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Posts Tagged ‘creative writing’

Stack of BooksThus far, I’ve covered the most offensive types of errors I’ve seen in fiction on the web, and now I’ll get down to things that are merely bad or that are just annoying. But just because an error doesn’t stand up and slap you in the face, it doesn’t mean an editor will let you get away with it. She shouldn’t and she won’t.

From here on, though, the problem with these errors is that–more so than the topics of previous posts–frequently they aren’t errors at all. Don’t you just hate that? As we move on, keep in mind that all of the word usages I list here–all of them–often have a legitimate place in prose. There will be times that you specifically want what they provide; the key is to understand the danger they pose, and use them knowingly.

And so, onward to “wiggle words.”

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Stack of BooksNow that I’ve finished my foray into Shakespearean biographies and Elizabethan conspiracy theories, it’s time to get back to work.

Writing work, that is.

This project will be my tenth novel, and it will be a big departure from my previous books. Frankly, it’s got me scared pissless. But, as any great artist will tell you, if it doesn’t scare you, it’s not worth doing. (more…)

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Kurt R.A. GiambastianiA few weeks ago, I reported that a book I was reading made me question my long-held belief that William Shakespeare, the man, and William Shakespeare, the playwright, were one and the same. Now before your eyes glaze over (“O, by Heav’n!” you say. “Not again!”) let me say that as a writer, I found this of great interest. Several people have tried to interpret aspects of my writing and deduce things about my background and history; this is exactly the same…except with a genius writer instead of me. (more…)

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Obey the Kitty!It’s been seven months since I began this experiment, and I feel it’s been pretty successful. The interest from you all has gelled around a handful of topics–writing, food, reviews, Seattle–but I haven’t felt restricted or limited in any way. And to date, nearly a hundred of you have decided to keep tabs on my flow of opinions. Thank you; I find that gratifying and encouraging.

Oddly, one of the most popular posts has been my review of “Ripper Street.” That one post, still only a couple weeks old, ranks #4 on the “most viewed” list, surpassed only by the Home Page and other pages that have been here from the beginning. And most every day, it gets a couple hits, mostly from search engines looking for references to a “peeper’s dry plate.”

So, if you’re here looking for an explanation for that rogue comment, made by Sergeant Drake on “Ripper Street” (S1E1):

A “peeper” was Victorian slang for a mirror, but also (as today) for anyone who might be engaged in voyeuristic activities, such as a photographer of smut.

A “dry plate” is an improved photographic plate, using gelatin, that was invented in the late 19th c., and which had many practical advantages over the “wet plate.”

 My thanks again, to you who read this regularly.

k

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Kurt R.A. GiambastianiThis article crossed my desk yesterday in which Chuck Wendig lays out in bold, unvarnished terms, just how rotten the publishing industry is. Thankfully, Chuck threw enough humor in there to keep us laughing while we cry.

Chuck hits all the high (aka low) points of the business, like why it’s absolutely insane to try to write to the market, and how unbelievably slow-moving the industry is (glaciers are hares in comparison).

Writerly-types, pay attention to #20, especially the link to Writer Beware. If you haven’t ever heard of Writer Beware, you have now. Go. Learn.

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I rise early; dawn is just a hint behind the eastern hills. I slipper down to the kitchen for coffee, then, hot brew in hand, slipper back to the office. I snap on the worklamp, turn on the computer, then sit and sip while I wait for the heat to come up from the furnace,

Outside, dark grey clouds hang in an oyster blue sky. The rain has eased and all is quiet until, just there, from the south, down the street, I hear the call. It’s a faint “Honh!” Iike a French adolescent clearing his throat, first one, then another. I rise and step to the window. I pull aside the curtain and peer upward. “Honh, honh” gets closer, is repeated. Different voices echo the first, and craning my neck, I see them, a vee of dark wings just above the treetops. Black necks, white cheeks, beaks pointing north, they “honh” to one another. Passing instructions? Keeping tabs? Giving encouragement? They fly over my house, and I can see their fingertip feathers against the paling sky. Now past, continuing onward, their calls fade with distance as they travel, as they head north to their nesting grounds.

Every year, I hear them–south-bound in winter, north-bound in spring–and every time I smile. I live right along their route, right along the necklace of lakes and ponds that guide them: Green Lake, Bitter Lake, Twin Ponds, Ronald Bog, Echo Lake, and beyond.

They’re a bit early this year. A mild spring, then, and an early summer ahead.

k

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Stack of BooksPeople have told me that I’m too tough in my critiques. Privately, I’ve been told that these “The View from Here” posts are too harsh, too critical. “New writers will make mistakes,” I’m told. “That’s what editors are for.” Poppycock.

A number of years ago, I used to read slush for a magazine. It was unpaid intern-type-stuff, but it taught me a great deal (as all good unpaid intern-type-stuff should). It taught me about deadlines and time-management. It taught me a lot about publishing, as I was able to see a lot of it from behind the scenes. It taught me the truth of the adage: The only way to make a small fortune in publishing is to start with a large fortune.

But most of all, it taught me to think like an editor.

An editor is like an alcoholic in a 12-step program–Let’s skip right over the joke about how most of them actually are alcoholics in 12-step programs and move right to what I mean by that.–i.e., editors read MSS one page at a time. Screw up on Page One, they’ll never read Page Two. After all, why go farther? Why read any more if page one just sucks? They won’t. Screw up on Page One–hell, screw up in Paragraph One–and you’re done.

So yes, I’m tough. And now, onto the next item I see a lot in some of the fiction posted out there: Bad metaphors and stupid similes.

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