Writerly Wednesdays

Slangifying Your Story

In the realm of YA writing in particular, slang of any kind is tricky, tricky business.

Slang and common expressions can make a teen voice feel more authentic. As someone who spends every workday listening to teenagers talk, I guarantee they’re not pulling exclusively from an official dictionary.

Then again, slang is—by its nature—fleeting. A few bits and pieces work their way into the long-term vernacular, but most are solidly dated. Just think about “groovy,” “bodacious,” and “fresh.” You just had certain decades flash through your mind, right? Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that instant association is what you need.

More often, I’m thinking that’s not a good thing.

Let’s go back to my students for a minute. There are some who spout a near-constant stream of “totes obvi” and “YOLO.” (The one who says YOLO the most keeps doing it out of context. I’m not sure he really gets it. Or he likes to be annoying.) And here’s the thing about super of-the-moment phrases. It only takes about two minutes for the kids to sound like they’re trying too hard.

And it’s even easier for an author to sound the same way.

So how do you deal with it? Stick to the more long-standing forms of teen-talk? Use a strict rule like one super-trendy term per fifty pages? Only let a side character use them, make it their “thing”?

Honestly, I don’t know. I’m curious what you’ve found works, either from a writing or reading perspective.

I tend to work around it by writing science fiction and making up my own slang. Mindy McGinnis thinks I’m good at it. Hopefully others will agree.

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Don’t Make Readers Take Your Word for It

Has this ever happened to you? You’re reading a book, there are a lot of good things going for it, you’re even enjoying some things … but you’re just not feeling it. You’re not even sure what “it” is. You just know you’re not feeling what you’re supposed to.

More specifically, you’re not believing what the characters feel. Something about the story as a whole isn’t authentic.

That’s the best word I can think of for it. Authenticity. It’s quite possibly one of the most difficult things to establish in our writing.

Or maybe it just is for me.

The thing is, it’s a characteristic of the piece as a whole, with a mix of different variables going into it. You can’t deconstruct it completely any more than you can break a baked cake down to its constituent ingredients.

We have to try, though. We can’t just learn from CPs and beta-readers that the gut-feeling authenticity isn’t there and throw up our hands. “Oh, well! So much for that story. Guess I’ll try another one.” We have to think about what might be factoring into it.

So I’ve pondered, and here are the first three that occurred to me.

1. Show, don’t tell. I know! How dare I trot that tired thing out? But think about it. “Telling” is, at its root, asking the reader to take your word for it that your character is angry or heartbroken or whatever. You can’t show everything (even trying would be a pain), but try to show enough.
2. Motivate actions (and reactions). If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you might remember my little theory about Front-End/Back-End Motivation. (If not, may I shamelessly suggest you read that and see what you think?) Lack of authenticity may stem from readers not buying into your characters’ choices.
3. Voice, voice, voice. If the voice is (or becomes) jarring, stilted, or otherwise not right, it knocks the reader out of the story. It becomes just words on a page, and the characters lose their realness.

Okay, that’s what I’ve got, but I’m sure there are other things that contribute to the problem. Any ideas?

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Spell-Check is Your Friend. Seriously.

Long before I ever thought I was creative enough to write any kind of fiction, my relationship with the written word held a particular distinction. I was English Student of the Year in 9th grade. That was the year of sentence diagramming (among other things).

Let me tell you, I diagrammed sentences like nobody’s business. I don’t remember a lot of the specifics now, but it did give me a pretty solid hold on some tricky grammar, comma rules, and the like.

That was me and English for a long time. The Technician. I wrote perfect essays that were exactly what my history teacher wanted to see. I wrote killer research papers and aced my technical writing class in college.

These skills still come in handy now. Just ask Mindy McGinnis, whose comma splices I’ve helped hide from her editor.

In the effort to develop my inner novelist, though, I try not to dwell on those technical aspects. I even make a conscious effort sometimes to let them go, allow myself to make “mistakes” for the purpose of flow and voice. (This was easier once my linguistics professor taught me the difference between Prescriptive and Descriptive Grammar.)

That aspect of my journey has helped me ease up on the “Fix It!” button every time I see a grammar or spelling error. (Okay, the reaction’s still there. But not as violent as it used to be.) I’m sure other novelists are very in-the-creative-moment, especially when drafting, and leave those things to be cleaned up in editing/revising. To stay in that creative zone, they may even turn off the spell-as-you-go feature that pops up with those red/orange underlines when you misspell something.

Awesome. Whatever works for the individual writer.

But some seem to forget that we do need to run a spell-check eventually.

I know, spell-check isn’t perfect. It’s annoying when it dings every one of your proper names, or made-up words for another language, or even perfectly spelled calculus vocabulary. And it won’t catch misspellings that happen to be proper spellings of other words. It won’t save you on a “phase-vs-faze” debate.

I’ve heard some say they don’t worry about such things, because that’s what editors are for. Sure, editors should be able to catch the errors so subtle, your eye glides over them. But leaving flat-out wrongly spelled words that five minutes with spell-check could catch?

That makes it look like we don’t care. It doesn’t look professional. It doesn’t look like we respect the agent/editor/other human being we’re sending our work to.

So, my plea for the week. Save someone a headache. Show them you care.

Run a spell-check. 🙂

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Yes, You Can Love Books TOO Much

Heresy, you say?

Hear me out before you brand me a traitor to writer-kind.

With a lot of kids, I’m thrilled when they want to read something that’s not required by a teacher. At my last school, we had a small amount of dedicated reading time every day, regardless of what class they were in at that time. Sometimes I had a class of reluctant readers, and any time they didn’t put they books away the second reading time ended, I didn’t mind letting them carry on a bit.

There are kids at the other end of the spectrum, though. Kids who always want to read. Some of them know how to prioritize. They pay attention to lessons, work hard to get their tasks done so they’ll have a bit of free time to read at the end of class.

That’s fine by me.

But some kids don’t have that self-control. Some will read straight through class unless someone steps in and stops them.

That someone would be me. The big, mean, book-closing teacher.

Forgive me, my fellow bibliophiles, but kids need more than books … they need math, too. Among other things.

Any suggestions on helping certain students see that need for balance?

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What Do You Call Your Writerly Acquaintances?

We writers are connected in many ways. Some have pretty straightforward labels.

The Writer-Friend. Not that they need to be set aside from friends in general, but they meet extra qualifications. They know the lingo like “querying” and “form rejection” and the accompanying angst.

The CP (Critique Partner). Like the Writer-Friend squared, they don’t just wish us well in the trenches—they help us get the right gear, find the best paths.

The Author-with-a-Capital-A. The rock stars of the writing world. The multi-published, best-selling authors. Those people the rest of us can’t quite bring ourselves to equate as being in the same profession we’re trying to weasel our way into.

Then there are other connections, a little more nuanced, and that’s where the labels get a little head-scratching for me. Most specifically, writers with an agent or publishing imprint in common. I often see such writers referred to as agency-sisters, for instance.

But what about the guys? My agent represents several male writers (and illustrators!), but I’ve never seen anyone say anything like, “Yeah, Jimmy’s my agency-brother.”

Is it because as females, we’re more likely to establish and define relationships in this way? For guys, are we just all writers and that’s enough?

Does it matter? Probably not. But this is the way my brain works.

I guess I’ll just stick with the labels for myself … a happy AQCer and member of the Literaticult.

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The Secret Society of Writers—We’re EVERYWHERE!

My new/old classroom has a couple of bulletin boards—a long one along the side of the room and a square one next to the whiteboard at the front. It’s been a while since I’ve had that kind of wall space, and I’ve never really been skilled at fantastic bulletin board design, so I was kind of at a loss.

I ended up putting some math stuff on the long one and decided to make some color print-outs of book cover images for the smaller one. It makes the kids ask questions—”Uh, Miss Lewis, why do you have a bunch of book covers up in math class?”—and gives a good excuse to talk to them about not pigeonholing themselves or others.

I’ll probably change it later, but for now, it works.

The other day, our librarian/media center coordinator/general queen of awesome stopped by to see when I wanted to come in with my classes to get our new textbooks. She caught sight of the book covers and said, “Oh! I want to read that steampunk but haven’t gotten to it yet!” (Incidentally, The Unnaturalists by agent-mate Tiffany Trent!)

She already knew about my publishing deal from one of the other math teachers. One thing leads to another and … she says the magic words:

“Then there’s me, still at the querying stage.”

She knows what ‘querying’ means.

We speak the same language.

She is one of us!

We launch into talk of how she writes contemporary YA and has her ms out to an agent. How she uses QueryTracker and how I think she really ought to stop by AgentQuery Connect and check it out (because really, every writer should). How we’re both on Twitter and she thinks my agent is awesome and hilarious (because @literaticat is awesome and hilarious).

Meanwhile, the other math teacher I’d been planning with thinks we’re both a little crazy.

Well, let’s face it. We are a little crazy.

We’re writers.

And we find each other at the least-expected moments sometimes.

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