Professional Revisions – Level Two: Structure/Content

In this series, editor and author Christopher Klim takes you through a multi-level approach to revising your work. Excerpts taken from bestselling Write to Publish: Essentials for the Modern Fiction and Memoir Market.

All fine writing is the result of rewriting. I don’t know who coined that phrase, but it is certainly a fact. The first draft is the art of writing. The revision process exists to recognize mistakes and mop up the mess, and readers never witness the accident. Readers seek the ease of flawlessness.

LEVEL TWO: STRUCTURE/CONTENT

With the opening in place, consider the structure and content of the story. Analyze character, setting, plot, and their relationship to one another. Changes at this point may affect the entire story structure, causing new scenes to appear or existing scenes to disappear. Work at a high level to establish the arc of the story. Why perfect the details of a scene if it might be removed from the entire piece?

Verify the Plot

Is there at least one strong dramatization per chapter? Don’t let a chapter go by without serious conflict among the characters. Readers anticipate it.

Does every scene serve the story question? Scenes progress the story question, for better or worse, otherwise they wander off the thread of the story. This is the time to add and remove scenes as needed.

Does the conflict heighten en route to the climax? When the drama heightens, that becomes the new plateau for the story arc. It eventually becomes routine, unless the drama escalates. Keep raising the stakes for the characters during the story. The climax is a natural outgrowth of the pressure cooker constructed along the story journey.

Are there too many coincidences? Coincidence is a helpful device for stories. Life forms pleasant occurrences, but if major plot points often hinge on chance encounters, the story becomes unbelievable. Limit it to one or two, although even one coincidence might be more than the story can bear. If a rare moon rock falls out of the sky and into the bed of Joe’s pickup truck, while he is on the way to a lunar geologist’s convention, where a million dollar prize for the top rock will be awarded, that might be more coincidence than the reader can handle. Keep coincidences subtle and useful.

Is there unneeded repetition? Repetition in grade school was useful, if not overbearing. Repetition in stories is useful to set up a later event. If Jane always parks her car in the same spot and suddenly changes to another, it might demonstrate a character change. In comedy, repetition sets up jokes. If Bob always sinks a hole in one on the golf course, it might be funny to see him miss when we most expect it. Repetition draws attention, and readers notice, but if Jane is always having a bad hair day, it begins to look silly.

Verify Character Details

Do character details appear in the story? Some level of character detail must exist for everyone in the story, even if they are only brief encounters for the reader.

Are the details proportional to importance? Apply character details in relation to their significance in the story. Every word builds a reader’s expectations. Secondary characters don’t deserve the detail required for primary characters.

Are the details consistent? If Jane has blue eyes or talks with a lisp on page 10, she will also have those attributes on page 200, unless appropriate explanation supports the change.

Are the details different? If every woman has blonde hair and a 38-inch chest, the story better take place inside the Playboy Mansion.

Is the dialogue realistic? Spoken language is casual, casting aside the rigid conventions of the written word. It is situational, attempting to address the line previously spoken. A single line of dialogue is a component of the whole conversation and often indecipherable when standing alone. If character are sketched with uniqueness and clarity, they will speak for themselves, defining the parameters of their langauge, moods, and attitudes.

“I’ve got the stuff,” Bob said.

“The what?” Jane replied.

“You know, the stuff.”

“I hate that garbage.”

“You always hate it.”

“There you go again.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not the one starting.”

Is there too much dialect? Some writers seek authenticity by recording dialogue verbatim, especially with the use of slang and accents. This is cumbersome to read. Pepper the dialogue with dialect, and readers will get the point, mentally filling in the blanks. It is better to know what a character is trying to say, than replicating speech with exactness.

Verify Setting Details

Do setting details appear in the story? Some level of setting detail must exist for each scene, even if we are only passing through a room. Otherwise the story is subject to ‘white room’ syndrome, where characters move in time and space with no sense of their surroundings.

Are the details proportional to importance? Apply setting details in relation to their significance in the story. Every word builds a reader’s expectations. If the writer spends a lot of time describing a certain aspect of setting, readers believe it to be vital to the story.

Are the details consistent? If Jane’s car is red on page 10, she will have a red car on page 200, unless appropriate explanation supports the change.

Are the details different? Variety in all aspects of the story entices mental acuity for the reader. In other words, it keeps people from becoming bored.

Are the details correct? This is the time to verify factual information. Correct assumptions about location and lifestyle (i.e. geography, professions, language, etc). These aspects illuminate the prose, yet invalidate a story if they are incorrect.

Christopher Klim is the author of several books including and the novel, Idiot!, and the short collection, True Surrealism. He is currently working on a novel trilogy about the space program past, present, and future.

Next: Professional Revisions – Level Three: Style

Previous: Professional Revisions – Level One: The Opening

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When Writing, Know Your Control System

Like the cockpit of the space shuttle or even the thermostat in your residence, a written piece has specific parameters to guide it successfully. If a cockpit needs airspeed and attitude controls to maintain flight, then a written piece requires unique methodology to garner truth. Not only does the terminology need to be established, it also needs to be consistent and replete throughout the piece. Careless, mixed, or wandering terminology undermines the entire work.

The concept of a control system in writing inevitably drills down to word choice. A writer must be aware of the words, phrasing, and cadence associated with a specific passage, as well as the entire piece. If the passage involves quick action or comedy, the sentence structure tends to be short, even blunt. If the scene takes place inside a military installation, acronyms will flow through both the dialogue and exposition. If the scene takes place in history, the words selected will match the time period.

Consider the following passage from a prehistoric age genre novel: The clan leader leapt from the bushes and came down upon the beast like a bus at rush hour. This type of metaphor happens more often than one might imagine and in subtle, less obvious ways. When digesting the aforementioned sentence, the reader understands that the clan leader was moving quickly and heavily upon the beast, but the reader is also jarred from the time period by the writer’s unfortunate out-of-time-period metaphor. If the clan leader were waiting for a bus at rush hour, he’d be waiting a very long time.

The control system selected for a piece will be pervasive, extending beyond the obvious passages. One of the joys of reading is to enter the mind of the characters on the page. If that character is a professional diver, his/her actions and viewpoint on life will be reflective of the sea and perhaps the constant dangers he’s exposed to. Even in relationships with others, that character will measure people against what he knows—brooding dark waters, a relentless shark, or the fanciful circus of a coral reef—otherwise that character will be acting out of his/her own control system. Even if that character is a mad, unpredictable genius, he will be guided, and therefore described, by a specific set of parameters using the precise words to delineate his actions or speech. And all of this will be moderated by the overarching terminology of the entire work.

Establishing and employing the proper control system establishes both authenticity and confidence in writing, and it requires a level of detail that many journeyman writers either overlook or fail to do the research and editing required. Study any master writer—a real master writer, not a self-proclaimed master bestseller on the Internet—and uncover the details of the control system established for a specific work. Once you’ve put in the effort, you’ll find yourself reaching for the correct dialogue and descriptions that fit the piece.

Christopher Klim is the author of several books including the novel, Idiot!, and the short collection, True Surrealism. He is currently working on a novel trilogy about the space program past, present, and future—and his control system for each will be firmly established.

 

 

The Writing Passion… Obsession

We are told that obsession is wrong. However for any artist, their craft is an obsession. We split our thoughts between the task at hand and our projects in waiting. We search for channels of inspiration even within the mundane. We passionately revise and rework. Time spent working can be absorbing and rewarding, while time spent away from our art can be breathless. Long droughts away from work transform life into a spiritual desert. For most artists, everyday life forms the gaps between creating the new.

“You become what you think about all day long.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

The question of whether or not you will write is not one of “if” but a question of “when.” Dedicated writers offer their best hours to their craft. For many, this is the morning hours after the soul of the artist emerges from its nighttime meditation. Throughout the centuries, great minds have cultivated a habit of pondering questions prior to sleep, often awaking with viable solutions. Sculptures, songs, and stories can be structured in this way. Rare connections can be achieved with the constant mulling through the woods of disparate ideas.

“Even when I’m dead, I’ll swim through the Earth, like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.”  -Jeffrey McDaniel

When these connections are made, they are not only unique; they are universal. They strike a person’s soul in the way truth satisfies the mind. It resolves. It lingers. It is the most an artist can ask for, and it calls upon all of the writer’s best energies.

“I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.” -­Margaret Atwood

Being obsessed with your writing is not only good; it is required. A half-hearted effort can get an artist through the laundry, dinner, and most tasks at their day job, but writing requires every resource at optimum speed.

Choosing the Writer’s Subject

It’s a fact that an author tends to write about only two or three subjects during their career. No matter how veiled or reinterpreted the narrative, an author will continue to converge on the same concepts.

In a recent review of Milan Kundera’s The Festival of Insignificance , I discovered yet again his references to the old Cold War Communist Party. Kundera is an escapee from Iron Curtain Czechoslovakia, but has been a longtime resident of free Paris. Meanwhile, his communist party collapsed decades ago and has reformulated twice into its present day pseudo-dictatorship under Vladimir Putin, but Kundera is still fascinated with old-Communist thinking. In contrast, he’s also writes about the smallness of life, sourcing various tributaries in each literary venture as well.  It’s another consistent theme for the author. At 86 years of age after an illustrious career, he probably isn’t going to dip his literary spade into fresh soil.

A writer will never be condemned for his choice of subject matter (or at least he shouldn’t be), but he will be admonished (or at least ignored) for not being focused on it. He uses all of his literary strength to dig at the root of his subject, helping to bring it to light for the reader. Like a painter, an author will present her subject, depending on her particular style, in a range from the absurdly surreal to the cuttingly real. This presentation often determines the desired emotion or effect of the material, but nevertheless the author has not strayed from her core subject matter. Kundera has used various forms, from magical realism to straight storytelling to evoke the dehumanization of communism and the horror of man’s inhumanity against man.

What the author chooses to write about isn’t always a conscious decision. It’s akin to understanding the self. While a student, Kundera was rumored to have been an informant to the Czech secret police, but later escaped to the west and became an outspoken agent against communism. The author has refused these allegations, but they persist with credible testimony  exposed during the fall of the Soviet Union. In regard to Kundera the author, it is easy to see how this potential change of conscience (or at least the oppression of living within a communist system) might become a driving force inside his literary expression.

Kundera is a singular example of how great authors circle around a mere handful of concepts during their lifetimes. Research your favorite authors to see not only how each draw from place and experience as subject matter, but to recognize your own core concepts through your attraction to theirs.

Christopher Klim is the author of several books including and the novel, Idiot!, and the short collection, True Surrealism. He is currently working on a novel trilogy about the space program past, present, and future.

The Book Killers: Poor Structure

In this ongoing series, Christopher Klim, author and senior editor of the US Review of Books, takes a look at common errors that undermine books.

Keeping organized is a challenge for many artists, writers included. Order is not intuitive for creative people attempting to push boundaries, but clear structure, even in a work of fiction, provides a recognizable thought process for the reader. As always, the goal is for the reader to understand the writer’s words, not for the writer to confuse or make a stumbling attempt to impress. The human mind seeks order, and a book’s structure is essentially the map of its narrative. The easier it is to read the map, the easier it will be for the writer to deliver even complex details or the high art of fine writing.

For nonfiction writers, the need for structure should be obvious. Nonfiction books attempt to teach certain subjects. The very best of these simultaneously entertain. Regardless, a book’s organization forms the lesson plan, each section building upon the next. While tools like the table of contents, index, and appendixes make the information more accessible, the narrative should assume a sequence and stick to it throughout the book. This allows the reader to not only rely on its direction but anticipate the flow, even if the details are surprising or unpredictable. Various methods of order include alphabetic/numeric (by letters and numbers), chronologic (by occurrences in time), geographic (by locations on the globe), hierarchic (by structures of authority), and thematic (by relevant concepts).

With this in mind, it’s easy to see that fiction assumes a structure and creates a rhythm that moves subconsciously through the reader’s mind. For example, books that shift in time tend to reveal a pattern: two chapters in the present, followed by one in the past, and so on. The same holds true for shifting points of view, where characters A, B, and C rotate through the narrative in a recognizable pattern, even if character A dominates the text.

When it’s working, structure is received subconsciously, because the pattern is clear and therefore the reader doesn’t have to think about it. If the organization is haphazard, the reader will direct focus away from the content and onto decoding the structure or, in this case, figuring out the writer’s mishandling of basic technique. Of course there will always be exceptions. Twelve Monkeys randomly skips through time to make the reader feel the chaos of time travel, but, for most books, this is an unnecessary conceit.

Albert Einstein blew out the chaos theorists by realizing that what appeared to be disorganized—the big bang theory, a chemical reaction, or even a kindergarten class at play—was merely a pattern that we hadn’t recognized yet. Most people aren’t Einstein. Readers will abandon a poorly or chaotically organized book. It will not be received as clever or brilliant, but as pretentious and undisciplined.

Some emerging artists think of structure as restrictive, but skilled writers know that structure is the cornerstone upon which true change and enlightenment can be built. When a book inhabits a mind with a recognizable pattern, the ability to make the reader think and feel is limitless.

Next in The Book Killers series: Amateur Covers

Previously in The Book Killers series: Bad Grammar