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Posts Tagged ‘creative writing’

Reaching for the Brass Ring

Posted in Writing, tagged , , , , , , on 04 Mar 2013| 2 Comments »

Kurt R.A. GiambastianiIn my years here on Earth, I have reached for the brass ring many times. Literally.

Spinning ’round the carousel, the calliope loud and manic, I rode a pole-skewered pony, my butt sliding on the polished saddle. With one hand gripping the spiraled pole, I extended my other hand, reaching out into the canvas-covered darkness, reaching, reaching, finger hooked, ready to pull, here it comes, then snatch! and I have the bracelet-sized ring of finger-thick metal. Back in the light, I see that it is not brass, but mere iron, and toss it at the clown face on the wall, the crazed calliope Dopplering as I slew past, positioning myself for another turn, another try, another chance at the brass ring.

The stuff of childhood memories, yes, but a piss-poor business model. Yet, having spent a couple of days exploring the writers’ groups over on LinkedIn, that’s exactly what I’m seeing. Writers, reaching for the brass ring, oblivious to the mechanics of the business they want to enter.

Let me put it this way: Don’t shoot the horse you’re riding. If you intend on self-publishing, be aware of the ramifications.

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Mystical Methods

Posted in Writing, tagged , , , , , , on 04 Mar 2013| 1 Comment »

In prep for my next book project, I’m reading some authors whose styles I want to understand better. The first author on my list was Alice Hoffman, and my second is Julio Cortázar.

I turned to Cortázar primarily because of one story I read many years ago. “Axolotl” was a story of such unusual structure and style that it has stuck with me for decades, after only a single reading. This alone is enough do draw me back to it, in this preliminary phase, but its structure also has something I’ve been thinking about for the structure of my next book: shifting POV.

Cortázar’s prose and style is impossible to nail down. Each story in this so different from the others. At times, I thought I found an overarching method, only to find something radically different in the next story. If there is anything that does pertain to all of Cortázar’s stories here, it is density. And by density, I don’t mean that his prose is opaque and hard to understand. To the contrary, his prose is clear, but full of detail, full of depth, and (harkening back to my one recent revelation) full of history and backstory. (more…)

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The View from Here – Contest Results

Posted in Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , on 01 Mar 2013| 1 Comment »

Kurt R.A. GiambastianiTime’s up!

Our “Handwritten MS” Contest is complete. And the winner is…

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Backstory is a Harsh Mistress

Posted in Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , on 28 Feb 2013| 7 Comments »

Stack of BooksMy recent reading has hammered it in: Backstory–a word my spellchecker hates (though it doesn’t have a problem with “spellchecker”)…I swear; it’s like being edited by a 6th grader with OCD–is absolutely crucial. I’ve known this for a long time, but I’m sort of obsessing about it, now, as I prepare for this new book. I see backstory everywhere in great writing, and it makes all the difference.

You’ve probably heard it: “Your characters aren’t born on Page One.” Meaning, our characters need a history, a reason to be the way they are, where they are, and with whom they are. Lately, I’ve also realized that this rule isn’t just for characters. Places and sometimes even objects need a backstory. The town they live in, that rocking chair in the corner, that leather-bound book there on the shelf, that old pitcher with the crack in it, the dog asleep in the corner…anything can benefit from a backstory. Problem is, I can’t put all that backstory in a book.

New writers often seem to think that, if something is not in the book, it’s not important. This may well be true, but with backstory, this attitude can lead to two major mistakes: putting backstory in the book, and not putting backstory in the book.

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The View from Here – Contest Deadline

Posted in Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , on 28 Feb 2013| Leave a Comment »

A quick reminder: Today is the last day to put in your bid for the “Cast in Stone” rewrite documents.

Go to the contest post for info on how to enter to win the original story, my handwritten rewrite, and the final draft with markup.

k

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The View from Here – Cast in Stone – Final

Posted in Writing, tagged , , , , , , , on 26 Feb 2013| 4 Comments »

Kurt R.A. GiambastianiDrum roll, please….

This is the final version, rewritten top to bottom. As I was typing it all in from my handwritten rewrite (which you can win, by commenting on the “Contest” post before Friday), I found it interesting to have the original version open in a side-by-side window. When you look at them both, everything from the  original version is here in this final, but it all (at least to my mind) has more depth, and the characters’ actions seem more thought out. Getting inside a character’s head is something I did not know how to do, twenty years ago (among other things!)

This has been a very educational trip, for me. Back when I started this series, I was writing down things that I’ve learned but never put into words. And, coming face-to-face with my former self, I could see all the things that editors were saying to me over and over. I never had a “light bulb” moment regarding these errors. Learning how to write, becoming a better writer, is an accretive process, not a sprint from one epiphany to another. You might “get” the concept in a flash, but learning how to do it takes time and practice.

Anyway, I hope you’ve found it as enlightening as I have, and now, the big reveal…

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Seen at the Mall

Posted in Culture, tagged , , , on 25 Feb 2013| Leave a Comment »

I heard the girls’ chirping laughs from across the atrium. They sounded like happy birds, echolocating in the grand space, and when I saw them, I could tell it was “Princess Day.”

They bounced along on their bendy, four-year old legs, dressed in pink and lilac and yellow and green. They wore leotards and leggings and big romantic tutus. On their heads were tiaras, pinned in their ponytailed hair, and on their feet were sneakers, their only concession to practicality.

They squealed and giggled, as only little girls do. Their guardian/pack-mule Dad followed along, dutifully observant, consciously laissez-faire. They buzzed around him like a time-lapse movie, his measured steps surrounded by streaks of pastel hues and tulle.

When they saw the fountain, their cries hit that dog-whistle range at 100dB, making every adult wince and smile at the same time. The fountain was surrounded by a shallow pool with pennies decorating its watered tiles.

One of the girls thumped purposefully down onto her butt and, with her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth and a look of decision on her face, she grabbed one of her shoes in both hands and began to tug. Her friend did likewise.

Dad, divining their intent, started juggling coats and bags so he could move in to stop the inevitable.

I turned and continued on my way, not wanting to know if they made it or not, not wanting to lose that mental picture of pure determination to have fun.

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