File this under: #Shutupandwrite
She doesn’t appear to be keep up her blog, but Karisha Prescott does have this post on why you (generally speaking) won’t ever finish that novel you keep talking about, aside from the money you still owe the Don. You don’t make time to write. You don’t work to improve your writing. You over-edit what you have written, and you can’t take feedback.
The September Writers Digest Magazine is designated the “Big 10” issue, featuring a plethora, an abundance, myriad Top Ten lists by various writers. It features a lot of good stuff.
But one thing irritated me. So naturally I’ll concentrate on that.
One list, on pages 64-65, is called “Brush Up On Your Style in 10 Minutes Or Less.”
In the opening paragraph, the author, Brandon Royal, says, “Everyone can benefit from the occasional reminder of the principles of strong writing….”
Then he lists his list. Good stuff here, like “Use Straightforward Language,” “Trim Long Sentences,” and “Avoid Redundancies.” Meat-and-potatoes advice for punching up your prose. It’s well thought out and useful. Just the sort of thing young writers (especially but not exclusively) need to learn, to produce publishable manuscripts.
Until you get to Tip # 10. Here’s how it starts:
10 Avoid the Masculine Generic. The masculine generic refers to the sole use of the pronoun he or him when referring to situations involving both genders. As much as you can, make an effort to avoid using he when referring to either a he or a she, and using him when referring to either a him or a her….
He goes on to appeal to fairness, and the need to avoid putting off female readers.
Now I can understand promoting gender neutrality in your writing on the basis of making your work more saleable. I can understand it as a justice issue (though I bridle at that characterization). I can understand it as an appeal to self-interest, and the obvious dangers of making half the population mad at you.
But this bit of advice has no place on a list giving tips on strong writing. “He/she” or “him or her” is not stronger writing that “He” or “him.” “Humankind” is not a stronger word than “mankind.” “Chairperson” is not a stronger title than “chairman.”
Everybody knows this. But I’m saying it here.
And that, friends, is the strongest writing of all. When you say what you really think, rather than what you’re expected to say.
Today’s Word of Wisdom from Walker:
As I look back over my lifetime, I find that I have only two regrets.
The things I’ve done, and the things I haven’t done.
I’m pretty much OK with the rest.
Michael Medved reviewed George Clooney’s new movie, The American, today. He said it’s a beautiful film in which nothing much actually happens.
This reminded me of one of the most surprisingly bad movies I ever saw. My brother and I were in St. Paul one evening a while back with time on our hands, and decided to see a movie. We went to the nearest cinemaplex, and saw it was playing Robert Duvall’s newest film, Assassination Tango. We’re both big admirers of Robert Duvall, so we immediately bought tickets.
It was horrible. Continue reading Labors of misplaced love
This reminds me a bit of the LifeHacks guy (if that’s the right label for him) who was offered a book contract and spend the whole time designing the cover.
Loren Eaton links to some misconceptions often repeated to would-be writers or about writing, like the money people will throw at you, the public respect you will receive, and the ships that will come in for you. Let me have a fit of transparency here and tell you that I get most discouraged by advice that I need to read piles of work in a certain genre in order to write well or have the credentials to be considered for publication, but I’ll never be able to read as much as I’d like to.
Never mind. I’m just complaining, and I have better things to do.
Earlier this year, the Guardian asked several writers for ten rules for the craft, similar to the ten rules Elmore Leonard published this year. I abide by this particular rule of Leonard’s, which was taught me by my journalism professor:
Never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue. The line of dialogue belongs to the character; the verb is the writer sticking his nose in. But “said” is far less intrusive than “grumbled”, “gasped”, “cautioned”, “lied”. I once noticed Mary McCarthy ending a line of dialogue with “she asseverated” and had to stop reading and go to the dictionary.
Here’s another good one, this time from Geoff Dyer:
Beware of clichés. Not just the clichés that Martin Amis is at war with. There are clichés of response as well as expression. There are clichés of observation and of thought – even of conception. Many novels, even quite a few adequately written ones, are clichés of form which conform to clichés of expectation.
This is good stuff. Care to argue over any of these? They aren’t all golden.
Our friend, S.D. Smith (but you should refer to him as Mr. Smith), wrote a little something about the word amazing. At least, that was my take-away.
By way of Mr. Smith’s post, I have learned that the great Walter Wangerin Jr. has a new novel. Out this month is Wangerin’s book, Naomi and her Daughters. Publisher’s Weekly calls it a short, but profound biblical tale come live.
NPR’s Talk of the Nation has a good segment about writing with three authors who are honest about the struggle to put words on paper, so to speak. One caller asks if pain is a requirement for writers, noting a particular unhappy author who stopped writing during a short happy spurt then returned to writing once the sadness settled back.
Yesterday I wrote about a couple Stephen J. Cannell novels I’d just read, including Cold Hit. Thinking about the book some more, I came up with further thoughts about something I’d praised Cannell for—his handling of characters.
The book is oddly dated by its presentation of a worst-case scenario based on aspects of the Patriot Act. Remember back around 2005, when everybody was scared that George Bush was turning the country into a police state, and how all the powers given to Homeland Security would have progressives herded into concentration camps for crimes of sedition? All that stuff’s still in force, right? Apparently, now that the Democrats are in charge, those same laws are suddenly benign.
Anyway, much of the tension in Cold Hit arises from friction and territorial infighting between the local police and federal agencies. One character in particular, a federal agent whom Cannell spends a lot of time teaching us to hate, turns out—in the end—to be a decent public servant, one who’ll never be the hero’s best buddy, but who deserves and gives respect.
It seems to me one of the weaknesses of contemporary Hollywood (I know I’m jumping abruptly from novels to movies. That’s because I think fiction sins far less in this regard these days) is that characters in movies almost never surprise us anymore. Hollywood has become all about stereotypes. All southerners (I’m sure you’ve noticed) are gap-toothed, undereducated bigots (except for Tommy Lee Jones). All preachers and priests are hypocrites at best, and probably sexual predators. If someone hunts, or votes Republican, they will be unsympathetic. All Latinos are “simple but proud” (to quote a good line from Thomas M. Sipos’ Hollywood Witches, which I reviewed not long ago), all Native Americans are simple but proud with mystical powers added, and all African Americans are wise. Young white males are drunken slackers. Young kids are smart-mouthed, and more intelligent than their parents. The moment a character appears, you already know all about them.
If you’re writing a story, surprise us with your characters. Find good in the ones you don’t like. Find flaws in your heroes. Your work will gain a lot of depth.
Algis Valiunas at Commentary writes on the legacy of Norman Mailer.
Capote showed Mailer the way by sympathetically detailing the character of one of the murderers, who like Gilmore seemed fated to suffer and inflict hell on earth; but Capote also did what Mailer did not, which was to portray the victims in their appealing humanity, to render the full horror of their final moments, and to emphasize what was lost by their deaths. With the rapt intensity of a man staring into a cobra’s eyes, Mailer gazes into and cannot look away from human malignancy, which seems the most riveting subject a writer can have and which he congratulates himself for searching so boldly again and again. If only he did not love it so.
I just wish Valiunas would stop holding back, and tell us what he really thinks of Mailer.
Caution for disturbing subject matter.
Tip: The Paragraph Farmer.