J O N U N I V ER S I TY

J O N M C R A E

T E N E S N V N C T E N E B E R I S

J O N U N I V E R S I T Y

First Edition, 2012

Jon McRae. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons

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C O N T EN TS

O R I E N T A T I O N 1

1 0 1 , B A S I C T E C H N I Q U E 3

2 0 1 , A D V A N C E D T E C H N I Q U E 1 7

3 0 1 , T H E O R Y 3 1

4 0 1 , P R A C T I C E 4 4

1 S T A P P E N D I X , I N S P I R A T I O N 5 6

2 N D A P P E N D I X , P U B L I S H I N G 6 1

3 R D A P P E N D I X , P E T P E E V E S 6 3

4 T H A P P E N D I X , R E A D I N G L I S T 6 4

C O M M E N C E M E N T 6 6

1

O RI EN T A TI O N

The advice contained in these courses is one part mine, nine parts the advice of my peers and my lessers and my

betters. In art very little is true or false. I deal in what is useful or useless. Put each piece of advice to the test for

yourself. Keep what works, discard the rest. The proof is in the pudding.

For those of you who prefer a set of credentials to knowledge that speaks for itself I will provide a brief bio. I write.

You may read a few of my stories at jonmcrae.net. I am a published author, just like Umberto Eco or the Olsen

Twins. I read, I critique, I travel. If I were stranded on a desert island the five books Id bring are the collected

works of Shakespeare, The Koran, Blood Meridian, a Chinese / English dictionary, and a blank book to write in. A

blank book with many, many pages. If I didnt have a pen Id twist my hair into a nib and use my fluids for ink.

The sum advice I have to pass on is divisible into four courses: Basic Technique, Advanced Technique, Theory,

and Practice. These courses are supplemented by four appendices on the topics of inspiration and publishing, with

a small section outlining literary pet peeves and a list of recommended reading.

Before we begin, let us establish a few compass points so that we may properly orient ourselves throughout the

courses.

1. The best fiction convinces us its real. Coleridge said poetic faith is the willing

suspension of disbelief. In plain terms that means the reader forgets hes a reader.

Whether he reads to escape, to understand, or to explore is his business. Our business as

writers of fiction is to help him experience, if only for a while, something that does not

exist outside his imagination or ours. If we write well he will finish our story and say,

Oh wait, that didnt actually just happen, it was only a story. If we write poorly, he will

realize this before hes finished and his suspended disbelief will reengage. The story

from then on will only ever be a story to him. He might even quit reading. For lack of

any convenient technical term I call this a hiccup. It is a seed of doubt that may grow to

corrupt your readers entire poetic faith. It is in your base killing your dudes. It is your

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artistic nemesis.

2. There are no good or bad writers. Only writers at different stages of development. Each

of us starts off writing poorly. Some of us choose to develop from there, others choose

not to. Some dont even recognize improvement as an option in the first place.

3. The term body of work is no coincidence. A body has lovely parts like eyes and curves,

but it also has less attractive parts like armpits and an asshole. You will write armpits.

You will write an asshole. Admit it. Come to terms with it and move on. Otherwise

youll end up paralysed, either by your fear of failure or because you will mistake poor

early attempts for failed attempts. It is not a failure to write an asshole. Imagine a body

without the ugly parts. It would just be a face and breasts and legs floating disconnected

in the air. What good is that? Lovely parts unbound by mundane and ugly parts have no

meaning and so become alien, untrustworthy, ugly themselves. No part is unnecessary.

No part is unimportant, because it takes every part together to complete a body. Give

each part, each story or novel or poem, the care and attention it deserves. Make it as

good as you can at this stage in your development. The next one will be better.

4. Let me be clear about my position on rules versus exceptions. It is essential to learn the

rules. It is wise most of the time to follow the rules. It is on occasion a legitimate and

powerful gesture to break the rules. Any idiot could lie and claim to be Spartacus. Its

doing it at just the right time, in just the right way, for just the right reason, that makes it

an act and a measure of greatness.

3

1 0 1 , B AS I C T E CH N I Q U E

This is by no means an exhaustive study of technique. It is merely a review of certain techniques I find particularly

useful, which are commonly misunderstood or ignored, or which have revolutionized my process and Im excited

to share. A number of these techniques span several levels of skill, so expect to revisit them accordingly

throughout the courses. For now its just the basics.

4

P U N C T U A T I O N , I

First a brief refresher of the problem marks, followed by an explanation of why I consider them the problem

marks. Spoiler alert: its most of them.

The semicolon. A semicolon joins ideas related enough to share a sentence but not

congruous enough to be joined by a comma. This includes long or complex articles in a

list. ;

The colon. A colon introduces a list or an apposite. :

Parentheses. These delimit thoughts outside the narrative flow but pertinent to it. (Like

so.)

The em dash. This badboy can function as parenthesesby inserting a related thought

or detailor, chameleon that it is, it can function as a colonby offering a dramatic

introduction or apposition.

The ellipsis. An ellipsis indicates that some part of a quotation has been omitted.

The semicolon. Where do I begin? First, it is widely overused. Not only that, but it is easy to overuse. I rarely see

discerning use of the semicolon. If you give it an inch, it will take a mile. Use of semicolons is an easy way to make

your writing look intelligent or informed.

Second, given that the semicolons function is more or less halfway between the comma and the period, its use is

largely arbitrary. I say go big or go home. Separate your clauses with a comma or a period. A period lends stark

outline to either clause. A comma provides a solid bridge from one clause to the next. A semicolon weakens the

position of both clauses. Next time you read an article or a story imagine each semicolon replaced by a period or a

comma + conjunction. Do the sentences lose anything? Does the narrative have less impact? In almost every case I

find the writing stronger for having clear cut punctuation.

Third, one of my biggest pet peeves and a sure sign of amateur writing: semicolons are often misused in place of

colons. I dont know where this habit started but it has become rampant in online articles and occasionally even in

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published stories and novels, which must have been printed while the editors were all on vacation. I have to tell you

something; I love you. Look at that. I found it in the dictionary next to the entry for ugly. The worst part is that the

semicolons function is so wishy-washy that its use in this case is perfectly acceptable. You could replace most

periods and commas in any piece of writing with semicolons and they might all be acceptably used. All the more

reason not to give it an inch. If and when you decide to use a semicolon, at least be sure each part of the sentence it

divides is an independent clause. That means each clause must qualify as a sentence by itself. Lines like I love the

way her hair smells; the way her eyes sparkle fail the test, because the second clause amounts only to a subject. There

is no predicate to make it a proper sentence.

The colon. Not a problem mark so much as one often forgotten or misunderstood. As indicated above the colon

rather than the semicolon is the appropriate mark to introduce a list or an apposite. I admire three things in a

person: honesty, consistency, and grit. Simple enough, nest pas? In the case of apposition you may just as easily use a

colon as an em dash. A colon or dash in this case is like an arrow pointing at some important statement which

follows the logic of the introductory clause. There was only one flaw in his plan: he forgot to lock the door.

On to parentheses. These arent a problem in a technical sense so much as they are in a stylistic sense. They can be

used to humorous effect, much like footnotes, by breaking the fourth wall. The problem arises when theyre used

in all seriousness. Your job as a writer is to compose the narrative in a consistent, believable format. The use of

parentheses is tantamount to admitting you are not very good at that job. Parentheses effectively say, Oh wait, I

forgot something. Heres this other point Im not skilled enough to weave into the narrative. That, of course,

amounts to a hiccup. It reminds the reader hes being narrated to, and not very well at that. In the case of a

subordinate clause or other aside within a sentence, prefer commas to parentheses. Given the size of the city, its

colossal towers and sprawling streets, it could take weeks to find where theyd hidden the disk. In the case of an

independent sentence, try it first without parentheses to be absolutely sure theyre necessary. Odds are theyre

not.

The em dash. I have very few problems with the em dash. In fact, I like it. I prefer it in places I might otherwise use

a colon or parentheses. My only advice is to be wary of overuse. Especially in the case of dramatic introduction.

The em dash is a great visual cue, almost cinematic in effect. This makes it all the more tempting to abuse. Too

many dramatic introductions make your work read like a movie trailer or some sensationalist investigative report

show. He thought he could get away with ithe was wrong. Shed entered a race against timeand she was already too

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late. Etcetera.

Ellipsis. The most abused of all the marks and by far my least favourite. Use an ellipsis when youre writing an

essay and need to trim unrelated material from a quotation. To be, or not to beay, theres the rub. Like that. Do

not, as many lazy or ignorant writers do, use an ellipsis to indicate a pause. It is the job of a comma to indicate a

brief pause, like this. It is the job of a period to indicate a longer pause. A full stop, as it were. In the case of a

dramatic pause, use an em dash. If the pause is in dialogue and long or otherwise significant, consider it an

opportunity for narrative flourish. Describe a characters body language in the pause to give the reader a sense of

her mood. Or describe the scenery to indicate a characters preoccupation or wandering attention. For example:

I thought you were dead! she said.

Me tooI guess Im just lucky.

I thought you were dead! she said.

Me too. He opened his collar to show her the stitches along his neck. I guess Im just lucky.

You might say, But plenty of published authors use ellipses to indicate pause or to emphasizecertain words.

Does that make it okay? I dont know. Plenty of pop stars lip sync in concert. Does that mean you should?

7

D I A L O G U E , I

Consider this an extension of punctuation. How to punctuate and attribute dialogue. In an attributed line of

dialoguethat is, one with a he said or she said tagthe attribution is considered part of the same sentence. It is

accordingly separated by a comma. Examples:

He said, Hi.

Hi, he said.

In the first example the period is enclosed by the quotation marks. In the second example the comma is likewise

enclosed. This is standard. Leading with attribution as in the first example is almost always more awkward than

following with attribution, but it is occasionally useful. Also in the case of leading with attribution, the comma is

interchangeable with a colon. He said: This is also acceptable.

In cases where a brief line of narrative intervenes between lines of dialogue, there are two ways to punctuate. The

first involves attribution. The second does not. In the first case, construct everything as you would without the

narration and just tag the narration to the end of the attribution. In the second case, the dialogue is not attributed

and the narrative is a separate sentence.

I dont know, Jenny said, biting her lip. It just seems, you know, wrong.

I dont know. Jenny bit her lip. It just seems, you know, wrong.

When using a characters name in attribution there is no hard and fast rule about whether to lead or follow with

the tag. Name said or said Name. The rule I follow is sound. Which sounds better? One method will suit and

enhance the rhythm of the sentence. The other method will detract from it. Each case is different.

I take the same approach to determine where in a long line of dialogue to intercede with attribution. Almost every

time the best place is in the first natural pause in the characters delivery. Compare the following variations:

8

Hi, he said. Ive been meaning to call you.

Hi, Ive been meaning to call you, he said.

The first is stronger not only because the narrative accommodates the characters delivery, but because it

establishes the identity of the speaker sooner rather than later. Especially in a scene where multiple characters are

speaking, it is a courtesy to your reader to make it clear who says what. At least at the beginning of an exchange.

Once a dialogue-heavy scene has established its rhythm it isnt always necessary to tag each line. In a scene with

only two speakers you may outright drop the attribution once either party is clearly identified.

As for terms for speech, it is best in almost every case to use said. Even when the line is a question, the question

mark is indication enough. Tags like he asked, he inquired, he posited, are unnecessary. If the character is not in fact

speaking it is suitable to use he screamed or she whispered or he laughed or she spat or whatever might apply.

However, if your dialogue is written well enough, even these arent often necessary. An exclamation point may be

enough to inform the reader how the line is delivered. Tags like he argued, she lectured, he indicated, she theorized

are not worth your time. Instead, construct the dialogue so that the reader will hear the characters delivery. If you

can do this, you will require attribution only to distinguish between speakers.

Yes, he agreed.

I hate you! he said angrily.

My name is Robert, lied George.

Although at first the attribution in these lines seems appropriate, when you think twice it is in fact redundant.

Trust your writing. Trust your writing and trust your reader to decipher it. Otherwise you risk insulting him, and

that is a patented recipe for hiccups.

9

S H O W V S . T E L L , I

A common piece of advice in writing poetry is to show rather than tell. It is just as important in writing prose. It is

also often misapplied and misunderstood. Ive seen writing advisors go so far as to say that any use of the word was

constitutes telling and to avoid it.

At the basic level, show versus tell is the difference between explaining an event and depicting that event. A vague

distinction, I know. Consider the following examples:

He didnt like it.

That is telling.

He frowned.

That is showing. Both lines communicate the same sentiment. One exposes the characters internal reaction. It

tells the reader directly what the character feels. The other depicts the characters external reaction. It implies his

feelings via behaviour.

There is a place in prose for both showing and telling.

10

E C O N O M Y , I

A good writer is not one who uses small words or big words, few words or many words, but one who uses each

word well. Balzac put it best: Power is not revealed by striking hard, or striking often, but by striking true.

11

D E S C R I P T I O N , I

As a reader I tend to forget description in direct proportion to its length and intricacy. A long description is a

grocery list. Her eyes are like this, her cheek like that, her nose like this, her hair like that. Who cares? Even if we as

writers have a clear and complete portrait in our head, there is only so much we can influence our readers

imagination. Past a certain level of detail our descriptions can actually frustrate their own purpose. The reader

becomes overloaded with details so he forgets them all and substitutes his own. Or, worse, he recognizes our

amateur writing for what it is and he abandons our story altogether.

As a general rule, in any given description I provide a broad overview and one or more memorable details. That

goes for characters, settings, objects, anything at all. The descriptee is roughly like this, plus it is notable for

features x and y.

As I reader I am most affected by this approach, so its what I gravitate toward as a writer. The overview gets the

reader in the ballpark. He might not share your exact vision of the character or the scene, but he gets the idea. A

detail or two gives the overview some foreground. Even one striking detail can create a real sense of depth

between that foreground and background. If there is anything crucial about a given person, place or thinga

landmark that will figure in the plot, an article of clothing that conveys some part of a characters history or

personality, a scuff just so on a piece of furniture that tells us its been used in an unusual wayinclude it as just

such a detail.

The office was a glass and steel monolith with a two story concrete H over the entrance.

It hardly matters how many floors the office has, or exactly how tall it is, or what colour the windows are tinted.

Saying its big and glass and steel gets you in my ballpark. Later in the story a saboteur will plant a shaped charge

on the concrete H, which will tip it onto the CEO at the ribbon cutting ceremony. The H is the only detail I need

you the reader to remember. What you imagine is probably some skyscraper in your city with a big H tacked on. It

doesnt matter if you and I picture the exact same building, because both pictures serve the story equally.

The detective had just returned from a three week bender starring himself, the couch, the TV, and a chorus of gin. The

chief called it a suspension. He called it a much-needed vacation.

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In this example nothing is actually said about the detectives appearance, but the man you picture is probably close

to the one I envision. A man between thirty and forty, scruffy and maybe a little dishevelled. He might have dark

hair and he might have chiselled features a la romance novel detectives. In any case there is no need for a grocery

list description. If I want any detail explicitly understood, I will include them. I might append, You could light a

match on his cheek if it wouldnt ignite the gin fumes still wafting off him, or some such line to establish that he is

dishevelled. I might include his age. If hes young, you will probably imagine him as handsome. If hes old, you will

probably imagine him either rugged or dumpy, and even that can be resolved with some other miniscule detail.

That goes for people and things. The same approach works for places too. I cannot count how many books I

stopped reading because they opened with some socialist rendering of a scene. By socialist I mean each detail is

given the same priority and airtime as every other details. This sort of descriptions blends into a meaningless soup.

By the time I reach the last article on the list Ive forgotten the first. The trees were like this, the bushes were like that,

the stream was like this, the clouds were like that, the road was like this. In some cases each article is allowed a

digressive inspection, its own exploration through metaphor. This is all well and good in moderation, but when

each article is treated so expansively the reader is likely to feel lost. I see nothing wrong with a little fascism in

description. Give a broad impression of the scene and pick a few significant features to point out. Trust that the

reader will fill in the rest on his own. Establish the important facts of the scene early. The reader will get to know it

further as the story unfolds and incidental details emerge.

A readers intellect plays secretary to his imagination. If you appeal to the secretary, you will have to wait for the

secretary to puzzle out your message, to decide its priority, to petition the boss for approval, et cetera et cetera. It

is usually ideal to bypass the intellect altogether and engage the imagination directly. I like to build my

descriptions around a single image or metaphor that is sharp and palpable. An image so immediate and

identifiable that it knocks the intellect over and grabs the imagination. Get the bosss attention and the secretary

will be obliged to fill out your paperwork in due course. Your writing should never need an appointment.

Take for example this line:

The embers paled and deepened and paled and deepened like the bloodbeat of some living thing eviscerate upon the

ground before them.

13

The comparison of embers to a heap of living viscera is so unexpected and unconventional that our intellect has

no time to process it before our imagination leaps into action and pictures it clearly, fully, powerfully. It is simple

and direct. It evokes not only an image but a mood. Cormac McCarthy, who gave us this line in Blood Meridian, is

known for this sort of grim, sidelong description. You might not intend your style to be as eccentric and brooding

as his, but you can just as easily employ in your own way the principles that make his writing memorable.

Give the reader an overview. A rough shape, a background, a ballpark he can match with a person, place or thing

already present in his memory. Then give him some detail or details to accent the shape, to provide foreground to

the background and thereby create a sense of dimension, to establish as a new entity that person, place or thing he

already has in mind. The reader will do half the work for you if you let him. For every thing you try to transpose

from your imagination to his, theres something already there waiting to be drawn on.

A picture is worth a thousand words. A thousand words depreciate real fast when you spend them all on just one

picture.

14

A D V E R B S & A D J E C T I V E S

Adverbs and adjectives are present in every piece of writing. As a result its easy to forget that they are not building

blocks. Even if they are often useful and sometimes necessary, they are not strictly required to communicate a

series of events. Still, its natural to use them even in the earliest stages of drafting a story. To make sure youre

only using them when useful or necessary, ask yourself: whats the default?

If the average reader will assume a condition by default, there is no need to explain what is already inferred. It was

a dark night. Duh, right? If I say night, you will assume dark on your own. The ocean covered the horizon, blue and

sparkling. If I say ocean what colour do you assume it is? Blue. You might even assume sparkling, if the sun is up.

You do not have to narrate the norm. You have only to narrate whatever diverges from it. The amount of work this

will save you is inestimable. If, say, the aforementioned ocean is in the tropics, I might say instead it is green and

sparkling. Then you picture something you wouldnt have by default.

Some ascetic editors recommend throwing out adverbs altogether. I admit no love for adverbs, but they are in rare

occasions useful. A few of them we commonly forget are adverbs and we cannot do without. Case in point: often,

only, never, always.

As for adverbs you can do without, there are hordes. Employ the same guideline as adjectives: whats the default?

If a character is running, it is redundant to say shes running quickly. If a character is stroking his chin, it is

unnecessary to tell us hes doing so thoughtfully because the whole gesture is one of thoughtfulness. If a character

is falling, you need only modify that verb if the character falls calmly or gracefully or in some other manner the

reader would not assume by default. Likewise if a character is shouting happily, praying lustily, creeping quickly, et

cetera. Modify an action only if it is not conducted in a natural fashion.

If you want to add drama or power to a particular action, dont rely on adverbs. A regular verb plus an adverb is

not nearly as effective as a single strong verb. A verb is a building block. Instead of saying she moved gracefully, try

she sashayed or she swept or use some other verb which more precisely and fully paints the picture you want.

Whenever you feel inclined to use a verb + adverb combo, take a minute to see if theres a verb already for the

action you want to describe.

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S E N T E N C E V A R I E T Y

It is a courtesy to yourself and your reader to vary the structure of your sentences. How drastically you vary them

is a matter of style and taste. I will only supply a caveat regarding a couple of weak sentence structures.

The first follows this pattern: she did this as that happened. Everything takes place as something else is taking place.

Like every good structure, the as sentence has its place. Also like every good structure, that place is not

everywhere. Use sparingly and wisely.

The second follows this pattern: verbing this, he verbed that. Have you ever used this structure when you speak?

Say it out loud. Tying his shoes, he left the house. Say it out loud, go ahead. Use it in a ghost story at the campfire. I

dare you. Not only is this structure unnatural to the ear, but it also usually depicts a contradiction. The verbs get in

each others way. Have you ever walked out of the house at the same time as tying your shoes? If so, that lazy

sentence doesnt do justice to the acrobatic humour of the scene. Even in a functional example, as in the following

from Haruki Murakami, the phrasing is stiff and unnatural: Sucking on a lemon drop, I leaned against the chain-link

fence and looked at the garden. There is no contradiction between the actions, but the sentence remains awkward.

This structure is a last resort even in a famine of sentence variety. Use that garbage when you speak. I dare you.

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N A M E S & N O U N S

Following a note on variety, this is a note against it. Whenever you feel tempted to use synonyms or alternate

descriptions of a person, an object, et cetera, I advise you to resist. It is a bad habit to introduce multiple terms for

single entities. Lets say a narrator introduces a bottle of gin. In the next sentence when the gin is poured into a

glass, the narrator refers to it as the clear liquid. In a third sentence it is called the deceptively water-like substance in

the glass. This says the writer isnt confident in his writing. There isnt enough originality or variety in his

characters, plots, scenes, et cetera, so he must make up for it in original and varied terms for mundane articles. He

fears his wheel wont roll well enough so he tries to reinvent it.

If you want to describe a commonplace object or substance, consolidate your description into the things

introduction. If you think your reader doesnt know gin is clear then state it when the gin first appears. If you think

your reader is an idiot and doesnt know gin is liquid then by all means tell him. Just do it first thing. From then on,

refer to it by its common name.

Likewise with characters. Resist the temptation to sprinkle relevant info throughout the text via references. Bill

Smith did this. The professor did that. The avid cyclist and father of three said this. Did I mention Bill is a professor

and an avid cyclist and has three kids? Three disparate and non-complementary references to the same guy is just

asking for hiccups. If you have something to tell the reader about a character, do it at the characters first

appearance. Or do it in a more natural way in a later scene, by showing the character at his work (Reader: Oh, hes

a professor.) or his day off (Oh look, he likes to ride bikes.) or at home (Oh, he procreated.). Otherwise refer to

each character by a standard name. Their first name, their last name, their title, whatever. Pick one. Consistency is

whats important. If you refer once to Bill and later to Mr. Smith the reader will think some other dude has entered

the scene.

I make and recommend exceptions to this rule in cases where a character has several titles each disparate enough

to underscore a given narrative line with mood or tone. In the case of a prime minister, a royal, an ecclesiastic, et

cetera, using a title versus a name can show a different side of the character. Even then, of course, it is important to

clearly establish what titles and stations belong to the character before you switch between them.

In general, if theres already a word for what you want to say, use it. Thats what words are for.

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2 0 1 , A DV AN C E D T E CH N I Q U E

If 101 is black and white then 201 is shades of grey. Basic Technique is your line, your shape. Advanced

Technique is the shading that will more than anything else define your style. These are not rules so much as

considerations. How to approach, rather than how to execute.

18

D I A L O G U E , I I

Dialogue must be plausible. Thats 101 level stuff. Dialogue enters the realm of 201 because it has more dimension

and function than simply rendering characters plausible in the readers estimation.

First, dialogue may be used to create variety in the structure of a story. It is one of a group of narrative modes.

Other modes being action, description, exposition, introspection, summarization, recollection, transition. There is

no universally agreed-upon set of modes but these are at least the major commonly accepted modes.

Aside from the events of a story, the manner of its telling and the balance of these modes will determine how good

it is. By good, I mean loosely that the story is well constructed, entertaining, capable of holding the readers

attention and suspending her disbelief. A story with too much exposition is boring. A story with too much

dialogue lacks action and scenery. A story need not have each mode in equal parts to be good, but it does want a

balance appropriate to its purpose, its theme and its events.

Second, dialogue is just as capable of informing the reader as narrative exposition. The most common note of

critique I make when reading novels, professional and amateur alike, is That paragraph could be dialogue. Most

often the author has broken up a solid scene of dialogue with exposition to explain each line. The author follows a

characters speech with his private thoughts about what he just said, that sort of thing. In each case it would be

more natural, more consistent, and less hiccup-inducing to bundle all the info into the dialogue. Naturally the info

must be arranged to suit the characters delivery. It might end up incomplete, ambiguous, or not entirely true, but

this will only serve to better establish your characters. It shows the reader how they express themselves.

If the info is so crucial to the story that you cannot afford to have it misinterpreted, then save any relevant

summarization until after the dialogue has run its course. If it absolutely cannot wait, at least save it for a lull in the

rhythm of the dialogue. As we discussed in PUNCTUATION, I: save an ellipsis, narrate a pause.

Robert De Niro said of acting, Its important to indicate. People dont try to show their feelings, they try to hide

them. Excellent advice, and it applies perfectly to writing. A writer is an actor responsible for portraying the whole

cast. This doesnt mean you have to be an accomplished actor, of course. It only means you would do well to

understand the principles of a convincing performance. How people speak, what they reveal and what they

19

conceal, with whom they are pushy and with whom subordinate.

I recommend against the use of italics in dialogue. Try instead to employ metre and rhythm to convey subtlety in

speech. This gives the reader some leeway to enact the lines for himself, to imagine the speed and intonation of a

given line. The minute you emphasize a word with italics, you neuter the readers ability to hear your characters.

And if you italicize one instance of emphasis, why not every instance? The same goes for words in all capital

letters. Write well enough that you never need to use them.

Have faith in your dialogue. Let your characters speak for themselves.

20

S H O W V S . T E L L , I I

De Niros advice carries over from characterization into our general approach to exposition and explanation.

Think of show versus tell in terms of connecting the dots. To show is to give the reader dots. To tell is to connect

the dots for him.

It is wise to connect a few dots to get the reader started on the big picture. If you dont connect any, your story will

be nearly impossible to penetrate. Everything happens at a remove, leaving the reader excluded. The dots are

uniformly spaced and without any connections to even hint at the final picture. The reader is entirely free to draw

conclusions about the significance of the story, about the characters, about the events, but she isnt likely to care.

Any interpretation she makes is exactly as valid as any other. If, however, you narrow the endless possibilities

down to a few potent alternatives via a little telling, the readers choice becomes personal and significant. She may

ask, Did the protagonist sacrifice himself out of love or despair? To reach an interpretation she will draw equally

on the narrative and her own feelings. Without clues she can only ask, Did the protagonist sacrifice himself out of

love, despair, boredom, charity, revenge, alienation, hatred, or by accident? The wealth of possibilities devalues

the act of choosing one.

On the other hand, if you connect too many dots your story will read like a report. Its events, characters, themes,

and significance are all laid plainly on the table in one configuration and one configuration only. There is no room

for the reader to interpret or to draw her own conclusions at all. The author has flat out explained exactly why

everyone did everything and what each event means. This excludes the reader from the story just as much as too

much showing.

Everyone knows the saying easier said than done. Keep this in mind when you write. In most cases the easy

approach to narration is to say plainly, This character is shy, works at a bakery, and cant carry a tune. If this is a

tertiary character and it would be too digressive to convey these qualities by devoting a scene to showing them,

then by all means just tell it. If, however, this is your main character and these qualities figure significantly in the

story, then take the time to establish them by showing the character in his natural habitat. It is a story after all, not

a speed date or a job interview. Let your readers observe. Let them get to know your characters as they would real

people.

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In description, what counts as showing is the apparent facts. The journalism. The who, the what, the where, the

when.

He was tall and red. He had dark hair, a crooked grin, and a tail.

What counts as telling is anything not apparent. The why, among other things. Anything that may be interpreted,

anything that is difficult to measure, anything not immediately plain to the five senses.

He was intelligent, ancient, and pure evil.

Notice that the qualities enumerated in the first example above imply the qualities told in the second example.

Tall and red, crooked grin plus tail. Thats a fair description of the devil. Given that the devil is a commonly known

symbol, it is natural for us to assume he is ancient and evil, and probable for us to assume he is intelligent. But

these are subjective, relative qualities. Even after a character has been introduced he can still be scrutinized for

interpretable qualities. You may introduce the devil as intelligent, but acts he perpetrates later in the story might

be viewed by the reader as unintelligent. Ancient tells us hes old, but it doesnt tell us how old nor whether or not

he looks old. Everyone knows the devil is supposed to be ancient but when is he ever depicted with grey hair?

That renders ancient moot as a descriptor.

Better than tell the reader a character is like this or like that, just show that character behaving however they will. If

you depict a red guy with a tail tormenting people, insinuating himself into the highest echelons of society and

then gumming up the works, and relating firsthand stories of the dawn of time, then the reader will connect the

dots on his own. He will recognize that your devil is evil, intelligent, and ancient.

Be careful with a mixture of showing and telling. If you describe the devil as evil and then narrate his evil works,

you risk not sharing definitions with your reader. You might show the devil stealing candy from a baby. Your

reader might think nothing short of murdering that child is evil. If the reader finds your claims and your evidence

at odds, he will hiccup.

This advice covers not only characters but other nouns you will describe. Must you say, It was an eerie scene? How

about instead you describe to us a disused Victorian manor on a precipice under moonlight with bats flying

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around and the wind howling. Odds are the reader will catch on that the scene is eerie. Or at least that its

supposed to be eerie.

This will lead to variation in how your readers perceive the meanings and themes of your work, but interpretation

is part of the fun of reading. Given that each of us sees through the lens of our experience and beliefs anyway, there

is nothing you can do to guarantee that each reader will get the same thing out of your work. And why should

they?

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E C O N O M Y , I I

In the commerce of fiction words are not the sole currency. There are also scenes, settings, characters, action,

themes, and other elements of style and composition. Look on each with an economic eye.

That tertiary character who shows up late in the book. Is he worth keeping? Does the plot hinge on a decision he

makes? Is he the foil for revealing an important characteristic of the protagonist? Does he provide a moment of

levity to counterbalance the gravity of the climaxing story arc? If he doesnt serve a clear purpose, cut him.

Likewise, if you have a clear need, find a natural way to serve it. By natural I mean let the solution arise from within

the story rather than inserting an arbitrary solution, deus ex machina. Prefer reuse of a character or device youve

already established. The fewer unnecessary new elements you introduce, the better. Unless, of course, your

purpose is to knock the reader off balance with a game-changing wildcard. Even then your purpose is better served

if the wildcard is introduced early in the story but is so innocuous or forgettable the reader never sees it coming.

You might already know the rule called Chekhovs Gun. To wit: if theres a gun on the mantle in act one, it had

better come into play in act two or three. Chekhov I think meant it in a fairly literal sense, but I take it in a broader

sense. The gun doesnt necessarily have to be discharged in order to serve a purpose. It may adumbrate a

characters past. It may punctuate the storys theme of violence or colonial tyranny. A character may one day take

it down from the mantle and smash it because to him it symbolizes his impotence. Whatever the case, the rule

stands. If you include a conspicuous or decorative element it had better be there for a reason. If you need filler or

fluff, make it relevant.

As for economy in themes it is tempting, especially in first novels, to explore as many themes as possible. To

convey every brilliant idea or belief you have. To share with the reader every epiphany you have thus far

experienced in life.

Resist.

The more themes you explore, the less potent each theme becomes. Naturally any story will touch on multiple

subjects and depict a variety of relationships and convey an array of messages both intended and not. These are

ingredients whose proportion and combination determine the overall flavour of your story. Be judicious.

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Otherwise your stories will taste like swamp water.

Also, if youre in the writing game for the long haul you would be wise to bank some of those ideas and that

experience so as to mete them out over a long and prestigious career. Dont spend it all in one place.

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D E S C R I P T I O N , I I

A description is capable of being more than the sum of its parts. Even the description of a simple object can

communicate a great deal to the reader. Tone, themes, mood, tension, textures. For example:

He crossed the street into his old neighbourhood. The houses leaned shoulder to shoulder up the street, their windows

open and curtains lifting in a breeze.

He crossed the street into his old neighbourhood. The houses crowded the street, their windows like eyes vacant of

whatever soul once lay behind them.

Both examples depict the same scene, but each has a unique tone. They set a mood without having to say what the

mood is. Especially in a story which shows more than it tells, moody description can establish pathos and give the

reader a view to the inner workings of your characters and scenes without ever really exposing those workings.

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O P E N I N G S & C L O S I N G S

Im a big fan of strong simple beginnings. Nine out of ten books I pick up in the shop I put right back down

because the openings fail to interest me in the slightest. Not always for the same reason. One opens with Elmore

Leonards hated rundown of the weather. Another opens with a conversation in medias resa boring

conversation at that, or one which dully sets up the plot or dumps a heap of back-story in the readers lap. The list

of weak openings is endless.

A strong opening can use the descriptive mode or the expository or whatever particular mode best suits the story.

The strength of an opening does not depend on its mode. Its strength depends, rather, on its simplicity and its

relevance.

A simple opening functions in prose as a thesis functions in an essay. It is brief enough to establish a place, a

person or a concept central to the plot. It does not launch a circuitous journey which concludes several paragraphs

later at the introduction of a central figure. It also does not meander or digress, forestalling the direction and tone

of the story rather than establishing it immediately and authoritatively. It should be relevant. It should give the

reader a clear sense of the story. Its identity. Its essence. Whether it does so in a literal, symbolic, or emotional

sense is your prerogative.

Time seems to pass.

Thats the opening sentence of Don DeLillos The Body Artist. This is what Im talking about. Simple doesnt have

to mean short, of course, but it is easier to be simple and short than to be simple and long. Time seems to pass.

That establishes the story in its purest form without really telling the reader anything at all. Not time passes, not

time seemed to pass. A number of books open with philosophical propositions or explorations that span several

paragraphs before anything of the story is revealed. This one line accomplishes just as much implication and

inquiry in only four words, without digressing one iota from the story its employed to introduce.

It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other

end asking for someone he was not.

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Thats the opening sentence of Paul Austers New York Trilogy. As much as I love the book this is in my opinion a

perfectly mediocre opening. It leads into the story without any frills or ceremony. It establishes a mood of mystery

and a noir hint of things not being quite right, which are integral to the story. It might prefer function to form, but

Id still take a mediocre opening over one that tries too hard to be good.

Jack Torrence thought: Officious little prick.

Thats the opening to The Shining by Stephen King. It is nearly a good opening. It establishes the protagonist, and

even though it opens with a conversation in medias res at least that conversation is interesting. So we assume,

given its between a sarcastic lead and a self-important clerk. Where it fails is in the delivery. King abandons the

usual order of thought then thinker (or speech then speaker), which both reads counter-intuitively and scans

terribly given its rhythm. See how many different ways you can rewrite that line. Which is best? Try the same

exercise with your own opening lines.

Wax crept along the ragged fence, his boots scraping the dry ground.

Thats the opening of Brandon Sandersons Alloy of Law. It isnt as bad as some purple romance novel opening,

but its lame enough to serve as an example. Of the articles an opening may and ought to establishcharacter,

setting, theme, plot, moodthis line establishes only one. A man named Wax. The rest of the line is needless and

unclear description. If the fences raggedness is noteworthy then why not its material or its height? Since the

ensuing paragraph describes the fence in some detail, and the fence has nothing to do with the story, it would be

better to drop the adjective entirely. The same goes for the ground. Is it dry stone, dry dirt, dry jello? Before you

use a generic term like ground, ask yourself if you wouldnt be better off using a specific category. Prefer concrete

terms to generalities. From the scraping boots we may infer one of two things: the character is an amateur when it

comes to creeping, or the author and his editor dont understand that scraping ones boots is noisy and

counterproductive to sneaking. The rest of the paragraph makes it clear the latter is true. This is nitpicking with a

fine-toothed comb, I know, but if you give hiccups an inch they will take a mile.

As for closings, Im a big fan of punch. I like to finish a story and have to sit back for a minute to steady myself from

an impact likewise literal, symbolic or emotional. All of the above at best. I like a closing that leaves me not with

the need for points to be clarified, but with guesses as to what the storys ambiguities might mean. A strong closing

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makes you want to read the story again. A strong opening you will understand twice as well once youve reached

the end and begun anew.

This isnt just creative advice, its also business advice. Literary agents begin reading dozens of manuscripts per

month. They do not finish reading dozens. You have about the first five pages in which to make an impression. If

your genre of choice is literary fiction, dont recoil because you think a punchy opening is some offence to

aesthetics. Pulp novels may be hundred metre dashes and literary novels may be marathons but both start with a

pistol shot and both end in some display of fanfare and satisfaction.

The counterpoint to this advice is to beware of gimmick. In the case of openings and closings, strong is not

inherently synonymous with shocking. Try too hard to be strong and you will only end up reeking of, well, trying

too hard.

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P E R S P E C T I V E

Briefly, when deciding between first or third person, present or past tenseor, you daredevil you, second person

or future tenseconsider the effect each perspective has on the narrative. First person is intimate. The narrator is

directly involved in the story. Third person is remote, even when omniscient. Present tense creates a sense of

urgency and heightens the tension of events by describing them as they occur. Past tense is stable, perhaps more

convincing because it gives us the feeling that these events are facts of history rather than improvised scenes.

There are a number of nuances comprehended by each perspective. Is the narrator limited or omniscient? Is the

narrator reliable? I have no strong opinions on their use so I leave it to you to learn the differences.

The only other note I have on perspective comes from John Gardner. He made a point in The Art of Fiction that it

is often unnecessary to point out in description that a character is witness to said description. He saw that this had

happened. She heard footsteps. They noticed Christ floating down in some clouds. If you establish that the character is

present in a scene, the reader will naturally assume the character observes anything you go on to describe in that

scene. If the character misses a detail you may tell us he missed it. A lot of he saw and she heard kind of stuff is

hiccup territory. It only reminds the reader that she is not involved. She is merely reading about fictional people

engaged in fictional enterprises for fictional stakes.

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N A R R A T I V E M A T H

Last but certainly not least of these advanced techniques is narrative math. I hew to a formula of narrative time :

narrative importance. Anything I describe, expose, summarize, et cetera, I strive to do so in direct proportion to its

importance to the story.

If a particular character makes only a brief appearance I will only if at all describe her in the briefest terms. The

progress of the story does not hinge on the colour of her eyes. Conversely, if most of a story takes place in a single

city or building, I will devote appropriate paragraphs to its description. If its a real placesay, Parisrather than

describe La Tour Eiffel, Notre Dame, the Louvre or other features everyone already knows about Paris, I will

instead describe trivia which bears on the story or sets the mood. A grimy alley, a posh caf, an old

neighbourhood, et cetera.

If an event which occurred prior to the narrative contributes greatly to later events in the story I will indulge in

some use of recollection or summarization to inform the reader. I generally avoid these modes, since theyre the

most telling. If said event doesnt have any significant repercussions in the story I will instead relegate it to a

passing mention in dialogue, or whatever mode is appropriate at that point in the story.

Likewise if an action or behaviour is signature of the protagonist, if it demonstrates her general attitude or

establishes a definite quality of her person, I will take appropriate pains to narrate it.

This ties in to economy. If buddy has a smoke, I wont waste time explaining the minute steps involved. Most

people are familiar already with the process of smoking a cigarette. Why go on about how He drew the cigarette out

of the packet, tapped it on the desk, pinched it between his lips, flipped open his Zippo, cupped the flame and lit it? In rare

cases you can use this kind of detailed description to set the mood or to create tension by drawing out a mundane

event when the reader knows some serious action is on the way. Mostly, though, no one cares. Just smoke the

damned thing and get on with the story.

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3 0 1 , TH EO RY

This is the writing you do when youre not actually writing. It pertains in part to your style and in part to your

attitude and approach to the craft. These are strengths you will accumulate through practice, reflection and study.

When you draft you put theory to the test. Then you read over your work and alter the theory according to how

pleased you are with the results. Then you draft again. In this way theory empowers technique, and technique

refines theory.

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B A L A N C E , I

The idea of balance is so broad and already implicit in these courses that I hesitate to address it openly.

Nevertheless it bears addressing. So far we have examined a number of elements of style. In order to write well we

cannot simply master each element individually. We must master their use in concert.

At one end of the prose spectrum we have the Hemingway type, direct and ascetic. At the other end we have the

Faulkner type, profuse and involved. Both were excellent writers. Both styles are valid. I happen to believe not all

writers fall between. Those who have found their voice do. Those who have not found their voice fall somewhere

outside that spectrum. Or below it. Or they just plain fall.

I nearly put quotation marks around found their voice. It is a tremendously clich phrase in discussion of writing,

and vague at that. But as with any clich it has a legitimate root. Find your voice is a platitudinous way of saying

experiment with rules of style until you find a set that best suit your stories. Then stick to those rules, purify them,

stake an indisputable claim on the literary acreage.

How heavily do your stories rely on dialogue? Are your best transitions made via description, introspection, or are

they cold scene breaks? How much exposition is too much? How many dots do you prefer to connect for the

reader, and how many do you want him to connect for himself? How remotely or intimately do you like to reveal

your settings, be they actual or fictitious or mixed?

The more you refine your style the more comfortable it will be to write. Readers are like children. They can sense

when youre not at ease. When you labour in the dark the reader has no light to guide her. She bumps into the

wall. The wall is you. On the other hand, when you hit your stride the reader is carried along light as a feather in

your slipstream. When she gets to the end shell have a smoke and pre-order the sequel, no questions asked.

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P U N C T U A T I O N , I I

To carry over from the last section: experiment with punctuation until you find a style for yourself. I might gripe

about semicolons but theyre not so bad if theyre used consistently. I put down a lot of books because the author

has no apparent sense of definite function when placing his punctuation marks. In one sentence he uses a

semicolon to join independent clauses. In the next sentence he uses a dash for the exact same purpose. One side

note he escapes with parentheses, the next with commas. Then he uses one of those sentences rendered

labyrinthine by a gamut of marks all thrown in together at cross-purposes. This is nitty-gritty nitpicking, I know,

but it only takes one chink in a piece of armour to undermine the whole suit. If an author cant get a handle on a

few little marks, how much better will he fare with complex relationships and momentous plots?

By now you must know that I favour simple, artful prose. In this sort of prose, punctuation is the tigers whiskers

rather than its stripes. It facilitates his smooth movement rather than decorating or obfuscating him. Whether or

not I write well in this style myself is open to debate. In any case you might favour an entirely different form of

prose. You might adore sentences like puzzles that must be solved before the next may be read. You might despise

punctuation and compose your sentences with as few marks as possible. You might be anywhere in between. So

experiment and refine. Be conscious of your use. Be consistent.

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S H O W V S . T E L L , I I I

Im satisfied with the coverage in 201, so rather than explore the topic further Id just like to share an analogy

which may shed a different light on it.

Every work of art that I consider great has the same effect as a Rorschach test. The artwork imitates shapes and

colours found in nature. On a canvas or in a book these natural elements are severed from their moorings in the

world, freed from context. Isolation opens them to interpretation. A rabbit we see in a field is just a rabbit in a

field. A rabbit on a canvas may be a symbol. A rabbit in a David Lynch moviewho knows what crude or sinister

ideas it might represent or how he might use it out of its natural context to invoke some reaction in the deep

angles our hearts.

In the Rorschach test when we see these basic familiar shapes we tend to assign meaning to them. Did I say we

tend to? We practically line up to. Is it because were so uncomfortable with the lack of context that we invent

order to impose on the chaos? Are we just curious by nature, problem-solvers, seeking patterns or signs? Is it that

there exists no shape we have not seen and therefore everything draws comparison to something else, no matter

how reduced or disfigured?

I havent got a damned clue. Maybe thats why Im still so enamoured of art. Maybe the pattern Im looking for is

the pattern of looking. I cant be certain even of that, and so much the better. If I knew for certain then there

would be no surprise left in experiencing new art. No revelation.

So then, if your writing is a Rorschach card, what does it look like? It may be a tack-sharp, black-and-white, hair-

for-hair outline of the rabbit. Or it may be the rabbits remains splattered on the altar of a haruspex. It may be

anything between. But what? It is impossible for us to predict everything a reader might get out of our work. It is

nevertheless important that we are conscious of what we put into it, and what we leave out.

The beauty and cosmic terror of the Rorschach test, as Alan Moore so masterfully explored it, is that no matter

what we see and no matter why we see it, we can never, ever, be 100% certain that its actually there.

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E C O N O M Y , I I I

As with SHOW VS. TELL, III this is not so much an expansion on ECONOMY I & II as it is another way of looking at

them.

The line that has most influenced my approach to economy in writing comes from Jeff Smiths comic series Bone.

The hero is chased into a cave by some rat creatures. A dragon peeks out and says Boo, which scares them off.

The hero rebukes the dragon for not being able to do something cool or mystical. The dragon belches fire all over

the hero and says, Never play an ace when a two will do.

The poker analogy extends itself perfectly in writing. By volume, most of our prose equates to number cards.

Occasional passages equate to face cards. A line here and there equates to an ace. If the deck were all aces the

game would be no fun. Aces might be exciting and have big payoffs, but they are not necessary to win. Number

cards are your bread and butter. Four twos outrank a full house of kings and queens.

One sign of amateur writing is zeal. In my experience zeal is especially common in the work of creative writing

students. There is an urge in academia to put a new spin on everything. Why play a two when you can play an ace?

Aces, aces, everywhere. Even aces get tired. Even aces get boring. Pace yourself. Keep in mind adages like gilding

the lily and reinventing the wheel.

In my teens I fell into a lead guitar position in a band even though I was hardly a decent rhythm player. Rather

than pace myself, I tried to compensate for inexperience with activity. I noodled my way through every minute of

every song. I was deathly afraid that what I played wasnt interesting enough. I ignored the other ingredients of the

song, the other players. I forgot everything I knew about enjoying music as a listener myself. In hindsight of course

I recognize my mistake. Still, I appreciate it. I learned a valuable lesson. The structure of a story is similar to the

structure of a song: there are verses of newly covered ground, there are choruses where themes are revisited, and

there are transitions and breaks where those themes evolve. And there are solos. My, how there are solos.

Eric Clapton opens a lot of his songs with a little lick, a little riff. Then he backs right off into rhythm for the verses.

One of the most renown and soulful rock n roll guitarists alive and still most of what he plays is plain old rhythm.

Plain old deuces and treys. Every now and then he drops a face card to accent the lyrics. When the time comes for

36

aces, hes already played the other cards and has built his way up and boy he lays them aces on the table like they

were hammers and there aint nothin you can do to stop him.

If you feel tempted to spice up your story with clever phrasings and your own slant on grammatical clichs, then

okay. Thats fine and dandy. Just be discerning about it. Dont exhaust half your vocabulary in description of some

unimportant character. Dont endeavour to coin new figures of speech just to tell us the waiter poured some

coffee. Save the innovation for pivotal scenes. The main characters. The crucial actions. The thematic vistas. Your

reader will absorb the significance of these things so much more for the simultaneous intensity of events and

syntax. As with the formula discussed in NARRATIVE MATH, this is a congruence of content and style that will lend

grace and power to your writing.

Never play an ace when a two will do.

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L I S T E N

The most important piece of advice I have in the arena of theory is to listen. Listen to yourself. Trust your gut. It

doesnt matter whether you believe that art comes from inspiration, from a source internal or external, from God,

from spirits, from nature, or from no inspiration at all but that all creativity is simply laying bricks and a finished

work is no more than the sum of its parts. What you believe doesnt matter because it does not alter the

measurable facts of writing. Before you sit down to write, the story is not apparent in the world. After you stand up

from writing, the story is physically evident on paper or on a computer screen. Before you act there is nothing.

After you act there is something. That something comes from somewhere. You are free to give that somewhere a

name. I dont.

The one belief I have is that it is best to leave belief at the door when you enter the writing space. Leave yourself,

leave your self. As a species we have a tendency to think we know whats best. It is a chronic, epidemic,

unaccountably destructive tendency. Our biology gifts us with fine instincts. Feel a spider on your arm and youll

flinch to get it away. Close your eyes and youll still bristle when someone enters the room. Other instincts are

more overt, like hunger and tiredness. Bill Cosby said intellectuals are people who go to school to study what

other people do naturally. It is the intellect that gets in the way of instinct. When my body tells me Im thirsty I

often think, Im busy, Ill get a glass of water in a minute. An hour later I wonder why the hell Im so thirsty.

Im not listening.

In writing, whenever I have to reason my way out of a corner, I pause and sit back instead. Maybe Ive hit a knot in

the plotline or reached a conflict between characters I just cant resolve. In any case once I sit back and take stock

of the dilemma it becomes obvious that I cant reason my way out because reason is what got me there in the first

place. I dug myself a pit. Digging more wont help me escape.

Somewhere, out there or in here, the story already has a shape. The story knows its shape. The story tells itself, but

its voice is quiet. Much quieter than my loudmouth brain.

So I quit the Chaplin routine. Trying to pick up my hat but kicking it out of reach with each step. I put aside that

knotty plotline. I shelve that unresolved conflict. I put down the pen. I listen. What comes next varies but only in

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the incidentals. First I retrace the story or scene thus far, point by point. At certain points alternate events suggest

themselves. I think about those alternates. I imagine how they might alter the chain of consequences. How they

might impact the storys causes and effects. My inner monologue presents these wonderings in the form of specific

questions. What if this happened instead? What if he said that instead? What if this character were a woman

instead of a man? I hesitate to say I imagine the answers, because it is not a conscious act. I imagine the questions.

The answers suggest themselves. Alternates play out in my imagination. I let one run its course. I make notes

during or afterward. Then I let the next alternate play out.

When alternates stop suggesting themselves I stop to review my notes. I keep listening. I think about each

alternate in the context of the whole story. It is often immediately clear which way the story should unfold. I

assume this is because Ive been lucky enough to detach from my brain and let my instinct, my gut, do the

thinking. But the gut doesnt think. It knows. The gut is your connection to the story. The story knows itself. It

tells itself. Listen and you will hear it.

In rare cases when the proper course of the story is not immediately clear, I might try cobbling my notes together

into hybrid alternates. Or I might sleep on it. Or I might spitball the ideas with a friend. Eventually, every knot I

have ever come up against has come undone, for no other reason than I listen.

I hope this works for you too but I promise nothing. Listen anyway. Trust your gut.

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A U D I E N C E

Speaking of trust, it is important to trust your reader. Our expectations of the reader are often inaccurate, unfair,

condescending and wildly varied. These are easy and natural expectations to have. Not sensible of course but

natural. The potential audience for our work is anyone at all.

If it helps, imagine a target audience. As in every industry publishing has target markets. What Im suggesting is

not to write to a demographic, but to imagine an ideal or typical reader of your sort of work. Of x sensibilities, y

education, z number of pets, whatever your criteria may be. Too demographic and you might limit your work too

much before youve even written it. You risk censoring yourself. You risk second-guessing your audience, which

Andy McKee says is the signature move of a hack. I agree.

That said, I myself aspire simultaneously to the general reader rule and to its paradoxical counterpoint, summed

up in a line from Joni Mitchell: I didnt really think about audience.

Ms. Mitchell didnt really think about it. That means she probably thought about it a little. If we dwell too much

on audience we become hacks. If we dont think about audience at all, though, we risk losing our anchor to the

very act of storytelling. Nothing remains to stop us from spiralling into impenetrable plots and alien grammar. We

cannot write wholly for others and we cannot write wholly for ourselves.

I see a clear line between the art and the business of writing. The art is what we do out of love. It bursts out of us.

Trapped on a desert island with nothing but a lonely death to wait for, we would still write because thats what

were made to do. But, of course, were also cells of a civilization. We have bills to pay. We make the art for

ourselves but we also want to share it. Others want us to share it. Our art has value. It is natural to ply a trade in

exchange for goods and services or for legal tender by which to obtain them.

As much as I can, I try not to let these halves of the process mingle. The art and the business. This is where the

general reader + no audience team takes the field. I know what kind of books I like. I know what kind of reader I

am. Left to my own devices I would write exclusively for myself and to myself. I did. I spiralled. After feedback

from peer reviewers I realized this was a very narrow-minded approach to writing. Especially because I already

know how all the dots connect in my stories. I had no idea how the picture looked from the outside. It never really

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occurred to me that there was an outside view at all.

Now when I write I consider an audience at the outset. I model the imaginary reader not on myself but on some

fictitious alternate me, someone with similar tastes but who has no back stage pass to the story. I determine how

much I want to reveal to him and how hard he should work to piece together the rest. I decide which dots to

connect. Then, once I start writing, I forget about him. Ive set up the obstacle course, now its time to run it. I will

inevitably stumble and knock down a few hurdles. So what? Thats no reason to stop. I put that imaginary reader

out of mind and he stays that way until the first draft is finished and it comes under the editing knife. At that stage,

with input from peer reviewers, I evaluate the dots and the connections and refine them. I tend not to cede much

ground. I am not a fan of compromise in style. I do, however, strive to make my abstractions as clear as possible. I

want the reader to work, but I want her work to be enjoyable and satisfying. I dont want her to suffer. I want her

to sink her teeth into the story and to savour it, to digest it, and hopefully to gain some nourishment from it. I want

her to come back for more.

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W R I T E W H A T Y O U K N O W

Sound advice, right? No one writes about aliens because no one has ever met them. No one who is innocent of

murder ever writes about murder. No one writes epic battle scenes who has not led armies against an ancient evil

risen again to threaten our feudal way of life and that of our estranged buddies the elves and the dwarves. No one

writes a girl who is a boy.

The real value of this adage requires a grain of salt. Forgive me if I sound like a bad teenaged poet, but what we all

know is emotions. The range of human emotion is, with a few precious and hideous exceptions, exactly the same

for each of us. Every person on the planet is capable of love, of fear, of empathy, of pride, et cetera et cetera. Our

job as writers is to become intimate with this range and then to depict these feelings. To evoke them in our readers

with no more than words.

I dont need to kill a guy to have felt the sort of anger or frustration that could lead a person to kill. I dont need to

have driven Aston Martins and tanks in her majestys secret service to have felt a thrill. What I do need is to convey

these feelings accurately and plausibly. I need to compose my narrative in such a way that my reader feels these

things as authentically as I do. Authentic writing helps the reader borrow these feelings from his own experience,

whereas inauthentic writing seeks to lodge foreign objects in the readers eye. The inauthentic writer cries, See

this, feel this! The authentic writer doesnt have to say a thing.

Of course I can write about aliens. Ive felt alienation. Ive felt fear and isolation. Anything Ive felt I can access in

my reader because odds are hes felt them too. Ridley Scott tore that shit up in Alien because he had the tools and

talent to invoke our memories of nyctophobia, of claustrophobia and xenophobia. And if we had not suffered

those particular phobias he knew how to insinuate them by evoking fear in general. He and Ms. Weaver conveyed

those feelings so urgently and palpably that we could not help but share them. Our disbelief froze in its tracks. Not

because killer aliens from outer space are plausible, but because the characters with whom we connected are.

Of course this is not a free ticket to just make shit up. Do the research needed to render your settings and events

plausible. Even the most realistic characters cant save your story if you set it in a Camelot which features flushing

toilets and whose peasants are happy-go-lucky intellectuals. Write what you know, yes. If you dont know

something, learn it. Knowledge has never been so free as it is now.

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K I L L Y O U R D A R L I N G S

A man who taught me a great deal of practical skills and practical knowledge once told me: You know what the

old man says, ya gotta be ruthless. I wish you could hear him. The emphasis on ruthless. The nasal impersonation

of his father, a turnip farmer, passing on the wisdom of his father before him. The simple earnest truth of it.

This advice applies mostly in the editing stage, which is when we bridge the gap between art-for-ourselves and art-

for-sale. When we stroll back through the rows we spent so long planting and tending and we tear up all but the

best, most suitable, most plausible fruits of our labour. It can be a painful process. Everything you write is your

darling. But this is a beautiful pain if we allow it to be. Cathartic. It purifies the work. Not every idea we cut is a

waste, necessarily. Not every character killed or subplot axed or description junked or chapter halved. Some ideas

are just unripe. Others are not meant to be eaten themselves but will germinate and turn into a whole orchard of

ideas later on. Be ruthless in dividing the useful from the useless, but salvage what you can from the useless pile

and set it aside. It might prove useful one day.

Ruthless. From reuthe, meaning pity, compassion. To be ruthless is not to be cruel. It is only to be impersonal. To

set aside pity. If I had a child and that child were, say, bitten by a zombie, it would be my duty as a father to set

aside pity and shoot the child to save it from misery. Not for my good but for his. Certainly not for my good. In

writing and revision, although I do not like to equate artworks to children, it is our duty to do what is best for the

story. We must set aside our own desiresor better yet, conform our desires to those of the storyand put those

unripe phrases, scenes, characters and chapters out of their misery. Kill those darlings. Ya gotta be ruthless.

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A C O U P L E R E M I N D E R S

Remember the senses and how they can be used to convey ideas and themes. How they can be used to hook the

readers imagination. Even the most cerebral fiction has a stronger impact when the reader is drawn into the

physical world of the story rather than left to orbit it in a sensory vacuum. Its easy in this day and age of 3D block-

busting CGI-out-the-yin-yang movies to forget that there are senses other than the visual, other than the THX-

bombarded aural. In a book all senses are equal. A simple flake of milled pepper on the tongue can kindle a

readers imagination more swiftly and completely than ten sprawling cityscapes or thirty conflagrant sunsets.

Remember also the basics of journalistic writing. Who, what, where, when. How and why. This will help keep you

grounded. It will help you from straying too far off track, especially into introspection or heady exposition. Unless

youre Sartre, in which case who am I to argue? In which case who am I at all?

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4 0 1 , PR A C TI C E

Technique and theory are all well and good but without practice they are nothing. Nothing. If a man knows

everything there is to know about grammar and style, if he knows how to weave a perfect story or depict a

character so real it breaks your heart, if he understands how to construct a world that will capture your

imaginationif he can do all this but he never actually puts pen to paper, he is not a writer. On the other hand a

hormone-ridden teenager who has no conception of style, who thinks writing is not an art because it does not

hang in museums, and who hacks his way through Sonic the Hedgehog or Snape / Spock fan-fictionthis kid is a

writer. Why? Because he writes. It does not matter if his stories are graceless and perverse. It does not matter if his

grammar is abominable. It does not matter if his characters are dimensionless or borrowed. He writes. He

qualifies. The following are a set of practices that may help you qualify too.

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B A L A N C E , I I

Write a story twice. In the first version use short simple sentences, no more words than necessary, no semicolons

and generally minimal punctuation, and present no overt themes. In the second version write as extravagantly as

you please, narrate whatever digressions and themes arise. Do it well, mind you. Writing extravagantly is not the

same as writing poorly. Once youve written both versions, set them aside for a while and later rewrite a single

version from memory with whatever balance of style comes naturally.

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S H O W V S . T E L L , I V

Same deal. Write a story twice. In the first version expose your characters thoughts, motives, feelings, everything.

Write it from an intimate perspective even if the narration is third person. In the second version expose nothing.

Give only the external view of events. Leave every conclusion unspoken so that the reader must come to her own.

Set both versions aside for a while and later rewrite a single version from memory with whatever balance of

showing and telling comes naturally.

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R E A D

The first practice in writing is reading. Its also the only practice in this course which does not involve your own

writing. Read, read, read. Read everything you can get your hands on. Read works in genres you like to write. Read

works in genres you would hate to write. Read famous authors, read obscure authors. Read authors you adore,

read authors you despise. Read gold, read shit.

The artistic process begins with imitation. First we copy the masters, either directly or in flattering mimicry.

Imitation is followed by assimilation. This is when we incorporate several influences and package them in our own

concepts and devices. Assimilation is followed by innovation. Our influences become so numerous and finely

enmeshed with our own invention and tastes that our product is unique, never before seen, not yet imagined.

Although it may seem like reading is mostly important in the initial stages of this process it is in fact equally

important at all stages. It is always important. If you are a writer then reading is your fuel.

By reading we learn what has come before us. What territories have been explored, what twists utilized, what

standbys and clichs established. We also learn what territories remain virgin and which known territories are just

begging for a new expedition. More than once I learned by reading that an idea I had was not only already done

before but already tired and pass.

Say for example I wanted to write a vampire story. God forbid. Lo and behold! Its been done before. That doesnt

mean I should throw my idea out. It does mean that I can skip explaining certain common knowledge points of

the mythos. Vampires drink blood, burn in sunlight, look like Udo Kier, et cetera. It also means I may choose to

spin or reinvent other points. Maybe my vampires suffer from liver disease. Maybe my vampires thirst for feces

instead of blood. Maybe my vampires sparkle.

Would you trust a skinny cook? An uneducated teacher? A musician who doesnt listen to music? To be a writer

worthy of trust you must read. Read, read, read.

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C R I T I Q U E

In addition to reading published work, read unpublished work. Join a writer`s workshop in your city or online. If

you cant find one you like, start one. Seek out your peers and read their work. Let them read yours. Learn both to

enjoy the writing of your peers and to weigh its artistic merits. Tell them what you think. This part works, that part

is weak, this drew me in, that bored me, this character I loved, that one is one dimensional, this plotline is

overused, that device is brilliant.

As you critique you will learn to do so in increasingly greater depth and finer detail. You will learn to better

articulate the principles of good writing as you understand them. You will learn to adapt your suggestions for

writers of varied temperament and skill level. This will help you view your own work with a critical eye. You will

learn to construct better outlines, which equates to fewer roadblocks when you draft. You will develop a clearer

sense of your characters and their purpose, both as imaginary people and as devices inherent to your story. You

will recognize and control how the events and descriptions in your story convey moods and meaning to the

reader.

You might find that a lot of peer review is useless praise, and the rest is mostly undue insult. Critique that is

thoughtful and useful is hard to come by. Put your work out there anyway. Mining for good feedback is like

mining for anything else. For every ounce of gold you pan there are truckloads of dirt and rocks.

Some of those rocks are jagged. Thicken up your skin. The tone of any criticism is irrelevant. Your work has no

emotion inherent in it that leaps off the page and possesses the reader. It only evokes. If a critic shows emotion, it

is because your work has evoked it or because the critic brought it to the table herself. When you receive a critique,

first trim away everything but the bare points the critic has made. Then you may sort the points according to

which are helpful and which are not. Do this only after careful reflection. If someone says your story sucks they

might just be trolling or it might in fact suck. Give every criticism, however absurd, at least some small

consideration. You never know where help might come from. Resist the urge to critique the critic. No ifs ands or

buts. Just say thanks.

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M I X I T U P

In general we aim to write good stories well. Whenever someone tells me they feel blocked I suggest writing a bad

story, or trying to write a story poorly. Naturally the artistic instinct takes over. They can start a bad story or start

writing poorly but eventually they are compelled to write well. The words come despite their so-called block.

I suggest this also as a general exercise. Write a bad story poorly. Write a bad story well. Write a good story poorly.

It is important to know the difference between these things. In art the best way of knowing is doing, and contrast

is an excellent if a very blunt teacher.

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B A C K T O B A S I C S

Another useful exercise is to write a story using only essential words. Nouns, verbs, pronouns, conjunctions. In

other words write a story without adjectives or adverbs. Or, take a story youve already written and strip it of

adjectives and adverbs.

Read it over. Pretty stark, right? But its functional. It gets the job done. Nothing gets in its way. It is a Spartan.

Now, with a new perspective on the story, build it back up. Insert adjectives that genuinely enhance the meaning.

Insert whatever adverbs, if any, the sentences genuinely need in order to function.

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G I V E I N T O T H E D A R K S I D E

Write a story in the dark. The first draft of a brand new story, the second draft of a story you already wrote, or the

Nth draft of a story youve been writing since high school. It doesnt matter which. By dark I mean in just enough

light to write by but not enough light to read by.

This exercise is, to use the vernacular, throwing shit against the wall to see what sticks. You cannot edit as you go.

You will continually forget all but the gist of what you wrote a moment ago. You will have no outline, no character

sketches, no dictionary or thesaurus. Its just you and the story.

For extra credit in BALANCE, I and SHOW VS. TELL, IV write the final unified versions of those stories in the dark.

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R E A D A L O U D

In DIALOGUE, II we discussed the writer as an actor responsible for portraying the entire cast. To broaden your

approach to dialogue and the sound of narrative in general try reading your stories aloud. Learn to hear what you

write. Keeping a mental note about run-on sentences is one thing. Actually running out of breath reading them

back is another level of feedback entirely.

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Q U E R Y I Z E , S Y N O P S I S I F Y

A query is a brief letter written by an author to hook an agent interest in a novel. A synopsis is a point-by