fall off course on the way to one's destination...

Or, how about this:

It is the writer's job to distance himself from his work and then to return to it with a merciless eye, an eye that ignores the beauty of the language, the brilliance of the characters' improvisation...

Throughout Chapter 17 ("Focus") I found myself nodding in agreement. For example, I am beginning a new novel as I wait for the ideal agent--I know he/she is out there--to snap up the novel I'm querying. I have written an outline for this new novel, a very flexible outline. I have launched into the first chapter, and immediately the ship is fighting my controls, telling me that it has its own idea about our voyage of discovery. (I have to keep reminding myself of Anne Lamott's chapter of "Shitty First Drafts" in Bird by Bird.)

In this chapter about Focus, Noah Lukeman talks about "broad" focus and "narrow" focus. "Broad" focus suggests a theme or image which starts out the book and which the writer returns to in closing, giving the reader a sense of deep satisfaction.

In its narrower sense, focus can "be applied to individual chapters, paragraphs, and even sentences." Lukeman claims--and I have come to agree--that "each chapter must be thought of as its own complete unit, ready to excerpt should a magazine want it." And each paragraph should feel like a unit of its own. Otherwise, Lukeman says, the writing will have an unfocused quality.

As always, Lukeman gives examples and solutions to problems at the end of each chapter. And again, I completely agree with his opening paragraph about solutions.

The most painful of all editing is when focusing a manuscript, as it often demands doing away with perfectly good writing. The edit's principle is this: No matter how good the writing, if it does not further the intention or progression of the work, it must be cut. (You can take solace in the fact that you may be able to use the stricken material in some other work.)

With the idea of solace, and giving praise to word processors, I wish you all a good run-up to the Winter Solstice and to Christmas, or whatever way you celebrate the slow reappearance of light in the Northern hemisphere. May your writing be full of focus.

Craft Book of the Month: The First Five Pages

When I lived in Japan one of my mentors introduced me to the phrase 師走(Shiwasu). It's the old Japanese name for December and literally means "teachers running." The idea was that December was so busy that even such an exalted personage as a teacher would be seen running about.

My December is certainly beginning to feel a bit 師走(Shiwasu). Which means that blog posts may be a bit erratic in the next couple of weeks. However, I do need to honor my promise to you all to press on with my examination of the Craft Book of the Month--and this week's episode is about Hooks.

Noah Lukeman is a tough taskmaster, and his chapter 14 (Hooks) is no exception. Here, in the clearest of terms, he shows that he is interested in showing the distinction between someone writing for money and a writer. After he points out that Ovid said one should wait nine years after finishing one's work before seeking publication, Lukeman asks:

Does the intensity of the hook end with one line? One paragraph? One page? Of course, an opening line is a special thing, and it is nearly impossible to maintain its intensity for an entire text--yet we can look to see if there is at least some sustenance, if some traces remain. I am often amazed by how many manuscripts begin with good first lines--and good openings in general--and then fall apart; it is actually rare to see the intensity found in a first (or last) line maintained throughout a manuscript.

Lukeman cautions us against thinking that a hook has to be an intense opening line. He claims that
 

what is impressive to the professional reader is not initial intensity but maintained intensity... I often find that manuscripts with more subdued openings tend to be the best... These writers don't write an opening for the sake of an opening, but for the sake of the story that follows.

In closing the chapter with his usual exercises, Lukeman asks us to

pretend the paragraph at hand, no matter where it falls in the book, is the opening of your novel; pretend the paragraph's closing is your book's finale.

Writing like this will allow for greater focus and intensity throughout the novel. For,as Noah Lukeman says, "everything in writing is cumulative."

I hope you are not running like a teacher this December. There will be more Noah Lukeman next week.

Craft Book of the Month: The First Five Pages

Late again! If blogging were a race, I'd be the poor helpless runner being lapped by the Ethiopians. I do, however, have two very good excuses. The first is that my mother arrived on Wednesday for a six week visit, and that occasioned a frenzy of cleaning that left time for little else. Second, I spent today with my father-in-law on what has become our annual hunt for the cheapest Christmas tree in North America. Fortunately this year he has a GPS, so we didn't spend too much time circling in the hinterlands. The most amazing part of the story was that we blundered onto a Christmas tree farm where you could just tell from the outset that the prices were going to be high. (You know, the type of place where Santa is sequestered in a back room and jolly elves pass around small cups of hot chocolate.) Indeed, the prices were high, but then the owner said he'd cut a deal. I could have a 6 foot Noble Fir for $10. The only catch: the tree had fallen out of a helicoptor while being tagged to go to Mexico... At that, I just knew I had to have the tree. I mean, how many people can boast that their Christmas tree parachuted to the ground on its way to a Mexican vacation? (And the tree is actually in great shape!) But I digress.



Noah Lukeman's chapter on Characterization is ace. In a mere fourteen pages he lists all the ills that can befall a writer's characters. I'll summarize them, and then urge you to buy/borrow the book for yourself so you can ponder it at your leisure.

Noah Lukeman's characterization sins:

1. The use of stock, cliche, or overly exotic names.
2. Launching into a story without stopping to establish any of the characters.
3. The presence of stock characters or character traits (the Russian spy, the mad scientist etc.)
4. The introduction of too many characters at once.
5. Confusion over who the protagonist is.
6. The presence of extraneous characters.
7. Generic character description. ("We're all tired of being introduced to the man in his forties, of medium height and weight, with brown hair and brown eyes.")
8. Characters we don't care about.
9. The unsympathetic protagonist.

Lukeman ends the chapter with his customary end-of-chapter exercises and writes:

Characterization is a long, arduous and ever-developing process. Don't be discouraged. The longer you consciously work at it, the better you'll become.

He recommends that you

Reread great works of literature, carefully observing how various writers handle characterization and character description.

And that's it from me this week. I'm off to stare at my $10 Survivor of a Christmas Tree.
Happy writing to you all.

Craft Book of the Month: The First Five Pages

Well folks, week three never did find its way onto the blog, and now it's week 4 already. So, I've made an executive decision. Seeing as there's much more to write about with this particular book, and seeing all the stuff happening around me (can you say "The Holidays"?) I'm going to extend my appreciation of The First Five Pages into the entire month of December.

Okay, with that out of the way, it's time to discuss what Lukeman calls "The Bigger Picture" in Part 3 of this book. This is where the rubber hits the road, where the advanced writer starts to show her mettle. The first chapter (Chapter 11) is about that hoary old chestnut, "Showing Versus Telling."

This is how Lukeman sums it up:

It is the writer's job to show us what his characters are like, not by what he says about them, or what they say about one another, but by their actions. A writer can spend a page telling us his protagonist is a crook, or he can show us in one sentence, by simply describing his taking a twenty-dollar bill from someone's pocket and letting the reader judge for himself.

By showing us the character's theft, Lukeman points out the advantage of leaving room for some ambiguity in the text and allowing the reader to interpret things.

If a writer tells us his character is a crook, then he is a crook. But if the writer shows the character taking a twenty-dollar bill, it is up to us to decide if he is a crook. Most of us will assume he is, but some of us may consider other possibilities: perhaps he is taking back money that is already his; perhaps he is taking the bill because it is counterfeit and was duplictously planted to entrap him; perhaps there is an ongoing game between the two characters to see who can pick the other's pocket and get away with it, and the money will be returned later.

(My note: I think this only works when a character is being introduced. One of the things a reader does quickly is make a judgement about who a character really is. We don't mind a character behaving a little erratically, or learning something and changing, but it is hard to always be guessing a character's motives. If I fail to "get a grip" on a character I feel unsettled, which is not a good reading feeling.)

There's also a good post about showing versus telling on the Greenhouse Literary Agency blog this week, written by the London agent, Julia Churchill. The link is here.

Next week, I will focus on describing Noah Lukeman's views on successful characterization. Hope to see you then.

Craft Book of the Month: The First Five Pages

Week 2: Dialogue

In my salad days, when I was green in judgement--and anyone who can tell me which Shakespeare play those lines come from earns a gold star--I belonged to a writers' group that had a very interesting modus operandi. Basically, any interested writer could show up at this Chinese restaurant. Newbies were put in groups of 3 or 4 and that was that. Talk about luck of the draw!

In my group that first night were two other young guns and one older woman. We all read a few pages from the manuscripts we were working on. The woman, who was obviously enthralled by her pages, read line after line of terrible dialogue. Of course I can't remember it verbatim but it was along the lines of "I just talked to John, who was best man at our wedding" and "I had lunch with our-daughter-in-law, Janey, who has blessed us with our three grandchildren..." It was awkward indeed giving feedback--I still remember the sensation of squirming in my chair while we tried to point out that people didn't talk like this. End of the story? The writer was disgusted with us and never returned to the group.

If only she had read Noah Lukeman's take on dialogue. Lukeman writes:

Dialogue is a powerful tool, to be used sparingly, effectively and at the right moment. Dialogue is to the writer what the veto is to the president: it gives you great power and authority. If you overuse it, people will have to submit, but they will resent you for it; if you use it wisely, they will applaud your control, your willpower.

Lukeman covers five common ailments in dialogue.

1. In Between the Lines (Chapter 6), he talks of the use of "he/she said," how often to use it, and where to place it in the sentence.
2. Commonplace (Chapter 7) warns against using everyday dialogue ("Hello, how are you?") in the mistaken belief that dialogue has to be "realistic."
3. In chapter 8, Informative, he warns against using dialogue to convey backstory, which was what ailed the writer in my above-mentioned writer's group.
4. Chapter 9, Melodrama, advises us to use silence or action to convey drama, rather than having a character rant and rave. (His example: "Jane could yell and curse at Frank for twenty lines after he tells her he's been cheating on her, or she can turn and take off her wedding ring and flush it down the toilet.")
5. Finally, in chapter 10, Hard to Follow, Lukeman warns against overuse of dialect and writing that is cryptic.

Most of these dialogue mistakes, as Lukeman points out, are mistakes a more advanced writer knows how to avoid. So, if your first five pages have made it this far, The Bigger Picture awaits. This is sheep-from-goat-separation time--and what I will focus on during our two remaining Wednesdays.

Have a good week, writing dangerously!

November's Craft Book of the Month: The First Five Pages

The First Five Pages  is a relatively short book. I knew within the first five pages that I was going to find it very valuable. And sobering.

Lukeman is an agent. In his introduction, he says he has read thousands of manuscripts. In doing so, he discovered that regardless of whether the author came from Texas, California, or Japan (or England, or Oregon) the same exact mistakes were being made. Furthermore, he realized that by scrutinizing just the first few pages, he could make a determination about the whole manuscript. As he says: "if you find one line of extraneous dialogue on page 1, you will likely find one line of extraneous dialogue on each page to come." And, in reality, it doesn't take the astute reader five pages to make an evaluation. In fact, Lukeman says, the book should have been titled "The first five sentences."

Harsh, you may be thinking. Lukeman's rationale is this:

Agents and editors don't read manuscripts to enjoy them; they read solely with the goal of getting through the pile, solely with an eye to dismiss a manuscript--and believe me, they'll look for any reason they can, down to the last letter.

Gordon Bennett! This is positively Darwinian. But if you think about it, readers make the same evaluations. How often have you browsed in a bookstore (very often, I hope!)? You see a book your friend recommended. She usually has good taste, you think, so you read the flap, open to the first paragraph. Nope, the story didn't grab. You scan another couple of books. Same thing. And then: a book you've never heard of, but it has a prominent display on the shelf. You open it, start to read, and five minutes later you're still reading. Something has resonated with you, sucked you in. You may even hand over hard-earned cash for it.

Agents and editors are doing the same thing with manuscripts, except they can give you specific reasons why they connect or don't connect with a work. In Lukeman's opinion, this is not usually an issue of plot. ("A great writer can produce an amazing piece of writing with virtually no plot at all.") It is an issue of prose, of how you execute your writing. It is an issue of craft.

But first off, Part I talks about preliminary problems. Presentation is key. Don't come off as unprofessional. ("Agents and editors don't view someone who shies from the standards as unique or unusual. they view him as a nuisance...") Devote time to researching agents and editors, and make sure you're not sending your thriller to someone who only represents non-fiction. (Lukeman suggests you send a query via FedEx, but that sounds over-the-top to me. It also shows that the book was written before e-mail queries became almost ubiquitous!)

Lukeman spends a couple of pages talking about proper formatting, and then reveals that certain quirks will also signal an early dismissal: the overuse of question marks and exclamation points. Also, cliches. ("I can't tell you how many manuscripts open with cliches or have one on their first page. This is almost always an indicator of a commonplace sensibility and will thus lead to instant rejection.") Finally, in chapter 2, Lukeman shows how an abundance of adjectives and adverbs marks a writer as a beginner, and someone easy to reject. (The rest of Part I deals the sound of one's writing, the way one uses metaphor or simile, and stylistic errors. The end of each chapter also has a number of exercises. Very useful.)

Next Week: Part II--Dialogue as a revealer of a writer's skill.

Noah Lukeman is an agent. In addition to The First Five Pages, he's the author of The Plot Thickens.

Craft Book of the Month:November's Choice Unveiled

So dull and dark are the November days.
The lazy mist high up the evening curled,
And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze;
The place we occupy seems all the world.

- John Clare, November

O John Clare, were you with me and my second-grader as we stumbled through the darkness to the bus stop this morning? Fall has come to Oregon with a vengeance: wind, rain, and blowing leaves. And dark, dark mornings.

It's reading and writing weather. (Must be one of the reasons Portland has so many book stores and writers per capita.) And what better book to read in this dour month than... Noah Lukeman's amazing, astute, and indispensable The First Five Pages.  Join me next Wednesday and every Wednesday in November as I reveal what I learned from this terrific tome.

Anyone for leaf-raking?