How do you know if you're good?

This question has probably haunted writers since the beginning of time. Well, maybe not that long...but it probably feels like it. So what's the answer? Heck if I know. But I came across Nadia Cornier's blog entry that made me smile and nod because it made so much sense. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

It's funny, what you know

Last week, I posted about writing what you know, and it's funny how the things you know can crop up without you knowing it. :)

I read through some of my YA novel yesterday, and discovered something about the parents of my main character (Rose). Their relationship is exactly like the relationship my parents had when I was growing up. Rose's mom is nothing like my mom, and Rose's dad is not like my dad. But the way her mom and dad interact with each other is very similar to how my parents interacted when I was growing up.

So, I took a piece of my childhood, something I know very, very well, and unconsciously put it into my story. I'm sure I'm not the first person to have done this, so it makes me think that we all know more than we think we know. :)

What Do You Know?

One of the most common pieces of advice for writers (that I've heard, anyway) is "Write What You Know." But, what does that mean?

I know that 6x4=24. I also know the sky is blue. And if I didn't know these things, I could easily learn them.

So is that what it means to write what I know? I'm not so sure. I think it means something deeper: Write What You Know In Your Heart.

But what does that mean? Simply put, it's what you know that can only be learned through experience. For example, my parents divorced when I was three, and neither remarried. So I know what it's like to be raised by a single mom. Conversely, I don't know what it's like to be raised by a two-parent family. I can do research on this and make an educated guess, but I'll never truly know because I didn't experience it growing up.

Another example. When I first learned I was going to have a baby, I was thrilled. I love kids, and spent my high school years babysitting. I thought I knew what I was getting into, but I still did lots of research so I'd be well prepared. After my son was born, I learned that no amount of research could have prepared me for this experience. It's baffling, frustrating, and rewarding - all at the same time. I had no idea how much it would change me and my view of the world. And I wouldn't give it up for anything. But it's something I had to experience in order to really know.

I think that we, as writers, can take our experiences, expand them with research, and then put them on the page. I also think it works the other way - expand the research with experiences. In either case, I think it will give us something truly amazing.

It just keeps growing!

I don't know why, but every story I write is always bigger than my initial plan. The characters develop and start to include their own stories in mine, they do things that were never in my plan, and I find that many more things need to happen in order to avoid that rush-to-the-end feeling. So, by the time I'm writing those last few chapters, I'm asking myself "am I ever going to finish?" The answer is, of course, yes. :) But It surely doesn't feel like it at the time.

I've been reading some truly great books lately, one of which is Wicked Lovely by Melissa Marr. I couldn't put it down, dreamed about it, thought I saw fey everywhere I looked, etc. :) It's a fantastic read, which I highly recommend. I wrote a little something summarizing my thoughts on Shelfari. Feel free to read it if you like. Melissa Marr has another book coming out in April, something of a sequel to Wicked Lovely, which I've already pre-ordered.

I've just picked up A Curse Dark As Gold by Elizabeth Bunce. Based on what I've heard, I'm expecting it to be just as good.

Filtering Language

I've been reading a lot lately, and have noticed a trend in writing style. I don't know if it's just the style of the times, or maybe it seems natural when writing in first person. Still, I think it puts a barrier between the reader and the story. My ICL instructor called it filtering, and it's also one of the top reasons editors reject manuscripts. Here are some examples:

1) Jim noticed the flowers on the ground.
2) Ella watched the bird fly away.
3) Jeremy saw his mom cross the street.
4) Sally thought her mom was being unreasonable.
5) Tim realized he was late for school.
6) Jamie wondered why everything is supposed to taste like chicken.
7) Alfie considered running away, but he had nowhere to go.
8) Mary hoped she would become Prom Queen.

Each of these sentences take us outside the character's head. The author is telling us about the characters, not letting the reader experience the characters' thoughts and actions for himself. Let's rephrase each sentence such that the filtering is removed.

1) Jim knelt on the ground. The leaves of the wilting violets fluttered in the wind.
2) The bird spread her wings and flew away. Ella smiled.
3) Jeremy's mom looked both ways, twice, then crossed the street.
4) Sally snorted. Mom was being completely unreasonable!
5) Tim scrambled out of bed. He was late for school again!
6) "Just try it, Jamie. You'll like it. It tastes like chicken." Dad stabbed the snake meat with his fork and shoved it into his mouth. Jamie sighed. How can everything taste like chicken?
7) Alfie threw some clothes in a suitcase. He had to get out of here. He zipped the bag closed, then froze. Where could he go? Who would take him in after what he'd done?
8) Mary hugged her chest. "Please let me win. It's my last chance to be Prom Queen."

These revised sentences put us directly into the characters' heads. We see what they see, feel what they feel, think what they think. We experience the story first-hand, instead of being told by someone else.

I think filtering is a form of telling - the author tells us what the characters are thinking/feeling/etc instead of letting us experience it for ourselves. Writing without filtering is very difficult, and I've banged my head against the wall on more than occasion. But once I find the right words, I'm ten times more satisfied with the end result.

(Un)Sympathetic Characters

Recently, I read Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (one of the few classics I didn't read in high school). Good book. I enjoyed many of the themes, but one in particular stood out: responsibility for the creation of life.

Dr. Frankenstein (the main character, not the monster) spends years trying to figure out how to create life from dead tissue. When he succeeds, he freaks out and runs - leaving his creation to fend for itself. He tries to forget about what he's done, and suffers what appears to be a complete mental breakdown. He recovers, and goes about his business as though his creation doesn't exist. Of course, fate puts the two together, and Frankenstein seems shocked that his creation hates him, even wants to kill him. Well, duh. This creation didn't ask to be brought into the world, but he was. Seconds later, he was abandoned. And if he'd been an infant, he would not have survived. I had no sympathy for Dr. Frankenstein - rather, I thought he deserved his fate.

I shared my thoughts with a fellow book lover, and he was surprised at my opinion (not offended, just surprised). Perhaps it's because I'm a mother, or perhaps I have little patience for people who can't find the courage to do the right thing no matter how difficult it may be. Which reminds me of another story...

In high school, I read The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant. The main character, Mme. Loisel, borrows a diamond necklace, then accidentally loses it. Instead of owning up to her mistake, she tells her friend that a broken clasp is being repaired. She then replaces it with a diamond necklace of similar design, and spends the next ten years paying off the debt to the jeweler. Then, just after the debt is paid, Mme Loisel runs into her old friend. Bitter about being poverty stricken all those years, she tells the truth about the necklace, and even tries to lay the blame on her friend (she says something like "your necklace did this to me," which is another discussion entirely). In the end, she finds out the necklace was fake and cost a fraction of what Mme Loisel paid for its replacement.

My reaction to this story was: So? The whole situation was Mme Loisel's fault. She lost the necklace, and she lied about it. No one else. But, as my English class discussed the story, no one else shared my sentiments. Or rather, no one voiced it (I didn't either; I'm very shy). Not even the teacher. Everyone felt incredible amounts of sympathy for Mme Loisel.

But why? Why do people feel sorry for those who can't shoulder responsibility? Do we feel sorry for a woman who has given birth to a baby, realizes she can't take care of it, then throws it into a dumpster? Or a man who's been sucked into a life of servitude and poverty because he was too proud or too scared to admit he'd made a mistake? I certainly don't.

So what does all this mean? I don't know; probably nothing. I guess I just don't find Dr. Frankenstein and Mme Loisel very sympathetic characters. If they had made the right decisions, and still everything went wrong, I'd have much more sympathy for them. But maybe that's just me. :)