Slice and dice: writing with limits

The Call to Pens deadline is very quickly approaching! With only a week left to go, you've written the perfect story. There is only one problem: you're over the word limit. Those angry numbers stare at you and perhaps you wonder how on earth you can sacrifice your wonderful creation to meet a seemingly arbitrary rule. But as an editor and a journalist, I can tell you that it's possible. Often, you can strengthen your writing by cutting out a lot of quite unnecessary words.

How is such slicing and dicing possible, you ask? You must take a surgeon's scalpel to your writing and cut it unmercifully, but for the purpose of healing. If you cut words correctly, your piece will be healthier for the word-surgery.

If you're...

500+ words over: Ask yourself whether you've tried to accomplish too much in one story. A short story should have one well-developed main character; you don't have much space to tell more than one story. Do all the events in the story accomplish your purpose? For the 1,500-word category, you have enough words for only a couple scenes. Each scene should move your character toward a single focused climax. If your hero is fighting dragons and suddenly remembers that he needs toothpaste at the grocery store, take out the grocery store (unless, of course, toothpaste is essential to your character's development). Short stories should start en media res, or in the middle of the action. The beginning of the story is not the time for you to give a vacuous wind-up of the character's past history, friends, and relations.

<200 words over: You'd be surprised how easy it is to trim out some unwanted words without losing content. For example, do a search in your story for the word "that." "She knew that he would come" loses nothing when it's shortened to, "She knew he would come." Try to make every word tell. Take out adjectives and adverbs and replace them with stronger verbs, i.e. "she cried loudly" to "she wailed," or "he ran quickly" to "he sprinted." It will save you words and make your writing stronger.

You can also remove trite, overused words such as "quite," "very," "perhaps," and "suddenly." (Don't warn us the crash is sudden before it happens; crash that car and let us be surprised!) Let's take the 85-word opening paragraph to this blog post as an example:

The Call to Pens deadline is very quickly approaching approaches! With only a week left to go, you've written the perfect story. There is only one problem: But you're over the word limit. Those angry numbers stare at you and perhaps you wonder how on earth you can  to sacrifice your wonderful creation for an to meet a seemingly arbitrary rule. But As an editor and a journalist, I know can tell you that it's possible. Often, you can strengthen your writing by cutting out a lot of quite unnecessary words.

The new version is only 60 words. We've lost 25 words of fat and our writing is healthier for it.

Be a fearless editor, my friends! We are looking forward to reading your creations.

For the judges,

Alicia

Reading Like a Writer

Today's author, Reyna Johnson, is a college sophomore who dreams up stories and delights in putting them on paper. She currently resides in Southern California. 

I'm sure you've heard that if you want to write well, you've got to read. Don't think I'm about to challenge that oft-repeated maxim, because I'm not. It's perfectly true.

It's just not complete.

In order to write well, you must do more than just read. You have to read well. You have to understand why what you read affects you the way it does. You have to understand why you care deeply about the fate of one character, but could not care less about another character. You have to understand why you read one book over and over, but cannot stand another. In short, you have to understand what separates good writing from bad.

So how do you go about this? The key is asking yourself questions about the different elements—such as plot, character, and style—that work together to make a story. The first step is identifying the plot of the story, something you likely already do. Ideally, you should be able to mentally chart the events in the story, and each should lead logically to the next. If you can't, what changes could you make to the plot so that its progression is logical?

Plot is great and all, but nobody cares about events without characters. A good character is more than just a name and a collection of facts. Think of your favorite character. Chances are, this character reads like a real person whom you know, the way you know your friends. You know what he would say or do in a given situation and what his values are. Next time you read the book featuring this character—or any other character that leaps off the page—pay attention to how the author crafts the character. How does the character behave? Think? Dress? Walk? How do these characteristics differ from those of other characters in the book?

Oftentimes, characterization is expressed through dialogue. Good dialogue both advances the story and stays true to life-like expression. Pay attention to conversations around you. Compare them to those in the books you read. As you do, you'll get a feel for what elements are intrinsic to natural conversation, and thus will gain a better understanding of what constitutes a realistic conversation. When you read a snippet of dialogue that strikes you as unrealistic, go one step further and try to figure out why. In what way does it stray from authenticity?

The way a story is told is very nearly as important as what is told. A good author tailors his phraseology, and pacing to create the most impact for his audience. Compare Tolkien's differing styles in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. The former is a children's book, and Tolkien adopted a more informal, conversational tone, almost as though he is telling a child a bedtime story. The latter is more serious, and Tolkien's style changes, becoming grander and more formal. When you read, notice the word choice. Why does the author choose to phrase something one way, rather than another? How would the emotions evoked in a scene change if the author had written in a different style?

Lastly, pay attention to the theme, or the conclusion a story draws about life. Themes can be tricky because a single story often has multiple themes, not all of them intentional. Christian writers in particular tend to have difficulty in this area. Because we often come to the table with the intent of delivering a message wrapped in a story, it is so easy to let the theme overrule the story. A story that falls into this trap becomes preachy. And nobody likes to read a sermon when they're expecting to read a romance or thriller or comedy, just as few people want a rollicking adventure story when they sit down to study a sermon.

But like all else, there is a balance. The theme is what gives a story its weight and purpose, so to chuck it entirely is also a grave error. When you read, try to identify the theme. Is it presented in a way that's both unobtrusive and powerful, or does it lumber around the plot like a three-legged buffalo in a flowerbed?

Reading well—like writing well—takes practice. Chances are you won't be able to pick all these elements out and process them the next time you read a book. But after awhile, you'll notice you analyze stories more, and therefore have a better understanding of how to best craft your own stories. You will have moved from simply reading a book to using each story to improve your own writing.

The Importance of Story

"Winning entries will thoughtfully reflect a Christian worldview, but not necessarily in an overt manner."

What does this "hint" in the submission guidelines mean? I'd like to take a moment to expand upon Erik's post from last week and talk a bit about what your judges will be looking for when you submit that story by February 1.

Erik talked about the problem with emphasizing a didactic message over the story itself. Is it important to talk about the message that stories convey? Certainly. In fact, I would say it's vital to analyze worldviews in literature and determine whether or not they match up to the Biblical standard.

However, portraying a theme is somewhat like chasing the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow: the harder you run at it, the further away it grows. In other words, messages in literature can distract you so much from the story itself that the messages lose their potency.

The beauty of fiction is that it is created to show, not tell. Consider the following photographs:

Image credit: PA Forestry Dept.

Image credit: Flickr

Which image best captures the beauty of a tree? Which one makes you catch your breath in awe at its aesthetic symmetry? Which image would you rather hang in your living room, for your guests to admire? Both are pictures of trees. Both are factually correct. Yet while the image on the top might be fascinating for someone with an interest in botany, the image on the bottom is the one that makes most people stare in wonder.

What's the difference? The image on the top tells everything; it's a diagram. It leaves no mystery, nothing left to be discovered, nothing for the viewer to find under the surface. The image on the bottom is a photograph; it shows you something of beauty and presents something true and pleasing to the eye.

In the same way, your stories should be photographs, not diagrams. It's easy to focus on theme because we give you a theme to write about. But don't lose the aesthetic beauty when you're slamming home a theme because the theme will lose its power.

Last year's coordinator, Crista Richey, talked about how Christian writers should instead seek to create a good story first, instead of sacrificing writing excellence on the altar of theme. She wrote:

This Christian element must be natural to the story; must arise from it, instead of being tacked on to it; must have power and substance in itself, and not rely on Scriptural quotations or witty proverbs to back it up. (After all – if your story relies upon such gimmicks, why should someone read it at all? Wouldn’t it be far better for your readers to consult the original source – the very life-giving Word of God?)

Even Jesus taught in stories, instead of simply repeating the verses of the Law that everyone-- especially the Pharisees-- had heard hundreds of times. When they asked Him, "Who is my neighbor?" Jesus didn't set out a didactic list of people that His followers were obligated to be nice to. Instead He told the story of the Good Samaritan.

So, seek to show instead of tell. See what story you can find that is true, unique, beautiful. Make it the best it can be. And when you seek to tell a true story, a story that reflects the world as it is and should be, then you will have written a uniquely Christian story.

Plotting Change

Image credit: Wikimedia Commons

Sarah Pride, the author of today's post, graduated from Patrick Henry College in 2007 with a degree in Literature and an undeclared minor in History. Her personal mission is to illuminate the world with beauty, goodness and truth, and to help build organizations that do the same. She has written a feature film screenplay and a half-dozen short films, as well as quite a few short stories, and is currently several chapters into the first book of her epic trilogy.

Creativity, so the myth goes, is a mystic force that spurts forth spontaneously. A divine spark possesses the artist and brings him outside himself to see the world with fresh eyes. Once the influence passes, it leaves the artist a forlorn and wild-eyed husk. He is more than a little insane.

This concept appeals because it means that we are not responsible when we do not produce. We were not “inspired.”

The trouble with the theory, of course, is that many authors have produced a great deal, inspired by little more than their need to survive. William Shakespeare, for example, wrote more than three dozen plays and a great deal of poetry. Charles Dickens wrote his novels in monthly installments. Just as any craftsman learns basic facility in his tools and an eye for what is good and bad in his field, so we writers can grasp principles to take control of our creative processes.

Today, I am going to write about the fundamental qualities of conflict and change, the principles that drive your plot. Basically, if nothing changes in our characters or in their environment from the start to the end of a page, we do not have a story at all. We have dead space. Conflict drives that change—either from within our characters or from their surroundings.

For example, consider the following exchange:

The queen swept down the hallway, raising her hand to stop a maid who was rushing past clutching an armful of books. “Flo, fetch me a glass of water,” she commanded. The girl bobbed a curtsey. “As you please, Your Highness!”

Dead space. But then, we alter it:

The queen swept down the hallway, brow furrowed. At last, she spotted a maid darting out of the library with an armful of books. “Ah, Flo!” she exclaimed. “The king’s fever is running high. Please fetch him another glass of water.” The girl gasped and bobbed a quick curtsey. “If you please, Your Highness – the vizier told me to bring these books to the Hall of Justice immediately.”

Suddenly, we have conflict. The vizier’s and the queen’s wills in that moment stand in opposition, and someone is going to have to change.

One way to take control of a story, then, is to plot the points of change. Consider how the main protagonist and his world will be different at the end of the story than at the beginning. Once we know our starting and ending points, we can mark out a series of necessary steps between, each sparked by a conflict inside characters, between them, or between them and their environment.

Once we get into this process, we find immediately that we have to know our characters intimately. We have to know the stimuli that will cause them, as individuals, to change in their own unique ways. What spells “love” for one real-life person can mean “hate” for another. So it must be for our characters. But that is a topic for another post.

Defeating the Grammar Villains

 English is a strange language. Much like the ethnic diversity of the United States, our language is filled with smatterings of other places. Words hail from musty tomes of Greek and Latin, the guttural Germanic tones of Old English, the smooth rhythm of the Romantic languages. And English grammar rules are often downright unconventional. Here's a classic example: haven't you wondered why the plural of "goose" is "geese" but the plural of "moose" is not "meese"? Haven't you wondered why almost ever other possessive is formed by adding an apostrophe and the letter "s" but the word "it's" is a contraction for "it is"? So, why is grammar important anyway?

Pretty much every discipline in life has rules. Just like you can't substitute baking soda for flour in a recipe or replace the oil in your car with water, you can't write "gr8" and "its time 2 go c u l8r" in any professional English writing without creating a devastating reaction. As William Strunk and E.B. White emphasize in The Elements of Style, you have to know and follow the rules before you've earned any right to break them.

As this year's contest coordinator and a former Call to Pens judge, I've found that few things are more distracting in a good story than improper grammar. It's hard to get involved in a story when you're constantly jerked back to reality by comma splices or  misused words. Even if your story has all the other ingredients-- a strong plot, believable characters, etc.-- continual grammatical mistakes can make a good story horrible, just like too much baking soda can wreck a recipe. I like to call them "grammar villains": those nasty little mistakes that seep in subtly to undermine your message.

The following list is by no means a comprehensive catalog of these nefarious creatures. But by watching out for these three common mistakes, you can keep your stories free of unwanted and destructive villains (except, of course, the real villains that are supposed to be there).

1. The Calamitous Comma Splice.

This common error raises its ugly head nearly every time unfortunate writers are wearily trying to fit all their thoughts into one sentence. See an example:

The knight fought valiantly against the dragon, his sword melted under a single blast of the dragon's hot breath.

Like the knight under the dragon's breath, the reader is wilting under the barrage of words and wishing that the sentence would come to an end. But defeating this monster is simple. To have a grammatically correct sentence, you must have only one subject (the knight) and one predicate (fought) per sentence. However, you can also join the two independent clauses together with a comma and conjunction (and, but, or!).

Thus, we have:

The knight fought valiantly against the dragon. His sword melted under a single blast of the dragon's hot breath.

Or:

The knight fought valiantly against the dragon, but his sword melted under a single blast of the dragon's hot breath.

Villain vanquished.

2. The Fatal Fragment.

The fatal fragment is a deadly and subtle villain that attacks writers who are trying desperately to eschew the comma splice. It hacks apart your thoughts and leaves your sentence missing one of its vital limbs. And it can masquerade as a perfectly innocuous sentence that even has a verb in it:

The knight who was very brave. Fought off the terrible dragon.

 However, neither of these strings of words are actual sentences. They're posers, Trojan horses that creep their way into your writing. To have a real sentence, you need both the subject (knight) and a verb (was) in the independent clause:

The knight was very brave. He fought off the terrible dragon.

However, fragments aren't always fatal. Good writers can use them rarely for dramatic effect:

She told me that she would always be there. That she would never leave me. That I would always have a mother. But now she was gone.

This is a matter of style, but it also means that in order to break the rules, you must know what they are and follow them most of the time. Stylistic fragments should be used very rarely, and only if they are obviously intentional. Discretion is key, because you can overdo it very easily.


3. The Injurious It's (and its sinister almost-twin sister, Its).

It's and its are two words that often switch places to accomplish their dastardly deeds in secret. However, brave and skillful writers will see through their nefarious masquerade. It's plain and simple: its is a possessive pronoun (its teeth) while it's is a conjunction for "it is" (Look out! It's a monster with sharp teeth!)

If you're not able to spot this distinction, practice it until you know the difference, and be sure to check your writing for these sneaky little words.

Though these aren't all the errors that can sneak into your writing, they are a few of the most common ones. Buy a copy of Strunk and White's Elements of Style (it's usually under $10) and read it cover to cover. Study it and refer to it when you're proofreading your work. And in time you will be able to defeat the grammar villains, which means we're more likely to focus on how your characters defeat their villains.

Happy writing!

-Alicia

Christian Fiction?

The author of today's post, Erik Landstrom, is a senior Literature major at PHC who can't get enough of a good story.

The tide has turned against Christianity. This is true in many areas of modern culture, but particularly so in the artistic community. At a rare best, we find modern literature, film, and art ambivalent toward Christianity. In most cases, however, there seems to be a growing sense of actual hostility toward the faith. Although in America this persecution is rarely physical, this does not discount the intellectual and cultural antagonism toward Christ and His followers. Christians with artistic gifts are hard-pressed to find their output taken seriously—their beliefs seem to disqualify them from serious consideration. 

Thus as writers and Christians, we find ourselves as a persecuted minority and accordingly, we find ourselves taking a defensive posture. We do not enjoy the luxury of a prevailing worldview amicable to Biblical truths. We are the odd men out. We are the ones pushing against the system. If we cease our struggling, we will be carried away in the current.

In response to this cultural hostility, Christians find themselves under the burden to reach out through this opposition and bring the light of Christ into the darkness. For believers who are called to politics, this means striving to implement Biblical standards into their execution of law. For those in business, this means a staunch commitment to ethical dealings. For the layman, this means an unabashed witness to the saving grace of Jesus in one’s life. For the writer (and indeed the artist in general), this means glorifying God in one’s work. 

Yet this not as simple as it may appear. Many authors operate under the idea that their duty as Christians is to produce “Christian books”—meaning books which deal chiefly and explicitly with redemption and the gospel message. They are guided by their conviction that the world needs the gospel worked into novel form. Yet often with this emphasis toward a “message,” the quality of the literature is no longer considered. I have read many books by well-meaning Christian authors in which the dichotomy between the good and evil is incredibly simplistic, where conversion is as quick and easy as blinking, and where characters speak as if reading a sermon. This is not to mention the wooden characterization and the inferiority of the dialogue. However noble their endeavors, these Christian authors have sacrificed much for the pedantic communication of their message, and in so doing have largely discredited their own work.

At the risk of splitting linguistic hairs, I wish to propose a distinction between “Christian writers” and “writers who are Christians.” My concern is that in regard to literature, the title “Christian” has drifted from a noun to merely an adjective. In other words, rather than emphasizing truly excellent literature, the Church seems to be looking for books in which characters are converted, salvation is preached, and evil is redeemed completely. Please don’t misunderstand—there is nothing wrong with this per se. Indeed, many talented writers have written about these experiences with true literary excellence. My point is merely that by and large, ‘Christian writing’ has become its own genre—and a mediocre one at that. Unable to compete with the standards of the artistic community at large (however far removed from a Christian worldview), the Christians have created a genre of their own in which quality hinges on the efficacy of the message. There is no emphasis on the excellence of the writing itself. 

Instead of striving after literary principles which have guided the best authors—many of them Christians—we put an unnatural bent toward overt communication. I would argue that one of the most powerful “messages” a Christian author can communicate is the actual story. Any message, however truthful or pertinent, will fall flat if the message itself is the sole impetus of the work. Art cannot be driven by ulterior motives—to do so strips the work of all its power and reduces the gospel to sheer propaganda.

What our dying world needs is writers—writers who are in fact Christians. We need young men and woman eager to cultivate their creative powers as they study to learn the mechanics of their calling—a solid story arch, meticulous character development, unique literary themes, precise subtleties, concrete details, beautiful language, and a cohesion and genuineness within the tale itself. After this technique, if the writer finds that a strong sense of redemption or conversion bubbles out from the very heart of story, then the writer must embrace it wholeheartedly. 

Such a writer has a daunting challenge before him—to communicate these themes in a fresh and genuine way—but they have risen organically from story and are thus fitting. Ultimately, however there is no fault in simply telling a story. In fact, this is where the true merit of the writer lies. We must never turn our creativity into a cheap platform for our message. Our art must speak with its own voice, and this requires skill coupled with training.

Chasing Stories: How to trap the elusive idea

The author of today's guest post is PHC student Sarah Watterson. Sarah is a sophomore literature major at PHC who spends her spare time chasing stories and devouring those that other writers have caught.

In Barnes and Noble a few days ago, I noticed a game in which one threw three dice to create a story. On each side of the cubes was a different picture and from the combination of pictures one had to piece together an impromptu tale. While I'm not sure this is a foolproof method, it highlights what is necessary for the creation of a story. A story is just the joining of elements that were originally separate, a piecing together of different things. Story-writing is all about making connections and creating patterns.

But how does one come up with a good story idea? To be entirely honest, I'm not really sure. Often I have no idea where one of my story plots comes from; all I know is there is something gnawing at my brain that was not there before. C.S. Lewis said The Chronicles of Narnia was inspired by a mental picture of a faun walking through the snow carrying an umbrella. J.R.R. Tolkien was grading papers one day when a line popped into his head, which he promptly wrote down: “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.” So of course he had to find out what a hobbit was, and The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings were born. I was encouraged when I learned that Tolkien was just as surprised as his characters when Black Riders entered the Shire and the hobbits met a stranger called Aragorn in an inn. Stories, once begun, can run away with you.

To acquire that elusive beginning, I can offer a few hints that may help you (some serious, some perhaps less so).

Dream often. The books Frankenstein and The Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde were purportedly inspired by their authors' nightmares. So if you can remember a weird or fascinating dream, write it down. You may become the next Robert Louis Stevenson. But if you are not gifted with such dreams (I'm not), take heart and read on.

Take long showers. While this advice might seem a little strange, I have found that some of my best inspirations come while I’m taking a long, hot shower. Maybe the streams of warm water aid in the flow of imagination. But seriously, find the right place where you write most easily and haunt that place like a restless ghost. Maybe it is not the shower (I rather hope not for the sake of your family members who will be taking arctic baths), but whether it is under a favorite tree or in a cozy nook or in the local library, settle yourself down and start banging or scribbling away.

This next one is a no-brainer: Learn from the best. Read the great works of other authors. I promise, they are the farthest thing from stuffy or dull. As you read, pay attention to the things they do well. How does this author tell an engaging story? How does he make you care about his characters? How does she make the setting seem real? Find the crème de la crème of the genre in which you desire to write and learn from them. And while I have no quarrel with the living, dead authors often are the best teachers. Though I'm sure you can get plenty of recommendations,  I will put in my own plug for Dostoevsky, Flannery O'Connor, and C.S. Lewis. And the Bible definitely counts as well. God is, hands down, the best Storyteller.

Bounce ideas off your friends. Many of my story ideas come from conversations in which my friends and I spin a “what if?” into a story.

Find some children to tell a story to. Kids love stories, and they will help you think on your feet. When a six-year-old asks you for a story about a dragon, he likely won't be willing to wait for an hour while you sort out your thoughts. You will be forced to invent quickly. So find some siblings, kids you babysit or a friend's little sister and weave them a tale. It doesn't have to be serious; make it light-hearted and funny. But I guarantee it will get your imagination working.

Look for story ideas in your studies. My friends can attest that my school notes are full of story scribblings because ideas will drop into my head while a professor is lecturing or the class is discussing a concept. Unlikely as it might seem, school textbooks, history lectures, and biographies are a gold mine of story ideas. Be on the alert.

Notice the little things. Anything, a diverting circumstance, an interesting sounding place, even an unusual name can release a train of ideas that eventually gel into a narrative.  Story ideas often come when they are unexpected. So pay attention and be ready. Write ideas on napkins if necessary.
While this may sound patently obvious, one of the best ways to write is to, well, write. Just sit down and start spewing whatever comes to mind. Trust me, this is not a waste of time. Often when you start writing, the words begin flowing of their own accord. (This article is a perfect example. I started not knowing what I was going to say and now you are scrolling down, searching and praying for an ending).

Final advice (yes, this will have an end): Be patient. Keep working and give yourself time to let ideas brew. Dig persistently and you will find some nuggets of treasure, even if it feels like you have to dig all the way to China. In short, just keep spilling words onto paper (or Word processor) and keep your eyes and ears open. Who knows what  might drop into your head, demanding to be scribbled down. Happy writing one and all!