Sometimes You Seek the Story….

by Ramona DeFelice Long

…and sometimes, through no effort of your own, it seeks you.

Last Friday, for my monthly guest gig at Working Stiffs, I wrote about the guy I knew from high school who is currently incarcerated for murder. The post earned some good responses, but I was surprised at the number of people who contacted me privately about murderers they know. I was equally surprised when someone suggested I write a book about the ten years it took for Connie’s disappearance and murder to be solved. I don’t write true crime, so that nixed that idea. Also, while I knew both the killer and the victim, I was long gone when they were married and their troubles began. My connection to them was from happier times.

This is not the first time someone suggested I turn a blog post into a book. It happened when I wrote about Dr. Earl Bradley, the Delaware pediatrician who has been called the worst pedophile in American history. His is a tale of violence, sickness and evil that might serve as a cautionary tale about people trusting figures of authority too well. But I have no connection to that case, other than living in Delaware when his arrest and trial went down. In writing the blog post, I read enough gruesome details to know I don’t want to spend a year of my life delving into the dark side of a very dark story.

My same feeling applies to the story of Patrolman Chad Spicer, who was killed in the line of duty one night two years ago. Officer Spicer was a small town Delaware boy serving on a small town Delaware police force. He had a small child, a loving family, a wonderful reputation. Is this a story someone should share? Perhaps. Is that someone me? No.

How does a writer know when a story is theirs to tell?

As evidenced above, I find a lot of blog posts to share from the news or personal experience. In my fiction writing, I steal from my family. I’ve done well by that. I’ve been awarded a couple of arts grants to record portions of my family history in south Louisiana. I feel connected, so I’ve devoted time and work to creating a fictional version of my own aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Their experiences are based on true events, though told as fiction rather than memoir. I researched to make the town and time accurate to the times. I had to do world building, but the world is based on my own genetic and cultural one. I didn’t experience or witness the events, but I molded them into my version. My story.

When you are a writer, people suggest stories to you all the time. Most of us have no problem coming up with ideas of our own, but you never know when a spark will happen. It happened to me not long ago, on my daily walk through the neighborhood. I walked by the home of someone on my street, and I thought about the rather tragic events going on with them now. And bam! I wanted to write their story, but told in my way, through a rather tragic event of my own. By the time I got home three miles later, I had a full outline brewing in my head.

The story sought me like a heat-seeking missile. I have no personal connection to it other than witnessing what went on with a family on my street, but in an hour I had made it mine. It has spoken to me.

That’s the key, isn’t it? Some stories speak to you. Some don’t. Consider that you have to spend a year of your life, at least, to devote to a novel, you want a story that reaches out and grabs you like a beast from hell and won’t let go.

Seek and ye shall find, the saying goes. Sometimes, for a writer, it’s the opposite. There are a lot of stories out there. Some of them are yours. Why write one that isn’t?

Ramona

Jobs, Well Done

by Ramona DeFelice Long

“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do.”

Steve Jobs –Stanford University commencement speech, 2005

It’s ironic that, in this quote that bounced all over the Internet, TV and newspapers after Steve Jobs’ death last week, he never called his work a job.

Work, career, calling, employment, profession, occupation, vocation, trade—all synonyms for that thing you do which–in theory–pays your bills, feeds your family, secures your future and–even more theoretically–satisfies your soul. On behalf of the many, many people who currently don’t have one, I recognize that a good job is precious. I am lucky. I found a vocation that does the bill paying and soul satisfying at the same time. Over the past week, I’ve come to truly appreciate that.

I was on Facebook when the death of Steve Jobs was announced, and the resulting chatter was awesome, both in volume and in content. For a little while, the world seemed to come together to show respect for an innovator who did great work. He was mourned, lauded, and quoted.

The above quote was the one that stuck out for me. It has stayed in my head this past week. Great work. Not job. Work. How do I–and you, my fellow writers–do great work?

I think it starts with respect.

1. Respect the language. For writers of English, we know our language is complex, nonsensical and difficult. Crazy rules. Weird constructions. Nevertheless, a person who wants to use language as a tool of his work must master it. In other words, grammar matters. Spelling counts. Technique is vital. There’s no excuse for someone who claims to be a professional writer to confuse hear/here, your/you’re, bare/bear, it’s/its, or misuse forms of punctuation. From an editor’s point of view, it tells me the writer is careless and lazy and doesn’t mind if I know it. It reflects your work ethic, right there in black and white. If you want to do great work as a writer, respect and master your language. It is the foundation of story. You can’t build a good story without a strong foundation.

2. Respect the craft. Storytelling is an art that connects the world and records its history. Storytellers create new worlds that help us examine and understand this one. This is no small thing. Erase the word “just” from your vocabulary when speaking of your work. Some writers use just to justify doing a mediocre job. “It’s just fiction.”  “It’s just entertainment.” Really? You spend day in and day out at this, and you can belittle it? The lightest comedy can make a person laugh in a time of unhappiness. A juvenile mystery can give a kid a sense of power and control. Does “just” apply to that?

3. Respect the reader. When I work as an editor, I form a mental bond with the manuscript’s imaginary readers. I use “we” in comments to explain to the author why a scene isn’t working or why another one is delightful. I advocate for the reader as well as the writer. So, when “we” see a typo or factual error, we become unhappy. Don’t you, the writer, respect us enough to do your homework and get the facts straight? Don’t think that “just” because it’s fiction, you are not obligated to show an accurate reflection of police procedure if you are writing a mystery; or getting place names correct if you are using a real setting; or you can fudge on historical details if you are writing about an actual event.  I’m your reader. I trust you to tell me the truth in this story. I expect you to work hard and get it right. When I see mistakes, I lose my trust in you as a writer and my respect for your work.  It’s that simple.

Does “great work” as a writer mean you must produce a masterpiece that will be read through the ages? No. It means you will use language correctly and efficiently; you will tell a story that is logical and entertaining; and you will create a product with parts that do their jobs accurately and well.

After all, if Steve Jobs had worked as a writer, don’t you imagine his stories would have been daring, innovative, well-crafted, and fun?

Whatever your genre, put your energies to creating something that is worthy of the word story. Create a product that works efficiently, that meets a need, and entertains, and you’ll have done a worthy job.

Great work. Go do some.

Ramona

11 Questions for Your Editor

by Ramona DeFelice Long

When I review a story, whether for a client or a peer, I’m always happy when the author points out their concerns.

“Is the voice consistent?” “I’m worried that my child narrator sounds too old.” “Does the nautical language throw you?” “Is the love scene too graphic?”

Although I have my own method of critiquing, I’m willing to address what concerns a writer. Recently, however, a client took this to a new level. He sent me a list of questions after I’d completed the edit. I was taken aback, I admit, until I read the questions.  They’re good questions. I answered them, and then asked if I could share.

With my client’s permission, I am printing below a list of questions you might ask a professional editor, a beta reader, or anyone who critiques your work.

1. Is this story complex enough and interesting enough to be worthy of a novel length effort? If not, what, in your opinion, would make it so?

 2. Did the mystery work for you? If not, why not?

3. As a reader, would you care enough about the characters and plot to continue reading if you were not doing an edit? What, in your opinion, can be done to make the story stronger, more intriguing?

4.  Are the characters developed well enough? Are the characters credible, real enough, emotional enough? Are there characters you would like to have seen more fully developed?

5. Are the sub-plots engaging and well enough developed? What can make them stronger?

6.  Was the ending appropriate? Was it what you expected? What ending would make the story stronger, more intriguing?

7. What did you expect to see in the story but didn’t? Does the writer fulfill his promise to the reader?

 8.  If a friend asked you about the book, what you liked, what you didn’t like and if you would recommend it, what would you tell them?

9. Was the writing professional? What would make it stronger?

10. Assuming your edit recommendations are followed, would this manuscript be ready for submission to prospective agents? What would make it stronger?

11.  What three things would make this a better novel?

Don’t be afraid to share your concerns about your writing with your editor or trusted reader. You are on the same team, with the same goal–to make your story stronger.

Ramona

Guest Blogging at Sisters in Crime National

by Ramona DeFelice Long

Today I’m pleased to be the guest blogger at Sisters in Crime National’s blog.

My topic: Tips to help a shy author give a dynamic public reading or book talk. This is a two-parter, using a 4-P (Plan, Prepare, Practice and Psyche Yourself) system.

Part 1 of The Performance Author runs today. More follows tomorrow, same time, same place.  Don’t be shy! Come on over.

Ramona

No Monkeying Around

by Ramona DeFelice Long

Little known fact: My husband’s great great grandfather was the judge in the Scopes Monkey Trial.

For those unfamiliar with this landmark case in American legal history, The State of Tennessee vs. John Thomas Scopes was a test case. The test? To address the teaching of evolution in public schools.

On April 7, 1925, in Dayton, Tennessee, a young biology teacher named John Scopes taught a class using information from Charles Darwin’s Origin of the Species. This heinous act violated Tennessee’s Butler Act, which the state legislature had passed to prohibit teachers from sharing with students that “man” had come into being through a long, step-by-step biological process, rather than created in a snap by a deity.

The American Civil Liberties Union championed Scopes and hired renowned defense attorney Clarence Darrow on his behalf. The state invited William Jennings Bryant, a devout Presbyterian, peace advocate and prohibitionist who’d run for President three times (as a Democrat), as a guest prosecutor.

The judge, my husband’s ancestor, was John T. Raulston. Judge Raulston was a local man, deeply religious, who carried a Bible into court and  opened every court session with a prayer. According to press reports, he reveled in the attention of the trial, and liked to have his picture taken. He did make some attempts to keep the trial from turning into a raucous, rowdy circus. He failed.

The trial of John Scopes was a great big hullaballoo in the small town of Dayton. After 11 days, Scopes was found guilty of teaching evolution. Judge Raulston’s sentence was a fine of $100.

The guilty verdict, however, was overturned by a higher court. Eventually, in 1962, the US Supreme Court struck down state laws prohibiting the teaching of evolution. The Butler Act had been repealed a year earlier by the Tennessee legislature.

The Scopes trial has been immortalized in a number of media forms, most famously in Inherit the Wind, a play eventually filmed several times as movies. Monkey Trial, part of PBS’ American Experience series, is an excellent production.

I am writing about the Scopes trial today not because I’m particularly proud of my husband’s ancestor’s small place in American history, but because it’s Banned Books Week. Naturally, I am thinking of censorship, and its various forms. Removing books from public libraries or striking them from school reading lists is one form. Another is to prohibit or prevent publication.

A third, more murky form of censorship, is when a book can’t get published because the subject matter is considered too risky or controversial in “this current climate.” Such is the case of an award-winning children’s book, according to author Daniel Loxton.

The title of the book? Evolution: How We and All Living Things Came to Be.

Loxton’s book will not be found on the Banned Books list. Why? It was never published in America. No publisher would take the risk on a children’s book about evolution.

Most authors I know would consider it a badge of honor to write a book that’s been banned. It’s certainly good for sales and publicity. When I volunteered at a local high school, the school’s librarian did a display of contested books during Banned Books Week. Those titles flew off the table. This is what people who contest books don’t seem to understand (and let’s not tell them).  For a young person, banning a book makes it all the more desirable.

The Scopes trial was in 1925. That’s 86 years ago. And evolution is still considered a “risky” topic.

Not publishing a well-written, well-researched science book because its subject matter is too controversial in “this current climate” says to me, we need a climate change. Because this one is just embarrassing.

Conferences–What to Bring, What to Leave Behind

by Ramona DeFelice Long

How do you get the most out of a writer’s conference? What do you bring, and what do you leave behind? Think about the following the next time you head out to spend a day, or days, with your colleagues.

BRING:  Confidence! Writers from the full spectrum—published to novice—attend conferences but everyone is there to share and learn.  So share! Raise your hand and ask that question. Participate in that activity. Be the brave soul who breaks the ice and the workshop leader will remember you, with gratitude.

LEAVE BEHIND: Shyness. Look around at the folks gathered in the room or auditorium. You all share a bond: A love of reading and the desire to write. What better starting point to find friends and colleagues? These are your people. Smile. Introduce yourself. Interact with your colleagues. No matter what your experience, you belong. Act like it!

BRING: An open mind. Every workshop leader has an individual style. Maybe you don’t normally do character activities or read aloud what you wrote on the spot, but programs are designed to help in a particular way. Participate fully. You may learn something if you try–but you won’t if you don’t.

LEAVE BEHIND: That Guy. Or Gal. You know the One. The One who is obstinate and defensive—and maybe angry—who complains that editors, agents, instructors—all of them, all the time—just “don’t get” their work. The One who takes up an unfair amount of workshop time ranting about the unfairness of it all. It’s a conference, not a therapy session.

BRING: A give-and-take networking plan. Conferences are great places to meet and greet peers, to hear about local or regional events, to search for potential critique groups and to get yourself out there in the literary world.

LEAVE BEHIND: Blatant BSP. If there’s a table or area to set out your promotional materials, great! Take advantage of that. But the folks who hand out their own bookmark or PR materials, unsolicited, to everyone in a workshop? Not cool. The workshop is the leader’s gig.  Mind your manners.  

BRING: Business cards, postcards, flyers, materials that you can share about yourself and your work. Put them out in the public areas or share them, privately, with the instant pals you make at lunch or between sessions.

LEAVE BEHIND: Your full manuscript, which you plan to press on an editor/agent/teacher who can’t say no because you put them on the spot. Don’t do that. Nobody wants you to do that.

BRING:  Fairness. If you enjoyed a session, follow up with a note to the leader. If a workshop didn’t meet your expectations, note that on the comment sheet. If you can articulate exactly why it let you down, in a fair and helpful manner, all the better. Not all workshops are a rousing success. Leaders have off days. It’s okay to express your disappointment. Just try to be constructive about it.

LEAVE BEHIND: Pettiness. If the workshops were boring because you already know it all, and nobody approached you first to talk to you, and everyone left behind your PR materials on the tables of somebody else’s workshop…take a hint. Your conference-going plan needs some work.

Are you attending a conference sometime soon? Been to a great one you wouldn’t miss for the world? Made a friend, learned a lesson? Tell me about it!
Ramona

Outlaws of Love – Guest Blog

by Ramona DeFelice Long

Today I am joined by my friend and Working Stiffs colleague Annette Dashofy to discuss the wily Men of Facebook.

Have you ever received an unsolicited love letter from a man with an odd name who couldn’t spell and couldn’t control his emotions as he gazed upon your alluring Facebook gravatar? If so, you might be a target of the Outlaws of Love.

Pop over to the Working Stiffs blog to read about them.

Blog Share Day!

by Ramona DeFelice Long

About a year ago, after a conversation with a writing friend about encouragement and personal accountability, I created a Facebook group for writers called How Many Pages Did You Write Today?  My purpose was to provide a place for writers to share their productivity–or lack thereof–and converse online with other writers.

A year and 130+ members later, HMPDYWT? is going strong. Every day, members pop up to share how many pages  they have written, or why they haven’t written, or what they are writing. Questions are asked. Advice is given. Occasionally, the whip is cracked, but mostly the cheerleading flows freely.

A rule applies at HMPDYWT?–no links, please. I created the group so members would post to the Wall and stay on the Wall. But because we have so many active bloggers, today is Blog Share Day. Members are invited to post a link to personal blogs and tell a little about what they post.

Join us!

Ramona


The Basics, in 3’s

by Ramona DeFelice Long

In a few weeks I will be teaching a workshop on the basics of creative writing to a group of young people. The workshop is expected to cover story, structure, character, plot and theme–you know, the basics of creative writing.

I will have one hour.

Cramming years of acquired knowledge and experience into a mere 60 minutes is a daunting task, but I did pick up a thing or two in my years of volunteering in schools and hanging around children.

When trying to teach a broad topic, use a number.

People like–and remember–numbers. This is why you see so many articles titled “Six Ways to Make Your Garden Grow,” or “Four Secrets to Conquering Belly Fat.” Notice how those are nice low numbers. If I have to do more than six things to make my garden grow, I’m throwing in the trowel. And four secrets? How many people can keep even one secret? Four is plenty. A person has to be motivated to keep four secrets.

So, not only do I need a number, I need a low number. Luckily, the basics of creative writing has a built-in appropriate number: the number three.

Why three? Why is three so special to creative writing?

Think about it.

How many basic story types are there?  Three: Man versus Himself. Man versus. Man. Man versus Nature. These break down into smaller parts, but every story can fit into one of these broad categories.

How many story lengths are there? Three: Novel, Novella, Short Story.

How many short story types are there? Three: Short, Flash, Micro.

How many acts in the Three Act Structure? Act One is the beginning, when the author needs to set up the story and hook the reader; Act Two is the middle, when the author has to dig in to make the story complex, logical and suspenseful enough to hold the reader’s interest; Act Three is the end, when the author provides a climax and resolution so the reader feels satisfied and entertained.

How many Point of View options are there for a writer to tell a story? Three. First Person, where “I” tells the story; Second Person, where “you” tells the story; and Third Person, where “He/She/It” tells the story.

How many dimensions in a well-drawn character? Three: Physical, which tells us about his outside appearance; Sociological, which tells us about his background and current life situation; Psychological, which tells us what’s happening inside his head and heart.

How many parts of a story? Three: Conflict, Crisis, Resolution.

Looking at stories in terms of three wrangles it into manageable pieces. Basics. If a young writer walks out of my workshop holding up three fingers and muttering, “Conflict, Crisis, Resolution,” I’ll be thrilled.

I only wish I had three hours.

Did I forget anything? If you were taking a course in the basics of creative writing, what three things would you like to know?

Tell me about it.

Ramona


Officer Heck? Yeah!

by Ramona DeFelice Long

Over the weekend, I had a fun little discussion with my pals at How Many Pages Did You Write Today? about character names. We tossed out ways to find good names (baby name books, spam files, newspaper stories) and how a character’s name may reveal something about the person. In the course of the discussion, I mentioned my character name pet peeve.

My character name pet peeve is the cop named Mike.

Mike must be the go-to name when inventing a police character because I run across fictional Officer Mikes all the time. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. Following the idea that a name tells about the character, the abundance of Officer Mikes make sense, in that the patron saint of police officers is Saint Michael the Archangel.

St. Michael the Archangel is usually depicted with wings, a sword, and holding scales of justice. If you are raised as a Roman Catholic, you are taught this is because Michael is the sworn enemy of Satan and the leader of the Army of God. He is one of the angels present at the hour of death to protect the souls of the dying. On Judgment Day, Michael weighs a person’s record of good deeds. He is a guardian and protector of the Catholic Church.

Add all of that up–sword, scales, guardian, protector–and no wonder a child named Michael might grow up to be a cop. It may be a chicken and egg kind of thing–the classic self-fulfilling prophecy–and this is why I see so many manuscripts with Mikes running around protecting and serving.

But maybe it’s time to give Officer Mike a rest. I’d like to propose a new go-to name for cops.

Heck.

Heck? Officer Heck? Are you laughing? Rolling your eyes?

Think about Sheriff Heck Tate, as portrayed by the character actor Frank Overton in the 1962 film, To Kill A Mockingbird.

In Harper Lee’s novel, Heck Tate doesn’t get a lot of page time. When he does appear, his actions are pivotal. It is Heck Tate who brings Tom Robinson to the next county to await trial, which shows how well the small town sheriff understands the mood and prejudices of the citizens in his jurisdiction.

It is Heck Tate who arrives with Atticus Finch when a mad dog is in the street. In this scene, Heck Tate acknowledges who is the better shot and asks Atticus to take down the dog. He puts aside whatever macho pride or male ego he may possess when he hands over that shotgun. He even teases Jem that didn’t he know his father was the best shot in Maycomb County–an important moment that lets the son see his father as an autonomous man, not just as a parent, for the first time.

It is Heck Tate who ultimately exercises what modern law enforcement calls officer discretion. Sheriff Tate has lived in Maycomb all of his life. He knows everyone in town. He obviously knows how to read a crime scene, even when his witnesses are an unconscious boy with a broken arm; a grown man hidden away for so long, he’s become mute; a scared little girl in a ham costume; and a dead man on the ground.

It is Heck Tate who knows what limelight would do to a shy fella like Boo Radley, and so it is Sheriff Heck Tate who fulfills his duty to protect Maycomb’s mockingbird.

“I may not be much, Mr. Finch, but I’m still sheriff of Maycomb County and Bob Ewell fell on his knife.”

Let the dead bury the dead, is Heck Tate’s advice. Wise words, right? I wonder if this level of officer discretion would be possible today, or if Heck Tate would be the subject of an Internal Affairs investigation by the time the credits rolled?

But I digress.

If St. Michael the Archangel made Mike a good name for cops, Heck is no slouch in the meaning department. I will be a little presumptive here and assume Harper Lee meant Heck as a shortened form of Hector.

The name Hector is Greek. It means “holding fast.” In mythology, Hector was a fearless warrior prince, the older brother of Paris. Hector’s death during the Battle of Troy was a terrible blow to the Trojans, not only because he was a brave and fierce fighter, but because Hector was wholly honorable. After Hector was killed, Achilles, who killed him, dragged Hector’s body behind his chariot for twelve days in an attempt to shame and humiliate the noble Trojan prince, but even the gods admired Hector. They took pity on him in death and protected his body from abuse.

Eventually, the Trojan War was halted for twelve days so that the people of Troy could serve Hector with proper funeral rites. He is remembered in art and literature as one of the Nine Worthies.

Today, when a police officer dies in the line of duty, legions of his fellow officers participate in public, traditional funerals meant to honor the fallen officer for making the ultimate sacrifice. I don’t know that this tradition goes back to the mythology of Hector, but it seems right.

So, Officer Heck. A fierce fighter whose name means “holding fast.” A person infused with honor. Someone prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice. I would feel safe with such a man protecting my town. 

You?