Posts Tagged writing tips

Writing and Walking

By on November 19, 2012   /   Book Lists  

I try to walk every day. Outside. Without a phone in my hand or headphones plugged into my ears. Just me, and the path ahead.

Because I live in the Chicago area, this can get a little challenging in the winter, but I still try to get out and walk, sometimes stamping through the snow and braving the wind chill, maybe lasting only fifteen minutes.

I’m one of those writers who finds that time away from the keyboard is actually some of my best writing time. It’s then that the characters and plot and setting and dialogue that have been bouncing around in my head seem to straighten out and make some sense.

I’m not alone in this belief.

“Me thinks that the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow,” wrote Henry Thoreau. Well-known walking writers include Charles Dickens, Walt Whitman, William Wordsworth, Henry James, Thomas Mann, and Joyce Carol Oates.

So what is it about getting outside and moving your feet that helps get those creative juices flowing?

Research is finding that walking allows the brain to work in a different way. Walking has been shown to improve the ability to shift between modes of thought, increase attention and memory, and allow us to recover from mental fatigue, all of which are important when creating. And walking has another benefit — it elevates our mood.

I’ve found this to be true, as well — when I get too busy doing, I don’t dedicate enough time to thinking.

I know that after sitting for hours at my desk, fingers curled around the keyboard, staring at the screen, I feel instantly better the moment I get outside. When I walk, my mind has time to meander. To roam and wander and stroll along, with nothing awaiting my attention. At least for the next hour or so.

The beauty of walking is that all you need are a good pair of shoes. You don’t need to take lessons or join a club or pay a membership fee. And you can do it whenever!

If all this isn’t enough to convince you to close that document and open your front door right now, there’s another benefit to walking around your neighborhood. What you observe, feel, hear, and smell can find its way into your work in progress! I’ve had this happen a number of times.

Are you a walking writer? Have you found it helpful in your work? Leave a comment and share your thoughts. That is, when you get back inside.

Michele Weber Hurwitz, the author of Calli Be Gold (Wendy Lamb Books/Random House 2011) and a forthcoming middle grade novel in 2014, is on her way out for a walk. Visit her at www.micheleweberhurwitz.com.

 

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Character Lessons from Doctor Who

By on November 1, 2012   /   Book Lists  

If I say watching a television show is a study in writing, does doing so then qualify as “work?” (More importantly, can I write off Netflix when I do my taxes?)

I watch Doctor Who for the awesome characters, creative sci-fantasy elements, and off-the-wall stories, all of which have taught me a ton about writing (and often leave me shaking my fist and screaming “MOFFAT!”). But after every episode, I feel more inspired as a writer – and more inspired to mess with my characters. If you’re a Time Lord fan, or a would be-fan, beware: ahead there be spoilers.

1. Give minor characters so much history and personality and life that they could carry their own series.

Most episodes of Doctor Who introduce new characters who are only present for that episode. They could easily be two-dimensional, but they rarely are. As an example, take the series four episode, “Midnight,” which is more psychological horror than your normal whimsical Doctor stuff. Not a single character on the shuttle (aside from the Doctor) would ever appear in another episode, but they were as real and developed as any long-time companion…making their actions and fates near the end of the episode all the more horrifying.

This isn’t to say that every single name you drop in your novel should have a five-page character sheet. In fact, that can be detrimental – “character soup” is something I often have to deal with in edits. But your story will be all the more rich and real if each character has problems and passions that drive their actions, no matter how short their page time.

2. Give everyone a chance to be a hero.

Because good heros (and good characters) are flawed, and they can’t do it all. The Doctor is all kinds of flawed (and if you don’t believe me, you clearly haven’t watched The Waters of Mars). But one of the things I love most about Doctor Who is that so often it’s those minor, one-episode characters I mentioned a few paragraphs up who really save the day, often by some sort of personal sacrifice.

This is particularly valuable in middle grade stories, where the main character is likely very internally focused. Think about Hermione accusing Harry of always trying to be the hero. Sometimes the load must be shared – a great lesson for middle grade characters (and readers). The main character can’t do it alone, and shouldn’t have to.

3. Don’t just be cruel to your characters – be creatively cruel.

Death? So not the worst thing that can happen. Take a look at some of the companions’ fates.

When I think of Captain Jack and the Face of Bo, I want to weep. (Even though Jack’s fate to live a bajillion years and die as a giant head might not be canon, I still just…ack.) Then there’s Rose and her not-quite-Doctor – a strange end to a character arc that managed to be both satisfying and devastating. Martha’s whole year just made me feel bad for her (although admittedly irritated at times). And Amy and Rory – I’m glad they had each other, but if you didn’t tear up at “raggedy man, good-bye” then you have no soul.

But let’s look more closely at Donna, because she’s my favorite companion. She doesn’t die. She doesn’t lose any family members or friends (that she knows of). She’s not physically or mentally harmed in any way. She is, in fact, the exact same person she was before she met the Doctor – a temp from Chiswick in a wedding dress. We last see her happily leaving a church with her new husband and a winning lottery ticket tucked in her cleavage.

Sounds like a happy ending, yeah? But in context it’s a more brutally heartbreaking finale than anything I could’ve possibly imagined for her. For her, Donna. That’s the key – it was an ending that wouldn’t have had the same emotional impact with any other character. It could only work with Donna, with her cutting humor masking that enormous inferiority complex, with her mother who constantly made her feel worthless, with her gradual development into becoming a woman who would quite literally save the world. Maybe it’s not a fate worse than death, but for the Doctor (and the viewers) it was gut-wrenching. And it would have been for Donna, too, if she could only remember.

What are the stakes for your characters? The threat of death is certainly motivating, but try being more creatively cruel. Think of Artemis Fowl in The Time Paradox, forced to deal with the consequences of his own regrettable actions by literally confronting his evil 10-year old self. Pinpoint what really makes your characters afraid and vulnerable, and make them face it head-on.

Any other Whovian writers out there? What lessons have you learned from the Doctor? I’d love to hear them!

Michelle is the author of the upcoming I HEART BAND series (Penguin, Fall 2013), about the thrills and spills, practices and performances, crushes and crises of middle school band geeks. She’s a screenwriter for a Manhattan-based TV/film production company and lives in Queens with her husband (and band mate) and their chocolate lab (who is more of a vocalist). She blogs, tweets, and tumblrs.

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Making a Promise

By on October 29, 2012   /   Book Lists  

I feel a bit stupid, sitting here, staring at my keyboard, wondering how to begin a post about beginnings. But maybe that’s the way it should be. Because writing beginnings is hard work. Well, let me rephrase that—writing good beginnings is hard work. That’s probably why this beginning sucks. Because I didn’t really work all that hard at it. I’d apologize, but I’m on a tight schedule and don’t have time to be sorry.

 Sorry.

 Anyway, I don’t know about you, but I love it when I pick up a book and the first few lines pull me so completely into the story that I know I’m in for a journey I won’t soon forget. The opening provides the author’s promise of great things to come.

 Wendy Mass made me a promise about a month ago. But actually it wasn’t only one promise. It was three. And all three promises came from her novel Every Soul a Star.

 No, I didn’t reread the opening paragraph three times. At least if I did, that’s not what I’m talking about. Wendy Mass made three promises because she wrote three beginnings, choosing to tell her story from the perspectives of three different kids—Ally, Bree, and Jack. Each of them gets his or her very own Chapter 1. Let’s look at the three beginnings and consider how they manage to make such great promises to the reader.

 Chapter 1: Ally
      In Iceland, fairies live inside of rocks. Seriously. They have houses in there and schools and amusement parks and everything.
      Besides me, not many people outside of Iceland know this. But you just have to read the right books and it’s all there. When you’re homeschooled . . .

 Chapter 1: Bree
      I was switched at birth.
      There’s no other explanation for how I wound up in this family. My physicist parents are certified geniuses with, like, a zillion IQ points between them and all these grants to study things like dark matter and anti-matter, which are apparently very different things. . . .

 Chapter 1: Jack
      My father has no head.
      Well, of course he HAS one, but I’ve never seen it. All I’ve seen is about a hundred photos of the rest of his body. . . .

 These could be the beginnings to three different books, and I’d want to read all three of them. That’s because each beginning makes a tremendous promise, giving a glimpse into a character who will drive the story forward.

 In each beginning, the point of view is clear, and the presence of voice is hard to miss. Reread those three beginnings. It doesn’t require much imagination to hear each character speaking to you. But these openings provide more than clear points of view and engaging voice. They also reveal just enough characterization and plot that I’m compelled to keep reading.

 Ally? She seems to believe some strange things. Plus, I learn she’s homeschooled.

 Bree? She’s got, like, that slightly ditzy way of talking, and she, like, doesn’t seem to think she’s too smart compared to her parents.

 And Jack? For some reason, his dad’s out of the picture. Literally.

 So when you’re working to craft the perfect beginning to your story, look closely at your opening lines. Do they establish the point of view? A believable voice? Do they provide a hint of your characterization and plot? If so, you’ve probably crafted a great beginning. And once you’ve made a promise like that, you might as well keep writing.

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