Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
Everything I Know About Writing A Novel (written for my Ryerson Class)
Useful Hints for Writing
or
more or less everything I know, in two pages
1. Write a story that means something to you; that you care about. Write a story only you can write! Otherwise you will not enjoy what you are doing, and you will not bring anything special to it.
2. You don’t have to know everything that happens before you begin, but it’s useful to make some kind of an outline, mapping where you want to go, and to keep filling it and changing and rearranging as you go along, so that you do not lose sight of your intentions, and so that you have the confidence to keep going.
3. Write more detailed instructions to yourself at the end of each bit you’ve finished writing so that you know what to do when you get back to it. Especially if your schedule doesn’t permit you to write every day, it will be a huge relief to read: “Now he has to go into the restaurant and try to guess which of the middle-aged ladies picking at their salads and sipping iced-tea is his birth-mother. Unfortunately, the restaurant is full of middle-aged ladies. He is, in fact, the only man there.” Or whatever.
4. Having an outline will also prevent “writer’s block” because you will always be able to write a bit that takes place earlier or later if you’re not comfortable with what comes next in the linear progression of the plot. But in order to write a random bit out of sequence, you have to know, at least roughly, what the sequence is!
5. Write sketches of all your characters. Make family trees. Get everyone’s ages right, and link their chronology to the time-line of your plot. A lot of this may never get into your finished story, but you still have to know it. It makes a difference whether your character was 5 or 15 when his parents split up, or if she was 14 or 20 when she ran away from home. It makes a difference whether your protagonist had siblings, or grandparents, or lived in the city or on a farm. And so on.
6. And about that city or farm – imagine it fully; again, more fully than necessary. When you see your character stepping outside to get a breath of fresh air, is she on the balcony of a 12th floor downtown condo or standing in a wheat field under an endless prairie sky? You need to be able to see the world of your book, to smell it, and to taste it, not only so that your characters behave appropriately but also so that your readers can inhabit it imaginatively.
7. If you are writing a story set long ago or far away, you may have to do a lot of research. Let the research inform your understanding of the setting and fill you with confidence but don’t let it weigh the story down with tedious exposition. Don’t forget, the people in your story already know all about the place and time they inhabit! Only put in whatever information is necessary so that the reader can understand what is going on too.
8. Avoid clichés not only of speech but of thought; not only of character but of situation. When you reread your work, be vigilant. Consider revising whenever you find laziness and shortcuts; always try to find fresh ways of seeing things and therefore of saying things. AT THE SAME TIME (and this is important) don’t strain after novelty when it isn’t required. Being fresh doesn’t mean using bizarre, ornate, or improbable imagery and obscure language. Sometimes simple language is a knife to the heart.
9. Accept that it may take you a very long time indeed to arrive at a story you are satisfied with. But enjoy the journey! You are getting to improvise, to play make-believe, finally, again, after all these years. Let your mind wander and go down weird digressions; give your characters freedom to become who they must; write descriptions of what fascinates you. And then accept that you will have to trash a lot of what you have written, and start over. As Samuel Beckett says wryly, "Fail again. Fail better."
10. Don’t be precious. Don’t hoard what you’ve written. Know that there will be more where that came from. Respect the story, and let it become better, no matter how much it costs you. Remember: No effort is wasted. You are serving an apprenticeship to a craft. You can only learn to write by writing.
or
more or less everything I know, in two pages
1. Write a story that means something to you; that you care about. Write a story only you can write! Otherwise you will not enjoy what you are doing, and you will not bring anything special to it.
2. You don’t have to know everything that happens before you begin, but it’s useful to make some kind of an outline, mapping where you want to go, and to keep filling it and changing and rearranging as you go along, so that you do not lose sight of your intentions, and so that you have the confidence to keep going.
3. Write more detailed instructions to yourself at the end of each bit you’ve finished writing so that you know what to do when you get back to it. Especially if your schedule doesn’t permit you to write every day, it will be a huge relief to read: “Now he has to go into the restaurant and try to guess which of the middle-aged ladies picking at their salads and sipping iced-tea is his birth-mother. Unfortunately, the restaurant is full of middle-aged ladies. He is, in fact, the only man there.” Or whatever.
4. Having an outline will also prevent “writer’s block” because you will always be able to write a bit that takes place earlier or later if you’re not comfortable with what comes next in the linear progression of the plot. But in order to write a random bit out of sequence, you have to know, at least roughly, what the sequence is!
5. Write sketches of all your characters. Make family trees. Get everyone’s ages right, and link their chronology to the time-line of your plot. A lot of this may never get into your finished story, but you still have to know it. It makes a difference whether your character was 5 or 15 when his parents split up, or if she was 14 or 20 when she ran away from home. It makes a difference whether your protagonist had siblings, or grandparents, or lived in the city or on a farm. And so on.
6. And about that city or farm – imagine it fully; again, more fully than necessary. When you see your character stepping outside to get a breath of fresh air, is she on the balcony of a 12th floor downtown condo or standing in a wheat field under an endless prairie sky? You need to be able to see the world of your book, to smell it, and to taste it, not only so that your characters behave appropriately but also so that your readers can inhabit it imaginatively.
7. If you are writing a story set long ago or far away, you may have to do a lot of research. Let the research inform your understanding of the setting and fill you with confidence but don’t let it weigh the story down with tedious exposition. Don’t forget, the people in your story already know all about the place and time they inhabit! Only put in whatever information is necessary so that the reader can understand what is going on too.
8. Avoid clichés not only of speech but of thought; not only of character but of situation. When you reread your work, be vigilant. Consider revising whenever you find laziness and shortcuts; always try to find fresh ways of seeing things and therefore of saying things. AT THE SAME TIME (and this is important) don’t strain after novelty when it isn’t required. Being fresh doesn’t mean using bizarre, ornate, or improbable imagery and obscure language. Sometimes simple language is a knife to the heart.
9. Accept that it may take you a very long time indeed to arrive at a story you are satisfied with. But enjoy the journey! You are getting to improvise, to play make-believe, finally, again, after all these years. Let your mind wander and go down weird digressions; give your characters freedom to become who they must; write descriptions of what fascinates you. And then accept that you will have to trash a lot of what you have written, and start over. As Samuel Beckett says wryly, "Fail again. Fail better."
10. Don’t be precious. Don’t hoard what you’ve written. Know that there will be more where that came from. Respect the story, and let it become better, no matter how much it costs you. Remember: No effort is wasted. You are serving an apprenticeship to a craft. You can only learn to write by writing.
Friday, October 08, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Why you should (not) date a writer
offended by rank OBJECTIFICATION of writers
There is this thing currently going around tumblr about why dating a writer is good. I think it’s nice that this thing is going around, because I like writers, and lots of us could use more dates. As a writer who has dated people, though — including other writers — I would like to offer some correctives to this list.
The items in bold are the alleged reasons to date a writer. I have replaced the original commentary with my bleak corrective, in lightface.
1. Writers will romance you with words. We probably won’t. We write for ourselves or for money and by the time we’re done we’re sick of it. If we have to write you something there’s a good chance it’ll take us two days and we’ll be really snippy and grumpy about the process.
2. Writers will write about you. You don’t want this. Trust me.
3. Writers will take you to interesting events. No. We will not. We are busy writing. Leave us alone about these “interesting events.” I know one person who dates a terrific writer. He goes out alone. She is busy writing.
4. Writers will remind you that money doesn’t matter so much. Yes. We will do this by borrowing money from you. Constantly.
5. Writers will acknowledge you and dedicate things to you. A better way to ensure this would be to become an agent. That way you’d actually make money off of talking people through their neuroses.
6. Writers will offer you an interesting perspective on things. Yes. Constantly. While you’re trying to watch TV or take a shower. You will have to listen to observations all day long, in addition to being asked to read the observations we wrote about when you were at work and unavailable for bothering. It will be almost as annoying as dating a stand-up comedian, except if you don’t find these observations scintillating we will think you’re dumb, instead of uptight.
7. Writers are smart. The moment you realize this is not true, your relationship with a writer will develop a significant problem.
8. Writers are really passionate. About writing. Not necessarily about you. Are you writing?
9. Writers can think through their feelings. So don’t start an argument unless you’re ready for a very, very lengthy explication of our position, our feelings about your position, and what scenes from our recent fiction the whole thing is reminding us of.
10. Writers enjoy their solitude. So get lost, will you?
11. Writers are creative. This is why we have such good reasons why you should lend us $300 and/or leave us alone, we’re writing.
12. Writers wear their hearts on their sleeves. Serious advice: if you meet a writer who’s actually demonstrative, be careful.
13. Writers will teach you cool new words. This is possibly true! We may also expect you to remember them, correct your grammar, and look pained after reading mundane notes you’ve left for us.
14. Writers may be able to adjust their schedules for you. Writers may be able to adjust their schedules for writing. Are you writing? Get in line, then.
15. Writers can find 1000 ways to tell you why they like you. By the 108th you’ll be pretty sure we’re just making them up for fun.
16. Writers communicate in a bunch of different ways. But mostly writing. Hope you don’t like talking on the phone — that shit is rough.
17. Writers can work from anywhere. So you might want to pass on that tandem bike rental when you’re on vacation.
18. Writers are surrounded by interesting people. Every last one of whom is imaginary.
19. Writers are easy to buy gifts for. This is true. Keep it in mind when your birthday rolls around, okay?
20. Writers are sexy. No argument. Some people think this about heroin addicts, too.
Alternate solution: it will be pretty much like dating anyone else who likes to do a particular thing, you know?
(Source: 52hearts)
Cite Arrow reblogged from douglasmartini
There is this thing currently going around tumblr about why dating a writer is good. I think it’s nice that this thing is going around, because I like writers, and lots of us could use more dates. As a writer who has dated people, though — including other writers — I would like to offer some correctives to this list.
The items in bold are the alleged reasons to date a writer. I have replaced the original commentary with my bleak corrective, in lightface.
1. Writers will romance you with words. We probably won’t. We write for ourselves or for money and by the time we’re done we’re sick of it. If we have to write you something there’s a good chance it’ll take us two days and we’ll be really snippy and grumpy about the process.
2. Writers will write about you. You don’t want this. Trust me.
3. Writers will take you to interesting events. No. We will not. We are busy writing. Leave us alone about these “interesting events.” I know one person who dates a terrific writer. He goes out alone. She is busy writing.
4. Writers will remind you that money doesn’t matter so much. Yes. We will do this by borrowing money from you. Constantly.
5. Writers will acknowledge you and dedicate things to you. A better way to ensure this would be to become an agent. That way you’d actually make money off of talking people through their neuroses.
6. Writers will offer you an interesting perspective on things. Yes. Constantly. While you’re trying to watch TV or take a shower. You will have to listen to observations all day long, in addition to being asked to read the observations we wrote about when you were at work and unavailable for bothering. It will be almost as annoying as dating a stand-up comedian, except if you don’t find these observations scintillating we will think you’re dumb, instead of uptight.
7. Writers are smart. The moment you realize this is not true, your relationship with a writer will develop a significant problem.
8. Writers are really passionate. About writing. Not necessarily about you. Are you writing?
9. Writers can think through their feelings. So don’t start an argument unless you’re ready for a very, very lengthy explication of our position, our feelings about your position, and what scenes from our recent fiction the whole thing is reminding us of.
10. Writers enjoy their solitude. So get lost, will you?
11. Writers are creative. This is why we have such good reasons why you should lend us $300 and/or leave us alone, we’re writing.
12. Writers wear their hearts on their sleeves. Serious advice: if you meet a writer who’s actually demonstrative, be careful.
13. Writers will teach you cool new words. This is possibly true! We may also expect you to remember them, correct your grammar, and look pained after reading mundane notes you’ve left for us.
14. Writers may be able to adjust their schedules for you. Writers may be able to adjust their schedules for writing. Are you writing? Get in line, then.
15. Writers can find 1000 ways to tell you why they like you. By the 108th you’ll be pretty sure we’re just making them up for fun.
16. Writers communicate in a bunch of different ways. But mostly writing. Hope you don’t like talking on the phone — that shit is rough.
17. Writers can work from anywhere. So you might want to pass on that tandem bike rental when you’re on vacation.
18. Writers are surrounded by interesting people. Every last one of whom is imaginary.
19. Writers are easy to buy gifts for. This is true. Keep it in mind when your birthday rolls around, okay?
20. Writers are sexy. No argument. Some people think this about heroin addicts, too.
Alternate solution: it will be pretty much like dating anyone else who likes to do a particular thing, you know?
(Source: 52hearts)
Cite Arrow reblogged from douglasmartini
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Monday, August 09, 2010
what to do with your books after you get an e-reader
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/08/magazine/08fob-consumed-t.html
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, November 09, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
A few thoughts about lyric poetry
A Few Thoughts about Lyric Poetry
Originally, the lyric was thought of as a song; even today, we call the words that accompany music “lyrics.” Traditionally it was opposed to narrative and dramatic forms of poetry because originally all literature was written in the formal metre we call verse. But these days narrative and drama are written in prose, not verse, so when people talk about poetry they are usually referring only to the lyric, and thinking of the interiorized first-person meditation, usually rather short, that we associate with the Romantics and Moderns: the kind of poem Wordsworth called “the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings.”
Such poetry gives the illusion of privacy: it is usually not directed towards a particular audience but seems to be overheard rather than heard. This stance tends to limit the subject matter to the personal realm; moreover the brevity of the form tends to keep the focus on a single thought, feeling, or situation. It also creates the illusion of spontaneity, thereby allowing the reader to experience the material of the poem as it unfolds in the speakers mind.
“Unlike the drama, whose province is conflict, and unlike the novel or narrative, which connects isolated moments of time to create a story multiply peopled and framed by a social context, the lyric voice speaks out of a single moment in time. ”
- Sharon Cameron, Lyric Time.
This singleness also extends to voice: whereas in narrative and drama we have a clash of different voices as embodied in several different characters, in the lyric poem conflict and contradiction are situated in the mind of a single speaker as internal tensions or ambiguities. The lyric becomes “dramatic” when it presents a struggle between conflicting points of view either within the speaker, or between the poet (implied narrator) and his or her lyric persona.
The lyric provides the occasion to create unified objects of textual beauty and precision far beyond what is possible in longer art forms: every sound, rhythm, and meaning, the pausing and pacing and emphasis, can all work together to create a persuasive experience with nothing extra, nothing out of place, nothing sloppy. On the other hand such intensity limits the range of the lyric; its focus on the “I” (and just as frequently, the “eye”) can seem stifling, leaving out so much that is messy, complex and unresolved, contradictory and vague, in life. One of the reasons there is constant experimentation in poetry is that poets are always seeking ways to solve this dilemma, keeping the aesthetic control and tonal intimacy of poetry without sacrificing the amplitude available in some of the longer art forms.
Originally, the lyric was thought of as a song; even today, we call the words that accompany music “lyrics.” Traditionally it was opposed to narrative and dramatic forms of poetry because originally all literature was written in the formal metre we call verse. But these days narrative and drama are written in prose, not verse, so when people talk about poetry they are usually referring only to the lyric, and thinking of the interiorized first-person meditation, usually rather short, that we associate with the Romantics and Moderns: the kind of poem Wordsworth called “the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings.”
Such poetry gives the illusion of privacy: it is usually not directed towards a particular audience but seems to be overheard rather than heard. This stance tends to limit the subject matter to the personal realm; moreover the brevity of the form tends to keep the focus on a single thought, feeling, or situation. It also creates the illusion of spontaneity, thereby allowing the reader to experience the material of the poem as it unfolds in the speakers mind.
“Unlike the drama, whose province is conflict, and unlike the novel or narrative, which connects isolated moments of time to create a story multiply peopled and framed by a social context, the lyric voice speaks out of a single moment in time. ”
- Sharon Cameron, Lyric Time.
This singleness also extends to voice: whereas in narrative and drama we have a clash of different voices as embodied in several different characters, in the lyric poem conflict and contradiction are situated in the mind of a single speaker as internal tensions or ambiguities. The lyric becomes “dramatic” when it presents a struggle between conflicting points of view either within the speaker, or between the poet (implied narrator) and his or her lyric persona.
The lyric provides the occasion to create unified objects of textual beauty and precision far beyond what is possible in longer art forms: every sound, rhythm, and meaning, the pausing and pacing and emphasis, can all work together to create a persuasive experience with nothing extra, nothing out of place, nothing sloppy. On the other hand such intensity limits the range of the lyric; its focus on the “I” (and just as frequently, the “eye”) can seem stifling, leaving out so much that is messy, complex and unresolved, contradictory and vague, in life. One of the reasons there is constant experimentation in poetry is that poets are always seeking ways to solve this dilemma, keeping the aesthetic control and tonal intimacy of poetry without sacrificing the amplitude available in some of the longer art forms.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
I am the guest columnist at ARC this month
with a little piece about a Yehuda Amichai poem that I hope you'll like. Read it at:
http://www.arcpoetry.ca/howpoemswork/features/2009_08_glickman.php
http://www.arcpoetry.ca/howpoemswork/features/2009_08_glickman.php
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Get Me Off This Freaking Moor! great cartoon about the Brontes.
http://beatonna.livejournal.com/109102.html
Friday, July 17, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
I should have known that any superhero I composed would end up sounding like a yoga asana
I went to this website called http://www.cpbintegrated.com/theherofactory/and selected all the traits suitable for my own personal superhero and came up with this dame who they called "Impenetrable Butterfly." Hot Damn! Perhaps after a summer of unlimited Pilates classes, I may resemble her more than I do at the moment...
Monday, July 06, 2009
Friday, June 05, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Why I should consider getting a BEAR instead of a dog
The trained behaviours of Bart the Bear II, as per his online resume.(stolen from Dani Couture's Facebook notes)
http://www.bartthebear.com/bears/bart2.html
"Trained Behaviors:
1. Goes to mark
2. Goes from mark A to mark B, either slow, walking or running
3. Stays on mark or wherever he is asked to be
4. Backs up
5. Looks in a riveted manner in any direction
6. “Roars” - opens mouth wide and shows all teeth and fangs
7. Stands on back legs
8. Walks on back legs
9. Comes into camera from mark - slowly, walking or running
10. “Blows” - snorts through nose
11. Strikes with front paw
12. Charges in to camera
13. Lowers head and looks in menacing way
14. Sits
15. Begs up
16. Waves “bye-bye”
17. Lays down
18. Lays down with head on ground as if asleep or dead
19. Rolls over on back
20. Gets to all fours on command
21. Limps - walks with one front leg held off the ground
22. Fetches most anything - fake fish, stuffed rabbits or life-sized actor dummy doubles
23. "Lifts” - holds object with front paws while sitting
24. “Holds” - lays on back and holds and bounces objects with all four paws
25. “Flipper” - flips any object in front of him such as fake fish or soccer ball, etc.
26. Shakes head back and forth
27. Pushes trees, cars, tents, cabin doors, etc
28. “Happy Bear” - jumps from front feet to back feet
29. Dives on cue, does a running dive into river or pond
30. “Yoga” - holds back toes with front claws
31. Great “attack” behaviors, running hits, mauling, wrestling, full contact, with instant “off” command
32. Trained to come and be leashed on command and goes back into his trailer on command
33. No wasted time on set
34. Does a routine of multiple behaviors in a fluid sequence, for example: Come, Hit Mark, Look, Stand Up, Roar, Turn Head to Left, Exit Frame Right, all in one take"
http://www.bartthebear.com/bears/bart2.html
"Trained Behaviors:
1. Goes to mark
2. Goes from mark A to mark B, either slow, walking or running
3. Stays on mark or wherever he is asked to be
4. Backs up
5. Looks in a riveted manner in any direction
6. “Roars” - opens mouth wide and shows all teeth and fangs
7. Stands on back legs
8. Walks on back legs
9. Comes into camera from mark - slowly, walking or running
10. “Blows” - snorts through nose
11. Strikes with front paw
12. Charges in to camera
13. Lowers head and looks in menacing way
14. Sits
15. Begs up
16. Waves “bye-bye”
17. Lays down
18. Lays down with head on ground as if asleep or dead
19. Rolls over on back
20. Gets to all fours on command
21. Limps - walks with one front leg held off the ground
22. Fetches most anything - fake fish, stuffed rabbits or life-sized actor dummy doubles
23. "Lifts” - holds object with front paws while sitting
24. “Holds” - lays on back and holds and bounces objects with all four paws
25. “Flipper” - flips any object in front of him such as fake fish or soccer ball, etc.
26. Shakes head back and forth
27. Pushes trees, cars, tents, cabin doors, etc
28. “Happy Bear” - jumps from front feet to back feet
29. Dives on cue, does a running dive into river or pond
30. “Yoga” - holds back toes with front claws
31. Great “attack” behaviors, running hits, mauling, wrestling, full contact, with instant “off” command
32. Trained to come and be leashed on command and goes back into his trailer on command
33. No wasted time on set
34. Does a routine of multiple behaviors in a fluid sequence, for example: Come, Hit Mark, Look, Stand Up, Roar, Turn Head to Left, Exit Frame Right, all in one take"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
