Given my recent experiences with critiquing and being critiqued, I thought I should compile a list of useful tips on how to critique others’ work.

I have previously written more discussion-based advice on giving other writers feedback, which you can find here, here and here. But These are long-form and I wanted to provide a quick reference I can easily add to and can be a lasting resource to other writers.

So, you may find a little repetition from other posts if you’re a regular, but this should be easier to refer to in future, and I promise there’s some new tips too!

Let’s get critical! Critical! I wanna get critical…

1. Start big

   It is most useful to point out the biggest flaws in a piece. These tend not to be grammatical or spelling errors! If you’re short on time make sure you get the broad criticisms in.

2. Spinach sandwich

   Critiquing structure: A nice comment (such as a compliment), followed by constructive criticism, and closing with another nice comment. Or to put it another way – tasty stuff, stuff that’s good for you, more tasty stuff. It will make the writer receptive to your critique and leave them feeling positive too.
   

   

   Make sure you at least include some spinach, or this guy might get biffy!

3. Be constructive

   For every comment, ask yourself, “can they use this?”

4. Be specific

   Or at least as specific as you can. Pick out sentences that demonstrate your point where possible.

5. If you can’t be specific, don’t leave it out

   Sometimes you really can’t put your finger on why something isn’t right. If you’ve made a good effort to discover why, but can’t, you should still tell the author. If five people have a “funny feeling” about a section, it probably needs changing and the author will have to figure it out.

6. There is always something to criticise

   A glowing report does not help the writer – they came to you to make their work better, so dig deep! If there are no general comments, then go for individual sentences.
   

   

   I do my critiquing at Critters.org.

7. Remember it’s all your opinion

   Nothng you say is a hard and fast rule, even if you think it is. There are no hard and fast rules. Everything is your opinion, and you should phrase it as such – “I think that,” “I feel that,” “in my opinion” should pepper your critique.

8. Don’t rewrite

   That’s the author’s job! It’s easy to suggest a rewrite to a sentence or even whole paragraphs, but resist! Not only can it appear patronising, it’s not what the author has asked for. they want to know what’s wrong so they can fix it.

9. Answer the author’s questions

   It’s easily forgotten, but your critique may be useless to them if you don’t tell them what they need to know. Make sure you’re not wasting your time or the author’s and make it a habit to double-check for questions.

10. Pay attention to the author’s notes

    For example, if they say it’s written in British English, don’t “correct” realise, colour, cancellation etc. (for this, most online dictionaries will tell you if a word is a britishism).
    

    

    The author’s already done all this – don’t forget that! Image courtesy of Sharon Drummond on Flickr.

11. Be honest

    Don’t skip over things you’re afraid will embarass the author or hurt their feelings or whatever. Those may well be the things they need to know about most of all! It’s your job to let them know.

12. Be tactful

    You know what gets my goat? People who say something hurtful and then follow with, “I’m only being honest” as if honesty makes up for the pain they’ve caused. Being truthful and sparing someone’s feelings are not mutually exclusive concepts. Be brave and tell the truth, but in a way that is not offensive. Or to put it another way…

13. Remember this is their baby

    People are very sensitive about their children. Everyone knows this. It’s a rare person that would willingly talk bluntly about another’s child to their face (if they give the slightest of a damn).

14. Now imagine their baby is smoking cigarettes

    You have to tell the parent there is something wrong! But try not to make it sound like the kid’s a complete wrong’un, or they are the worst parent in the world because their child is ruining their two-year-old lungs (even if it’s true).
    

    

    “Criticise me at your peril!” Image courtesy of Nina Matthews on Flickr

15. Remember – they don’t have to change anything

    It is, after all, their piece. So it does no good to write phrases like “you must never/always…” The likelihood is it’ll get the writer’s back up.

16. Stick to the piece in question

    General advice is fine outside of a crit, but it’s my opinion that it gets in the way when talking about a particular manuscript. For a start you’re assuming the writer hasn’t done these things (like leaving the story in a drawer for a month; reading it out loud), and it can also come across as patronising.

17. Read to the end

    You’re not reading for pleasure, so you should put the work in and get to the end. How do you expect to give a proper critique if you’ve not read the whole thing? You might say, “if I were reading for pleasure I would have stopped here,” as long as you give reasons, but you must still do your job.

18. Always thank the author

    It’s polite and reminds you you’re getting something out of this too – critiquing makes you a better writer. So thank the writer for the opportunity.

Over to you:
Boom! All tipped out? No, you can never have enough! I’m sure you’ve got some tips yourself. This is a living document and will be added to in the future, so leave your own tips!

Grand Designs

One thing I often overlook in the writing process is that there are some serious design aspects inherent in writing – not only in epics. If you’re writing prose (particularly in the area of sci-fi/fantasy) then you’ve basically got the job of an entire film crew. You’ve got to write it, direct the action, breathe life into the performances of your characters and more importantly, design everything the reader will experience.

As I’m currently writing sci-fi (or at least trying to), this is the main thrust of this post – though the points are applicable to all kinds of writing. 

Regular readers may be aware I’ve been somewhat stuck with this project for a while. And it wasn’t just because I’ve been lazy or uncommitted. Not just. No, it’s because the section I’d reached was choppy and ill-defined. That’s partly because I hadn’t taken the time to consider all the specific design aspects of this particular world. 

It may sound like a no-brainer, because there are several basic aspects of design in the planning stage. But I’ve never broached design from this angle before. My previous writing has had the worlds kinda just… there. That doesn’t really make much sense, but if I were to try to explain, I would say my previous projects have been a lot more intimate. The scope of the world has been much smaller, and much more grounded in this world. 

In larger sci-fi however – let’s just say Space Opera and be done with it – it is very easy to take a lot of these design aspects for granted. Spaceships, Aliens, Laser guns… 

It’s odd, because I’m usually such a stickler for details in these regards. I will put huge amounts of thought into how the engines might work on a space ship – overcoming the light barrier and so fourth – even if the details never go down specifically on the page. I know how it works. 

But this section I’ve had trouble with for just these reasons. 

He said, Let There Be Light…

At this point in the tale, one of the main characters has arrived at a different world and discovers all kinds of chaos. I’ll admit, my first draft was unconvincing, because I was grafting situations onto the world after the fact. This made it disjointed. 

Game of Thrones again? I know, how boring. But it’s relevant! The culutre of Winterfell is very different to that of the Dothraki, and Mr. Martin had to show that.

Enough rambling though, let’s get to some of the building blocks you seriously need to consider when creating a world for your characters to live in (with thanks to Matt, who highlighted some of these points in his feedback).

• The Place – how does your location look? How does it feel, how does it taste, what does it sound like? What is the climate like? What is the geography of the place like?
• The Culture – How do the people act? What do they look like? How do they relate to each other? How do they dress? How do they speak? What are the politics of the world? How does religion function, if at all?
• The Technology – How advanced is the technology? What is its general aesthetic? How does the infrastructure work? How do people get from A to B? 
• The Eco-system – What is the indigenous life like (assuming there is any)? What kind of balance is there? What kind of impact has colonisation had on the world? 
• The Characters – How do your characters react in this world you’ve created? Have they lived there all of their lives? Are they part of the fabric, or are they visitors? How do they react and respond to the place? Do they fit in, or stand out? 

Now obviously, there are a lot of questions here. Depending on your genre and setting, some will be more applicable than others. How have I folded all of these questions into my piece? Well, I’m still working on that… 

The Hurdles

As I mentioned above, a lot of the design aspects I’ve taken for granted in my other work. My other major project is set on Earth, in the near future, so a lot of the design aspects were already in place. 

You know, I’m surprised we don’t use this pic in every post. Image courtesy of Philo Nordlund on Flickr

Up until this point in my current project, most of the action had taken place on spaceships and stations, which are much smaller, much more manageable environments to get your head around. This is the first time we’ve set foot on a planet, and the scope opened up much more than I had anticipated. 

Some of the questions I’ve been asking myself are things I’ve never considered before. How would a city grow and evolve if ground transport is basically non-existent? Without the need for roads, how would the city look? 

It is vastly different from the other colony world I introduce in the opening section of the book, which consists of massive arcologies. The technology is different because of the available resources. The look of the place is distinct. I viewed this as useful, since the story spans lots of different worlds and as a writer, I need to establish an aesthetic shorthand to let the reader know where they are. 

I don’t really have an audience avatar character in this piece either. There isn’t someone who is new to all this and has things explained to them as they go. It’s tougher to demonstrate the world without this, but I feel it is slightly more authentic – if you’re a good enough writer that is. 

Overall, this is a fairly new experience for me, so I’m getting to have a lot of fun with it. Time will tell whether I am successful or not. 

Over to you readers. How do you go about creating the worlds of your writing? Are there any other points I have failed to mention? As ever, feed the comment section below…

A few weeks ago I submitted my first piece to critters.org. It was a 10,000 word sci-fi story; a thoughtful (I hope) tale of a group of humans returning to Earth to “start again” and what that phrase might mean to different people.

About two weeks ago I got my critiques back. I am recovered, and ready to reveal my experiences.

Hopes and fears

I had the usual worries you might expect when submitting – what if no one liked it? Or understood it? My greatest fear about the story itself was people might find it uninteresting and my writing style boring.

The Critter robot!

But one thing I definitlely needn’t have worried about was the amount of critiques. At 10,000 words, it’s a long short story, competing for people’s attention and time with stories less than half its length.

I was expecting four critics at the most, and would have counted myself lucky if I got more than one. People are far more generous with their time than I’d guessed – I got seven!

Wondrous variety

I was also fortunate to have a range of styles of critique. Some went in depth on line by line, some picked out technical flaws from their own knowledge, some took a more general approach.

The quality of the critiques varied as well. One thing that was particularly clear was the difference in effort. Some got confused by the story and gave up. Others admitted their befuddlement, but persevered until they understood.

One person actually wrote less than the required amount for credit (which is only 500 words). They still gave good points so I didn’t shop them (although there may be some automatic process that counts their words and denies them credit anyway).

I realise the desire to give up if you don’t understand a story, but it was clear from a couple of submissions the critter had simply not been reading carefully. I understand that too – many times I’ve felt I’m reading something in order to get it done (because I’m often behind on my quota). But I cannot help but take a little extra time if I don’t understand a piece or feel I’m missing the point.

Let’s get critical! Critical! I wanna get critical…

I got one who made me think I had to rewrite the story from scratch, and another (my final crit) who thought the piece was a couple of word choices away from publication. Thank goodness for that person, if only for the pick-me-up!

It is also interesting to note no one caught all my mistakes. Even the most thorough of my critiques missed some typos others picked up on.

I don’t know for sure, but I suspect this variety (this very useful variety) is part of the nature of the process – it may be there are as many styles of critique as there are critters.

Patterns in the multitude

Despite the variety of points raised though, there were similarities.

The primary pattern that emerged (very quickly) was confusion. Despite the lovely person who completely got it and appreciated having to work for the story, the vast majority showed some degrees of confusion about the piece.

I would say out of the seven, five expressed confusion and out of them, two were completely bemused by the whole thing. As painful as it is, I can’t ignore that.

Worse, not only was the structure confusing, but the environment of some sections was nebulous and added to the uncertainty. And if I’m honest, some part of me I’d buried was very aware of this.

Whereas I don’t think this necessitates a rewrite, there’s a great deal of editing to do. I now have the difficult task of making things clearer, whilst avoiding over-explaining.

Involuntary emotional response!

I thought I’d be able to read the critiques more objectively than I did. I knew not everyone would like it. I had resolved to read each one as if it were about someone else’s piece – to look at each criticism in as detached a way as possible.

Needless to say I was thoroughly deflated after reading a bemused crit and rather grumpy after reading a string of them.

I did find myself mumbling childish retorts to some comments, and dismissing some simply because I didn’t like them. All the while, I knew I was doing it, and also knew I’d probably be back to read them again.

And I did, and as I had suspected the vast majority of comments were right on the money. Some of my initial reactions inevitably feel childish now (I’m glad I was sensible enough not to reply straight away – I’d hate someone to think I wasn’t grateful for their time), but for now that’s part of the process for me. Maybe it’ll get better.

Some I still dismiss as style choices, and still others I know I won’t do because of what I think is important to tell my story (if they don’t see it as important, perhaps that’s where the fix needs to be). But overall – what an astute bunch of people, and what an idiot I am for not having seen some of these things.

Settled dust

Overall I’m very pleased with my first experience being critiqued by my online group. I got more critiques than expected, a great variety of opinions (but with noticeable patterns) and some great advice! It was everything I wanted!

Over to you:
But it’s not all about my experience – I am but one person, and this was but one submission. Does anyone have more extensive experience they’d like to share? Perhaps you haven’t taken the plunge yet – what’s holding you back? Comment ’til content!

Because this is a long one, here are some quick links in case you came here for a specific tool:
Twine     Inform     TADS     Quest     ADRIFT

Twine (Mac, Windows, Linux)

Twine is the simplest way to create a text adventure, and therefore the easiest to use. Twine writers produce stories using a graphical interface. Each piece of text is represented within a box, and lines link each box, showing the routes the player might take through the story.

The work is compiled in HTML format, and works on any browser that supports javascript (and has it turned on. That’s practically everyone, by the way).

The graphical interface makes it immediately obvious what is going on. Editing is done by double-clicking a box and typing in the resulting form. Creating a new box is as simple as double-clicking in an empty space.

Links within the text are defined by surrounding the word(s) in double square brackets [[like this]], and choices outside of the main text are the same, only with a * character in front. And that is seriously all you need to get going.

Twine uses a graphical interface to show its simple text and links concept.

For more information, there is a video tutorial series that explains everything you need to know and will definitely help you decide if this is your software for writing Interactive Fiction.

If you want to “go deep” with Twine, you can add your own HTML and stylesheets. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then you probably want to leave those features alone (you are basically editing web pages at that stage).

Some people may find Trine too simple for their purposes but it depends what kind of story you want to create. On the surface, it seems more geared towards Choose Your Own Adventure style stories than text adventures but there is the accompanying Twee syntax for stories that are more involved (thanks for the hint from Horace Torys in the comments).

Twee has the concept of variables and expressions, and there are tutorials for doing things like creating an inventory, or tracking the number of bullets left in a gun for example. It remains basic and abstract – it doesn’t know what a “door” is and what it can do, nor an object or player-character for that matter. But it still serves as a good entry into the more complicated aspects of interactive storytelling.

Inform 7 (Mac, Windows, Linux)

Inform takes a writerly approach. In the same way Interactive Fiction uses a verb-based system to make it easy to play/read, Inform has tried to make its source code like writing English. You describe what the player sees.

The interface is split into two panes, each of which can show a variety of helpful tools and resources (or your story of course).

Inform’s coding style is an intriguing concept. Rather than write code, you can do a lot by writing a natural-English paragraph. Inform will then interpret what you’ve written and sort the various objects into types, which automagically have certain properties and available actions. Take this example from the documentation:

East of the Garden is the Gazebo. Above is the Treehouse. A billiards table is in the Gazebo. On it is a trophy cup. A starting pistol is in the cup.

There are three rooms here and three objects, each of a different type. The language is very powerful, allowing for all sorts of interaction. And it’s extensible, so if there is something you need, you might find a plugin that includes it (or write your own).

There is a caveat. Just like Interactive Fiction disengenuously promises the world with its blinking cursor, writing Interactive Fiction with Inform is not as freeform as it appears. It is still code, and beginners will run into problems because they haven’t written things in the “right” order, or they have omitted punctuation that seemed unnecessary. If you’re not used to that, I can see what was intended as a useability feature becoming frustrating.

However, once written it’s incredibly easy to understand and so learn from the work of others.

Inform has a powerful and surprisingly complete suite of tools

The documentation is excellent; full of examples, sensibly organised, and viewable alongside your source code, thanks to the two panes of the interface. It is also well-written – concise, thorough and informative. It is not often I enjoy reading a manual!

Other tools include a Skein (a visual representation of a reader’s journey through the story) a full transcript of any given playthrough, and an automatically generated map of your world. All powerful stuff, if a little intimidating to the beginner.

Inform is my favourite. Not only does it tick all of my joy buttons by combining writing and coding, but it’s impressively complete, and takes a professional stance on useability that is missing from the others. The Mac version especially, is a joy to use.

If you’re familiar with Scrivener (and you should be), consider this the Scrivener of Interactive Fiction.

TADS (Mac, Windows, Linux)

N.B. The TADS site recommends using frobTABS if you’re on Mac/Linux. Below I’ve looked at the TADS 3 Author’s Kit for Windows. See the download page for more info.

TADS stands for Text Adventure Development System, and is as techy as that sounds. This is Interactive Fiction software for programmers.

It is written in a text editor (TADS Workbench is a specially designed text editor for this purpose), and each room, object, interaction, description is defined in a strict syntax. The TADS 3 format that’s produced can be played on any interpreter.

Here is an example of the code (with comments removed), just for the sake of comparison:

entryway: Room ‘Entryway’
“This large, formal entryway is slightly intimidating:
the walls are lined with somber portraits of gray-haired
men from decades past; a medieval suit of armor<<describeAxe>>
towers over a single straight-backed wooden chair. The
front door leads back outside to the south. A hallway leads
north. ”

describeAxe
{
if (axe.isIn(suitOfArmor))
“, posed with a battle axe at the ready,”;
}

north = hallway

south = frontDoor

out = frontDoor
;

+ frontDoor: Door ‘front door’ ‘front door’
“It’s a heavy wooden door, currently closed. ”

initiallyOpen = nil

dobjFor(Open)
{
action() { “You’d rather stay in the house for now. “; }
}
;

If you can understand what’s going on here, you should be fine. If the sight of it sends you into waves of panic, TADS is probably not for you.

The manual is large, but I found it tended to waffle a bit. I recommend starting a new project on the “easiest” setting and opening the .t file within. This contains basic structure for your story that you can edit. Most importantly, it is heavily commented. It’s a great place to start and very instructive.

You are not restricted to one file of code. In fact you can have as many as you want, allowing you to organise your project how you like. The manual recommends splitting your project up one file per room, for example.

Debugging tools are available that will be familiar to programmers. Break points stop running code at a specific line so you can check the status of watched variables. For simple text adventures, this won’t be necessary, but when it comes to testing complicated logic, they can be invaluable.

Although Inform’s text approach is easier to read, you do have to read it. If you’re a programmer you’ll understand how TADS layout may make a room easier to understand “at a glance”. Plus, its strict syntax could make it easier to debug (I haven’t spent enough time with both to know for sure, but this is going from my knowledge as a programmer).

Quest (any browser, or there’s a Windows app too)

Thanks to mistermole for pointing out Quest in the comments.

Quest is a browser-based, form-driven editor. The game maker can be loaded in Internet Explorer (or Firefox, Chrome etc.), and the finished games can also be played straight in the browser.

Because of this, it’s very easy to get started – there is nothing to download and signing up can be done using your Facebook or Google account.

Once inside, click to start a game and you’re presented with an intuitive interface. Your project tree is down the left hand side of the screen and contains all of your rooms, characters and objects.

Each element of your game is created by filling out a form. In the screenshot below, you can see that I’ve added one room, which I’ve called “Cave”, a direction the player can look, and some rocks as an object.

If I were to continue, I could make the rocks a container, and have the player be able to “open” them (I would describe this as moving them) to reveal a handy-dandy rope in a hidey-hole beneath. I could even include images for each of the things in my text adventure game. Simples.

Because it’s in a browser, there is a tiny wait time between forms. It’s not much at all, but it adds up, and is simply not as responsive and slick as a desktop application.

However, it does mean that anyone can play your game without having to download anything. As an alternative, the system even allows you to export your game as a mobile app, which is a nice touch.

ADRIFT (Windows)

Thanks to Sondar from the comments for pointing out ADRIFT

Adrift is another form-based editor with a few graphical flourishes for ease of use.

Here the object types are arranged in columns that go the width of the screen. Coming straight off of experimenting with Quest this threw me at first (largely due to the technical-looking tree down the left hand side, which I suspect you never have to touch).

A quick glance at the tutorial however and it all fell into place. Actually I prefer this layout, as it’s easier to see everything in your game at a glance.

Objects are added by right-clicking on the appropriate list, and once in the object editor, you can assign various properties, or add related objects.

There is also a map in the top area of the screen. You can even add rooms and connections by clicking on the map, which is a handy shortcut for mapping out your game quickly.

I have had limited time with them, but Adrift certainly seems more thorough than Quest – there seemed more options for your objects and they were immediately intuitive. While I supsect similar things can be achieved with both systems, Quest might require a bit more creativity to bend it to your will.

The downside to Adrift appears to be limited distribution. The editor itself only works on Windows, and whereas the ADRFIT Runner (the program that plays the games) can be installed on any system, it is required to play ADRFIT games. As I understand it, you can’t play them on a variety of already well-established IF players (like Inform or TADs stories), nor can they be played in a browser like Quest games.

In Conclusion

The choice comes down to what you’re comfortable with. If you’re starting out and want a testing bed, I’d suggest Twine. Quest and ADRIFT are also good places for beginners, but be prepared to at least open the manuals for these.

If the depth of interaction in your story outgrows them, take a look at Inform or TADS and go with the one that complements how you picture an IF story.

As an added bonus, here are some more resources for you to take a look at if you want to create a text adventure:

Over to you:
As always, I’d like to hear your thoughts on the systems described above. And if I’ve missed one that you like using, please let me know. The comments section is below.

Never Enough Time…

I will be honest, there is this kernel at the back of my mind that still ticks over my ideas. Actually, it’s more than that, it is this desire that screams out to be heard. I would say this is essential if you’re working in any kind of creative art form. You have a vision and you desperately want to create some kind of record of it, whether it be expressed visually, through paint, sculpture, film, or with words. Unfortunately this is being crushed by the other mundanities in my life.

Unless you’re writing full time (and making money out of it) then chances are you’re going to have a ‘real’ job. Some people also have family life to juggle in there too. So how do you fit writing into that, in a positive enthusiastic way?

Grumpy frog courtesy of Matt Reinbold on Flickr. I won’t rest until the entire front page of GetMeWriting is dominated by grumpy animals.

I feel like a great deal of my passion has been dulled, especially when working on huge projects, and my job sucks all the enthusiasm out of me. After a long day of doing absolutely nothing worthy of note, I find it almost impossible to summon up the energy to sit in front of my computer and delve into this huge world full of (hopefully) interesting characters, all walking perilously close to the edge of disaster at every turn.

One might ask why I wouldn’t want to do that, since this would allow me an appropriate escape from the tedium of my real life? It’s a question I don’t have an answer for.

Never Good Enough…

I’m sure every writer has this crisis at some point, wondering if what you’re writing is good enough, whether it’s worth it, whether all the toil, blood, sweat and tears has ultimately been a good judgement. Self doubt is part of every endeavour, artistic or not.

I can’t tell you how many times (especially when I’m whiling away the long hours at work) I’ve wished I could strip everything away, get rid of the job, the console, the food, all the distractions, and sit down and write, like some wild haired maniac painting his opus.

But even if I did so, would the end result demonstrate I did the right thing? Well, maybe not if I got rid of the food, I’m sure delirium would sink in after a while.

In all seriousness though, how do I create this kind of intense focus amidst all the other ‘real’ stuff that life throws at me? How do I rediscover this… need to write that cannot be quelled by anything? Is such a thing even possible?

No Safety Net… a possible way out

Here’s a way out that might be more practical than quitting human society.

During one of my procrastination sessions, I turned to YouTube. Yes, I know, that was certainly a mistake. But I came across a clip of Louis CK, during his tribute to the late great George Carlin (it’s below). He mentioned how George, to keep his ideas fresh, would throw out his entire routine each year, leaving him with nothing, and forcing him to start anew, from scratch.

I think this is a really powerful idea, if (in some circumstances) impractical. To do so in writing (I’ve discovered over the years) leaves you without that safety net. You can get so used to a bunch of characters, and feel that you have so much still to explore with them (especially in genre fiction) that you may want to stay with them.

In my younger years, I never wanted to be someone who ended up writing sequels for the sake of it, because it feels safe or well-established, which is one of the reasons why I was so prolific back then (and also why I have so many half finished ideas and projects littering up my various disks and drives).

I love the idea of getting a project finished, bam, done, and then moving onto something new. Like George Carlin, it will make you dig deeper, and find new and interesting stuff that you may not have even thought about otherwise.

Over to you:
Don’t let this page be dominated by my whinging – feel free to share your writing worries and grumbles as well. Maybe someone can offer you (and I) some advice!

Progress has been going very slow for me recently. Though ‘slow’ may be a massive understatement. Other things in my life have just sucked all the will, the desire out of me to get on with my writing. And I’m not talking about my usual magpie-like tendency to get distracted by shiny… oh, look at that!

Some of these worries are somewhat related to what Matt was talking about last week, so I’ll have a look at those in this post.

Giving your Work a Facelift…

I completely get where Matt is coming from when he talks about waning enthusiasm for a project. But even when a flash of inspiration gets you out of it, it’s still not all a bed of roses.

I’m not sure if I mentioned this in a previous post, but I had a sort of breakthrough like that on my last project (which I was halfway to implementing before my magpie mind got distracted by this bright shiny new epic project that has since begun to stagnate) (not sure this is what you’re referring to, but it’s similar – Matt).

Grumpy cat says, “writing makes me grumpy.” Image by Jonathan Keelty on Flickr.

I was having trouble finding motivations for my protagonists, antagonists, and the direction of the plot in general. Wasp Whisperer is one of my most established pieces of writing – as most of my writing friends will attest – and while my style of writing (and my attitudes in writing) have changed over the years, I have tried to stick religiously to the through-line of this project since I started it.

This has caused massive problems in the editing, because new ideas have been introduced, some have been scrapped, but the ultimate through-line has remained an almost constant – even beyond the point where it not only stopped making sense, but actually hurts the project. So I tried to find a way to make it work.

Inspiration hit me as I was making some random notes on it one day, and the more I thought about it, the more perfectly it seemed to fit. By completely changing the antagonist’s motivation. It was one of those things that made so much sense, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it previously. Not only did it remove a lot of the issues regarding plot inconsistencies, it made me feel like the whole project flowed far more smoothly. And this was without changing a single word! Obviously I’d have to in editing, but that wasn’t necessary until ‘the big reveal’.

So on this occasion, I was fortunate. But like I said, I had been heavily resisting change to the main thrust of this project for years. I guess I was afraid of the masses of work involved in changing huge portions of the story in order to fix something, even if it would have been for the better.

When the Well runs Dry…

Then there is the flipside of getting an idea to help you out of a fix, or to give your project a boost – the fear of idea drought! Bad enough I find it difficult to get my current ideas into words.

Maybe it’s a subconscious thing – the reason I started such a big project was that it would mean I wouldn’t have to even think about working on anything else for a long time. I already mentioned that when I was younger I felt far more prolific, and that’s partly because I wasn’t so entrenched in ‘the big five’, my projects I am serious about, that I can foresee writing a lot of material for.

All’s well that ends… ah, fuggedit! Image by Phil Parker.

Where are all the new ideas? Where are the new projects that might spring up one day? Matt has repeatedly advised me to maybe work on something new, fresh, and small, just a quick short story to overcome this slump I’ve found myself in, but if I’m honest, I’ve got no new ideas for that. My creative mind has become so entrenched in ‘the big five’ that any time I even vaguely think of something new, my mind automatically finds some way of fitting it into the framework for one of those.

I can’t recall the last time I had a totally new idea that didn’t somehow relate to something I’ve already written or established. And even less so that didn’t feature any of my oft-recurring themes. Maybe I don’t have anything new left to say, and everything I do have to say resides in the projects I have already started…

Over to you:
Do you have worries and fears in regards to your writing, similar to my own, or ones particular to yourself? Share them in the comments section below, like a wordsmith’s AA meeting…

So So

So I’m working my way through my little ideas journal, and it’s like a journey back in time. When I started my latest batch of stories, I chose the freshest idea I had. After that I was flicking back through the pages.

The thing is, I went into the draft for that fresh idea with gusto, and bashed through it. I’m very pleased with that one – it is about the length I was aiming for; is unusually snappy for me (normally my stories are slower and more pensive); and in the end, I feel all the bits are in the right place, and there’s very little editing for me to do.

So all good right? Awesome in fact – that very rarely happens to me.

The next story I was less enthusiastic about, but still got through it fine. It will need some heavy editing – plenty of cutting. But, whatever, that’s par for the course (the previous story was an eagle or whatever).

So, remember we are going back in time, and we’re on an older idea now. And my enthusiasm has dimmed considerably. This one feels like a bogey.

There’s another bored monkey somewhere on this blog – can you find it? This image courtesy of Artandbeautyfreak.

The annoying thing is, I remember being rather psyched about this story when I first thought of it.

This is not new, and it’s not like I’m the only one to have ever experienced it. Writer’s often talk about ideas going stale, and many’s the time I’ve let an idea slip away because I didn’t do something with it immediately.

So What?

Is this a problem? Well perhaps not if you’ve got ideas tumbling out of every orifice. I don’t got that, so each idea is precious.

And I can’t just wait until the next fantabulous idea comes along and let the unworked ones fall by the wayside. I can’t afford that drop in my productivity! Think of all the practice I’d miss!

So the question now becomes, “how do I deal with this?”

So, How?

One option, which is the one I’ve been trying, is just to get the hell on with it. This seems fair enough, but it’s hard ain’t it?

Sitting down to write is harder; pushing through the session is harder; feeling like what you’re writing is empty or no good is harder, and I know editing will be harder.

But even struggling through it still feels like a waste in a way. After all, I thought the idea was good before. What’s changed? Surely there is still something there. But at the moment I’m not serving the idea well enough. How can I do better?

This delightful image courtesy of Tsahi Levent-Levi.

Sew Sew

I’m hoping I already know the answer. I was thinking about the story, ignoring the podcast I had on (which I guess is a good sign), and my wandering mind made a little connection.

What I’d done was stitch a new idea onto the old one.

This did a few things – it made sense of some of the pieces that were already there; gave me a reason to structure it the way I had (switching between two perspectives, previously somewhat arbitrarily).

But most of all, it made the idea a little bit fresher. I feel better about it now. No, it’s not the same burn I felt for that brand-spanking-new idea, but it is something, and hopefully I’ll at least be able to get my way through it.

So for now at least, if an idea feels stale, the answer is to add a new idea to freshen it up.

Now I have to decide if I stop and edit what I’ve done to make sense of that idea or carry on through the draft first. Decisions decisions…

Over to you:
But maybe this isn’t the only way to go about it – do you have other ideas on getting through a story you’re less than enthusiastic about? Maybe you have a way of preventing the staleness (some idea Tupperware perhaps)? Let us know your valuable secrets below!

So what is the “real meaning” behind write what you know? Let’s take a look at the outcome of following the phrase. If you write what you know, what does that bring to the finished piece? In theory it should make it appear more real – your own experiences and factual knowledge means you’ll write words or phrases someone else might not.

So the magical writing ingredient the phrase is trying to add to your writing is authenticity.

But there is more than one way to add authenticity to your writing. So let’s take a look at some of the things “write what you know” is hinting at.

Personal Authenticity

You know stuff. No matter your line of work (or work you’ve undertaken in the past), it requires specialist knowledge of some description. It doesn’t matter how mundane it seems to you, all can be brought to bear.

You’re a mechanic? Maybe some of your engineering knowledge can be brought to bear in a spaceship hangar, or perhaps the hangar crew share similar banter to you and your colleagues.

You’re a receptionist? High-tech body modification centres need receptionists too. Or why not make the mundanity the draw – what would the job of receptionist be like in a Bond-esque super-villain headquarters? That kind of comic juxtaposition can make for an original story.

Emotional authenticity is also important, and something everyone can draw on. Part of Stanislavski’s famous acting system asked players to reach back into their memories and pick a moment where they felt something comparable to their characters (he called this Emotional Memory).

Stan The Man. I thought I was rid of him after uni, but here he is again.

When it comes to imagining what your characters are doing or thinking, writing shares an awful lot with acting. You may not have been in the same position as the character you’re writing about, but you may be able to recall a time when you felt similar emotion. You can then relive that (to an extent) and transfer some of it to the page.

Writing for Writer’s Digest, Elan Barnehama talks about writing a lesbian character in the sixties. He found common ground with his character because she was an outsider, and when he was younger he had been too.

Tourist Authenticity

Sticking with acting, Jason Gots writing for Big Think, compares “write what you know” with the Method (an acting technique popularised in America and derived from Stanislavski’s System). The popular view of the Method is the actor literally lives out the situation of their character.

This is only partly true, because obviously there are some things you literally can’t live through, either because it is dangerous or simply not possible (fighting dragons for example).

So, if your character is a farmer, you might go and work on a farm for a while.

The same is useful in writing. Obviously, you are dipping your toes into an experience that may have taken up your character’s whole life, but you can at least get an idea, and can bring some of that to bear. As an example, Joanna Penn took a Krav Maga class so she knew what it felt like to get hit (and because her protagonist is similarly trained in martial arts).

I happen to know someone who teaches Krav Maga (no, I haven’t worked up the balls to take lessons. They sound painful). Head over to Institute Kravmaga. Tell Jon Matt sent you.

But it doesn’t have to be so specific. In an ideal world a writer should be immersing themselves (like an actor) in as wide a variety of experiences as possible. This is great for inspiration too.

Second-Hand Authenticity

And there’s always research. If you don’t have particular knowledge of something, you can speak to someone who does, or you can read up on it.

It sounds less valuable than first-hand knowledge, and I suppose it is, but sometimes all you need are one or two details to make something feel real.

K. M. Weiland calls this writing what you know “vicariously”, and I think that’s a good way of putting it.

Discovered Authenticity

This is a strange one, because it’s not entirely clear where the “authenticity” comes from. But sometimes, simply writing what you don’t know, jumping in at the deep end, can unearth surprisingly authentic details in your writing.

Maybe the act of writing digs deep inside you and pulls up experiences from your subconscious. This could come from any of the sources above – it might be a childhood memory of someone you had forgotten about, a passage in a book, a fact you learnt on television.

After all, isn’t writing supposed to be a voyage of discovery – not just for the reader, but the writers as well?

Fiction, at its very essence, is all about what we don’t know

K. M. Weiland, Write what you know (and what you don’t), Wordplay

Often it is that probing, feeling, edging your way into the unknown (or hell, just barrelling straight into it) that gives the most authentic-feeling insight. The details of a character that make them seem most alive, most real are not the ones dreamed out on a character sheet. Not to knock preparation – it often helps to have somewhere to start – but some of the best stuff comes at the most unexpected times – when you’re in the thick of it, pulling things out of thin air.

It’s not always easy or comfortable, but I’ve learned to trust my characters and I’ve learned that the story truth is found in writing into the unknown [...] When I trust my characters to decide what must happen, I give myself opportunities to stumble onto the unexpected truth, the accidental truth, the story truth, which is so much more interesting than my memory truth.

Elan Barnehama, Why you should write about what you don’t know, Writer’s Digest

So don’t write “what you know”, write The Truth, in whatever way that phrase has meaning for you. Often The Truth is a combination of truths – facts, personal feelings, an atmosphere, a point of view, combined to reveal something that would not have been discovered if you had not been writing.

So you can now forget about this post and just write. Write and the truth will come.

Over to you:
What do you think of this controversial maxim? Is there some wisdom hidden in the phrase after all? Or is it still the worst advice ever? Let us know in the comments below (see, I do poetry too!)

What it means on the surface and why that’s bullcrap

“Write what you know” has always sounded controversial to me. It’s one of those phrases that manages to make complete sense, but at the same time make one baulk at its absurdity.

Of course, writing about what you know about lends it a realism that might otherwise be difficult to fake. And many writers have made a successful career out of it. John Grisham is a popular example – an ex-lawyer who writes thrillers about law firms and lawyers to the exclusion of all else.

But on the other hand… what? How can one write only about what one knows? If that’s true, then entire genres are suddenly laid to waste, or assumed to be pointless drivel. Say good bye to Lord of the Rings or Dune and countless other favourite sci-fi and fantasy stories.

And of course, all fiction writing involves something that has been made up (I’m sure Mr. Grisham’s former vocation wasn’t half as exciting as his novels), that is why it’s fiction. No fiction writer writes only what they know.

A Dangerous Idea

So, we’ve established that we are not, in fact, drowning in a sea of autobiographies (though looking at the shelves of WHSmith’s makes me think I’m wading at least waist-high).

But before I unpick the real meaning of the phrase I want to express how damaging this surface-interpretation might be to a fledgling writer.

First, it’s one of those rules that pretends with all its might to be hard-and-fast. This is the way to write, it says, and no one will accept any substitute.

Thought-provoking image courtesy of Chicago Art Department on Flickr

That is off-putting enough in itself, but worse than that is that the limits appear well-defined. You can write about your own life – your job, your family and friends (or very close approximations thereof), your home-town, but cast your net no wider. Now, I’m sure some very interesting stories might well be told about such things, but it’s limiting, and in such a dull way.

Moreover, at the very least it limits events, places, objects, people to things that can exist. But the very things that are most likely to excite a young mind are those things we know can’t exist. When I was growing up (I haven’t finished yet to be honest, and I hope never to), it was the dragons and the aliens, the sorcerers and the saucers that got me reading. I wanted to read about the impossible – that was the point!

I read around when I was researching this topic, and after some thought I have come to my own conclusions about this particular piece of advice. I’ll share them in my next post. While researching I came across this wonderful post by Amy E. Yergen. I encourage you to go read it afterwards.

One of the striking things about it is that this very piece of advice stopped her from writing when she was young.

I think part of the reason this advice can have that effect is that, perhaps more than other writing maxims, it’s delivered with little discussion. The phrase appears self-explanatory so it’s left hanging in the air, as stony and real as a mallet ready to whack your dreams.

Needless to say, it’s not a piece of advice that Amy spreads around:

I don’t say that I write what I know, but I do say that I write what I feel, I write what I think is beautiful, and I write what I enjoy.

Amy E. Yergen

So I should… write what I don’t know?

Umm… er… ooh… well, things are never that straight forward are they. Yes and no, I reckon is the answer.

But I’ll be talking about that some more next week as I delve deep into the phrase to discover the grains of truth in this sandcastle of lies!

Over to you:
So, this literal interpretation of “write what you know” – dangerous? Or the best advice ever (or something in-between)? You know what I think, but I want to hear from you fine folk – get your comments out and whack them on the space below.