Tag: creative writing

June 3, 2019

Lessons on Writing Relationships… from Romance Novels

Feedback on the first draft of a fiction manuscript I’ve been working on for a while, while positive in other aspects, suggested that the characters’ relationships lacked a certain spark. So, while working on the second draft, I turned to a genre that models relationship writing: romance.

Romance writing is a realm where constraint fuels creativity. A relationship focus and a happy ending are key to meeting the genre’s expectations. Readers know that the main characters are going to get together in the end; the fun (and literary skill) is in finding out how they get there. As well as being enjoyable to read, romance offers wonderful insights into building characters and crafting the dynamics between them. There’s nothing like a romance novel – focused on chemistry, rapport, and relationship development above all else – to illustrate how to write effective relationships in fiction!

Here are a few of the romance titles I’ve enjoyed recently, and the insights I’ve gleaned from them.

The Bride Test, by Helen Hoang: For Hoang, writing romance intersected with discovering that she was on the autism spectrum and creating characters who share neuro-similarities. In this delightful novel, the mother of Khai, an accountant on the spectrum who wants nothing to do with relationships, returns to Vietnam to find him an ideal bride. Esme, a whip-smart janitor with a young daughter (inspired in part by Hoang’s immigrant mom), is eager to seek new opportunities in America. But to secure a better life for herself and her family, she must, in one summer, win the heart of a man who believes himself unable to love. The relationship between Khai and Esme evolves with sensitivity to their very different needs and experiences. While there’s mutual attraction, it comes with a lot of misunderstandings, often related to culture or neurology, that the characters must overcome. Hoang excels at creating interpersonal conflict with solid reasons behind it, both internal and interpersonal. Read this novel for a great example of how two very different characters, with realistically divergent experiences, can convincingly come together.

The Summer of Jordi Perez (and the Best Burger in Los Angeles), by Amy Spalding: In this queer YA romance, Abby begins a summer internship at her favourite clothing store only to discover that a co-intern, Jordi, is also vying for the single job available once the summer ends. But the two girls hit it off so well that sparks fly between them, and private, plus-sized Abby, who’d cast herself in the archetypal romantic-comedy “friend” role, must come to grips with photographer Jordi’s view of her as a leading lady. Abby’s thoughtful perspective definitely leads here, with Jordi being more of a secondary character. I found her a great example of crafting a non-point-of-view romantic interest who is appealing and fleshed out – scenes with her photography and family are charming, though not central. Another great secondary character is the funny jock Jax, best friend of Abby’s best friend’s boyfriend. A secondary storyline follows the “friend chemistry” that evolves between him and Abby as the unlikely pair sample L.A.’s burgers for a rating app.

Outback Billionaire, by Nikki Steele: The cover cracked me up, but the writing kept me reading until I finished it in one sitting. This was a fun read with a tight perspective on the two romantic leads, alternating POVs between Marlo, an American aspiring actress brought to Australia by her good-for-nothing manager fiance (they break up quickly thereafter), and Jack, a wealthy cattle station owner who offers her a job on his land. In a genre often focused on the heroine, I would have liked to know Marlo better, but found Jack’s concerns (health problems, hot buttons, vulnerabilities) to be particularly well explored. His interests are appealing and understated. The fantasy of wealth is conveyed through the understated sensuality of French press coffee, good wine, and a love of open spaces. The Australian Outback is described with precision and gorgeous language – you get a romance and armchair travel in one!

Hate to Want You and Wrong to Need You, by Alisha Rai: In this family-drama romance series, two families that once co-owned a grocery chain have a bitter falling out after a parent in each family dies in a car crash. Hate to Want You is the story of Nick and Livvy, children of the respective families, a couple forced to break up after the families split. Since then, they’ve hooked up once a year, and when Livvy comes back to town, both of their suppressed feelings for each other threaten to reignite old wounds. Wrong to Need You develops a romance between Sadia, single mom and widow of Livvy’s brother, and the surviving brother, Jackson, a once-close friend who cut Sadia off after being accused of burning the flagship grocery store. I have yet to read the third book, Hurts to Love You, which ties up loose ends in this angsty saga of family secrets. Rai’s series excels at developing multiple character relationships at once. Family, friendships, and romantic ties are all complicated and all matter deeply to both plot and characters. Every heated moment has emotional heft. Mental health issues are integral to the plot, and the characters are diverse and deep. If you’re interested in writing romantic relationships, an ensemble cast, or both, the Forbidden Hearts series is well worth your time.

If you’re looking to bring more romance in your reading life (either for fun, for writerly insights, or both), Smart Bitches, Trashy Books is an awesome resource for discussions and recommendations of what’s good, what’s not so good, and what’s out there. And of course, there are lots of romance deals available on Amazon to get you started!

I’m delighted to see this genre getting growing critical respect (the New York Times Book Review now has a romance critic!) and publishing a wider variety of voices. In an often harsh world, there’s something both comforting and radical in reading about all kinds of people finding happiness.

April 9, 2019

Learning Writing from the Masters: Pros and Cons of MasterClass.com

This year I was given an incredible birthday gift – a year’s subscription to MasterClass.com – and I wanted to tell you about it because I think there are many others who’d appreciate and benefit from these classes as well. MasterClass is a website that features video classes taught by celebrity experts in their fields, and the big names are really the draw. It’s not every day that you have an opportunity to learn about writing from Neil Gaiman or acting from Natalie Portman! Thus far I’ve focused on my subject of interest, the writing classes.

So what can you learn from the masters about their craft? A lot, I’ve found! This month I’ll share my breakdown of how MasterClass works, what you do and don’t get from it, and a taste of what I’ve learned from the writing classes so far.

How MasterClass Works

When you sign up for MasterClass.com, you can purchase either a single class for $90 / €70 or a year’s All-Access Pass for $180 / €150, which includes access to every class on the website. The All-Access Pass is a good deal if you’re interested in more than one of the classes, as it allows access to a wide range of content on your own time.

Each class features about 20 videos from the expert in question. They take the form of condensed mini-lectures of 10 to 30 minutes or so, focused on a particular topic and divided into subtopics. Catchy music breezes you in and out of each segment. Each class has an accompanying workbook that summarizes key points from each video and offer supplementary exercises. The classes also include “office hours” where you can post your responses to these exercises, and instructors provide video feedback to selected students, as well as a community hub.

Pros and Cons

MasterClass is a wonderful way to learn from professionals who are or have been foremost in their fields. When you have instructors like Margaret Atwood, Judy Blume, and Dan Brown, their resumes speak for themselves. Students get to learn their philosophies and techniques – to see how these authors created their successful books and learn about the ups and downs of their careers.

Practical know-how is blended with heartfelt wisdom. The great thing I’ve discovered so far is that both of these vary from writer to writer. Listen to a few of the classes and they’ll start repeating key points, but also contradict each other at times! For instance, Judy Blume begins with character while Dan Brown begins with setting. R. L. Stine begins his class with by saying that, in contrast to the popular advice to write from your heart, he’s written many books and not a single one from the heart. You’ll take what works for you from each instructor and apply it as it fits, and there’s a wonderful sense of liberation in realizing this. The teachers thus far have all been animated, genuine, and encouraging. I get the sense that they believe in their students and want to see them succeed.

The videos are well made, with good production quality and visual touches (Neil Gaiman showing pages from one of his comics, Margaret Atwood demonstrating point of view through moving around boxes and staplers). The format is easy to work into the day – you can easily listen to a video, say, on a lunch break or train commute. Everything goes at your own pace, so you can take the classes as quickly or slowly as you like. For self-directed learners, and those who learn well through online interaction, MasterClass might be as good of a fit for you as it is for me.

MasterClass is not going to be for everyone. It’s not a substitute for the hands-on nature of an in-person writing group or workshop. If you’ve taken writing classes before, some of the content will be repetitive. Because the classes are so different, and the writers have diverse approaches, you’ll find that some will speak to you more than others. You’ll want to have the time to devote to digging in, learning, and really applying their teachings to your own writing, so some amount of “free time” for this is required. Some of you may be interested in taking classes on other topics, but there’s such a range (from politics to cooking to composing…) that you’re likely not going to take them all, or be interested in everything on offer. The workbooks vary in the intensity of their supplementary teachings and homework. Some feel more like outlines of the class, while others, such as Neil Gaiman’s, offer extensive reading lists and wonderful in-depth exercises to apply what you’re learning. If you’re committed to it, I believe that MasterClass and its teachings will improve your writing. I’ve found new insights and inspiration to revise the manuscript I’m working on.

If you’re reading this and thinking that MasterClass sounds like your thing, you can check it out here. Happy writing!

March 4, 2019

The Roles of Emotion in Writing

“Where do you get your ideas?” This question, commonly asked to writers, elicits many different responses. Inspiration can come from current events, life experiences, interests, the combination of different concepts, dreams, a character who pops into one’s head, or seemingly out of nowhere. There are probably more sources of inspiration out there than there are writers, with some claiming that getting an idea is the easy part and the challenge, and craft, lies in fleshing it out.

Ideas are the “head” aspect that impels us to write, but emotions are the “heart” side of this. Often writers are driven to the page or keyboard by some feeling, whether anger at injustice, grief over a loss, or wonder at something beautiful they’ve witnessed. To write powerfully, tapping into emotional truth helps a whole lot. This is done through connecting with your own emotions, and through applying tools of the craft to connect with your readers’.

Writing and your emotions

Writing has long been viewed as cathartic, and research now supports this view. Writing about difficult experiences, including trauma and grief, helps make meaning of these experiences and reclaim personal power. Writing from emotion is healing for the psyche and even the body, with potential immune benefits for those facing terminal or life-threatening illness. And writing from strong positive emotions might strengthen them as well, and shape them into something that will resonate powerfully with others. (Just think of your favorite love poem.)

Writing from emotion transcends the personal. You’re not the only one who feels the emotions you translate into words. Most of us have had the experience of opening a book and finding a passage that described a personal truth, touching us deeply and leaving us feeling understood, less alone, perhaps even more at peace. Natalie Goldberg claims, “When you heal yourself, you’re helping everyone. When you become clear, it helps everyone become clear.”

Aliette de Bodard wrote her Locus and Nebula award-winning science fiction short story, “Immersion”, fueled by “getting really angry.” It’s a compelling story of a technology that perpetuates colonialism by giving people avatars with knowledge and behaviours that can mirror the dominant culture’s, with characters who begin to find ways to break free. One of my favorite short stories, “Immersion” is beautifully written, and given its accolades, the emotional heart also struck a chord with readers – perhaps bringing some of the clarity Goldberg spoke of.

Writing and your readers’ emotions

De Bodard and Goldberg have plenty of company; most writing has an emotional core with impact beyond the words, which features strongly in the most beloved works. In his Master Class on storytelling, Neil Gaiman states that when you write a story, you must decide or discover what the story is about. This goes beyond the basic plotline and into the domain of meaning: what appears on the surface to be an adventure story can, on a deeper level, be about homelessness and invisibility. Gaiman emphasizes the importance of emotional truth, of being more vulnerable and honest in your writing than you’re comfortable with. Only then, he proposes, will readers see themselves in your story because it seems real.

Once you’ve brought your honesty to the page, you might, in a second draft, consider the effectiveness of your writing’s emotional communication with readers. If you’re writing fiction, consider whether your characters’ emotions and motivations are clear on the page (rather than just in your head). Think about their relationships and interpersonal dynamics: Who gets along? Who dislikes each other? Why? If you’re writing poetry, do the rhythm and images support the feeling you want to get across? If you’re writing nonfiction, does the voice? Having a friend read and give feedback can also help with making the emotional tone is strong and clear.

Emotions are powerful, and sometimes painful. If you write, they are among your most powerful tools for creating work that leaves a lingering impact on your well-being and others’ reading experience.

June 4, 2018

How to Write a Personal Story That Connects with Readers

I recently finished doing a manuscript assessment for a memoir. The author was eager to tell their story to future generations of their family, having put much time and effort into researching their own family history and finding the stories sparse. A memoirist in my writers’ group is impelled by the same impulse. The lines I’ve participated in critiquing are well crafted, the stories engaging. These two books have me thinking a lot about memoir lately, and one of my client’s comments made me think: “I know this story isn’t commercial.”

“Commercial” is another thing I’ve been thinking about. It speaks to the market, but the market is born from reader interest. Readers buy a book because they connect with the content in some form. For those who write memoirs, personal essays, and other forms of writing about their own experiences, their art becomes commercial when it resonates with others. Reading someone else’s story is most interesting when it connects to something you’ve felt, thought, wanted, or lived.

Many of us hunger to tell our stories. There’s a difference, though, between what works for the writer and what works for the reader. How to use the ephemeral medium of words to build a bridge between your experience and others’?

From reading and editing work based on personal experience, I’ve noticed that certain elements help an individual’s story resonate on a broadly appealing level. If you’re working on a memoir or personal essay, the following writing techniques might help it connect with readers, too.

Bring scenes to life. Rather than listing events, show your experiences by creating scenes. Incorporate the senses: What did you see, hear, feel, smell, and taste? If you’re writing a longer piece, dialogue can be built into your scenes to break up the narration. Because we don’t always remember what everyone said in the past, dialogue in memoir is often more of an approximation. That said, if you recall any memorable lines, by all means include them!

Be a character. Readers want to get to know you. Let your individual voice come through in word choice and craft. Use your story to highlight your values and share your feelings. It might be tempting to think that writing something “universal” means leaving your personality out, but the opposite is true. Few readers relate to a bland everyman or everywoman, while many will relate to a narrator who feels alive, even if they are quite different from the reader themselves. Don’t be afraid to take a stand. Let your uniqueness shine.

Build in a narrative arc. Readers appreciate progress and stories that make sense. While life doesn’t necessarily have clear-cut beginnings, endings, or climaxes, it’s helpful to shape your story so that it does have these elements. Show who you were before your story began, how your experience changed you, and why it matters.

Emphasize a theme beyond the personal. It’s often immensely rewarding to write about your life experiences, but readers want stories that have something to offer them beyond experiencing someone else’s reality. Look for universal truths that your experience individualizes. Maybe it relates to a global issue or relatable emotion. Bring out your story’s implications that are bigger than the scope of your personal sphere.

When done well, personal writing is some of the most powerful writing out there. It allows readers to experience walks of life they might never otherwise have access to, and it describes deep human experiences in ways that help them feel less alone. With thoughtfulness around audience and storytelling, your personal writing will shine. For some readers, your voice might be the very one they need to hear.

March 1, 2018

What I Learned – and Wish I’d Learned – in Creative Writing Grad School

There are debates in the writing world about the value of studying creative writing, and whether it’s beneficial or detrimental for honing your writing skills. I spent two years in a graduate Creative Writing program. Having gone on to write and edit professionally, there are skills I’m glad to have learned in class and others I’ve learned out in the “real world.” While programs, classes, and teachers vary, here’s my breakdown of what I personally learned in school vs. the lessons that came later, some of which I wish had been covered in the curriculum.

How to experiment vs. how to connect with readers

Graduate school did a fantastic job of opening my eyes to the different types of writing out there. By meeting practicing writers, I saw just how many genres and styles one could pursue, how many niches a writer could find for their own style and interests to shine. In classes, we were encouraged to try out different styles and voices. Writing exercises pushed our boundaries and deepened our abilities. We also analyzed a wide range of books in class. In this experimental climate, I could see that many different kinds of writing had value.

One thing that wasn’t at all stressed, though, was writing commercially. We were seen as artists, developing our abilities in an art form. Any considerations of marketing were left out, and so, in large part, were considerations of the readers – ironic in that I was hoping first and foremost for my words to connect with them. The elements that make writing “click” with people are often the same ones that make it sell, and I’ve been doing my best to learn them since graduating. Emotional resonance, concept appeal, and getting readers to turn pages are skills that transcend writing style and experimentation. I wish school had talked about them more.

How to write deeply vs. prolifically

“Write every day,” one of my professors told me, “even if it’s just a line in a notebook. If you’re writing a novel, it should be the first thing you think about when you wake up and the last thing you think about before you go to sleep.” I followed her advice, keeping notepads handy at all times. I learned how to be absorbed in a project and open to inspiration.

While depth was part of my education, no one talked about how to write prolifically or how to keep producing. There was no education about word counts or incentive to keep going outside of the thesis and classes. I also didn’t learn about outlining methods, which would have been helpful for the fiction I was writing. My instructors, of course, were part-time rather than full-time writers. If we’d had guest speakers in to talk about the discipline of writing full time and offer tips, or activities to instill discipline and practice along the lines of NaNoWriMo, how much that could have helped us learn about being productive, working writers.

How to critique and edit vs. how to market

The workshop format of our creative writing classes was useful in teaching us how to give and take critique. We went over classmates’ writing with a fine-toothed comb, learning to identify what they had done well and where they could improve. When receiving feedback, we discovered through experience how to incorporate consensus about what wasn’t working into revisions. We learned which critiques to take into account and which were off the mark for what we were hoping to achieve. I learned a good number of editing skills both through self-editing based on these critiques and through working with literary magazines on editing and acquisition.

By the end of my studies, professors said my work was “publishable,” but how exactly would I accomplish that? I left the program with very little idea. I recommend that anyone teaching creative writing talk their students at least a little through the business side of things, demystifying the submission process, query letters, agents, publication, and what the market is like.

There’s a lot I learned from my time in grad school about pursuing writing as an art. Since then, I’ve discovered how much it’s also a business, and how much I still have to learn. While studying creative writing can be the right learning opportunity for some, it’s not for everyone, and a lot of the craft’s practical lessons aren’t necessarily covered in the course curriculum. I recommend that anyone who’s interested in a writing career self-educate about readership, productivity strategies, and marketing. This part might come after writing a draft, as it favors strategy over artistry, but it’s important to look into if you want your writing to reach people and make its mark on the world.