A Few Thoughts on Editing

As I read through my recently published story, "Swallowed," (Here, in case you want to check it out.) I got to thinking about how I had edited and revised it, and I figured it would make for a good blog post with some practical craft and writing advice.

In its current ("final" I would say, but what writing is final? Perhaps "published" is the best term...) incarnation, "Swallowed" is 5500 words.  A medium length short story.  In the version that I initially sent out to Gulf Stream (et al.) it was 9000 words.  A long short story.  A couple of places rejected it with a note saying: its good, but too long.  Gulf Stream took the time to say: we like it, we want it if you can make it shorter (by ten pages).

So, I began to hack.

At first, cutting off just under half of a story feels a little daunting.  Okay, a lot daunting.  But, in some ways, getting rid of thousands of words is easier than getting rid of a hundred.  You can't tell yourself -- I'll just trim back on adjectives.  No.  You've got to get in there with a machete (and then follow up with a pruning shear).  

So, off I went.  The editors had been kind and suggested I cut the start.  This is almost always where to go when you need to cut something. Get rid of the runway and let the story takeoff sooner.  That was two thousand words gone. 

For the rest, I looked at places where the main character went off on tangents or told about his backstory.  This was much harder for me to cut.  As I took out passages, I kept wavering, thinking: this is good character development... or, this funny!  

Maybe it was.  Maybe it wasn't.  The bottom line was that the story was too long.  Something (lots of somethings) had to go.  I didn't let myself read through the piece until I'd finished making the cuts down to the page limit they had set.  I cut (almost) everything that wasn't related to the forward motion of the plot: getting my character on his journey as soon as possible and then not letting him pause.

Then, when I'd gotten down to the page limit they suggested, I saved it, turned the computer off, and let it sit for a few days.  I worked on other stuff.  I tried to forget it.  Then I went back to "Swallowed" and read it through without letting myself change anything (okay, except for typos).  It was coherent.  It was faster.  It was, perhaps, better.  But the truth is: I missed a lot of what I cut... 

Deep breath.  Cutting your writing is hard.  But here's what I told myself as I made those final edits and sent it back to Gulf Stream:  I'm the only one who knows what's missing.  No one else will say - hey what happened to that awesome joke on page 3?  Maybe that's the author's burden, to know all the orphans and might-have-beens and close-calls and nearly-made-its in the piece.  

What I'm offering is a piece of advice that I often give to my students (and need to take to heart myself).  If a piece is good, it will probably be better if it is shorter.  Almost every story has some slack in it.  And even a little bit of slack can kill a good story.  Set a challenge: trim a thousand words.  Cut a story in half, length-wise.  Make that your writing project of the day.  It almost always makes it better.

Short Story in Gulf Stream Lit Mag

Check out my short story, "Swallowed," in the current issue of Gulf Stream Lit Mag.  The journal is full of awesome pieces!  Mine is a retelling of the Book of Jonah.  I've always thought that Jonah was one of the funniest books in the Bible, but the humor often gets lost in translation.  So this is my attempt to correct that!

http://gulfstreamlitmag.com/current-issue/fiction/swallowed/

Points of Origin

Having just put aside a novel draft, I'm taking a "break" and reworking some creative non-fiction essays.  Perhaps it is this endeavor that made me so attuned to the radio commentary I heard this morning, the excellent broadcast of "On Being" that featured Nadia Bolz-Weber.  (Here's the interview if you want to listen.)

Among the many great comments (on many great subjects) made, this one stood out to me (here in paraphrase): I write from scars and not wounds.  In other words, when trying to get down on paper something that is authentic, something that caused trauma, it is important to leave enough space and time to get to a place where the writing can be done productively (and without generating more injury).

A few years back, I was lucky enough to take a creative non-fiction workshop with Connie May Fowler and Sue William Silverman.  Connie's mantra (echoed and augmented by Sue) was: Write from the hurt place.

I like the combination of these two pieces of advice.  To Connie's point, you do have to write from the place where the hurt occurred (and perhaps where it still resonates).  But to Bolz-Weber's claim: there is no merit (and possibly some danger) to writing to a hurt that hasn't healed.

The language here might sound extreme.  And I wouldn't want to suggest that creative non-fiction writing is all about trauma.  In fact, the broader concept of these maxims is about perspective.  You have to have the proper distance (scar) and you have to have the proper mindset (hurt).  The second point might be more twitchy... it isn't about pain, but about emotional truth.  You have to have something to say - some feeling to evoke and you have to be willing to reside in that feeling. (That is, things don't just happen.  A piece of writing/story/essay/memoir/etc. isn't just a string of events.)

Both of these pieces of advice apply equally, I think, to fiction as to creative non-fiction.  I would call them the values of reflection (scar) and resonance (hurt). For me, at this moment and stage of composition, I found these to be words of wisdom, a reminder not to rush into a piece and not to overlook the important of an emotional center.

Understanding Your Characters...

This post is tailored specifically to those who are developing characters in historical fiction, but is, I believe, applicable to the craft of understanding your characters in general.  It also builds on some previous posts I have done about women in the revolutionary war.

You can read the earlier posts (I hope you do!) about Molly Pitcher(s) and their role not only during the war (camp followers) but after the war (loyal wives, in-the-moment-soldiers).  Given how these women are celebrated, as I noted earlier, it is not surprising that Deborah Sampson was given little attention for many decades:  she didn't fit neatly into the women-who-followed-her-husband-into-combat mold that felt "safe" to 19th century readers and writers.

When I began the research for my first novel, Revolutionary, I wanted to look at as wide a range of sources as I could on Deborah.  The earliest material is filtered through her biographer, Herman Mann and the later material is filtered through the biases and predispositions of the era in which they were written.

So here's the first part of the craft lesson for writers of historical fiction: make sure you look at your "real life" characters not just from one historical vantage point.  Get the fullest picture of them that you can by considering how they were written about by their contemporaries, by their children, by their friends, by their rivals, and by later writers.  It is poor history (and poor historical fiction) to rely only on one source or from sources all from the same era (even if it is "eye-witness").

For Deborah, two visual images will suffice to prove my point.  Here they are:

Both are early-mid 19th century depictions of Deborah Sampson that accompanied pamphlets or short writings on her. In both she is in uniform and with a weapon (or two!).  But, as those who read the earlier blogposts might note... she is also posed near a cannon.  It is not impossible that Deborah might have been near cannons in her service.  Certainly, she was at sites that would have had them.  But it is quite hard to argue that she used cannons at all.  Cannons were for pitched battle and Deborah was involved in small skirmishes only.  (Granted, she did claim to have been at Yorktown, or Mann placed her there, or both, but this is not true.)

So, when I was researching her character, I asked myself: why is she depicted this way?  What is being said about her?  I believe that both artists are making a subtle nod to the Molly Pitcher(s) legends.  By putting Deborah near a cannon, they are indicating to the viewer that this is a woman on the battlefield.  It is somewhat comforting -- suggesting that she served in the familiar and acceptable manner -- to have her depicted thus.  Much more comforting than Deborah just waving a sword or holding a gun, I'd argue.

To leave my particular case and look at craft in general, what I'd suggest is this.  Read (and look) widely as you explore your historical character.  Chip away at bias.  Consider how your character has shifted and been reinvented over the course of history.  And then...

Take good stock of how you wish to depict your character.  Realize that you are situated on this continuum that you have just explored.  Your depiction will be no less biased, no less a product of your own time and expectations (and this, I would argue is true for fictional characters that aren't historical) than any other.  It is better to be upfront and aware of your bias though.

In my own case, I knew that being transgender, I would come to Deborah's story from a particular angle.  Likewise, writing with a 21st-century understanding of gender and women's rights, I would also be biased against certain depictions of her and want to show her actions as reasonable and even virtuous -- quite the opposite of how many of her contemporaries saw her and wrote about her.

In order to fully understand, fully develop, and fully realize your characters, you need to understand your own perspective on that character!

Let me know what you think... Leave a Comment!

Good Reading Yields Good Writing

When I started my MFA program (back in 2009 at Vermont College of Fine Arts), I dutifully discussed and compiled and reading list for my first semester.  But secretly I thought: my main job is writing... what's the deal with all this reading!  I thought I would skim whatever my advisor suggested, cobble together my paper, and then get back to the (much more important) manuscript.

But, truth be told, the reading turned out not to be something extra (let alone extraneous) but essential.  Here's how I think of it.

Reading is medicine for the writer.

What ails you?  Weak characterization?  Slow plot?  Wimpy diction?  There's a remedy for that... if you know what to read.

I've been thinking about this lately because I had the change to read Nance Van Winckel's collection of linked short stories, Boneland. (Get it from Amazon HERE.)  Nance was an advisor of mine while I attended VCFA and I have long been impressed by her short stories and poetry (if you ever have the chance to hear her read... do it!  She's a great reader as well as a great writer.)

These stories are wonderful.  Whatever it is you are struggling with in your craft, whatever it is you need a reminder of... this collection is the right prescription.  There is nothing better for a writer than to pick up a wonderful book and think: oh, yes... this is how it should be done!  

There were many craft points that inspired me as I read (though I don't want to overemphasize this because Boneland impresses for other reasons: the stories are captivating!) but I kept being drawn to Nance's metaphors.  What beautiful comparisons.  It made me go back to the manuscript I have been working on and examine what I had done... did I even have metaphors?  Were any of them good?

And that's what, as a writer, I love about reading: it not only entertains me as I get involved in the story but also inspires me to do better in my own craft.

Thinking of Strout's Burgess Boys and Endings...

It is the time of the school year when endings are on my mind -- not only because the academic year is drawing to a close but also because in each of the classes I teach, we are reaching (have reached) the end of the novels and stories we are reading.  All this means that I have been talking and thinking a lot about conclusions.

Wherever (and whoever and whatever) I've taught, the vast majority of readers want a happy ending.  A common complaint I hear is that too many novels have depressing endings.  I understand why people want a happy ending, but I also understand why writers don't want to give one.  My Vermont College of Fine Arts classmate and superb writer Heather Sharfeddin gave her graduating lecture on the need for "unhappy" endings (I'm sure she called it something better than that!) and I don't want to steal her ideas.  But I do agree with the main point she made: life doesn't always provide (or even often provide) a happy ending, so why should literature?

This spring, however, I've taught several tragedies (Medea, Othello, A Streetcar Named Desire) and have been reflecting on what makes an ending good and effective.  Happiness is not it.  Resolution is the key.  And this is where I've been thinking of my own writing and wondering how to articulate this craft point.

Resolution is tricky because, of course, the story goes on.  Like the weakness of a happy ending, too much conclusion is unrealistic: we don't always (or often) feel certainty that things will work out or happen a certain way.  Endings should wrestle with and reflect that uncertainty.  Yet, they should offer some sense of resolution.  They should suggest - this is done; you, reader, can move on.  Moving on might mean that you keep thinking about the characters and wondering what might happen... (but that's one of the things I love about reading).

Having recently finished Elizabeth Strout's new novel Burgess Boys, and having this topic on my mind as I did so, I paid close attention to the ending.  I have to say, it does an excellent job resolving the themes and plot of the novel without overdoing it.  Strout doesn't attempt to tie everything up in a pretty package, bow neatly placed on top.  But she does give the readers a sense of closure -- some of it is sad, some of it is uncertain (this might happen next, or that) -- but for each character, theme, or line of plot, the reader gets a moment to revisit, recalibrate, and to feel.

That feeling moment is what I like about (and try to learn from) tragedy.  The creation of sympathy, the rise of the catharsis... and then that pause (I think of it is as the instant between when a musician ends a song and the applause begins) where the reader feels.  A solitary moment that the author allows.  That's resolution.

Genres... The Need(?) for Labels

Prompted by the excellent essay that appeared on The Rumpus satirizing the idea of writing "The Great American Woman's Novel" (Here), I got to thinking about genres of fiction.  The essay, written by Elissa Bassist (her web site here) is delightful and hilarious, poking fun at the designation of "American Woman Writers" in Wikipedia, among other things.  Following her article, come the comments (both at The Rumpus and at other sites that have reprinted the piece, like Jezebel.) and some of these are funny, too.  But many of them dropped the satire and took more serious umbrage with the idea of a "Woman's Novel" or "Women's Fiction" in general.

And these responses made me sit back and think about how to (and why to) divide literature.

Of course, there are the craft concerns: fiction as distinct from poetry as distinct from nonfiction.  And there can be reams and reams written about the fuzzy grayness and liminal areas and how even these distinctions are problematic.  But I won't go into that (at least not right now).  Just take fiction... and take it at your average bookstore.  You'd expect a division for Science Fiction, for Mystery, and for Children's and/or Young Adult fiction. These seem natural and needed, helping to funnel the right reader to the right area.  Saves time!  Of course, I can think of crossover texts -- books that I think belong just as much in the "general" literature as in the Mystery section.

But more, I can think of my surprise (and, indeed, even anger) at some of the categorization I've seen in stores.  Many bookstores have GLBT sections or African-American sections.  I've gone looking for Jeanette Winterson books in the "general" section, not found them, and been redirected to the GLBT section.  At the time, I thought, why not have copies in both?  Surely Toni Morrison (among others) belongs just as much in the "general" literature area as in an African-American section... I'd say the same for Winterson.  Those who've commented on Bassist's satire seem upset by the designation of Women's Fiction, which is stacked with romance and a certain ilk of thriller.

What's the problem here?  The problem is that what makes sense for consuming and marketing -- getting the reader to the shelf that they want to be at -- creates strange divisions in the literature.  More, it seems to imply a hierarchy.  Tacit in this is the implication that the "general" category of literature is superior, the Promised Land of the bookstore.  To belong there is to have made it.  The other sections feel lesser.

I say this more as a writer than as a reader (though, as I say above, I do feel some discomfort as a reader as well).  Many bookstores have a historical fiction section, and I know that my first novel, Revolutionary, is historical fiction -- no doubt about it.  I wouldn't mind having it in the historical fiction section.  But I'd want it in the general category, too.  Why?  Because I believe it is a book with literary merit beyond its being historical fiction; I believe its a book that would appeal to a variety of readers, not just those who like historical fiction.

So maybe that's the problem with the divisions: they feel limiting.  If it's in literature, then your book can be anything; you as a reader can be anything.  But if your book (whether a writer or a reader) is in a specific section, that seems to imply something about you -- you are "only" a ________.  Perhaps Bassist has the best solution: satire is the answer!

Story, "In the Dark" published in Heavy Feather

Check out my tale of an incubus who haunts a bathroom... published in Heavy Feather Review.  Here's the website with the ordering information.  This journal is packed with good stuff to read!  Heavy Feather.

Further MFA Thoughts...

My last post (on how earning my MFA at Vermont College of Fine Arts enabled me to try my hand at novel-writing) got me reminiscing on the two years I spent up there and, lo and behold, in the midst of this Memory Lane, I came across a blog post by Patrick Ross.  Here's the link if you want to check it out Ross Blog and This Post too.  

Both entries from Ross, who is currently a student in the MFA program at VCFA, discuss workshop dynamics during residency.  I'm fairly certain that anyone who has been in a writing workshop will feel some sympathy for what he describes.  Recalling my own time in workshop, I can be candid and say that it often was my least favorite part of the residency (though this was, in part, because I liked lectures and readings a lot) and that, of the five workshops I participated in, some two were great, two were okay, and one was disappointing.  And sure, I can remember being frustrated and annoyed (though never insulted)... maybe embarrassed at times and on occasion feeling bad for another student who I felt got short shrift in some way.  

But more than any specific or general memory, Ross's posts made me realize how lucky I am to have experienced the workshop from the other side -- as a teacher.  I would go so far as to say that it wasn't until I was in charge of leading my own workshops as a fiction writing instructor that I understood the value, power, and true potential of the workshop, the reason why it is the core of every residency at VCFA.

First, being on the teaching side made me realize that the workshop is as much about the other students as it is about the one student whose paper is "on the table."  That is, the students who are offering critiques should be as open to learning and listening as the student who is receiving the critiques.  Too often, the dynamic only flows in the other direction -- the speakers talk to the the writer rather than to each other.  When I instruct I try to get the students to speak to each other and to let the writer be a fly on the wall as this group of readers  attempts to work their work through the piece.  

Second, I realized that it is absolutely crucial to go over, establish, examine, and explain the ground rules for the workshop.  Rehashing my own experiences, the ones that didn't go smoothly or effectively were the ones where the instructors and students assumed we all knew how to do this workshop thing.  The truth is, there are no set rules, and groups should be assertive about establishing their own.  Its also true that habits are hard to break: I often need to remind my students of the rules, and we sometimes begin workshop by setting goals (everyone talks once before anyone talks twice; everyone has to quote from the story when making a point) and we almost always end with a short debrief to get a feeling as to whether it went well for everyone. This adds a meta-discussion layer that is very useful; we all become more self-aware and involved in what it is that we are doing (and not just the doing).

Third, leading workshops has shown me that the teacher needs to be on the same level as the students.  I have seen first hand (from both sides) what happens when the instructor swoops in to comment in deus ex machina style.  A lively back-and-forth amongst four or five students suddenly comes to a screeching halt when the teacher wades in and summons up the voice of authority.  I try not to have the last word.  I also make a point to ask questions of others, to invite them to respond to me rather than listen to me.  

And that, I think, in an nutshell is what workshop is about... responding.  Explaining honestly what one read and felt and understood and misunderstood. In my time at VCFA I absolutely learned from every workshop that I was in.  But I have learned even more through teaching.

Story Published in New Ohio Review
Just received my hard copy of New Ohio Review #12, which contains my short story, "The Hittite," along with many other wonderful pieces.
Check out their website and order yourself a copy... New Ohio Review

"The Hittite" tells the biblical story of David and Bathsheba, but I set it during the Afghan war.