Lisa Lenard-Cook's Blog, page 3

This month in The Lonely Writer’s Companion on Authorlink, I was asked how one deals with writer’s block.

The Lonely Writer responds:Let’s start with a few definitions, the first a textbook one, the second the Lonely Writer’s take on what’s really going on. According to the Holy Source of All Things (a.k.a. Wikipedia), writer’s block is “a condition…in which a writer loses the ability to create new work.”

Definitions like this suggest a symptom, which, once diagnosed, can then be cured. But writer’s block is no one-condition-fits-all syndrome. Some writers never begin writing. They talk about their idea(s) and what they’re going to write, often relating the entire story any time there’s a willing audience. But to sit down and actually write the damned thing? It just never seems to happen. … {read more here}

Every night this week, I’ve watched an episode or two from Season 1 of Friday Night Lights. Yes, I know—I’m a bit behind the rest of the country. But I don’t watch much television. We don’t have cable or satellite. What we do have is Amazon Prime, plus a terrific selection of current DVDs from the Corrales Community Library (thanks, Cynthia!).

Daughter Kaitlin and I watched the first episode of Friday Night Lights when I was in San Francisco last fall. Then we immediately watched the second. That’s how good it was—we wanted to binge all six lengthy seasons right then. Instead, I returned to New Mexico, and we each began watching separately, whenever we had time. Which meant not very often.

But as I read and reread memoir manuscripts in preparation for teaching a master class this weekend, I scrolled through my Amazon Prime watchlist. I craved narrative. I craved reversals. And I craved character arcs. When Friday Night Lights popped up, I knew it was what I was after.

Now that I’m halfway through Season 1, I know which characters I favor, and which I don’t much care about. I’ve always been fascinated with why readers and viewers connect with certain characters. Of course it has to do with how three-dimensional a character is—neither all-good, nor all-bad. But why one character resonates for me while another resonates for you happens for an entirely different reason. I call it emotional bravery.

The acting on Friday Night Lights is terrific, but then, so is the writing. Among my favorite characters are all the Taylors—Eric, Tami, and Julie—and when Eric and Tami disagree, they speak over each other, interrupt, don’t listen, willfully misunderstand, and all those other things people who live together do when they want different things. What I like about these three characters—and the other character who resonates for me, Tyra Collette—is that they’re emotionally true to themselves. By that I mean that they know their own likes and dislikes, their boundaries, their code, their ethics, and they’ll fight for those things, even when they know they oughta give.

Good writing challenges characters’ emotional cornerstones. Some characters cave (Smash Williams does). Some characters (like Lyla Garrity) make mistakes. Some (Tim Riggins) grow and change. But the characters with whom I connect won’t back down. There’s too much at stake.

The same is true in memoirs I love. In my favorites, tough cookies are challenged in all sorts of ways (Pacific Crest Trail. Eccentric parents. AIDS.), and despite (or because of?) those challenges, find the internal strength to surmount them. Yes, they’ll sometimes compromise. But those compromises never contradict their personal codes. Yeah. They’re a lot like me.

I’ll be blogging about reading as a writer the fourth week of every month. I hope you’ll join me.

Week 3 Blog:  The Sue Grafton Project

Sure, Sue Grafton’s books are well-plotted, and yes, her characters, both recurrent and one-offs, are memorable. But I’d rather begin discussing her work with an aspect that I’d forgotten until I began rereading her books—her skill at creating atmosphere. And lucky me—“atmosphere” begins with “A.”

Consider our first glimpse of Rosie’s, the neighborhood bar/restaurant where Kinsey Millhone hangs out, in A is for Alibi: “It’s the sort of place where you look to see if the chair needs brushing off before you sit down. The plastic seats have little rips in them that leave curls in the nylon on the undersides of your stockings and the tables have black Formica tops hand-etched with words like hi.” Notice how these few well-chosen details generate a full-blown Rosie’s in your mind. Yours, mine, and Grafton’s are probably three different Rosie’s, and yet they have in common that basic…cheesiness.

Better still are Grafton’s riffs on clouds, ocean, mountains, and other aspects of Santa Teresa/Santa Barbara that bring the place to life, as here, in G is for Gumshoe, when Kinsey and Robert Dietz arrive at the shooting range near the top of San Marcos Pass: “The May sun was hot, the breezes dry, scented with bay laurel and sage. The rains wouldn’t come again until Christmastime. By August the mountains would be parched, the vegetation desiccated, the timber primed for burning. Even now, looking down toward the valley, I could see a haze in the air, ghostly portent of the fires to come.” This is more than mere description—the language is compact yet specific and lovely. I especially like that “ghostly portent of the fires to come.” Plus, any time I think, “I wish I’d written that,” I know I’m reading a writer who knows her stuff.

Finally, we get to see a lot of houses up close and personal as Kinsey interviews those involved with her cases. There are the mansions of Montebello/Montecito, the small tract houses of Colgate/Goleta and Perdido/Ventura. There are also the mansions that have seen better days, as this one in the foothills above Santa Teresa, in M is for Malice: “Near the front of the house, the pine trees had dropped a blanket of needles that must have turned the soil to acid. There was little if any grass and the damp smell of bare earth was pervasive. Here and there a shaggy palm tree asserted its spare presence … … There were flower beds, but even the occasional suggestion of color failed to soften the somber gloom of the mansion…” This family’s mansion isn’t the only aspect of their lives with a sinister undertone, but Grafton doesn’t belabor the point—she simply lets that first glimpse of the place speak for itself.

A, of course, is only the beginning. The third week of each month for the foreseeable future, I’ll be blogging about the Sue Grafton Project, and what rereading the alphabet series has taught me about writing. Next month, I’ll be looking at B…for Backstory. Hope you’ll join me!

Repaving the Road to Publication, Part 2

Just like the road to publication, the road to republication can be paved with potholes. Mine ended up being easy to navigate only because I’d laid the groundwork. But because I didn’t know I had, this is a tale of both serendipity and the wisdom of keeping one’s address book up-to-date.

Over time, I’d decided that three of my books might do better in places other than their original homes. For starters, there was my first novel, Dissonance, which, among other honors, was shortlisted for the PEN Southwest Book Award and included on NPR Performance Today’s Summer Reading List. Because the book had been published in 2003, however, by the time these accolades occurred the book had moved to UNM Press’s backlist.

In some ways, publishers’ inattention to backlist titles has changed—it’s now easy to edit online listings, for one thing. But the basic truth about marketing departments—that they’re understaffed and overworked—hasn’t changed at all. Multiply a current season’s authors clamoring for one person’s undivided attention by four seasons per year, and it becomes clearer why marketing people don’t return your emails.

These considerations aside, it began to seem I might do better taking the book elsewhere. So, after a conversation with a friend in the publishing industry about how I might give the book a boost, I decided to email the then-director of the Press and ask to see him. I walked away from that meeting with a rights reversion letter.

The Keep It Simple (KISS) Guide to Dreams was more of a challenge. DK had abandoned the KISS series out of the gate, my editor had long left the company, and no one in the contract department in the UK returned my emails. Then, a few months ago, I saw an announcement in Publisher’s Lunch (if you don’t subscribe to their free daily newsletter, do) of a new rights director at DK, which included her e-dress. As I’d had previous contact with her, I shot her a congratulatory email. She shot one back. The next day I had my rights reverted.

The Mind of Your Story had been embraced on Writer’s Digest’s editorial side but dropped on the sales side. (This happens so often I imagine arroyo-like rifts dividing these departments’ desks.) But when I sold every copy I had at one of the writers’ conferences where I teach (and realized I could have sold three times that), it occurred to me I’d do a lot better if I got the rights back to that book, too.

This turned out to be easy as well. While my editor at Writer’s Digest is no longer with the company, we’ve kept in touch, and an email to her was forwarded to the proper person at F + W immediately. Again, I had my rights reversion letter the next day.

So now, in addition to a closetful of never-published books, I had the rights to three previously published books as well. What next? Tune in next month as I continue to repave the road to publishing.

Welcome to The Lonely Writer’s Companion. The format’s simple: You send in your questions, and each month I’ll select one to answer. Email your questions c/o [email protected]. (Be sure to put “Question for The Lonely Writer’s Companion” in the subject line.)

Question: In various guises, this month’s question comes from more than one person, so I’ve once again glommed them together into one: What’s the big deal about formatting, anyway? Why do editors and agents insist on double-spacing, Times New Roman, and a new page for each new chapter, to name just a few?

The Lonely Writer responds: As my Grandma used to say, “If I had a nickel for each time someone asked me this question, I wouldn’t have to work for a living.” But you’re a professional, right? This means you’ve done your homework and learned that editors and agents expect manuscripts to be double-spaced, without fancy fonts, new pages for new chapters spaced halfway down, and pages numbered sequentially. When, as a literary journal editor, I receive a manuscript that doesn’t follow this format, I don’t read it. When, as a manuscript editor, I receive a single-spaced manuscript, the writer who’s paying me to edit often can’t read my notes because there isn’t room for me to squeeze editorial marks between the lines. When, as a critique group member, I receive a manuscript without page numbers, I write them in—crankily. Come on. How hard is it to click on insert page numbers?

Then there’s the matter of mutual respect—not just the way you expect to be treated but the way you treat others. What if someone handed you a business card that was so hard to read you couldn’t figure out what it was they did? Would you want to hire them to, say, fix your roof, or represent you in court? That’s how editors feel when you send them a manuscript that hasn’t been formatted according to industry standards: they don’t want to hire you. And please, save thoses fancy fonts for birthday cards. Most of them are impossible to decipher.

Let’s look at a few of those formatting requirements from a publisher’s point of view. Starting a new chapter on a new page alerts readers to the fact of that new chapter. Page numbering is so self-explanatory I can’t believe I have to address it here (but I do). Using tabs to indent each paragraph rather than space, space, spacing means that when a book designer steps in, she won’t have to reformat. Putting your name, address, phone number, and email on your manuscript means an editor can get in touch with you when s/he decides to buy it.

So be a pro. Show us some respect. And understand that the effort you make now will pay off when your book goes into production. Formatting matters. It’s part of the business of being a writer.

Got a question for The Lonely Writer’s Companion? Email it to me c/o [email protected]. (Be sure to put “Question for The Lonely Writer’s Companion” in the subject line.) Your question could appear in a future column.