conferences

Conference report card

Saturday, November 13th, 2010

Venue: A
Agents: A
Value: B+
The coffee: A+
Fellow writers: A+

Like the Backspace Writers Conference last May, this autumn’s Backspace Agent-Author Seminar was the shortest distance between two points: writers and literary agents. Two days of 15-member workshops and panels made for two nights of dead-exhausted sleep and sore feet, if you happened to be wearing boots with four-inch heels. But the rigor is worth it, because the agents, location, and especially other attendees–and yes, Starbucks coffee–were outstanding. The only reason I gave the value a B+ is because everything in New York has a, well, New York price tag.

My pages and query letter seemed generally OK, based on the response they got from agents Michelle Brower, Rebecca Friedman, Natanya Wheeler, Alanna Ramirez, Adam Schear, Kirsten Neuhaus, and Paul Cirone. But the few flags and questions the agents raised are ones I have, too, and hearing them out loud in front of a group helped me answer them better for myself. Chiefly: yes, it’s a dystopian novel about near-future Gaza; no, present-day Gaza is not a dystopia, (1) by definition; and (2) not an appropriate setting for story I want to tell, because the way characters confront the division of men and women in this society cannot happen while strident criticism of the West is a conventional part of the argument.

Anyway, it’s complicated, but it is all helpful for me as the creator of this world. I’m clearer about the writing and revisions that come next, and more excited about my late winter deadline than I was three days ago. Add this to a long run in Prospect Park this morning, and the discovery of a Stumptown Coffee around the corner from Leena’s apartment, and the world seems like a generous place.

Onward!

coffee

On loglines, and a request for help. (Warning, writerly geekery ahead!)

Tuesday, October 19th, 2010

The November writers conference is looming. Last week, the organizers asked us to submit our manuscript’s first two pages with a logline in the header. Logline, I thought, triggering a chain of associations. Log jam. Writer’s block. Screwed!

Agent Jennifer De Chiara and super-helpful tweep defined it this way on today’s Twitter feed.

It’s just one compelling sentence that summarizes your manuscript in a way that will entice agents/editors to read it. Usually used to entice agents/editors when you’re ready to pitch your manuscript, I find that it’s helpful if you write it before you even start your manuscript. It will keep you focused on the essence of your book, what you’re trying to say. If you can’t summarize your manuscript in one sentence, then maybe your story isn’t focused enough. Who are the main characters? What do they want? What’s in their way? Make sure it has a hook – or themes to which all readers can relate. Look at the movie sections in magazines and newspapers and see how they describe a film; Look at movie posters. Practice writing loglines for famous books and movies, and you’ll get better and better at it.

Taking the advice to heart, here are several loglines from the movie section of MaineToday.com.

Secretariat. Housewife and mother Penny Chenery agrees to take over her ailing father’s Virginia-based Meadow Stables, despite her lack of horse-racing knowledge, and ultimately fosters what may be the greatest racehorse of all time.

Paranormal Activity 2. After experiencing what they think are a series of “break-ins”, a family sets up security cameras around their home, only to realize that the events unfolding before them are more sinister than they seem.

Hereafter. A drama centered on three people — a blue-collar American, a French journalist and a London school boy — who are touched by death in different ways.

Let Me In. Twelve-year old Owen is bullied by his classmates and neglected by his divorcing parents. Achingly lonely, Owen spends his days plotting revenge on his tormentors and his evenings spying on the other inhabitants of his apartment complex.

The Social Network explores the moment at which Facebook, the most revolutionary social phenomena of the new century, was invented — through the warring perspectives of the super-smart young men who each claimed to be there at its inception.

Case 39. A social worker tries to rescue a young girl from abusive parents but begins to suspect the girl may not be so innocent after all.

Red. Frank Moses, a former black-ops CIA agent, is now living a quiet life. That is, until his secret identity is compromised, putting his love interest in danger. Now, Frank must reassemble his old team to figure out who is out to get them.

My Soul to Take. Legend tells of a serial killer who swore he would return to murder the seven children born the night he died. Now, 16 years later, people are disappearing again. Has the psychopath been reincarnated as one of the seven teens, or did he survive the night he was left for dead?

Sooo… here’s my shot at it.

Shahida. A disgraced young mother is sent by her family to be married in Gaza. She joins a group of other women in dire straits, but what begins as a promise of freedom snares her in the underworld of female suicide bombers—where the veil of femininity hides an ultimatum that could keep her from her son forever.

Update 2.0: Or just, “A young unwed mother joins a group of other disgraced women in Gaza City, and what begins as a promise of relief pulls her deep into the world of female suicide bombers.”

Most of the loglines above are between 25 and 50 words; with some input from some helpful readers, and mine keeps getting shorter. Thanks! Anyone else see a place to trim? Thoughts in general? Would you read the book?

The cosmic I is watching you

Friday, July 3rd, 2009

A few weekends ago I attended a three-hour memoir workshop with screenwriter and memoirist Annick Smith—

(Belated post, I know. I’ve also been moving across town, and you would have no idea how well and neatly I had packed my old apartment with things I didn’t need. Lessons learned: accept only edible gifts, love your local Goodwill, don’t own a piano if you live on the third floor of a walk-up and are too frugal to hire movers.)

—anyway, Annick Smith. Her opening lecture on nonfiction and memory was great, albeit somewhat of a repackaging of techniques carried over from fiction. The narrator is a character. “I” is a character. Therefore, in writing creative nonfiction, you are creating a character who is very much like you, but will never be you exactly. She said that in memoir the “I” is a free thing, free of linear story, free to roam and encompass a mind. The goal of writing memoir, then, is you can’t achieve truth (verisimilitude, pathos, rapport with the reader, whatever you want to call it) by writing story, but to write an entire mind. This is the cosmic I.

She also said to shrug off the guilt of writing all about yourself, because good memoir is not really all about you. It’s about writing about your experience so that readers can see themselves in it. So, your memoir is ultimately about your reader. This is also the cosmic I.

Finally, she offered some technical advice. The first draft is always easy–scrawl it down, reel it off, follow your mind where it leads you. The second draft is about finding the lies. Memoir writing is psychotherapeutic, it seems; we tell ourselves lies, and hold onto erroneous details in memory, so that we can maintain a comfortable self-image. In order to get to the truth, however, we must use revision to find the errors in our own memories, and correct them. From that, we make it possible for the reader to see themselves in everything that is uncomfortable, illogical, gauche, vulnerable, and silly in our own lives. I suppose this is the cosmic I, too.

So, if the cosmic I happened to be watching me sort out my belongings this week, it might have wondered why I kept the piano, which I never play; why I got rid of the bathrobe that I wore almost every morning. Why I kept cornmeal, vinegar, corn syrup, and peanut sauce; but why I packed away the silverware that my mother set out at every dinner of my childhood, and taped up the box, and put it in a far corner of storage. It’s a good subject for another post, probably.

Mountain Writers Conference

Thursday, June 4th, 2009
What: Mountain Writers “Memory and Place” workshop, taught by Annick Smith
Where: Hood River, Oregon
When: Sunday, June 21, 2009

Details: I’ll be attending with client Kezban Barzilay to learn and get inspired. She’s writing a beautiful memoir of her childhood in Izmir, Turkey, and I look forward to spending the day with a strong, talented, and interesting woman!

More information on the conference at www.mountainwriters.org.

When pathetic is good

Thursday, June 4th, 2009

At the conference, writers attended a two-minutes, two-pages workshop in which we read our first two pages aloud to a panel of agents. The agents listened as though they were reading the pages on submission, and would say, “Stop,” whenever they would normally have lost interest in the writing. Then they explained why.

The number-one reason agents lost interest in writers’ first pages was a lack of action. (Agent Kristin Nelson blogs about her take on the problem here.) They often said the first pages contained too much description, either of the setting or of the character, and then offered the standard advice to begin in media res, in the middle of the action. But I believe it was agent Matthew Mahoney who made a telling point–a point which no one picked up on in the discussion.

He compared opening pages to the opening minutes of a film, and said that you need someone to root for, or the action is boring. Battle scenes, for instance, are a meaningless barrage if you don’t know who to worry about.

When I think about writing, I usually think about it in terms of the hale Aristotelian triad of pathos-logos-ethos (I blogged about this over on Greenkeys a while ago). In other words, writing that works well appeals to your audience’s hearts, minds, and sensibility. When we care about a character, that means the writer has done a good job with writing pathos into the scene. Which means that the most exciting battle scene in the world will never be a good one if every character in it remains anonymous.

This also means that the most important element in the opening pages of a novel is not really action, then, but character. A character gives meaning to the actions on the page. For instance, how much do we care about a child throwing a tantrum in the cereal aisle? How much more do we care if that scene is told from the mother’s point of view, when the tantrum is interspersed with someone telling her that she’s a crappy mom? As always, it depends on the writing, but the second situation would compel me to read on at least a bit further. I’d want to know how the mother responded, both to the tantrum and the criticism.

This is why good action scenes begin with attention to people–to point of view, character, and the who-what-how-and-why of a given person’s response to a situation. So I guess you could say that good writing is pathethic writing.

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