Today’s article is written by regular contributor Sarah Baughman. 

“Ugh, Mrs. B.!” my student groaned, rolling his eyes. “Why can’t this author just say what he actually means?!”

We were reading Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, and my student wasn’t the only one in the class who seemed weary of reading about pythons that were really hoses, symphony conductors that were really firemen, an island that was really a face. They wanted clarity, not guesswork.

I don’t begrudge them their frustration—metaphors can be tricky. However, it’s helpful to think of them not as puzzles writers use to baffle us, but rather as keys unlocking more layers of meaning than we could possibly gain with a literal description.

Wait a second, I just threw a couple metaphors in there without realizing it. Puzzles? Keys? Seems pretty sneaky, but honestly, I didn’t mean to! They just popped out!

The fact that I made the comparisons subconsciously shows that the human mind, in an effort to make sense of its world, is already constantly linking people, objects, ideas, and experiences. Metaphors might seem convoluted, but they’re really outward expressions of the connections we already make in our daily lives. They add depth and insight to our writing.

Still, not all metaphors are created equal; some are more powerful than others. The best ones enhance our understanding of the topic at hand, helping us grasp associations and characteristics we might not have noticed before.

Finding the layers

“But he is saying what he means!” I told my skeptical student. “Look, the metaphors are actually efficient. Bradbury describes the fire hose as a ‘python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world’ (pg. 3). Sounds complicated at first, but think about how much you learn about the hose just by realizing that it’s like a python. A hose by itself is just an object, neither good nor bad. The metaphor, just one word, helps us know exactly how to feel about it.”

Metaphors work nicely when, despite their obvious connection to the topic, they have some key differences as well—when they compare, for example, a living thing (like a python) to an object (like a hose).

The python metaphor also works well because it contains both physical and intangible similarities that deepen our understanding of the concept. Sure, a hose is shaped like a snake, making the initial connection obvious. But there’s more to it than that– this is no garter snake. Pythons are the world’s longest snake, frighteningly powerful, carnivorous. They kill easily, squeezing their prey until it dies (interestingly, they aren’t poisonous, which makes Bradbury’s mention of “venom” an interesting discussion topic–but I digress).

In Fahrenheit 451, the larger-than-life dictatorial government invokes fear, dominating not only people’s lives but their thoughts, arguably “constricting” their instincts and feelings until they lose all sense of self, a spiritual “death” of sorts. I could go on, but what’s nice is I don’t have to—the metaphor does it for me. With one image, it conjures up a host of associations that enrich my understanding of the scene, and it ends up packing considerable more punch than “The fireman sprayed the house with a hose.”

How can we write metaphors as complex and meaningful as Bradbury’s?

Writing metaphors backwards

1. What are the defining characteristics?

Choosing meaningful metaphors can begin with recognizing the distinct characteristics of a character, object, or setting.

For example, let’s shift gears and imagine Bradbury’s character, Mildred. (Don’t worry if you haven’t read the book; the following description is all you’ll need. ) She’s emotionally detached and, while she’s not cruel to her husband, she’s not loving either. In fact, she doesn’t seem capable of really feeling much at all, and she responds to other people’s displays of emotion with fear and confusion.

2. Focus on a particular situation or scene that highlights some of the key characteristics you identified. 

In one scene, Bradbury’s Mildred attempts suicide. The main character, Montag, enters his wife’s bedroom to find her lying comatose on the bed. In this scene, her personality has reached its most extreme consequence, plus her physical state perfectly mirrors her emotional state. It’s a great place for a metaphor.

3. Think of some other objects that share characteristics you identified in Step 1, also keeping in mind how the specific situation reveals the character. 

In this scene, Mildred is both emotionally and physically detached. She is completely separated from her husband, her home, her world. She’s isolated.

What else is isolated? An oasis in the desert? Fine, but the connotation of an oasis is wrong; it’s too positive (Mildred is hardly a source of refuge).

What about a tree shedding its leaves too early, rotted at the root? Or what about an island? Bingo! Bradbury ends up comparing her to just that.

4. Extend the initial comparison with a complete image. 

Saying Mildred is like an island doesn’t really feel like enough. Moving past a single word and creating an image to round out the specific characteristics you choose to emphasize is more effective.

Bradbury’s final metaphor comparing Mildred to an island is written as a simile: “Her face was like a snow-covered island upon which rain might fall, but it felt no rain; over which clouds might pass their moving shadow, but she felt no shadow…” (pg. 13).

It’s perfect. Immediately, we understand that this is an impenetrable character, someone unmoved by attempts at nourishment or warning. We imagine an island, icy and uninhabited, surrounded by waves nobody would want to cross. We might even shudder as we read it…which of course, when we’re dealing with metaphor, is exactly the point.

Do you enjoy using metaphors in your writing? What are some challenges and successes you have experienced as you work with metaphors?

Today’s post is written by regular contributor Susan Bearman.

Like third graders writing a report, beginning writers tend to believe that writing a first draft means their work is done.

While completing the first draft of a manuscript, whether a short story or a full novel, is a huge accomplishment, writers are never “done”. There’s always a next step. But that’s OK.

In fact, that’s great, because writing is a process, not a product. If you’re lucky, you will produce some finished products along the way, but the process is ongoing. And each step offers an opportunity to hone different writing skills.

First Draft—No Holds Barred

We have Anne Lamott to thank for coining “sh$!!y first draft” (SFD) in her classic writing memoir, Bird by Bird. And we should thank her, because that’s what first drafts are. We squeeze our guts out onto the page (or screen) just so we have something—a bare beginning, a wonderful character, a glimmer of an idea—with which to work.

This is the free-form part of the process. Enjoy every minute of it. Lock your inner editor in a closet and let your imagination run wild. Spend some time asking “What if …?” Then put every crazy notion you can think of in this SFD and give yourself permission to make mistakes.

When you’re finished, remember a first draft is just that — a first draft. Your final manuscript will go through many revisions (that’s revisions, plural). So, revel in finishing that first draft … for about five minutes. Then put it away to marinate, and get busy on another project.

Revision—Honing and Shaping

I personally love the revision process, but many writers loathe it. If you’re one of them, the first thing you need to revise is your thinking. Revision is where you hone and shape your masterpiece, a land of opportunity where you get to:

• exercise your craft to the fullest.
• ask your characters who they really are and what they really want.
• throw in plot twists that will keep your readers on the edge of their seats.
• weave subplots together into a rich tapestry of story.
• explore all the possibilities your rough draft offered to discover the story you were meant to tell.

A great writer and teacher, Esther Herschenhorn, offers the best, most thrilling definition of revision I’ve ever heard. She even pronounces it differently: re-visioning.

Revision is a chance to look at your story all over again from a different perspective. When you learn to see your story anew, with fresh eyes and vigor, each draft will take it to a higher level.

This is also the time to bring in your critique group. It’s often helpful to ask beta readers to concentrate on specific areas for feedback, such as:

• plot holes, inconsistencies, and point of view
• scenes that drag or soar
• things that confuse
• clichés or lazy writing

Remember what revision is not:

• it is not a line edit.
• it is not a final edit.
• it is not something you will accomplish in one read through.

The revision process can take a long time, often longer than the first draft. Give it the time it deserves. When you’re completely satisfied, then it’s time to polish and prepare your manuscript for submission.

Final Edits—Making It Picture Perfect

If you tend to be a little OCD, this is the stage where you can pick nits to your heart’s content. Comb, trim, slash, polish, buff, and beautify until your words glow in the dark. Be ruthless.

Even the best editors, however, have a hard time doing final edits on a manuscript they’ve lived with day in and day out through rough drafting and revisions. This is a good time to hire or beg an editor to help. You must have at least one fresh set of eyes proof your work.

Queries—Nothing to Fear

Writing a pitch or query letter seems to be the most hated job writers face, but I’ve never understood all the angst.

You’re a writer. This is just another form of writing, a chance to sell your work (first) and yourself (second) to people who want a good read. If you don’t believe your work is great, no one else will either. If you don’t know what it’s about or who the target audience is, neither will an agent or a publisher.

But, if you have written a great story (you’ll know), if you have polished it until it shines (if not, go back), if you have done your research and know your target audience, then writing a query letter will be a snap.

Keep it short, drop the adjectives, and stick to the plot. A query letter should make an agent want to read more of your writing. Keep in mind that queries are almost always written in the present tense and third person, even if the story is not. Use your best writing to:

• Introduce your main characters. In one or two sentences, make an agent want to meet them.
• Outline your plot. Don’t leave an agent guessing; summarize the beginning, middle and end.
• Show why you are the only person who can tell this story. Include only relevant writing credits.
• Say thank you and sign off.

Write to a real person and spell his or her name correctly. Follow submission guidelines to the letter (many are available online).

BIG WARNING: If you pitch to more than one agent, be sure to change the name on your salutation. This is a major faux pas when copying and pasting a query, and a great way to get an agent to hit the delete key.

If you have done your job, the query should practically write itself.

The “Elevator” Pitch—Short and Sweet

Every book needs a knockout “elevator” pitch—a brief, marketing-oriented synopsis of your story. You can write it at any stage of the process and revise as necessary. Pretend you have a top agent in the lift with you and that you have only the time it takes to get to the eleventh floor to grab her attention. The pitch should be a truncated, inverted version of your query that answers:

• What is the genre?
• Who is your reader?
• Who is your main character?
• What is the conflict?
• Why do we care?

Practice this pitch. Out loud. You never know when you might need it. If you’re overwhelmed by the idea of creating an elevator pitch for your own manuscript, try writing one for your favorite book first.

Remember, all you need is two or three lines, but each word has to count before those doors open on the eleventh floor.

Give Yourself Time

Don’t rush the process. Between each stage, let your manuscript percolate for a bit. This doesn’t mean you should stop writing. Never stop writing. It just means that it’s pretty hard to shift gears on the same project. Many writers find it useful to work on different stages of several projects.

For example, say you’ve just finished that SFD of your new novel. Put it away and go back to a piece you’ve already drafted and begin revising. Then write a query for a piece you’ve already polished. Or take out that short story you loved that was rejected last year and resubmit it. Then start outlining something new. The key is to have lots of work in the pipeline.

There are more steps to the process, of course: submission, rejection, revision, acceptance, publication, marketing … it never ends. Embrace step with enthusiasm and you will become the writer you want to be.

Today’s post is written by David Lazar. 

Plot twists are used when telling just about any type of story, but more often than not, they’re used ineffectively. If your plot twist is too predictable and can be seen coming from a mile away, it’s pretty worthless as far as adding any type of intrigue to your story goes.

The best plot twist is an unexpected one. This means something happens that the reader could in no way infer was going to happen, or perhaps a change in the story that might not have been completely unexpected, but occurred at a completely unexpected time in the story.

But, unless you’re really looking to write something completely abstract, moderation is the key. Once you think of a good way to put a twist in your story, the best thing is to map the entire thing out and see if you can make it work in a way that’s still believable and plausible.

Here are five great techniques to consider when trying to come up with your own plot twist.

1. Give it an open ending.

Not necessarily the easiest, but one of the most practical plot twists is the ambiguous ending. It is a good one to use if you don’t want your overall storytelling to be affected by your plot twist too much.

When you leave a story open ended, this means you don’t explain how the story ends, but rather, you leave it up to the imagination of the reader.

The audience doesn’t know what happened to the characters in the end, but based on the story and what has occurred thus far, they can wager a guess and infer an ending in order to satisfy their need to tie up the loose ends in their minds.

2. Use an untrustworthy narrator.

This is a great technique to use because people are often conditioned to take the narrator’s word when reading a story. The narrator is the perfect character to use in order to confuse the reader, and maybe give them hints and suggestions that will lead them to a completely different conclusion from the one that you are setting up for your plot twist.

If you are going to use this method, however, it’s important to not make it glaringly obvious that the narrator is untrustworthy in telling the story. You should be foreshadowing it subtly, but the story that the narrator is telling must also be completely believable.

When used effectively, the reader will be very surprised at the plot twist, but will also have a feeling of “I should have seen it coming,” as well.

3. Reverse character roles.

A pretty straightforward approach, this is when your plot twist consists of either the hero turning into the villain or vice versa.

Sometimes it comes off forced when the character becomes a polar opposite of what he or she has been throughout the story, so it is best to give these characters some traits that would make their transitions believable.

4. Throw your reader into the mix.

A good way to make plot twists work well is by starting the storytelling in the middle of some type of climax. When you do this, you are giving the reader an immediately intriguing plot that could really go anywhere, because there is no backstory to reference.

The lack of prior information about the situation given to the reader gives the writer a lot of freedom with the plot twists that he or she plans.

5. Try an unexpected kill.

Your readers might hate you for a short while, but this technique provides an unexpected plot twist.

Killing off one of the main characters in the middle of the story is something that always comes as unexpected. Readers pick up on who the key characters are early in the story if they are well-developed, and they attach to these characters early on in the story.

Having one of these main characters die really twists things into an unexpected direction, because the reader is already looking forward to what will happen to this character at the end of the story. Finding out that this character will not be playing any type of role in the story’s ending is always a good shock for the reader.

These are only a few suggestions. There are many other great ways to introduce plot twists into your stories, which can help you to take your writing into a completely new direction.

Editor’s note: What other tips can you think of for writing a good plot twist? Which plot twists do you think are overused?

David Lazar is a blogger at CometDocs.com. An aspiring writer and full-time blogger with a background in journalism, he enjoys writing about and following a variety of topics, including writing, careers, technology and new media. You can follow him on Twitter. 

Today’s post is written by Anna Lindwasser. Thanks, Anna!

Recently, I was challenged to write a short story within four days. I had a plot in mind, but my main character was faceless and dull. I had to give him some interesting traits, and fast.

Rather than attempt to cook up a whole new character from scratch, I decided to use one of my old characters, Kit. Using Kit led to the creation of a whole new character. His name is Avery. Once I had created Avery, I discovered that I had a useful shortcut on my hands.

About Kit: I’ve been developing Kit’s personality and history for years. Because I’ve known him for so long, he’s familiar ground. I don’t have to worry about getting his voice right, I don’t have to think about what his motives are or what he’s thinking or what he’ll do next. Because Kit is so easy for me to write about, Kit makes an excellent template for a new character.

To transform Kit into a new character, I changed the following things about him:

Plot

Though I started out using Kit’s name and vague description, I made a conscious effort to change something about him during the first part of the story. I chose what had to be changed for the plot—he had to be more nervous and effacing than he was.

The story was about a college kid taking a girl on an awkward date. Kit could make things awkward, but he’s far more controlling and angry than this story’s main character needed to be. So, Kit’s rage went out the window and was replaced by other traits.

Appearance

Kit had brown hair and glasses; the new character would have black hair and perfect vision. Kit had brown eyes; the new character would have blue. Kit was tall with a bulky build; the new character would be slighter and shorter.

Here, I simply tweaked some details. Later, once I’d changed more about the new character’s personality, a more complete image emerged.

Family

Kit is supported primarily by his father, who makes plenty of money as a defense lawyer. He doesn’t have a job, and is only tangentially interested in college. I changed those details and gave my new character a job in a second hand clothing store, no parental support due to lack of funds, and a college career which is moving one class at a time, also due to lack of funds.

I reversed Kit’s situation and gave the alternative to my new character.

Relationships

I deliberately chose a character of mine who was in an established relationship. That way, I’d have to change this when coming up with a new character for my first-date story.

Kit has a girlfriend named Mona, and an intense, protective friendship with a teenage boy named Rue. My new character was on his first date, ever. He has noncommittal relationships with everyone around him—the opposite of Kit.

My new character was, in many ways, the opposite of my old character. By simply reversing aspects of Kit’s personality, I was able to generate a new character with some flesh to him. He wasn’t perfect or fully developed, but I had a working start.

At this point, he was different enough that I could give him his own name, Avery. Once I had a name and some general details, I could flesh him out independently of Kit. Using Kit helped me to get past the initial paralysis of having to generate a whole new character from scratch.

Applying the Method

Obviously, not everyone has characters they’ve been developing for years.

If you’re new to writing, you might not feel like this method applies to you. If you don’t have any old characters to recycle, you can try using people you know, or other fictional characters. The process is very much the same.

You might think that you should take extra care to change the character if you use one that belongs to someone else, but whatever effort you think you should put into that is that exact same amount of effort you should put in to altering your own character.

No matter what you start with, you want to end up with a unique new character.

Anna Lindwasser is a writer living in NYC. Her work has appeared in The Shine Journal, Downtown Brooklyn, and LearnSomethingUseful.com. She is currently studying to become a teacher, and working on a novel.

Today’s post is written by Susan Bearman, a semi-finalist in the Write It Sideways regular contributor search. Thanks, Susan!

Are you a visual thinker?

Quick, take this test. Open a magazine to any page. What is the first thing you notice? If it’s an image or a splash of color, you are probably a visual thinker.

If, like me, it’s the words that catch your attention, then visualization is probably not your strong suit. I’ve always struggled with the physicality of my characters, particularly main characters.

Fuzzy Images

When I do visualize my characters, they are often in silhouette or looking away from the reader. This happened with my main character (MC) in a middle grade manuscript. I knew his personality and could hear his voice, but the face was fuzzy. I thought this was evidence of my brilliance. “I want my readers to fill in the blanks and make him into the character they want to see.” My critique group strongly disagreed.

After deciding I was a failure and putting my manuscript away, I ran across an interesting exchange between F. Scott Fitzgerald and his legendary editor, Max Perkins.

Perkins: “Among a set of characters marvelously palpable and vital — I would know Tom Buchanan if I met him on the street and would avoid him — Gatsby is somewhat vague. The reader’s eyes can never quite focus upon him, his outlines are dim.”

At first, Fitzgerald claimed the vagueness was intentional and that he planned to make it even more pronounced, but in a later letter to Perkins, he admitted:

“I myself didn’t know what Gatsby looked like or was engaged in and you felt it.”

If my literary hero did not have a clear initial picture of one of the most iconic characters in fiction, then perhaps I wasn’t a total loser after all. Sadly, the mighty Max Perkins passed away in 1947 and was unavailable for a consult. This meant I had to figure out how to visualize my MC on my own.

Bringing Characters into Focus

I began by turning back to magazines. This is a valid strategy for visual thinkers, but it didn’t work for me. I’m all about the words. So I put the magazines away and started a list of characteristics. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I found I did know a lot about my MC. I combed my draft, highlighting every description, starting with the obvious:

• Age. This is a biggie. Figure out your MC’s age first.
• Economic status. This will determine more about your character’s physical presence than you might think: clothing, hair (well coiffed or scruffy?), weight (is he over- or underfed?), and things like jewelry, tattoos or accessories.
• Ethnic background. This may be obvious, maybe not. Is your character adopted? Is one parent a tall African American and the other a short Italian immigrant? There are probably clues in your other characters that will help you visualize your MC.

Once you have listed these general traits, look deeper. Go back and highlight the more subtle descriptors:

• Dreams and wants. For example, if your MC longs to play pro basketball, but his friends and family think that’s a ridiculous quest, then maybe he’s very short. Or one-legged. Or a girl.
• Hobbies and interests. Does your MC play the piano? Maybe she has long, elegant fingers. Or maybe she’s ham fisted. Sometimes an unconventional detail can add interest to a character. Take the expected and turn it inside out to draw something completely new.
• Internal dialogue. What does your character see when he looks in the mirror and is it different than what everyone else sees? This is probably the most challenging and interesting part of character description, and it takes a deft hand to merge the two images into a complete picture for the reader.

Don’t Over Identify

Most writers begin with a character that expresses some aspect of themselves. That’s OK in a first draft, but it’s important to divorce yourself from your MC, especially during revision.

The primary danger of over identification is that it makes you too cautious — you have to be willing to throw your MC under a train. It’s your job as a writer to insert obstacles, both mental and physical, that will challenge your character and up the ante in your plot. This is difficult to do if you and your character are too intertwined. Let him stand alone across the room from you, instead of by your side or in your shoes, and you will begin to get a clearer picture.

Pretend You are Barbara Walters

Put on your reporter’s cap and interview your MC. You can ask direct questions, like “What do you look like?” or adopt some of the strategies Barbara Walters uses, like: “If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?”

It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds. By letting your character tell you what kind of tree (or dog or car) she would be, you will get clues about her physical appearance. If my character told me she was a Ferrari, I would picture expensive clothes, well-manicured nails, and a sleek, taught body. If she said she was a Jeep, I would picture outdoorsy, no makeup, hiking boots and a good sun hat. If she told me she was a minivan, I would picture … never mind, I’m over identifying again.

Finally, I’d like to share one of my favorite tricks with you. Once you have done the preliminary work and made a good, sturdy list of descriptive words about your MC, do an internet search for modeling agencies.

Many sites (like this one) let you enter key words and will narrow hundreds of possible “actors” down to a few who might just look like the character you’ve been trying to describe. Save this step for last or you’ll get bogged down with too many possibilities.

If you have done your homework, a clear picture will emerge.

Editor’s note: What strategies do you use to bring your characters into focus?

Susan Bearman is a writing veteran of more than 20 years, working as a ghost writer, technical writer and business editor. She teaches writing and social media for writers, and her current works-in-progress include several picture books, a memoir and a mystery. You can read Susan on her own blog, Two Kinds of People, and weekly on the Garanimals Blog, and you can follow her on Twitter. 

Today’s post is written by Christi Craig, a semi-finalist in the Write It Sideways regular contributor search. Thanks, Christi!

Write with a purpose. Who doesn’t do that?

Every time I sit down with pen and paper or laptop open, I have a goal in mind, be it word count or finished draft or a good, cathartic, venting about a project gone south.

But in the land of short stories and novels, writing with a purpose takes on an entirely different meaning: every character, every scene, even the landscape or weather must carry significant weight in the story. There’s no such thing as “filler” material.

I take that back. When cranking out a first draft of any story – short or long – there’s plenty of filler. It’s in the rewrites and edits where the not-so-necessary writing is either sent to a file of “tidbits for another time” or is refined in ways that gives the story more shape and meaning.

So, how do we ensure that our stories’ characters (especially the minor ones), scenes and landscape have purpose?

We study how those elements can work in storytelling.

Characters

Narrative gives us the structure we need to describe characters in a story, but dialogue and movement (or gesture) allow readers to understand those characters in a deeper way.Dialogue can be tricky. On one hand, we want a conversation on the page to read like we overheard it in real life. On the other hand, we don’t want to waste a reader’s time by throwing in, what Janet Fitch calls, “the meet and greet, and all that yack.”

Nathan Bransford points out in his post Seven Keys to Writing Good Dialogue, that “good dialogue…builds towards something [and] reveals personality.” The best conversations between characters are the ones where tone, mood, secrets are hinted at within the words.

Movement and gesture work the same. In an article for The Writer (July 2011), Thomas Kaufman says that “movement and gesture are important in writing, because they tell us visually what is happening internally.”

I’m having a bad day if I have a character shout, ‘I’m really angry at your infidelity right now!’ But what if the same character picks up a cherished wedding present…and smashes it without a word?

Inserting movement and gesture, even subtle gestures, in the middle of (or instead of) dialogue helps neutralize that tendency to let characters talk too much, and it reveals more depth to a character’s emotions.

Scenes

In Write Great Fiction – Plot & Structure, James Scott Bell describes plot as a “disturbance to characters’ inner and outer lives,” and we use scenes “to illustrate and dramatize those disturbances.” Every scene, then, must have a direct effect on plot and a strong connection to character arc.

In my own writing, I’ve recognized failure and success in this area, as a result of workshopping my stories with other writers.

In one story, I combined narrative and dialogue well enough to create a scene with solid description of a time and place, but readers questioned why that particular scene was significant in the story as a whole. The meat of the story happened elsewhere, and the response from readers was that, while the scene worked, the story itself read disjointed.

In a draft of my novel, I wrote one scene as a simple interaction between a friend and a mother and her child. There wasn’t much dialogue, mostly observations made by the main character.

However, the scene appeared at a pivotal time in the story, and the interaction between those three very minor characters grounded my protagonist in the setting and hinted at something she wanted: family and hope.

And that’s the point: scenes should do more than just set the stage. They work to reveal a character’s mood, provide foreshadowing, or simply get the character to a place in the story where change happens.

Landscape and Weather

Speaking of setting the stage, landscape and weather must also be written with a strong purpose in mind, one that goes beyond a background for action. In a guest post on Historical Tapestry, Anna Solomon says this:

[Setting] is not just a hill, or a chair. It’s light. It’s texture. It’s all the sensory inputs that make up our characters’ worlds. . . . [W]eather isn’t just affecting these characters. It’s also being used…to express the characters’ feelings: aspects of their inner lives that can be better expressed through their sensory experience than by anything they might say or think.

In thinking about how setting can work well in stories, two novels in particular come to mind: Caroline Leavitt’s Pictures of You and Ilie Ruby’s The Language of Trees.

In Pictures of You, Caroline Leavitt opens her story with a heavy fog:

…[T]hen the fog moves again and she sees, almost like pieces of a torn photo, patches of what’s there.

With that simple passage, she sets the tone for her novel, one in which a broken life is reassembled in a patchwork kind of way.

In The Language of Trees, Ilie Ruby doesn’t use her description of the landscape lightly:

The willows here grow to enduring heights of one hundred feet, their narrow leaves and long branches bent toward the ground, never forgetting their home.

The magical element of the Diamond trees on the shore of Canandaigua Lake, along with weather, become a metaphor for the emotional and mental turbulence that surrounds her main characters.

In both of those novels, scenery and climate play as important a role in moving the story forward as any character or scene, proving that stories can only be enhanced when writers use all those elements – character, scenes, and landscape – with strength and in unison.

What about you? Have you noticed passages in your writing that act more as filler? And how have you turned those moments into more meaning?

Christi Craig writes flash fiction and short stories, and is currently at work on her first novel. For more about Christi and her writing, visit her website. You can also follow her on Twitter or friend her on Facebook.

Today’s post is written by Sarah Baughman, a semi-finalist in the Write It Sideways regular contributor search. Thanks, Sarah!

What is it you love most about your favorite writers?

Lush descriptions, startling metaphors, characters so real you can imagine inviting them over for coffee? I’ve often wished that, just for a day, I could borrow a beloved author’s brain and use it to scrawl a few sentences.

As it turns out, trying someone else’s style on for size is not only an excellent cure for writers’ block, but also a viable way to nurture your own creative voice.

As a high school English teacher, I searched for ways to help students both appreciate the literature we read and develop more confidence and structure for their own creative writing.

When I taught Cannery Row by John Steinbeck, I created an assignment that asked students first to identify the stylistic features that distinguished the author’s writing, and then to write about a topic of their choice using those features.

I wrote along with the students and felt appropriately challenged by the exercise, but even students who were self-professed “non-writers” ended up having a lot to say; using Steinbeck’s style as a springboard, they launched into their own entirely original pieces.

How it works

Here’s a breakdown of how the ‘imitation as inspiration’ exercise works:

1. Identify a sentence or short paragraph from a favorite work that, for whatever reason, strikes you as particularly powerful.
2. Read the short excerpt several times, generating a list of stylistic features that characterize the writer’s voice.
3. Create a blank template of the sentence(s), leaving articles, conjunctions, and prepositions intact (the template functions much like a well-informed ad-lib).
4. Put the writer’s work away—don’t look at it again, or else it might interfere with your own original creative process.
5. Select a topic that fits well with the stylistic features you pinpointed in Step 2. Freewrite or brainstorm about the topic, generating as many specific details as you can.
6. Use the blank template from Step 3 to launch your own ultimately unique, piece of writing. If the template feels too restrictive, consider the stylistic features from Step 2 and write freely, incorporating as many as you can.

Worried about plagiarism?

Obviously, literary integrity is of utmost importance. However, as long as you stick to the above steps—choosing just a small excerpt, working from a blank template, and selecting your own topic—you’ll be left with a valuable exercise that stretches your writing brain and inspires a work-in-progress or future piece.

A Sample Exercise

Want to test the process for yourself? Here’s an exercise based on one excerpt from Cannery Row.

Excerpt (John Steinbeck, Cannery Row)

Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream. Cannery Row is the gathered and scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corrugated iron, honky tonks, restaurants and whore houses, and little crowded groceries, and laboratories and flophouses…

Stylistic Devices to Note

• A syntax that rambles, lists, and “piles” word upon word using commas and “ands,” giving a sense of how much is contained in a place
• Diction that juxtaposes shorter words with longer words to adjust the pace of the sentence, (“a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light”); that gives an exceptionally specific sense of detail (“sardine canneries of corrugated iron”), that show the complexity and contradictory nature of places and people  (“gathered and scattered”)
• Alliteration (“canneries of corrugated iron”)

Getting Started

Think of a place you know very well.

Ideally, it is a place you have visited recently enough to recall plenty of concrete details.

Brainstorm about the place: how it looks at different times of day, how it smells, what objects can be found in it. Think about why the place is meaningful to you and what memories you have associated with it: especially, how your five senses are awakened when you are there.

Alternatively, you may work with a setting for a short story or novel-in-progress; this is a great way to make sure you know your setting well!

Blank Template

(Place) in (City) in (State/Country) is a (noun), a (noun), a (adjective + noun), a (2-word noun),  a (noun), a (noun),  a (noun), a (noun). (Place) is the (past tense verb) and (past tense verb), (noun) and (noun) and (noun) and (2-word noun), (adjective + noun) and (adjective + noun)  and (2-word noun), (noun) of (noun expressing materials the previous noun is made of), (noun), (noun) and (noun), and (2 adjectives + noun), and (noun) and (noun)…

Once you’ve written from the template, you’ll be surprised at how quickly words continue to flow.

Happy writing!

Sarah Baughman is a writer and trained teacher who has published articles in print and online publications. Her collection of creative non-fiction essays won the Michigan Writers Cooperative Press 2010 Chapbook Contest. You can follow her on Twitter and check out her blog, A Line At A Time.

Today’s post is written by Mercia Dragonslayer, a semi-finalist in the Write It Sideways regular contributor search. Thanks, Mercia!

“Write a novel in thirty days? How does one do that?” I wondered, as I read the website for National Novel Writing Month.”That just seems like a quest for absolute insanity!”

Until November 2009, I had never finished a novel. Sure, past attempts up to 15,000 words littered my desktop, but finishing?

Never.

This “NaNoWriMo” business promised great things for young writers like me. Finally, I could finish something worth showing off! I could be the hero of my favorite writing website! I could claim bragging rights and the recognition due to me!

The only thing stopping me? “How do I write a novel in thirty days?”

Since then, I’ve learned more about writing and speed-writing. Now that November is here once again, I want to present budding writers with the chance to complete their own novel right on time.

Here are a few tips to make one-month-noveling an easy breeze. (Or maybe a hurricane force wind, but no tornadoes, right?)

1. Plan, Plan, Plan

It’s rarely a good idea to dive into any writing project without some sort of outline in place.

NaNoWriMo is no exception. A loose outline of the main events and characters will keep you on track and give you plenty of information to work with.

In 2009, one of the main problems I ran up against was, essentially, lack of story. NaNoWriMo requires 50,000 words in order to win, and my novel simply lacked that. While planning your novel, make sure the plot has enough twists and turns to last for 50,000 words.

2. Practice, Practice, Practice

See how long it takes you to write 1,667 words (50,000 divided by 30). This will give you an estimate of how long you need to write each day to make your goal.

Practice under a number of conditions—at your kid’s soccer practice, at the lunch table, at your desk. Unless you’re an insanely fast writer, plan at least two hours a day to get your words in.

3. Sleep

It may be tempting to pull an all-nighter because That Idea will go to waste otherwise. This is a very bad idea. Work, school, and family will suffer if you decide to go the whole month without enough sleep. A finished novel is wonderful, yes, but don’t sacrifice your health to do it.

I know from experience that once one stays up late for too long, it becomes a habit too hard to get rid of. You don’t want to be sleep-deprived in December too, right?

4. Exercise

“I can’t! I’ve only written 2000 words in the two hours I’ve been sitting here! NOOO! Don’t drag me away!”

Okay, so that’s probably a bit of an exaggeration, but it’s very important to exercise throughout the month. Otherwise you could end up with one novel under your greatly loosened belt at the end.

This year, I plan to take a break every 2000 words and go for a two-mile bike ride. It gets me out of my seat and burns those calories I’ll take in with candy and hot chocolate.

5. Reward yourself

Eat tacos every 10,000 words. Have a candy every 1,000 words (keeping tip #3 in mind!). Go out to lunch at the halfway point.

By rewarding yourself, you have that extra motivation to keep going and you learn self-control. An especially wonderful treat at the end will make winning even sweeter.

Alternatively, you could use reverse psychology. Take away the TV until the day’s word count goal is reached. Keep the phone off if you’re behind. In addition, by making the consequences of not finishing your novel horrifying and disastrous, you will desperately want to finish, if only to not be deprived of tacos for December.

Events like NaNoWriMo stand as mere conduits for your creativity. Remember to eat, sleep, and exercise properly, and you’ll be off to an amazing start.

Mercia Dragonslayer blogs on Slaying Dragons when she has something fun or crazy to say. In 2010, she was published in The Young Writer’s Magazine. She lives in North Carolina with her family and two cats.