How to Crush Clichés -- Amy Sue Nathan

(Source: Amy Sue Nathan @ Backspace: The Writer's Place)

According to Wikipedia:

A cliché or cliche (pronounced UK: /ˈkliːʃeɪ/, US:/klɪˈʃeɪ/) is an expression, idea, or element of an artistic work which has been overused to the point of losing its original meaning or effect, rendering it astereotype, especially when at some earlier time it was considered meaningful or novel. The term is frequently used in modern culture for an action or idea which is expected or predictable, based on a prior event. Typically a pejorative, “clichés” are not always false or inaccurate;[1] a cliché may or may not be true.[2] Some are stereotypes, but some are simply truisms and facts.[3] Clichés are often for comic effect, typically in fiction.

Most phrases now considered clichéd were originally regarded as striking, but lost their force through overuse.[4] In this connection, David Mason and John Frederick Nims cite a particularly harsh judgement by Salvador Dalí: “The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot.”[5] (gotta love this one)

A cliché is often a vivid depiction of an abstraction that relies upon analogy or exaggeration for effect, often drawn from everyday experience. Used sparingly, they may succeed. However, cliché in writing or speech is generally considered a mark of inexperience or unoriginality.

I couldn’t have said it better myself. So I didn’t. But when you’re creative writing, especially for publication, you must say it better yourself. That’s the point. Clichés appear witty — after all — the writer thought to use the perfect saying for the perfect moment. In reality? Clichés are lazy. Someone else wrote it and it’s already a well-know colloquialism. Ho hum, booooooring. You didn’t do any of the work. 

But I’ll be honest, for me, clichés have their place and my first drafts are strewn with them, along with phrases like find another word for itch or find a good way to describe a dress. In first drafts I write fast and I write anything to get my thoughts into the Word doc — knowing I’ll revise least three or four times before I officially consider it a first draft. I use clichés “like crazy” because the phrase reminds me of what I want to say, but not how I want to say it. Then I go back and find every cliché, something I learned to do in a Margie Lawson class. And believe me, it takes more than one pass through a manuscript to find them all. They come dressed in literary camouflage. Check out this website for a comprehensive list of clichés — and do the best you can to nix ‘em, by just deleting the clichés, or, fix ‘em, by rewriting them in your own words, in your voice. 

Because saying good-bye to clichés means saying hello to better writing. And that’s the point. Right? 

~~~~~

Amy Sue Nathan is the editor of STET, the Backspace monthly newsletter and manages @bksp_org on Twitter. In addition writing fiction she also is a published freelance writer and editor. She has two teenagers and two dogs and is a non-repentant chocoholic. You can read more here.

Great Advice from Literary Agent Donald Mass

(Source: Backspace, The Elements of Awe)

Who spreads stories and why? Sociologists at the University of Pennsylvania have been studying data provided by The New York Times showing which of the paper’s articles are the most often e-mailed.

Their conclusions have some relevance for fiction writers because they reveal what it is about stories that probably generate word of mouth. This month and next I’m going to discuss these elements and show how you can apply them in your novels.

The first element is one that will be obvious to most of us, so let’s cover it right away. Positive articles are e-mailed more often than negative ones. What does that mean for novelists? It means that excitement is more likely to be stirred by characters with positive qualities and by stories with happy endings.

No big surprise, like I said. If your characters are dark, miserable and self-loathing you can’t expect readers to be enthusiastic. Qualities of strength, especially when we see them right away, inspire readers to care. Downer endings also narrow a novel’s appeal. But you already knew that, right?
The next element identified by researchers is a little harder to appropriate. More frequently e-mailed stories tend to be emotional.

Stop. I know exactly what you’re thinking. All riiight! My novel-in-progress is highly emotional! Best-seller list here I come!

Not so fast. Every author thinks his or her novel is packed with emotion. Naturally they do. As they write, they feel tons of emotion. But that is not to stay that those emotions are getting through to readers, or in ways that move readers deeply.

What’s the strongest emotion that your protagonist feels: anger, disgust, shame, betrayal, terror, frustration, elation, arousal, love? Yawn. Sorry, not feeling it.

Here’s the point: You can’t expect your reader to feel what your protagonist feels just because they feel it. Only when that emotion is provoked through the circumstances of the story will your reader feel what you want them to.

Describing grief is fine but not as effective as your protagonist saying goodbye to her dying mother…and even that is not as good as saying goodbye after a rich experience of mother-daughter love…and even that is not as good as if that love was hard won. Welcome home is another heart grabber but only when it seems like it will never happen.

In other words, emotions aren’t gold. A story situation that provokes strong emotions is.

So, now to the practical application: What is the strongest emotion you want your reader to feel? Search and delete that word everywhere it occurs in your manuscript. Now, how will you provoke that emotion through action alone? Got it? Good. Next write down three ways to heighten that action. (Remember that underplaying can also heighten.) When you’ve built a story situation that will force the emotion you want-make it happen.

Next month I’ll delve into the element that makes characters fascinating and also creates a sense of awe as your story is read.

P.S. If you’d like to read the Times article in which the research is discussed, check it out here.

--

A literary agent in New York, Donald Maass’s agency sells more than 150 novels every year to major publishers in the U.S. and overseas. He is the author of The Career Novelist (1996), Writing the Breakout Novel (2002), Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook (2004) and The Fire in Fiction (2009). He is a past president of the Association of Authors’ Representatives, Inc.

This article was originally posted on Writer Unboxed.

The 10 Commandments of Fiction Writing

Most experts agree that when it comes to writing fiction, no rules are carved in stone. A writer is free to bend, twist, smash or shred any of the golden platitudes of writing that have been handed down by the well-paid, well-respected writers we all hope to become. Certain writing guidelines, however, are so self-evident few writers would dispute them. When these guidelines are broken, you don't need a burning bush to tell you your writing will suffer.

1. Take yourself seriously

This is the most crucial commandment—and the most difficult to follow. Many beginning writers feel guilty about working so hard at something for which they haven't been paid a cent. Immediate family members or friends may look on writing as a harmless little hobby, to be encouraged only when it doesn't interfere with their own lives. Because of the cavalier attitude of others, writers may fail to prioritize writing as a necessary part of their lives, regardless of whether or not money exchanges hands.

You must emphatically demonstrate to yourself and to others that writing is a part of who you are, not just an amusing pastime. The measure of being a writer is not how much money you make, but how important writing is in your life.

2. Act like a professional

To be taken seriously as a writer, you must act like a professional writer. That means whenever you deal with other professionals in the writing business, such as agents, editors and publishers, you should act the same as you would for a job interview, and present a professional appearance. This is especially important in cover letters and manuscript preparation.

First, proofread for grammar, punctuation and spelling errors. I have heard many editors admit they sometimes reject a manuscript within the first few pages solely due to the number of grammar, punctuation and spelling mistakes. After months or even years of hard work perfecting your story, novel or screenplay, it would be a shame to have it rejected just because you didn't bother to check your spelling or fix a sentence fragment. And don't rely solely on spell-checking and grammar-checking computer programs—they make errors all the time. If grammar is your weakness, then find someone, either a friend or professional, who can proof the pages for you.

Second, perfect the format. The place to be creative is in your writing style, not the manuscript format. Avoid fancy fonts. They're distracting and hard to read. Stick to standard margins. Narrow margins crowd the page and slow the story's pace; broad margins make it appear as though you don't have a substantial story. Don't design your own cover. It smacks of desperation.

Third, polish the cover letter. Just tell the editors what they need to know. That includes: (a) a brief summary of the work, one to three paragraphs, and (b) anything about yourself that might be relevant to the work (if you're submitting a police procedural novel and you're a journalist who worked the crime beat, that's relevant). Avoid overhyping yourself or the work by making extravagant claims: "This will earn millions of dollars!" or "The world has never seen a novel like this before!" Hyperbole makes agents and editors less eager to work with you.

3. Write your passion

Some beginning writers try to write for whatever trend is popular. But by the time you finish your manuscript, get an agent and send your work to a publisher, the trend will be on its way out. You're more likely to produce publishable material by writing what you're passionate about. If you love romances, then write one. If you love mysteries, then that's the genre for you. You don't have to write only that genre, but as you first start out, if you write what you know, you'll have a stronger feel for the proper conventions to include as well as the cliches and stereotypes to avoid.

Ultimately, all that matters is that you care about the material and convey that passion to the reader.

4. Love the process

If you want to become a professional fiction writer, you'd better love the writing process. That doesn't mean you don't have doubts, fears and an aversion to your computer. It means that despite those hesitations, you still sit down and write. Even after you've sold your novel, finished your book-signing tour and watched Brad Pitt star in the film version, you still have to spend most of your days at a computer. That process must thrill and delight you, since all the rest of the celebrity trappings are only a small part of what you do.

5. Read—a lot

While it's a very good idea to know your genre, the best writers don't limit their reading to that genre. Artists need to experience other artists' work, which can teach and inspire as well.

When I read a fascinating novel or watch an insightful movie, I can't wait to get back to my own writing and make it better. This also works when I read a boring novel or watch a cliched movie; then I can't wait to make sure I haven't made similar mistakes in my work.

Reading nonfiction is also helpful to fiction writers. I've been so inspired by articles on scientific discoveries, political events or historical facts that I've later made the ideas significant parts of my fiction works. A 10-line filler in the newspaper about the auction of Napoleon Bonaparte's penis inspired the opening chapter of my novel Earth Angel.

6. Stick to a schedule

The main difference between successful writers and wannabe writers is not talent—it's perseverance. They finish what they start. Create a writing schedule that works for you and stick with it. Two types of scheduling work best for most writers.

1. The Gridlock Method. Fill out a weekly grid with all your responsibilities that cannot be changed—work, school, family, etc. Find two-hour blocks on at least three days of the week that you can claim for writing. Announce to your family and friends that those are your writing hours, and you are not to be disturbed during that time except for emergencies. (Be sure to define "emergencies.")

2. The Spare-Change Method. This method is for those whose schedules are less predictable. On a calendar, write the number of pages you intend to complete per day. Regardless of how busy you are that day, commit to staying up until that number of pages is complete.

Whichever method you use, the result will be the same: You will end up with a completed manuscript.

7. Be critical of your work

Writers live with the hope that someday they will read what they've written and not want to tear it up. The bad news is that the better you become as a writer, the more critical you are of your writing. The more you know about writing, the less you can tolerate bad writing (your own or others'). The good news is this critical ability will make you better. You will learn to reject the predictable and strive for invigorating style, plotting and characterization. Stop worrying that you'll never be a good enough writer, and embrace the inner critic.

8. Develop thick skin

As a beginning writer I dreamed of the day when I would never have to face another rejection. Forty published books and 12 sold screenplays later, not a day goes by when something I've written or proposed to be written isn't rejected by someone. Usually some publisher or producer buys what I've written, but not always. I still have a few unsold novels stashed in my garage, rejected stories and poems in my filing cabinet, script treatments on my desk.

Rejection still stings. But it doesn't hurt as long as it used to because I have so many projects to pursue. I no longer mope around and curse the short-sightedness of a universe that fails to recognize my genius. I just work on the next project. And if the same manuscript keeps getting rejected for the same reason, I re-evaluate the work and maybe rewrite it.

9. Trust your editors

First, I'm going to broadly define editors as not only professional editors at publishing houses but also writing teachers and writing workshop members who read and offer editorial suggestions. Most editors aren't frustrated writers—some are accomplished writers publishing more than you. In general, they have your best interests at heart. That doesn't mean you won't have disagreements with their suggestions. You most certainly will. You may even be right sometimes. But you will miss out on some very helpful suggestions if you refuse to listen.

The goal of most editors is to help you best realize the story you want to write. Because they come at it with fresh perspectives, they may be able to see flaws that you can't because you're too close to the work.

My typical first reaction to editorial suggestions is this: "What an idiot! You understand nothing of what I'm trying to say." An hour later I think, "Maybe that's not a completely stupid idea." After I incorporate the idea I think, "I'm a genius to have thought of this change." Point is, I have learned to carefully consider each suggestion. Sometimes I reject them, but many times those suggestions have significantly improved my work.

10. There are no certainties

William Goldman said it about Hollywood in his excellent primer for screenwriters, Adventures in the Screen Trade (Warner Books), but it applies equally to all writing. No one knows for sure what's going to sell and what isn't. If an agent from a big agency or an editor from a major publisher rejects your book saying that no one's interested in that type of story anymore, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Think of all the "knowledgeable" studio execs who rejected Star Wars or big-shot editors who turned down The Godfather.

You must develop your own instincts about writing and have faith in them even when no one else does. That doesn't mean you will be inflexible to suggestions, it just means you will feel confident in whatever decisions you make.

Source: Writer's Digest

9 Must-Follow Manuscript Rules

Courtesy of editor Anica Mrose Rissi, as hosted on Writers Digest.

1. Revise, revise, revise! I don’t want to read your first draft, ever. (Tip: Your novel isn’t ready to send to me until you can describe it in one sentence.)

2. Start with conflict and tension to raise questions, arouse curiosity and (like musical dissonance) create the need for resolution.

3. Start with the story you’re telling, not with the backstory. Throw the reader directly into a conflict and let her get to know your characters through their actions. (Yes, this is another way of saying, “Show, don’t tell.”)

4. Give the reader something to wonder about and a sense of where the story is going—of what’s at stake.

5. Avoid explaining too much too soon. And, don’t be obvious. Trust your readers. Trust your characters. Trust your writing. If you find that chunks of your story need to include long explanations, go back in and write those chunks better, until the story explains itself.

6. Make sure your story has both a plot arc and an emotional arc. Cross internal conflict with external conflict. Give your characters moral dilemmas, and force them to deal with the consequences of their choices.

7. Read your dialogue out loud. When revising, ask yourself, “What is the point of this dialogue?” (Just as you should be asking, “What is the point of this sentence? What is the point of this scene?”)

8. Use adjectives, adverbs and dialogue tags only sparingly. (See “trust your readers,” above.)

9. Make sure your details matter.

Stephen King: Advice to Aspiring Authors & Writing as an Act of Telepathy

Today I'd like to share an excerpt from Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft that takes you through an act of telepathy, followed by some solid advice for all of us aspiring authors.This is well worth a read:

And here we go—actual telepathy in action. You'll notice I have nothing up my sleeves and that my lips never move. Neither, most likely, do yours.

Look—here's a table covered with a red cloth. On it is a cage the size of a small fish aquarium. In the cage is a white rabbit with a pink nose and pink-rimmed eyes. In its front paws is a carrot-stub upon which it is contentedly munching. On its back, clearly marked in blue ink, is the numeral 8.

Do we see the same thing? We'd have to get together and compare notes to make absolutely sure, but I think we do. There will be necessary variations, of course: some receivers will see a cloth which is turkey red, some will see one that's scarlet, while others may see still other shades. (To color-blind receivers, the red tablecloth is the dark gray of cigar ashes.) Some may see scalloped edges, some may see straight ones. Decorative souls may add a little lace, and welcome—my tablecloth is your tablecloth, knock yourself out.

Likewise, the matter of the cafe leaves quite a lot of room for individual interpretation. For one thing, it is described in terms of rough comparison, which is useful only if you and I see the world and measure the things in it with similar eyes. It's easy to become careless when making rough comparisons, but the alternative is a prissy attention to detail that takes all the fun out of writing. What am I going to say, “on the table is a cage three feet, six inches in length, two feet in width, and fourteen inches high”? That's not prose, that's an instruction manual. The paragraph also doesn't tell us what sort of material the cafe is made of—wire mesh? steel rods? glass?-- but does it really matter? We all understand the cage is a see-through medium; beyond that, we don't care. The most interesting thing here isn't even the carrot-munching rabbit in the cage, but the number on its back. Not a six, not a four, not nineteen-point-five. It's an eight. This is what we're looking at, and we all see it. I didn't tell you. You didn't ask me. I never opened my mouth and you never opened yours. We're not even in the same year together, yet alone the same room...except we are together. We're close.

We're having a meeting of the minds.

I sent you a table with a red cloth on it, a cage, a rabbit, and the number eight in blue ink. You got them all, especially that blue eight. We've engaged in an act of telepathy. No mythy-mountain shit; real telepathy. I'm not going to belabor the point, but before we go any further you have to understand that I'm not trying to be cute; there is a point to be made.

You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or even despair—the sense that you can never completely put on the page what's in your mind and heart. You can come to the act with your fists clenched and your eyes narrowed, ready to kick ass and take down names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry you or because you want to change the world. Come to it any way but lightly. Let me say it again: you must not come lightly to the blank page.

I'm not asking you to come reverently or unquestioningly; I'm not asking you to be politically correct or cast aside your sense of humor (please God you have one). This isn't a popularity contest, it's not the moral Olympics, and it's not church. But it's writing, damn it, not washing the car or putting on eyeliner. If you can take it seriously, we can do business. If you can't or won't, it's time for you to close the book and do something else.

Wash the car, maybe.

I highly encourage those who haven't already purchased On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King to do so. If you're broke (or cheap) walk down to your local library. If they don't stock it, request it-- you always have options.

“You must not come lightly to the blank page”. Good advice for everyone. I'm off to write my daily quota. You should too.