“The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.”

                                                                                                                                                                                       …  Mark Twain

     If you write poetry or prose, fiction or nonfiction, essays, articles, stories or songs — you are a writer.  And because you generally write alone, this blog is for you. In answer to the question, “Is anybody out there?” consider mine the voice of a friend, sister, and supporter.

     In my own writing practice, my writing rules are simple and few:

                    Put the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.

                    Never a day without a line (nulla dies sine linea — Horace 65-8 bc).

                    Get it down, don’t wait for it to be good.

                    Once it’s down, rewrite, rewrite, rewrite.

     Some days my butt hits the seat and nothing happens. Stuck, blocked, whatever you want to call it, I can’t get going. At such times, I assign myself simple exercises with an emphasis on fun.  Intentionally basic, these can serve sophisticate and novice alike.  Here are some favorites:

     Vivid Verb Play

     She  went, walked, waddled, sprinted, sauntered, staggered, stumbled, strutted, bounded, ambled, plodded, galloped, raced, tip-toed, crept, crawled, limped, darted, drove, bounced, cartwheeled  across the lawn.

     Well, which was it?  Did she sprint or saunter, walk or waddle?

     Which is the most accurate and vivid verb?  How many ways can one cross a lawn?  Which verb eliminates the need for an adverb?  If she walked slowly, for example, isn’t it more precise to say she sauntered or ambled or plodded or meandered?  Economy and precision strengthen a piece.  Yes?

     Brainstorm at least ten verbs for each sentence below.  Have fun with it.

                    The cow ______ over the moon.

                    The mouse ______ up the clock.

                    The horse ______  …

                    The drunken woman ________ …

                    The silly young girls ________ …

                    The spacecraft ________ …

Specificity

     For added fun, scan the original sentence, “She _______ across the lawn.”   Note the lack of specific, concrete detail.  Who is the “she” who “what-evered” across the lawn? Now, check out this alternative:

     Eighty-year-old Lucretia Batz sprinted across Mathilda Dumwitty’s front lawn as Mathilda’s terrier, Crackers, lunged and snapped at her heels.

     Overdone, perhaps, but fun.  Word play stimulates the mind and strengthens the writing muscles.  The sillier or more outrageous, the better.  For now, go wild.  It’s a great way to work through a block and play with specificity.

     Rewrite the following:

     1. She lifted a great weight.  (Who is she?  Other verbs for lifted?  “Show” this great weight with words.)

     2. The thing broke the window.

     3. The stuff came out of the container.

     4. They had a fight there.

     5. The car went down the road, went around the corner, went into the guard rail and …

     6. The concert audience came into the auditorium, went to their seats and did things while they waited.

     Create more of your own.  Specificity and vivid verbs are the goals here. Editing comes later.  Play and have your wild way with words.

     Until next time,

                                    MLB

“I would have written a shorter letter, but I did not have the time.”  

(Blaise Pascal translation; William Highsmith, “Flash Fiction FAQs,” Writer’s Digest) 

 

Flash fiction pieces are short compact stories of fewer than 1500 words.  My experience is with those that land between 500-750 words. They are an excellent means of sharpening your skills, no matter your experience level.

Claire Guyton, a writer I greatly admire, first inspired me to explore flash fiction as a writing practice.  As illustrated in the above quote, writing such fiction takes time and great care.  It requires carefully selected details and precisely chosen words.  Imagery and dialogue (if any) must carry layers of meaning. No word must be wasted.  Only that which serves the story must remain. In the words of William Highsmith, flash fiction requires the “verbal efficiency of a poet.”

I’ve been writing short stories for years because they necessitate strict economy and the willingness to regularly “kill your darlings.”  Until my introduction to Claire, however, I hadn’t considered the challenge of the short short.  Then, as I launched into writing my first novel to explore a more expansive form, I was asked to contribute 500-700 word bi-weekly pieces by a small daily paper.

Recently, a prompt was offered by the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance ( http://mainewriters.org ) inviting members to enter a contest.  We were to write a piece of not more than 500 words beginning with a provided sentence.  It was great fun and provided another opportunity for practice.  Mine did not win, but that mattered little.  Contests present useful deadlines!

I’ve since had a 600-word piece accepted for publication in Flash Fiction Magazine! As so many stories do, it came out of an actual experience tempered by hindsight, self-reflection and a bit of fantasy.  I’ll post the link when it appears in October.  Meanwhile, I highly recommend Claire Guyton’s latest.  It is brilliantly executed.       https://atticusreview.org/gun-metal-days/

Until I post again, I encourage you to explore the offerings of online sites specializing in flash/micro/sudden fiction and to consider adopting a daily or weekly practice.  It’s a great way to exercise those writing muscles in short but powerful bursts. It’s good for the brain, for getting to know your inner editor, and for letting your inner poet come out to play.

Let me know what you think.  Posting comments here is easy and they will quickly be available for viewing.

Now, seat to the seat!

mlb

 

 

My novel, Other Wise, is finished and the next phase of the process is underway.  As I send it forth to agents — thank goodness for simultaneous submissions — I’m focusing on process and not publication. Publication will come.  I trust in that. I have options. There are always options. But for now, I’m exploring the world of queries and submissions. I’m in the process of crafting cover letters tailored to specific agents, researching the requirements of each, including the requested chapters or synopses or personal background statements or all three into the text of an email or attachment.

I’m learning. Ever learning. Adapting. Adjusting. Ever moving forward.

Rejection is a fact of the writing life. There is a sting when one comes in, of course; but, there’s often useful feedback to be garnered. One agent who had requested the first chapter, told me that she didn’t connect with my protagonist in the way she had hoped. STING. But, she added, “Please know that this is a subjective response, and that another agent may feel differently. I’m sorry not to be writing with better news, but always remember that even getting rejected means you’re still in the game.”  A tiny dab of salve to sooth the sting.

Meanwhile, I’m working on the second novel, new short stories, and a collection of poems. I’m considering a print edition of my audio-book (Out of the Dark, a collection of short stories). I continue to write bi-weekly children’s stories for a small paper.  And … so on.  You get the picture.  I’m not sitting around waiting for word.  I’m writing.  That’s what I do.  I am a writer.

Publication is wonderful.  I rejoice when a story of mine appears somewhere – finds a readership. I want Margaret’s story to be out in the world.  I feel obliged to get it out there.  And I will carry through on that obligation.  But I also know that publication is not the measure of my worthiness as a writer.  With every word I write, I am refining my craft, plumbing my depths.  As a former writing mentor often said, “Never a day without a line.” (nulla dies sine linea – Horace).

For years, I focused on writing and publishing short stories, then I asked myself a question.  How does it feel to write a novel?  To follow through to the end of a longer piece?  And so I wrote one.  Now I’m asking what it feels like to market my novel.  And so I’m querying.

I’m at my desk.  In process.  Answering my own questions.  And writing every day.