Can't Find it Grind it--Writing to Love Your Neighbor (Inkblots)

I'm off today to spend the week with 8 writers in Oxford

Six bludgeoned 'Blots this rainy evening (Patrick told us a horrible story, not fiction, about being attacked and beat with a rock. I hope he mines this in his book nearing completion). Alisa shared with us about the final work on Swiftwater, final editorial work and some frustration and final revisions, but light at the end of the tunnel. The buck stops with the author in an author consortium publishing venture, so we want to see this as an opportunity, one that makes the final book all that much better. Heaps of deleting and rewriting going on around here. and brainstorming. And we discussed stream of consciousness writing (Ulysses) and how much Jonathan and Patrick do not like it. Rachel reads:

Rachel's Russian cheese-smuggling yarn, fascinating and deeply hunger-inspiring. Rachel reads her work so well, with such feeling and unique character and voice. Does the simile of the barrel of a rifle following its target work? Not sure, but worth discussing. On further reflection, I think it is a similar problem as active passive voice, where the subject is receiving action instead of doing it. Rifles don't act. Shooters of guns act. Rachel drops the bomb that guys do stupid things for girls all the time. Mark is bitter, but Trusov just wants his cheese. John commented on the rifle simile, that the hunter should be following. Ingrid is a stick-to-the-man type character. Patrick suggested that Ingrid needs to have leverage on Mark and he is motivated by self-interest, but the leverage conveys to the reader that this is authentic.

Jonathan told us about a book called Story Grid, compiled from an editor's blog posts, from a successful editor. Every story has three acts, using the Silence of the Lambs, which morphed into a movie so easily and needed virtually no change from book to screen (not an endorsement). Patrick shared with us about "finishing" the book and some of the revisions he made and why he made them. His rewriting is like a case study on himself, where he was when he wrote the first draft and where he has progressed. The two biggies that Inkblots returns to (I hope more than these, but certainly not less than these), showing and not telling, and remaining in character point of view. If you fail to do the latter the reader is confused, disoriented, halting and uncertain about whose world they are supposed to be in, which character are they supposed to care most about? An important part of loving your neighbor as an author is loving and respecting your reader; jolt them all over the anthropological map and you are not loving your neighbor. We don't want to read like a young man who asked me to teach him how to drive a stick shift. "Can't find it, grind it" only works on somebody else's clutch; mine was burned up. We do this to readers when we don't write with point-of-view integrity.

It is possible to shift points of view, but it must be done with care and conventionality. All that to say, Patrick discovered that he did not have a clear perspective soon enough for the reader to get immersed in the yarn. Lewis does the shift from Peter back to Lucy, to Susan and Edmond, but even at that there is a dominant character and every reader knows it, Lucy. Tolkien-era Arthur Ransom does it with the siblings in Swallows & Amazons. But beware. The cliff looms precipitously when you do.


Patrick reads from the revised Adam & Steve yarn, a parody on same-sex marriage, in which he creates a sense of the actuality of having the technology to impregnate one of the two males, using elaborate and costly medical research, heavily funded by federal dollars, no doubt, forcibly extracted from gullible brow-beaten taxpayers. I wonder if Patrick gives too much away with the superlatives he uses to describe the monstrous process to pull off this Frankensteinian genetic fiasco. Patrick clearly has had a ball writing this bazaar reality scenario. Be sure to play up the bold social experiment and let the reader feel sick. Humor is a two-edged sword, and if you're not careful you will expose your hand too soon in the story, and the ones you want to prod may see through the ruse and bolt deeper into the wastelands if you are not careful.

John reads some of his rewrite after last Thursday's major revision and critique work with Editorial Director Mary Lynn Spear in the Scriptorium last week. John launched right into the major rewrite. Avoid writing "obviously in thought"; instead show the posture of obvious thought, in facial expressions. This is a weighty discussion between a daughter who is pregnant and has considered taking her own life. It feels a bit over written, too much actually said that would be better conveyed in some thoughts, some inferences, conclusions drawn from the uncomfortable mannerism of the mother or the daughter. Can you show development to the relationship between the mother and daughter, beginning with awkwardness and gradually, with fits and starts, becoming more congenial. I feel like it is too congenial and over stated at least in places. I'll just be in the kitchen if you need me. Kill the word just, seemed, and the other qualifying verbal tics. It is tough writing this kind of conversation. There has to be more circular avoidance, then move in, and blurt it out. Even though the family is undergoing change, good changes, going to church together, nevertheless, everything isn't all okay. It doesn't work that way in a broken world. Show genuine change, yet with the realities of the habits of life, and the reality of abiding sin, still with hope, but not oversimplified, everything is all okay now.

Advance copy of LUTHER IN LOVE just arrived!

When is a Book Finished? Inkblots

Four diehard 'Blots tonight, weather abated after blustery morning (no worries about maple tree falling on the Scriptorium, thanks to my eldest son and contacts). It is a delight after a busy day to sit down, breathe and enter the world of writing and literature with fellow 'Blots.

We discussed when to share your manuscript with a potential reader. I advised folks to revise and rewrite until you feel like you have your manuscript where you want it to be, including proof reading. Respect your reader who will spend hours of their time poring over your work. Nothing is more disheartening than to offer a critique only to hear, "Oh, I rewrote that whole section last week. I've made all those changes already." In other words, I can really do this without you, but keep reading anyway.

There are several levels of readers. You need a fast global reader (John Schrupp) who can give you perspective on the whole work, character arc, plot unity, and so forth. Then there is the unique reader who can read globally and for precise proofing details ('Blots Editorial Director Mary Lynn Spear is one of these rare people). There are many good proofreaders and editors out there (I'm glad because I have nothing like enough time to be that for very many others), but whomever you choose, you will need a careful and experienced proofreader and final copy editor. Expect to pay for these reading services. A great deal of time and skill goes into proofing and copy editing a manuscript. Getting grammar and punctuation correct can make or break a book. The chronic problem for indie published books is shoddy copy editing. InkBlots Press must at all cost avoid producing books that have not passed through the critical gateways that make for a first-rate finished book. 

Alisa leads off reading from her forthcoming The Emblem, written before Swiftwater, due to release later this month. Kelly, protagonist, or Jamie? Heather standing on the patio instead. Show us Heather seeming to have something to say to her (to Kelly, right?). What does a person look like when they are about to say something? You don't need uncomfortably from foot to foot because you make it clear that she is uncomfortable. The flats feel like they are going to become something of a symbol, a good idea. Without trying to interfere--I think you showed that, or were about to, rather than telling us that. She could berate herself for never wanting to interfere, get involved in the lives of others, and feeling like she had nothing to offer, someone who just went along with whomever was dominant in the room. Colored woman. We talked about this the other day, the difficulty of being in a historical context and avoiding using our preferred verbiage at the moment. They didn't use African American in the '20s, though they did use the n word, and rightly you did not, in my opinion. Patrick suggested he would like to hear more internal conflict material in italics.

Patrick pointed out how important it is to have a character who may be deeply flawed in certain areas, but they are competent in doing something, plumbing, woodcarving, listening to the woes of others, solving problems; the reader will be drawn to a character who is competent in doing something well.

Patrick reads near the end of his speculative fiction work, a Rahab character, apostate brother comes, shoot out, escape. This is after all that, back window of the truck shot out. Gabe fell asleep. A Sarb attack on a free human colony, hurl the disposables in first. If that doesn't break through the lines, send in the real troops to finish things off. A mass of feral Sarbs. Engine squealed and a zombie let out a visceral scream. Just as you read that I was about to write that I thought you needed to give us more sounds, so take it or leave it. You are sticking well with Gabe's reaction to the chase scene, the truck about to careen out of control. This is vivid, but I do think we need to hear more of the sounds of a truck doing what this truck is doing. What does that sound like? Were there smells? The over heating engine, human sweat super charged with fear? What do Sarbs sound like? Do they have a ferocious battle cry, heavy breathing, laughter, slavering? Do they smell as they get closer? Could you detect them simply by their smell? What does it smell like? When Gabe charges out of the wrecked truck, what is he thinking? Are Sarbs always unarmed? Do we know this already? When the Sarbs stand their ground, what do they look like, sound like? Are they leering, shouting, chanting--growl and hiss, I heard that, but I think the sounds of these creatures would be bone-chilling. The conversation sending the girl Duplicity who is a half Sarb for help. It should feel more frantic, desperate, do-or-die. It seems like this would work better if the girl offered to go for

LUTHER IN LOVE, due any day

help, and Gabe wouldn't hear of it, but she insisted. She may have come to the same conclusion about Sarbs smelling non-Sarbs, and voiced it to Gabe. Switch this around and I think you will have a far more powerful moment. Duplicity does make it through, and Gabe seems to react with more emotion than he showed below.

I read part of my Luther article for Modern Reformation Magazine, deadline looming. Reformation Romance, working title. Luther in Love is finished and in production, hopefully available by next week. I have learned so much writing this book! And I have gained a far greater appreciation for the sometimes-difficult role God calls some couples and families to. Pre-order at bondbooks.net

Crisis: Relationship tension, fighting, and resolution--INKBLOTS

I read an article my friend Greg Bailey at Crossway shared about new research on common themes of bestsellers. Marriage, love (not reduced to illicit sex), human closeness, and work topped the list of themes explored by bestselling authors. It sounds like human beings remain fascinated with the primal relationships and responsibilities God ordained in the beginning. You want to write a bestseller? Okay, start by immersing yourself in the bestseller of all time, the Bible.

Inkblots tonight, warm autumn evening, the Scriptorium warm and toasty (new heat pump belching out a steady breath of warm air as the sun sets, evening falls, and temperatures begin to drop). We had a new guest this evening, welcome, David. And regulars John, Patrick, Alisa, Sophia, Rachel, and yours truly (Dougie Mac and Bob R had better things to do, snubbed us, humph).

Alisa leads off with an award-winning story (entered in a writing contest and won; do this) she wrote seven years ago and is now dusting off and reworking, a prank gone wrong. 1970s but make more clear about hard line or cell phone, for Patrick. Begins with a call to 911 dispatcher, his brother missing, awkward to describe his brother. I like the way Alisa writes one side of the phone conversation but gives us clear impression of what was said on the other end, though we don't actually hear what is said. Brother goes hunting for his brother while law enforcement is on its way. Not at the logging camp; where had they taken his brother? David likes the way Alisa had the Led Zeppelin song grate on him. Creating tension on multiple levels. Description of room, algebra homelike lying about. Patrick pointed out that Alisa is showing not telling, so well. What are areas she wants to change and improve. There's great benefit to switching genre and projects, fiction to nonfiction, article to poetry, blog post to different topic blog post, and did I mention poetry? Alisa is writing from the point of view of a teen male, "Not deep thinkers," she tells us, with total candor and precise accuracy for the vast majority. David, a psychologist, agrees that the male brain doesn't fully develop until twenty-three. Sounds generous to me. Alisa's protagonist is years out on that score.  Alisa brings a range of writing experience to 'Blots, with several newspaper articles on her writing plate right now, and the final push on Swiftwater to book in hand.

John reads from Saving Grace, Grace is abortion-minded, her dad a cop dealing with a grim crime scene, "refuse" from an abortion clinic, murder of two children, but MDs did it and its just medical waste. She has just told her parents. Who spoke words of comfort to her distraught daughter--show us this, don't tell us. Dean said tenderly, but is he a tender guy? He sounds too nice. His throat felt as dry as death valley--kills this, or alter to avoid cliche. From what I've read about his character, this seems not how he would react, at least at first. Sorry I interrupted, seems unrealistic. I think there needs to be more rapid exchange dialogue here. What does the mom say, the day reply, or retort? Grace says a few words, parents interject. Have Dean be torn; he wants her to abort to save her scholarship, his job, their reputation as a family, everything. But then images of what he saw at crime scene. War Games, filmed in part in Steilacoom, David reminds us of a moment when they have a brawl over whether a human or a computer can push the button. Purpose of this scene was to give background to the depth of what they are about to do. Bring audience up to speed, fill in back story, in a fight. The reader is riveted, but also getting the back story needed for the rest of the yarn to work. Backstory can stall the pace or be an opportunity for intensity. Make this scene a fight, one that only gradually simmers down, but make the reader wonder if it will resolve satisfactory, but deeply want it to resolve right. Sophia comments on the dialogue, girl in this place, telling her parents that she is pregnant, or some other parent child conflict, is going to be explosive in the extreme.

Sophia reads from her point of view, from various blogs, coming together for a book of encouragement mostly for women. Challenge is bringing things together from. Going from blog voice to book voice. From Lament to Love: Finding God in Life's Darkest Places. I like the description of awkwardness at a first meeting, handshake, but not too firm, too sweaty in the palm, arms crossed, well done. This from Sophia's role as a personal trainer. Honesty coming out, and the feeling of hypocrisy. Insecurity of being chronically ill but being a physical trainer, in a role to tell others how to be well and fit, when she didn't feel well and fit herself. Good job of directing the reader to the Lord, God in holy community with himself, the Trinity, so we are called to live in community. We need one another. In the darkest places the light will shine through, the Psalms. This is very good material, maturing spiritual reflections, honesty, candor. I have found that I learn best from story, mine, yes, but the myriad of other people's stories too. Consider a story/expound pattern something like Colson does in Loving God maybe. I love your direction to the Word, Lamentations. Chapters organized around themes (as in The Prophet). Patrick asked if it will be stories, rather than abstract reflections, essays. Using conversations, dialogue. I'm a fake, stick with what you began with. Inclusio, end introduction or chapter where you began it. Are there more than one book in this material? Probably. Patrick had lots of good ideas about this piece, including being intentional in the tone, blogging tone that is more intrusive, or book tone where the author disappears more. Can you write this as a chronology? Where you are able to show the sequence of your own change.

I was just reading Isaiah 60 (I find myself parked in this section of Isaiah, the Gospel according to Isaiah. There will be no sun or moon in the New Jerusalem; Christ will be our everlasting Light. Thinking about your title, Sophia, and the direction of your manuscript. I wonder if Being Found of God in Life's Darkest... might not be more accurate?

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THE THUNDERING (working title... I'm open?), an excerpt

He grunted, and we scuffled briefly, but he was so winded by my assault upon him, that he had little ability to resist. The dark street burst into life. Windows opened, and there was shouting. Apparently someone was running while carrying a lantern, splashes of light jerking against the pavement and stone walls.

“What’s this!” cried a man, grabbing me savagely by my collar. “What have you done?”

Eerie shadows bobbed against the wall at my right. I looked up at the man. He was blowing hard and his eyes shown wide; light from his lantern played on his fleshy cheeks. He held his light aloft.

“I-I’ve done nothing,” I said. “But this rogue fired a pistol at my master.”

What happened next nearly turned my heart to stone. The body of the assassin under me convulsed; he struggled, and he made to turn. In the flickering illumination of the lantern, I saw his face. I knew this face.

“Alexander?” I gasped.

50

Final Malady

Alexander. There could be no mistake. It was he.

I recoiled from him as If he had plague. Wrenching myself free of the man with the lantern, I rose to my feet. Looking down at Alexander, I felt myself torn between wanting to snatch up his pistol and shoot him through his miserable head and turning and getting forever clear of such a pestilence.

“Do not let him escape!” I cried, my voice like gravel.

I staggered across the street and pounded upon the door till my fists were bloodied. “Master Knox! Open to me! Margaret! Does he live? Open the door!”

At last I heard the fiddling of the latch. Her face was ashen, and she had wee Elizabeth on her hip, the child weeping like a prophet.

“Does he live?” I cried.

“H-he lives,” she said, a tremor in her voice. “He lives.”

Taking the treads three at a time, I ran up the stairs. The lead ball had shattered the window, and shards of glass littered the floor. On the table, a candlestick had been knocked over. Flames had been extinguished, but there was splattered wax already hardening where it had spilled on the table.

From the shadows next to the broken window, John Knox spoke. “I was not sitting in my usual place,” he said. He was looking out on the excited crowd talking all at once on the street below.

“You are unhurt, then?” I asked.

“Aye,” he said. “But had I been seated here, as is my custom—” he broke off, placing a finger through a bullet hole blown through the chair. “I would, indeed, be in bit of a mangled condition.”

Sighting from the broken window and the hole in the chair, I envisioned the flight of the ball. I went to the table and picked up the candlestick. The lead ball, or what remained of it, was imbedded into its filigree.

“God be praised,” I said, and meant it.

“You were on the street?” asked Margaret, who had joined us. She swayed and cooed gently to calm the bairn.

“Aye,” I said. “I’d been with the widow Murray; she expired about dusk.”       

“Poor dear,” she said. “But it must have been you, then, who battled the gunman to the pavement.”

I felt the warmth rising in my cheeks. “I did nothing,” I said shortly.

“Och, nothing,” she said, handing her husband the baby and squaring herself before me. “What I saw with my own eyes tells another tale,” she said, blowing a wisp of hair from her face and placing her hands deliberately on her hips. “Och, you must’ve hurled yourself on the murderer like a madman.”

“I must away,” I said. I fear I spoke all too curtly. “My father will wonder what has kept me.”

“And who was the rogue?” this from Margaret.

I hesitated. They stood awaiting my reply. Would it not break Master Knox’s heart to know that one of his own had attempted to end his life so? Would it not?

I attempted to speak. But I could find no words. I turned and bolted from the house.

***

“Have a care,” said John Knox, his face blanching with pain, “for my decaying carcass.”

It was Sunday, November 9, 1572. Several months had elapsed since the attempt on his life, and his health had deteriorated rapidly in those months.

Richard Ballantyne, John Craig, and two other men, and myself, had rigged a chair to carry him in. It was a foul dreich morning, with gusts of wind sending the rain in slanting fury upon us like waves of drenching specters. His old malady was on him in force; his ashen face winced as we hoisted him in the improvised chair.

“It’s dumping auld wives and pike staves,” said John Craig, breathing heavily with the effort of carrying him. “You ought not to be out in it.” Come weather and decaying carcass, I knew that nothing would deter John Knox; he was determined to preach that day.

Lectures at Heritage Home Educators Conference

April 23-25, 2009, I had the delightful privilege of exhibiting and speaking at the Christian Heritage Washington State Family Discipleship and Homeschooling Conference in Redmond, Washington. An overwhelmingly record-breaking crowd (over 2,100) turned out for the fourth annual conference.

The conference is organized (and I mean organized!) by the delightful Bradrick family, the Christian Heritage Board of Directors, and an attentive entourage of cheerful volunteers. I was privileged to be at the receiving end of the attentions of the Hamilton family, who hauled loads of books and posters, set up the exhibit, escorted me to the different halls I was to speak in, ran errands, brought me lunch, and made me London Fog Lattes! I came away spoiled rotten! Seriously, it was one of the most Christ-like run conferences I have attended or participated in.

I delivered three addresses. The first, Teaching Truth With Fiction, to a large group (Scott Hamilton told me they had to turn 100 people away because the room could not hold anymore), where I concluded by reading an episode from Hostage Lands; the second, Heroes: Inspiring Servant Greatness in the Next Generation, where I read the story of my hero, WW II, P-47 flyer, John Hemminger, and War on Terror hero, David Uthlaut, from HOLD FAST In a Broken World; and the last an address entitled, Why Teach Poetry in a Post-Poetry World? wherein I emphasized that the Psalms are the model by which all poetry must be measured, and the enriching benefits of incorporating the study of hymns and hymn writing into instruction.

One of my favorite things as an author is to meet readers, answer questions, and sign books. Our booth was super well positioned to connect with lots of readers and get acquainted. Thanks to the good folks who put the conference together with such excellence and who invited me to participate as a speaker! Watch for audio exerpts from the conference, to be posted soon.