Writerly Wednesdays

Gung-Ho About Grammar

If I’ve ever critiqued or beta-read for you, you probably noticed that I can get nit-picky with grammar when I want to. For me, it’s just part of my OCD, perfectionist nature. I see an error, and it’s like being jacked into an electric fence unless I do something to fix it.

Okay, maybe not that bad. But I used to be almost that bad. When we did diagramming sentences in ninth grade, I didn’t understand why so many of my classmates were complaining. For the most part, it was easy, I thought. What’s the big deal? My brain just seemed to be wired for it.

(Before anyone starts sending me hate-mail, realize that at the time I also thought creative writing was a kind of magic I would never possess. So, you know, some things balance out.)

When I started teaching deaf students, I really began to understand just how wacky English grammar is. No wonder even those of us who hear and speak the language every day screw it up! My students will master one rule only to discover there are twenty more exceptions they have to figure out.

Even with my super-grammar-skillz, there are a few things that still hang me up. I only just got a solid handle on the whole lay-vs-lie thing. (Related concepts, and the past tense of one is the present tense of the other? Whose idea was that?)

Further-vs-farther? I know the rule. Farther is for distance; further is for degree. But I swear I’ve come across a few places where I could argue it fits either condition. (And of course, I can’t come up with an example right now. If I ever do, I’ll throw it in an edit or the comments.)

“If it were” vs “If it was”? I remember being told if it actually happened that way it was one, but if the circumstance was never true, it’s the other … something like that. I have a really hard time wrapping my head around that one and all related forms, so if you have several super-clear illustrations to pass along, I’d be hugely grateful.

The nice thing is, grammar isn’t so hard to learn. (Particularly compared to some other aspects of writing. I can’t begin to tell you how to develop more voice in your manuscript, but I can help you understand the proper way to use semicolons.)

What about you? Any particular nuances of grammar that you just can’t nail? Any that you KNOW, but find you have to keep a close eye on yourself not to slip?

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All the Same, It’s Totally Different

This week, I had one of my math classes (with students who are a bit lower functioning) doing a worksheet that involved directions like “Go right 3,” and, “Go up 4.” As usual, when they asked what to do, I asked them to read what it said.

Here’s the thing. In ASL, there are three different signs for “right.” There’s “right vs. left,” “right vs. wrong,” and “you have the right to remain silent.” Kids that are strong readers will figure out from context which it means, but five out of six kids signed, “Go right-as-in-not-wrong.” (When I pointed out the second instruction said “Go up,” they figured it out and felt silly.)

So, Thing #1 to think about as a writer (particularly writing for kids): Words have multiple meanings. Make sure the specific use is clear.

I hate to mention highway signs and driving again, but seriously, I spend a LOT of time in my car. And although it’s been a mild winter, it’s winter nonetheless, and that brings out the ice signs.

Have you ever noticed there’s no standard for those signs? Especially if you drive in different states, there’s a whole variety out there. Lots of ways to say essentially the same thing, but I’ll assert that some are better than others.

ICY ROAD/BRIDGE

This one is the simplest, but perhaps my least favorite. More than 50% of the time, it’s a lie. Too often, I pass these signs and think, “Yeah, it could be icy … if it weren’t bone-dry and 40 degrees!”

ICY CONDITIONS MAY EXIST

More accurate, but my snarky self thinks, “Yeah, I can tell you for sure they exist in Antarctica. Are you talking about here?” There’s just something overly complicated about it, making it sound like the politically correct version of the sign.

BRIDGE ICES BEFORE ROAD

Oh, look, a physics lesson in a road sign! This one isn’t too bad on the surface, but hey—maybe the road is icy, too, in which case this sign is kind of pointless.

ROAD/BRIDGE MAY BE ICY

Ah, this is the one I like. It says what it needs to say simply. It doesn’t over- or understate things. I wish they would use this one everywhere they need such signs.

Thing #2 to think about as a writer: There are many ways to say the same thing. Sometimes the “pretty” way is best for what we need to accomplish. But sometimes it’s more important that it’s functional and accurate. Don’t be afraid of clarity.

What are some of the “same but different” conundrums you’ve run into? (Don’t get me started on the different ASL signs for “run” …)

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Censorship or Audience Appropriateness?

My school has its second biannual Author Illustrator Competition coming up, and I’m on the committee. (I’m the only person on the committee who doesn’t teach English, so I don’t actually work with my classes on their stories, which makes things interesting.)

During a recent committee meeting, the issue of censorship came up, so you know that was more interesting than deciding who would go to the hobby store to get materials and who would make the certificates.

First, two things to understand. (1) Part of the plan for the event is that the books the students have made will be on display on tables in a hallway leading to the guest speaker presentation. (2) Our school is pre-K through 12th grade, with children ranging from 2 to 22.

One member of the committee noted that she has a student who’s writing a story that’s, well, more PG-13 than G. (Knowing the student, it may cross more to R, but I haven’t actually seen it yet.) So we had a discussion about whether this would be permitted in the competition.

Without getting into details, some said it was not appropriate, and the story should be revised for the wide-ranging audience. The teacher said she would not support censorship of any kind.

I got stuck thinking about it. Is this censorship? Or is it acknowledging what is and isn’t appropriate for a specific audience? If it is censorship, then is all censorship automatically a bad thing, or does some of it fall under the umbrella of respecting the rights of others not to be subjected to certain material?

You might show Schindler’s List to a high school class learning about the Holocaust. You would not show the movie at a school-wide assembly on the Holocaust (at a K-12 school like ours).

We recently had an ASL poetry/storytelling event. If I were doing poetry in a high school class, I could see allowing certain language (dropping F-bombs, for instance) if the student felt it belonged in the poem. At a school-wide event, however, this would not be appropriate.

Is it censorship? Is it something else? Where’s the line, and how do we help kids differentiate? I’d really like to hear some thoughts on this, because my mind keeps going in circles.

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An Interlude Poetical

Today, I have a guest post of sorts. If you’ve been following the blog for a while, you may remember “The Hunger Pangs” from last summer. It’s a short story written by a student of mine, parodying The Hunger Games.

The same student has been quietly observing an ongoing war in her writing class between the teacher (Vicki) and one of her classmates. The battles are so constant, she was moved to poetry. Enjoy!

* * * * *

His words are free, twisting and turning on the page,
But she thinks they need to be trapped in a cage,
But he doesn’t believe it.
He says we should leave it,
The words don’t really need it,
But she says they do, so she screams,
Punctuation, punctuation, punctuation!

His words are gentle, just rambling around,
But she says he needs to change the sound.
Then his words are screaming,
No longer gently streaming,
Exclamatory, it’s seeming,
So she starts yelling,
Exclamation, exclamation, exclamation!

His words are peaceful, always having the answer
Until she comes along to infect like a cancer.
Until they don’t know what to be.
They don’t know what to see.
They don’t know why she—
Vicki, keeps shouting,
It’s a question, it’s a question, it’s a question!

His words run up hills and never stop.
She says there’s too many “ands,” it’s a little over the top.
Then they have nowhere to go.
They have nowhere to flow.
They don’t really know
Why Vicki keeps saying,
Too many conjunctions, conjunctions, conjunctions!

His words are tangled,
And she wants him strangled.
I say find an in-between.
Make his style seen,
But make it seem clean.
So I turn to her, suggesting,
Go easy on the conventions, conventions, conventions!

Then, I turn to him and say,
Go easy on the accusations, accusations, accusations!
But still it goes on.

* * * * *

Is it just me, or does this spring interesting thoughts for anyone else?

But still it goes on.

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A Tense Matter of Perspective

When I started writing my very first novel, it was in third person. A couple pages in, it was feeling awkward. I went back and re-did it in first person, and never looked back.

From then on, the decision of whether to go first or third (and if first, present or past tense) has been a combination of gut instinct and thinking about what the story needed. In one, I chose third person because I needed that tiny bit of distance from the main character so she could keep some secrets from the reader in an organic (not just convenient for me) way. In another, I chose present tense because it only made sense to be in the moment rather than looking back.

I’ve even braved the “alternating first person” POV … just for a novelette I wrote on a whim, but I still did it. (One POV I haven’t tried is second person, and I don’t see myself trying anytime soon.)

My latest Shiny New Idea has been less forthcoming about what it wanted to be. Or maybe it’s just less demanding and could work whatever way I chose, as long as I applied the perspective and tense in an effective way. For the scene-and-a-half I’ve written so far, I went with first-person/past. Feels good so far, so hopefully it’ll work.

On a separate but related note, there’s something I don’t get. I’ve seen a lot of people say they hate reading first-person narratives. Maybe it’s just a matter of personal preference, like the way I’m not crazy about peas unless they’re raw.

I used to feel kind of the same way about novels in present tense. The first time I read one, it felt funny and jarred me for a while. But I figured out I just wasn’t used to it. Now that I’ve read several, it doesn’t bother me most of the time. In fact, when I notice the tense and think, “Ugh, this present tense is bugging me,” I suspect it’s a sign that either the writer didn’t handle the tense well, or it was just an inappropriate choice for that story.

But first person in general? Is it possible to not be used to that? (Weren’t all the Babysitters’ Club books in first from the POV of whichever girl had her name in the title? Maybe I’m remembering wrong.) Is there some other reason I acclimated and adapted to whatever it is about this perspective that bothers some readers?

Or is one person’s grilled zucchini another person’s boiled peas? (I may have taken the metaphor too far there.)

Just curious. Any of you first-person haters want to share?

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Levels of Response in the Publishing Game

As I wade through the waters of Trying to Get Published, I find there are a lot of things the general public doesn’t know about the process. Since most of us start out in the general public before moving into Wannabe-Writer-Ville, we come into the process as clueless newbies.

The first thing we learn about is the query letter. That’s a tricky beast all in itself and deserves weeks of study. But with the magic of the internet (and cool sites like AgentQuery Connect), we get up to speed on how and why, and work out a query letter that’s considered ready to go.

We carefully read submission guidelines, send out a batch or two of queries, and we wait.

As a newbie, we may not know how many possible responses there are. Let’s break it down.

SILENCE
First, has it only been ten minutes? If so, chill out. (If the agent promises an auto-response to confirm receipt, check your spam folder, wait a little longer, then try again.) If it’s been a few weeks/months, there are questions to answer. Does the agent have a stated “no response means no” policy? If yes, move on. If no, and there was no auto-response, do a little digging to determine whether the agent typically responds and how long it usually takes. (QueryTracker is a great resource for this.) If it’s been unreasonably long, and the agent always responds to queries, might be worth resending.

FORM REJECTION
This can vary from a super-brief “Not for me, but thanks,” to a very politely worded paragraph that means the same thing. Don’t agonize over every syllable. Just move on.

PERSONALIZED REJECTION (on query)
This is pretty rare, but occasionally happens. Sometimes it’ll look personalized, but a little research shows it’s a form. If you really do get a personalized reply, glean what you can from it, but again—don’t agonize. Move on.

PARTIAL REQUEST
Yay, they want to read some of your manuscript! First, a partial typically means three chapters or the first fifty pages. In my experience, agents are pretty clear with what they want and how they want it. Follow their instructions. Once you send it off—don’t agonize. Your query seems to work, so send off a few more to celebrate.

FULL REQUEST
Yay, they want to (potentially) read the whole thing! Some agents go straight from the query to this point, skipping the partial in-between. Same advice goes—send as instructed, don’t agonize, and send off some more queries.

SILENCE (on requested material)
Ugh. Hold on! Has it only been two weeks? Chill out again.

Many agents state that they respond to full manuscripts within X amount of time. Wait that length plus a few weeks (or an extra month), then try a politely worded nudge. Sometimes you get an apologetic note that things got crazy and you’re next on the list, or there’s been a technical problem and could you please resend … and sometimes you get more silence.

FORM REJECTION (on requested material)
Ouch. This sucks, because you often can’t even tell how far they read. This is where I most often see the “I just didn’t love it enough” wording. Frustrating, because it doesn’t really give you something to act on, other than trying to find the agent who is going to love it enough. Check with beta-readers and critique partners to see if they have ideas about making it more “loveable” but … don’t agonize. Send more queries and get back to work on your WIP (you do have one, don’t you?).

BRIEF REJECTION (on requested material)
A little better than the form, and may give you a touch of direction on revisions. If the feedback resonates, act on it. But don’t agonize. Get back to work.

DETAILED REJECTION
This can hurt the most but be the most valuable … maybe. The agent cared enough to type up 3-5 paragraphs on what they liked and didn’t like, but ultimately, they don’t want this story. Often this type of rejection includes a statement like, “Please keep me in mind for any future projects.” Make a note of that. If this story doesn’t pan out and your WIP gets to querying stage, I highly recommend starting your new query letter to these agents with: “In (month and year), you were kind enough to read the full manuscript for (insert title).”

A rejection like this warrants a little agonizing. You need to look over their feedback carefully. Let it sit for a day or two until the sting is gone, then read it again. What resonates? What could make the story better? This may be the time to dive into some big revisions. But if the feedback doesn’t resonate at all, or contradicts what other agents have said they liked, it may be yet another occasion to move on.

REVISE AND RESUBMIT
There’s nothing relaxing about this type of R&R. This often looks a lot like the Detailed Rejection, but it’s actually a hefty step above. It generally includes the same types of feedback, but includes a clear statement from the agent that if you’re willing to revise, they’d be happy to look at it again.

Agonize. By all means, agonize.

Again, make sure the feedback resonates on some level. Come up with a game plan for addressing the agent’s “problem areas.” Take your time (but not forever) working through your manuscript. Run it through your most trusted critique partner(s) again. Polish the now-rough edges where things got cut and scraped.

Send the new version. Then stop agonizing. Send a query, write on the WIP, do something.

And finally …

CAN WE TALK?
I’ve experienced all of the above levels thus far, except this one. This is where the agent wants to talk to you in real-time, usually meaning on the phone. It may or may not end in an offer of representation. Depends on how you and the agent click, how they feel about other projects you have (old or ideas for new ones), if you both have the same vision for a working relationship and your career, etc.

If/when I get to that point, this thread (and the links within it) will be my guide, definitely.

And as I wait for that phone to ring, nothing will stop me from agonizing. I’ll keep some chocolate handy.

Did I miss any? Do you have any advice on handling the various levels of response?

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