Lynn Raye Harris

From the same comments trail of Joe Konrath’s blog comes this comment by e.c. morgan, who once worked as an editor at an automotive magazine:

Persistence is important in this business. I remember one writer who sent me query after query. I’d reject one and he’d immediately send another. All were well written, very professionally done — he was just barely missing the mark. Finally, after about a dozen rejections, I sent an assignment for a different story back with the rejection slip (his query was similar to a story we already had in the works). Seven years later, when I look at that magazine at the store, I still see his name in there.

Never, never, never give up (to paraphrase old Sir Winston).

I’m sitting here trying to figure out, for the millionth time in my life, what the heck I have to do to make this book I’m working on be the ONE that sells. I think I know, and then I get sidetracked. Let me explain.

No matter how many times I read this stuff about hooks, I still can’t manage to stick with a plan once I start writing a book. I know what a hook is. I know how to write an opening hook (I once won a Happy Hooker contest–what fun using that in a query letter!). My problem is getting the plot hook for the book and then sticking with it. I like to change things. A lot. I toss in the proverbial kitchen sink. I end up cutting. I change the sink from stainless to marble. Then I decide granite is better. But oh, maybe that porcelain farmhouse sink. Wait, what about that Tuscan stone basin? Oh shoot, doesn’t Villeroy and Boch make lovely hand-painted wash basins?

See?

But today, I read something that made a LOT of sense. Joe Konrath says in the comments section of a post: “If a book is poorly written, but has a great hook, it has a much better chance of selling than a well written book with no hook at all.This is a business. Books are a product. The sizzle sells the steak.”

Whoa. So I really do have to get the hook and stick with it. Think sizzle. Think steak. (But not too much, because there goes the New Year’s diet….) And I already knew this, but I’d never heard it explained quite like that before. Maybe food metaphors are the key to enlightenment.

A good site to surf to on occasion is rejectioncollection.com. In fact, the site’s founder, Catherine Wald, has written a book:

When you’re feeling down, go read about rejection. In fact, here’s a tale from the website….

In 1996 I thought about giving up my dream of becoming a published author. I had written two novels, found a wonderful agent and, by her account, had the best rejection letters any writer could wish for.

[...]

But despite them all… or to spite them all – I’m not sure which – I took to the web.

[...]

About 16 months after my web site went live, in February of 1999, Lip Service – the little book that could – was discovered on line by an editor at the Doubleday Book Club who bought it as an alternate book club selection. It was the first time a major book club had bought a self-published novel. The first time a book had been discovered online.

Two weeks after that Pocket Books offered my agent a contract. At that point Lip Service became the first e-book to cross over to become a mainstream novel.Lip Service – the book no one wanted in 1996 – has now sold over 60,000 copies and has been published in England, Germany, Israel, The Netherlands, France and Australia. The trade paperback version has just gone into a second printing.

If you don’t know by now, the author is M. J. Rose. Good thing she didn’t give up. And neither should you.

Periodically, I go back and reread some of the articles/posts/websites that have helped me the most in my quest to improve my writing. Today, I clicked on Holly Lisle’s A Baker’s Dozen Antidotes to Meh Writing. Don’t know what meh writing is? Here’s an explanation from an editor at Red Pen Diaries:

The meh. This is the category where I receive the most submissions. This person has done their homework. The cover letter is pristine, the synopsis excellent, nary a typo to be found in the submission as a whole. Just one problem. While the author wasn’t looking, someone sucked the immortal soul out of the book. The voice is non-existent. The plot? Blah and bland with a side of meh. Outwardly, there is nothing wrong with the submission, it is spit n’ polished to a glossy sheen. Inwardly? A cold gelid, slimy piece of bologna on slightly doughy, moist Wonder bread.

A little known secret? Meh’s are often published. Meh’s often get picked by new or inexperienced publishers, or even established ones in a moment of weakness. Why? Meh’s know their craft. The book seems to need little or no work, and the meh’s are pleasant and easy to deal with. Of course, the editor doesn’t often realize they have signed a meh, until they begin the editing process. Then, the passion they have for editing doesn’t seem as strong for this particular title — they dilly-dally around with other things instead of completing their edit. The realization is often gradual — but sooner or later, the editorial light bulb will go off. Dammit! I signed a meh!

Luckily, I got my meh experience veery early on in my editing career (with an author I no longer edit — so calm down everyone!) through a “present” bequeathed me from another editor (who I still want to kick most fiercely whenever I see her!). This editor quickly realized she had a meh on her hands and passed her on to the new kid. I had the misfortune to accept her next heartbreaking work of meh genius. Never. Again. I am glad I learned my meh lesson early, because meh’s are hard to get rid of. Rejecting a meh is like kicking a puppy. These people are genuinely trying — they have learned their craft inside and out. Unfortunately they were either born with voice imodulation disorder, or they had their unique author’s voice beaten out of them by the endless speakers, critique groups, books, or conventions they went to in search of the magic bullet to publishing. There is almost nothing constructive you can say to a meh — they ARE doing most everything right, and the one thing they are not doing is virtually unteachable. I feel sorry for the meh’s. But now all they will get from me is a kind (is there such a thing?) yet bland and non-descript rejection letter.

Oh dear, right? And you know what is the scariest part? “…they had their unique author’s voice beaten out of them by the endless speakers, critique groups, books, or conventions they went to in search of the magic bullet to publishing.” Sort of like the discussion on some of the lit blogs about MFAs and the deadening of Voice. Having your voice beat out of you is a real danger. How do you avoid it? Damned if I know.

All I know is that you have to be careful when listening to others tell you how to write, even when those others are multi-published. Their way isn’t necessarily your way. Of course you should listen to them on many things, because they’ve been in the trenches and they know what they’re talking about. But don’t let it mess with your unique voice. Don’t let someone tell you that you can’t have a werewolf/shapeshifter/cop hero because those don’t sell if that’s what you REALLY want to write. Write it and give it a shot, being fully aware they may be right.

Setting is one I used to hear all the time. Don’t set your historical in ancient Rome or medieval Germany, etc. I’ve also heard not to use Hawaii as a setting, though Carol Burnside (hi, Carol!) recently won the Maggie Award for her unpublished short contemporary set in Hawaii. Like Miss Snark says, writing trumps everything. If you do it well enough, maybe you’ll convince an editor to take a chance on you. You might even start a trend.

Local author Morag McKendrick Pippin is having great success with a trilogy of romance thrillers set in the early 20th century (India, Britain, and Germany for pete’s sake!). The first book, Blood Moon Over Bengal, won the Holt Medallion for Best First Book last year. (Go look at the cover, and then go look at Blood Moon Over Britain–they are gorgeous!) It can be done.

So learn what meh writing is and go read Holly’s tips for fixing it.

Aloha.

I’m new to reading Joe Konrath’s blog, but I really like what he has to say. Today’s post is a great dovetail to Miss Snark’s synopsis experiment. Want to know why you keep getting rejected? Want to understand why your manuscript isn’t actually getting read?

But I never really understood what it is like to be an acquisitions editor, or an agent, until recently. I’m a paid judge for a short story contest a magazine is holding, and I’ve had to read 2600 short stories.

I’ve learned a lot, much of it scary and bad. Namely: I can tell within ten seconds of looking at a story whether it will go on to the finals or not.

Ten freaking seconds.

This is not because I’m blessed with the ability to sniff out talent. It is not because I’m a pompous know-it-all who refuses to give anyone a chance. And it is not because I’m lazy and want to get this all over with quickly.

The writer tells me, subconsciously, whether or not their story is worth reading.

Want to know how? Then go read the entry. And pay very close attention to what he’s saying. Most of that is fixable with a little time and attention.

I’m an idiot. After more than a decade of writing on and off (more off than on), this is the realization I have come to. You ever read the Belgariad by David Eddings? And there’s that baby horse frolicking around when Garion is stuck in the ground and trying to touch its mind to tell it to go get help? And the baby’s mind flits like a butterfly from one object to another, none of it serious?

Today, I realized I’m the baby horse. My mind has always flitted from one thing to another, which is why I write in spurts and then go sulk in great long fits of self-pity. While sulking, I do lots of other things. Sometimes I don’t even know I’m sulking.

But here’s what I’ve realized:

A. I spent most of last year depressed. How in the hell did that happen? It must be true, because when I look back on accomplishments, they are nada. I can’t think of a single significant thing I did last year. I wrote a short story for Strong Currents 2, I finished up my series in the Hui Lei Magazine, and I taught a workshop at a small local conference. I even wrote a fast and furious 100+ pages of a novel in one week. Until I started second guessing myself and the story fell apart. I also did not finish up the rewrites of the novel I completed the previous year (325 pages in a month. It’s apparent I can write fast when I’m in the groove. It’s falling out of the groove and then being unable to find it again that’s the problem).

B. I’ve been trying to write quiet stories about two people falling in love. Oh, they’ve got their issues and all that, but the story is primarily about them working through those issues and learning they belong together. I’ve tossed in military heroes, but the military is more backstory than anything. A socialite and a Navy guy, for instance, working through the opposite world thing.

C. I LOVE rollicking adventure romances. Spies, secret operatives, military commandos, fate of the free world and all that. SO WHY IN HELL HAVEN’T I BEEN WRITING THAT?

D. The stakes I write are never high enough. I should be thinking bigger.

E. I want a career. In order to get that career, I must do several things.

I must:

1. Finish projects.
2. Write fast (I can) and stop questioning myself until the end.
3. Learn to outline or use a plotting board or something! Even if I change the story, I need a roadmap to eliminate all this meandering along.
4. Set goals and keep them.
5. Query on two novels THIS YEAR.
6. Realize this is a business. It isn’t personal. You don’t like what I write? Fine, someone else will.
7. Realize I will need to fine tune this list as I learn new things.

On the Sunday Times and the Middleton/Naipaul experiment, Miss Snark says:

…to assume that this proves agents don’t recognize quality is bunk. If anything it proves exactly what I’ve been saying: agents are interested in what SELLS. Now, I don’t have sales figures for these books….given they were published 35 years ago it would be very difficult to get them. But I’ll tell you this: pick a literary novel, any literary novel even from a Nobel Prize winner, and “respectable sales” over the course of YEARS is the height of achievement. Most of them sink like rocks. Rocks similar to the ones in the heads of the Sunday Times editor who let this article run.

Having read Naipaul, I can certainly see why a busy agent/editor would send it back. His writing takes a while to unfold, as do many literary works. Still, it’s sad to think what we may be missing out on because the industry is so focused on the next big commercial success. I doubt it’s thousands of good novels, but I’ll bet it’s more than we think. On the other hand, I really do believe that cream eventually rises to the top (unless you’re Dan Brown).

But, finding that cream–holy moly! Reading Miss Snark’s Crapometer synopsis experiment made me want to imbibe massive quantities of alcohol and huddle in bed for a week. If I had to read those things all day in search of a good book, I’d go nuts. (And I say this fully aware that my own synopsis skills aren’t any better.)

But I never would. Now, someone’s done it for me. I first saw this on Publisher’s Lunch today. Now the NYT has it. What a hoot!

Submitted to 20 publishers and agents, the typed manuscripts of the opening chapters of two books were assumed to be the work of aspiring novelists. Of 2
replies, all but one were rejections. Sent by The Sunday Times of London, the manuscripts were the opening chapters of novels that won Booker Prizes in the
1970′s. One was “Holiday,” by Stanley Middleton; the other was “In a Free State,” by Sir V. S. Naipaul, winner of the 2001 Nobel Prize in Literature.

So don’t give up. Maybe it ain’t you. Maybe it’s them. It’s a nice thought anyway….

From the blogosphere this morning comes these handy tips from The Millions: A Blog About Books:

With Amazon’s little known refund program, you can save money if the price of an item you bought goes down within 30 days. Simply fill out a refund request form, even if the price drops 100 times in 30 days. Amazon will credit your account.

Second, you can get 1.57% off your purchases (on top of the Amazon discount) if you sign up and use their A9 search engine. You only have to use it a few times a week to qualify. I signed up this morning, which was easy, simply by logging in with my usual Amazon user name and password and clicking on sign up.

It’s all explained at The Millions, so click on the link above and let Max Magee show you how to save money.

As I continue with my dogged determination to improve my writing life this year, I came across an article I saved. Elmore Leonard, author of such classics as Get Shorty, offered 10 rules of good writing in the New York Times Writers on Writing series last year. Here they are in brief:

1. Never open a book with weather.
2. Avoid prologues.
3. Never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue.
4. Never use an adverb to modify the verb “said”…he admonished gravely.
5. Keep your exclamation points under control. You are allowed no more than two or three per 100,000 words of prose.
6. Never use the words “suddenly” or “all hell broke loose.”
7. Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly.
8. Avoid detailed descriptions of characters.
9. Don’t go into great detail describing places and things.
10. Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.

This article is so worth reading if you can find it. The NYT archives these things, but wants about 3 bucks to access it. If you have access to Lexis Nexis or another academic database, you can probably get it for free.

I think my personal favorite is number 10. Do you find yourself skipping passages in a book? Why? I tend to skim long paragraphs of narrative, find where the next patch of dialogue is, and then reassured it’s coming, I’ll go back and read the narrative a little closer.

I know I’ve been guilty of breaking these rules on occasion. It’s embarassing to think about, much less read in work that’s been published and is therefore unchangeable. Just the other day, whilst editing Strong Currents 2 with co-editor Michael Little, I found two horrid turns of phrase in my own work that’s about to go to press. I got to change it, but sheesh, how close was that?

The most valuable thing Leonard says in the article (in summing up the 10): “If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it.”