Cutting Words, Pace, and Why We Write: INKBLOTS

Writing Luther/Katie novel and leading Luther 500 Tour

Inkblots resumes after misalignment of summer schedules. Meeting in my nearly finished Scriptorium (sitting on plush couch surround donated by Dougie Mac, Inkblots founding patron, and using electricity piped in by John Schrupp, electrician and fix-anything writing dude). Late summer evening but with a hint of rain in the air; five men and three women launch in for an evening of reading, discussion and critiquing--and laughing 'Blots fashion: gently at and with each other.

Dougie Mac leads off with a revised Return to Tarawa, WW II historical fiction set in the Pacific theatre. I recent had the privilege of reading this then 94,000 word manuscript, now significantly tightened (cut more than 7,000 words); my main encouragement was to cut anything that didn't drive the story forward, that didn't immediately work on his protagonist, changing him, making him face his demons. He is rereading the first chapter. Pace is hugely improved. You cut out a number of things that I thought confused the reader: what is the problem, who do we care about, but now we feel far more focused. He explained what he did in revision. He realized that he had a character that was not necessary, and then another one who didn't really have an essential role to play. Patrick pointed out that just listening he wasn't sure if the old man was having a flashback to the war or was it the tourist boat? This is a good comment, though Patrick, in the end, thought it wasn't in need of revision.

I shared the work I'm doing on my Luther novel, Luther in Love (working title). I need a more sympathetic beginning. Two old people sitting around the fire in the Augustinian cloister might be a trifle dull, unless I handle it in a rivetingly compelling manner. Maybe start when Katie gets word of his death, was suggested, or at Luther's grave/funeral. I want this historical novel to adorn Christian marriage, show how God designed it for imperfect people, living in a dark and broken world, but that Christian marriage by God's design works better God's way. All the pet ideals about sex and marriage of today are busted wide open by the kind of portrayal of marriage I have in mind. A pastor friend of mine thought the book idea could shape into a book he would give as a first read in premarriage counseling; I like this idea. Then again, I could start the novel with Luther preaching on marriage, his treatise on why nuns and monks should leave the cloistered life and marry. Katie could be reading it aloud to Luther, sick and old, but the reader doesn't know that yet. I need more tenderness in this opening scene.“What a lot of trouble there is in marriage! Adam has made a mess of our nature. Think of all the squabbles Adam and Eve must have had in the course of their nine hundred years together. Eve would say, ‘You ate the apple,’ and Adam would retort, ‘You gave it to me.’” And then after twenty years with Katharina von Bora, Luther says he wouldn't trade "My Rib" for all the gold of Croesus.

Bob reads his crime fiction just underway. Have him argue for his qualifications to be a New Age guru because he liked movies by Shirley McClain. Bob took us on a geology lesson about Soap Lake, Washington. Scheme to fleece women at the spas. Bob is calling it Hot Tub Homicide. Sofia has some very good ideas about how to expose with the story the snake oil dimensions of the whole false religion. We discussed the problems of changing point of view, with the opening character going to die a third of the way through the story.  I suggest having the pastor who will be the sleuth and solve the murder be in the first chapter, dealing with a parishioner who is toying with New Age spa stuff. Good stuff and keep writing.

Patrick is explaining his speculative fiction work underway. The Jade Zealot. Story begins with the protagonist exiting the space station, launching himself into space to find the alien object. Fine tuning his trajectory or else; a tiny miscalculation grows in space; missing desired mark and the vastness of space stretches endlessly before you. The confrontation is terrifying. Patrick explained that it is horror genre. A house divided against itself cannot stand. Patrick, while reading aloud, caught a number of his own writing issues, proof once again of the critical importance of reading what we write out loud, often. I would go so far as to say that if we don't read aloud we have not finished our job yet. So much corrective happens when reading aloud. I'm having trouble seeing what is going on. Now, in fairness, this may be because of my genre limitation (true confession: I'm not a reader of sci-fi). John commented right off about his calculations needing to be precise. Dougie commented that it needs fleshing out, something Patrick is so good at, as we all have heard many times before, to our delight; this is an early draft. Bob wanted to know what his protagonist's motivation for doing what he is doing, launching out into space, but we don't know why. Patrick says that will come in later. Have suit talk to him when his heart rate goes too high or blood pressure rockets (sorry).  Needs more anxiety about what he is doing, a flashback to his wife, and kids, if something goes wrong, and why it is the likeliest thing on the cards that something will. Ramp up the uncertainty, in my opinion.

Rachel working on a new story, this being what she's working on in between her college studies until next quarter. We got a name, straight off, Nicole and last name too. Place firmly established at the gate, New York City. Very good use of specifics, number of stories in the building, what it has and does not have. Good narrative, showing us the various people, but I'd like to hear more of the sounds of a bustling newsroom, digital printer, gurgling water cooler, an array of ringtones going off at the same time, buzz of voices, rapid footfalls--nobody walks at a normal pace in a newsroom. It is so much fun to watch high-octane Rachel describe what she is writing and what is coming. Nicole is going to have to undergo change. Rapid pace yarn, read rapidly by Rachel. Bob suggested fewer adjectives and more verbs, which is showing more than telling. You have a effective narrative style; don't lose that, but show us more than tell us. Patrick suggests moving it to a 1940s newsroom, which would create wonderful new sounds, typewriter keys clickity-clacking. Being forced to report on her ex-husband is a great set up. Make sure the contrivance works; show the history of other odd combining of reporters and subjects to write on. Nicole idealizes things and then is disappointed. This is her problem and the story should move from episode to episode driving her to change.

Alisa and John deferred to Rachel, ever the gracious writers. Next time you lead off, and Sofia, bring us some of your material to hear; glad you came.

I have a few more spaces available in the April 1-8, 2017 OXFORD CREATIVE WRITING MASTER CLASS. Check it out.

Self-Forgetfulness and Delight--Keys to Writing Well (and most everything else in life)

INKBLOTS, resuming our men's writing group, four of we old-dog regulars and joined by David one of my former students. I led off with a brief thought from Alan Jacobs, author of The Narnian, who said this: “Lewis's mind was above all characterized by a willingness to be enchanted, and it was this openness to enchantment that held together the various strands of his life, his delight in laughter, his willingness to accept a world made by a good and loving God, and (in some ways above all) his willingness to submit to the charms of a wonderful story.” Jacobs in his biography of C. S. Lewis reflected that "those who will never be fooled can never be delighted, because without self-forgetfulness there can be no delight." Which makes me recall Jesus' words about how essential it is that we be child-like to enter the Kingdom of heaven.

We talked about typesetting using Word rather than InDesign, the later requiring us to learn a new program... us old dogs. Not going to happen. David, author of Beyond Tweeting (read my interview with David) led off with reading an excerpt from the forward, and then chapter

one. I like how David makes this for the reader not the author. John asked David to explain what tweeting actual is, and things like hashtags. Track a topic or theme. Though you cannot own the hashtag so you could end up with your tag meaning something and connecting with some big distortion of your collection point. Bob brought up the question of whether Twitter monitors and censors tags or tweets. "How can we use twitter to sell books?" asked John. David pointed out how important it is to provide value for those following on twitter, not just about blasting the cyber world with your promotional plans. Use saferwhois.com to search for domain names so your searching doesn't get picked up by those who buy up domain names then sell them. Search engine optimization (SEO) is the way to maximize your position on the searches. David is helping us big time here. 

This morphed into a discussion of old dogs and new tricks. This has been fun. David, thank you for all your helpful insights into marketing and social media. I thought it would be good to segue to our usual creative writing readings. Dougie Mac leading off with an episode from his Monte Casino yarn set in WW II. As he summarized the historical context of this conflict, I can see it in my mind's eye, having been there with my family just a few weeks ago. Modern technology fails us. His computer just died. 

Bob took up the baton with one of his Bible study guides, this one on the Psalms. Bob read his rough draft introduction, a sweeping summary of David and his writing of various Psalms, and how they are relevant to the reader today and in every generation. That led to a discussion of greed, how exactly, I am not sure. Which led me to recalling Tolstoy's short story, How Much Land Does a Man Need, a well-crafted yarn that shows the destructive nature of greed, show casing a protagonist who is killed by his own avarice. 

John reads from his Russian yarn, after working on his protagonist's character who needed to be a bit more realistically flawed at the beginning so she has somewhere to go from there. Dougie Mac didn't feel like she was significantly flawed. Don't overuse 'beautiful' or 'exciting.' Have her catch herself for making the simile about heaven. You told instead of showing us her reaction to her own reference to heaven. There is a good deal of description of elegant clothing, but I didn't feel like I could actually see it. How about using more comparative image, figurative language, imaginative comparisons? You used beautiful a dozen times or more. Mouth watering is too cliche and needs another image. Could you give us more metaphor of what the dancers and their fine clothes looked and felt like to her? I like how she flashes back to dancing with her father; give us more of this kind of imagining on your protagonist's perspective. You drew me in with the shooting that she does not understand. The rag doll image is probably overused. I think you could play up her thinking it was all a play, just an act, when it was murder. As she thinks back on pricking her finger on the thorn of a rose, have her begin to acknowledge that it was real and her recollection was a desperate effort at escaping it all. This is getting better and better. 

Which made me recall a Lewis-ism. "Don't use adjectives which merely tell us how you want us to feel about the thing you are describing. I mean, instead of telling us a thing was

'terrible,' describe it so that we'll be terrified. Don't say it was 'delightful'; make us say 'delightful' when we've read the description. You see, all those words (horrifying, wonderful, hideous, exquisite) are only like saying to your readers 'Please will you do my job for me.'"

David recalled a short story he wrote for a British Lit class in college, from the point of view of Helen, clever, imaginative perspective, employing a modern-world slangy syntax. Melodrama, which actually works pretty well with Greek tragedy, which has probably inspired more soap operas and country western songs than most classics professors want to admit. Having written this fiction piece for a class a couple of years ago, David cringed at some of his own writing in it, though it clearly shows the promise that is beginning to be fulfilled with his writing and his teaching/consulting for Microsoft.

Though I haven't worked on it for over a month (what a month it's been), I read from a chapter in War in the Wasteland. Once I can see my way more clearly and get some logistics planned out for future history tours and for the Oxford Creative Writing Master Class I'm planning out right now, then I can get back to writing. There are jolts that enervate creative writing, and ones that stimulate it. Still trying to figure out which kind this one is. A fine evening with 'Blots. Thank you gentlemen for your friendship, support, encouragement, and for just being a big 'Blot in my life. 

Torpedo in the Water! INKBLOTS: Read what we read last night

I'm writing about Lewis as a WW I teen atheist

[Planning to include more of what we actually read together in these posts, starting with this one] Five gentlemen sitting around my living room, good conversation, good wine (French, Swiss, CA), and ink and paper, well, actually, sand and chips (computer kind not the fish-n kind). We talked about our inspiration, Inklings, Lewis and Tolkien's gang meeting in Oxford back in the 30s and beyond, hence, our name Inkblots, 'Blots for short. John is reading a book on how to read Dante and the benefit of doing so.

Patrick has been reading Tolkien, looking for inspiration and searching for clarity, the open door, the jolt that awakens the epic feel. Not like X-files where it gets gimmicky, taking advantage of the audience's emotions. How to achieve the episodic feel, like Bob's Sindbad, which definitely had the big feel. He has gotten criticism that his characters are hollow and incomplete, distant, alienated people. But nothing like that in Tolkien, but studying particular excerpts that seem to particularly capture the episodic feel. I'm reminded of how imitation is the truest form of flattery. Tolkien put people in a hierarchy where they were content, good leaders, submissive subject, whereas most stories do not have a trustworthy hierarchy, yet Tolkien does. Peter Weir as director of Master Commander, fully fleshed out characters, round, flesh and blood.

I suggested Patrick pull out Milton's Paradise Lost and observe the way he plays off the celestial and the demonic voices and styles, each made stylistically richer by the other.

Thoughts, whither have ye led me, with what sweet
Compulsion thus transported to forget
What hither brought us, hate, not love, nor hope [ 475 ]
Of Paradise for Hell, hope here to taste
Of pleasure, but all pleasure to destroy,
Save what is in destroying, other joy
To me is lost.

Challenges of writing redemptively. Patrick's zombie yarns are explorations or pictures of depravity, but he is moving to redemption. We discussed the merits of point of view, first person and third person, and the relative advantages of each, what each does well, and where their strengths lie. Star-crossed lovers, zombie falling in love with a human, unequal yoking, as Shakespeare explores in Romeo and Juliet. 

I wish you could sit in and listen to this. Patrick finished reading a compelling, fluid passage, and then we jumped in. Jeff is new tonight (and big welcome to you, Jeff!) and appreciated hearing Patrick explain how speculative fiction works (omnivores, the zombie term for humans). Bob asked how it got to be this way, how the world morphed into this kind of world, one with zombies, where they are normal and appear to the reader to be normal, disturbing though they be.

Bob says there is narrative (descriptive material), dialogue, plot, character, but it is difficult to do all of them well. Dorothy Sayers, amazing crime fiction writer, who does such nuanced dialogue, with little repartee between speakers, subtle nuanced character development through the fragmented breakaways of her speakers. I wish I could write like Dorothy S!

John reads his grandson's book. John Jr had spoken to me Sunday at church about the book he is writing, wanted to know how I did my editing after writing my books, serious, intense question, wanting a genuine answer. John is about eight. John Jr's writing has the feel of Calvin and Hobbes crossed with ET, but a delightful eight year old foray into writing fiction, complete with a desire for the redemptive, for finding God and peace. Thanks for sharing this with us John. There is a definitely story line and he follows it. Well done, John.

I read from chapter 3 of War in the Wasteland, this shift to Fiona Fleming's perspective, crossing U-boat infested Channel on her way to France and the war as a WAAC. 
Excerpt:

Two weeks later, from the quarterdeck of the same troopship RMS Amazon, Fiona Fleming watched waves crash on the outer breakwater of the port of Dover, growing rapidly smaller behind the ship’s wake. Gray-on-white seagulls cavorted behind the ship, muscular wings arched, screeching at each other as if it were all a frolic. With a quick tilt and nod of her head, Fiona chose to imagine that, instead of scrounging for garbage jettisoned from the ship’s galley, they were her own personal feathered escorts wishing her farewell, a speedy war, and a happy return. She tried to smile, but her lips refused to cooperate.

Though her father had tried to warn her, Fiona was unprepared for the intensity of the emotions she felt as she watched the jagged coastline diminish, the white-cliffs rising precipitously above the gray-green of the English Channel. Shrinking in size and becoming more opaque with every turn of the troopship’s screw.

Exhilarated with the adventurous prospects of war, Fiona had barely been able to contain herself when she had read the newspaper report in January, 1917. The War Department had established a new corps, the Women’s Axillary Army Corps, called the WAAC for convenience. But ten months later, November 18, 1917, on board a troopship, in convoy with destroyers and armored cruisers, heading into the U-boat-infested waters of the English Channel, she found that a good deal of her exhilaration had given way to giddy uneasiness.

Fiona was grateful for the sea breeze and mist tugging at her hair and bringing the water to her eyes. It helped conceal the tears of another kind she knew were there. It had been different ten months earlier; she had been all enthusiasm, begging her father to let her enlist.

“Aye, lass, that’s all good and well, I’m sure, but you have but eighteen years to your name,” he had observed. “And the WAAC requires, and most properly does it do so, a young woman to have not a day fewer than one and twenty years. Now I know that you’ve never fancied yourself good at mathematics, but even you can work it out, my dear, that eighteen is nae the same thing as twenty-one.”

“There’s only a wee difference, really. And I’m tall for my age.” She had tried every argument she could think of to persuade him. “The Germans are planning another big offensive—everyone says they’ll be doing it. And the War Department...
Lots of helpful push back from these dudes. Here's notes on some of their comments: [more spray and feel of seas… smells at sea… heeling and losing her footing, why no sea sickness… go below will make us sick… terrific speed too much… is the seeing of the u-boats realistic? Maybe I need to lay the notion that the u-boat almost always surfaced to shoot torpedoes… is it realistic for her to see the torpedo coming at them… no battleships escorting according].

Here's from Patrick's pen: 

“What? You read the tales of Umyitz?”

         “Every child reads those. They are our favorite fairytales.”

         I was shocked by her comment, knowing instinctively that when she said “every child” she really meant “every cerebivore child”. I had never heard this before and objected, “But they are stories about cure of your condition.”

         “Well, of course, silly. All cerebivores wish to be free of our condition. Why would we not want to be able to eat anything?”

I was downright floored by her confession—perplexed and undone. I could muster nothing more than stammering verbal hiccups in response. Aza laughed with golden humor.

         “Oh, Padel, have you dreamed that our love might cure this wretched curse?”

          I had. In the story of Yacob the tailor, he had fallen in love with a zombie woman and cured her. Their children were also pure, and soon the health of their union was communicated to the wider population. “I must admit,” I said at last, “the thought had crossed my mind. It has been, perhaps, a catalyst for my infatuation.”

          She laughed again, “Oh, the way you speak is so adorable. Alas, my sweet, it is but a fairytale. Many times a mixed marriage has produced omni children, but they have always been infertile. It appears that while my disease can spread, your health cannot.”

         “Is that always the law of nature?” She ignored my question.

          “Don't be sad though, you will have actual children, and those offspring will be members of the dominant species, able to experience all the wealth and freedom available to that group. You don't have to worry about the well being of your family any longer.”

         “That's a good point. I never thought of that,” but something troubled me. “What about my Pa? What about the others.”

         “Well, as soon as you come out of hiding people will know that your Pa is a human. The secret will be impossible to keep. They will have to be taken in.”

         “What? No! We will warn them and they can escape. There is no reason to take them captive.”

           “The life of a free human is too dangerous. It would be better if my family took ownership. You and I could keep them safe and give them a good life. If they run and then get caught we can't protect them.”

   
                                                     

INKBLOTS--Help me find the right WWI book title!

Inkblots gathering under sunny blue skies and springtime. It's finally come. Thank you, Lord. Cotes du Catalenes, courtesy of John Schrupp and Jeff Jauvert. Five men. Good discussion of IBP prospects and plans. Carl leads off with another of his country parson James-Herriot-esque reflections on ministry in rural Grays Harbor County, Washington.

Cougar snarling in the timber near their remote home, surrounded by dense forest. Had their dog become the cougar's midnight snack? And there were the chickens. And there is the menagerie of cats, one of whom Carl was secretly hoping the cougar had taken a fancy to. These are first-person accounts, conveyed in an engaging almost chatty style, with easy application to Scripture and lesson to be drawn. Where are you going? How in our haste we fail to plan, be prudent, in our daily life and walk of faith, failing to grasp the reality of what we're doing or entering into. I look forward to the completion of this reflection. "Are you going to go look at that?" asked Carl's wife. "Are you going to come back?" she added.

Doug Mac suggested that Carl not let it out too soon that it is a cougar. Give the information incrementally, bit by bit, before you let it out to the reader that is is a cougar. We discussed the importance of reading aloud with our children, with out families.

Return to Tarawa, chapter 19, first-person elderly veteran recollecting blow-by-blow the conflict. Would an older, more mature, Christian man who had spent his life sharing the gospel as a missionary in the South Pacific, would he show more compassion on the dead Japanese strewn about the battle field? I would suggest showing more of the complication at the death of the enemy for a Christian. Wounded soldier bleeding to death, his friend full of emotion, and grieving the death of another companion. Doug Mac found some awkward syntax by reading aloud. Wipe away tears. Could you vary this with wiping his sleeve across his face, sweat dripping from face. I am really excited about this book. Doug Mac writes with vast knowledge of weaponry and warfare, with grit and realism, but with deep tenderness for the plight of fallen human beings caught in the grinding maw of war.

Next I read from chapter two of my forthcoming War in the Wasteland (or Surprised by War, or This is War, or... Help me out, here!). As they did last week, the 'Blots gents gave me helpful push back and suggestions. Which I am setting to work on at this moment. Here's a rough-draft sample:

Help me out with title suggestions for my WW I novel

2

Sauerkraut Spy

“Halt!” barked a sergeant. “And what precisely is it we ‘ave ‘ere?”

Nigel swallowed hard, clutching tighter to Bullet’s lead. “A dog, Sir,” he managed.

Sneering, the sergeant retorted, “A dog? And might I make so bold as to inquire,” his voice rising to vein-bulging shouting, “just what is it you think you’re doing bringing a dog on my boat?”

It was the moment Nigel had dreaded. For three weeks he had managed to keep Bullet concealed. It had been easier than he had feared. It turned out that other Tommies liked dogs too and had helped keep the dog from discovery. But he knew it couldn’t last forever.

“He’s keen, Sir, quite keen,” said Nigel.

“Keen, is he?” snarled the sergeant, looking with revulsion at the scruffy terrier. “That’s as may be. But keen compared to what? A rat? If that cur happens to be smarter than it looks—which I doubt—it may be keen at herding sheep, chasing rabbits, at working the farm. But this is war, boy!”

A low growl rumbled in Bullet’s throat. With a glance from Nigel, the dog sat on his haunches and was silent. Staring through a wiry, unruly mop of coarse gray hair, the dog fixed his eyes unblinking on the sergeant. At rigid attention, not another sound came from the animal.

“This is war, my boy,” repeated the sergeant, lowering his voice and feigning a paternal tone. “You’re not embarking on a holiday in Flanders’ fields. Your pets stay home—in England! Am I making myself perfectly clear?” He was shouting again. Shouting seemed to come naturally to the man.

“H-he’s not only keen, Sir,” stammered Nigel. “He’s well-tutored.”

“Well-tutored, is it! My great aunt was well-tutored, but do you see her on a lead, tail wagging, marching up the gangplank to war? No, of course you do not! Well-tutored, bah!”