wild ink

. . . the process of writing is precious and
beautiful and humbling and uncomfortable
and shattering and edifying, no matter what.

Your creative mind is begging you to write. You’ve got a book haunting you. You’re ready to go. You put words on a page, and then more words. You read it over. But the words you’ve written aren’t communicating what you want them to say. Instead of soaring like your imagination, your words seem lifeless, like birds afflicted with West Nile virus. Now what?

No one expects a painter to magically understand how to mix colors or master brush strokes without study and practice. Actors and dancers don’t hope to be great without ever taking a class in theater or movement. Musicians know they must put in years before their instrument can speak with eloquence. The same goes for writing.

If you want to improve as a writer, resources abound to save you time and trouble on your writing journey.

Dozens and dozens of books are devoted to the art of writing and the business of publishing, and the right book at the right time is worth far more than its cover price. Here, for your review, is a list of exceptional titles. No, I haven’t read them all, but I’ve asked for recommendations, and each is somebody’s favorite. All of these books, and others you’ll discover, can help you immensely.

Unfortunately, you may have to dig a little to find some of these titles, because books—even excellent books—go in and out of print all the time. So if you find one you like, you might want to buy it.

The Triggering Town: Lectures and Essays on Poetry and Writing by Richard Hugo

The Word: Black Writers Talk About the Transformative Power of Reading and Writing by Marita Golden

Making the Perfect Pitch: How to Catch a Literary Agent’s Eye by Katharine Sands

The Renegade Writer’s Query Letters That Rock by Diana Burrell and Linda Formichelli

The Fire in Fiction: Passion, Purpose and Techniques to Make Your Novel Great by Donald Maass

Story: Substance, Structure, Style and the Principles of Screenwriting by Robert McKee

Save the Cat! The Last Book on Screenwriting You’ll Ever Need by Blake Snyder

Spunk and Bite: A Writer’s Guide to Bold, Contemporary Style by Arthur Plotnik

Reading Like a Writer: A Guide for People Who Love Books and for Those Who Want to Write Them by Francine Prose

Grammatically Correct: The Essential Guide to Spelling, Style, Usage, Grammar, and Punctuation by Anne Stilman

Making Comics: Storytelling Secrets of Comics, Manga and Graphic Novels by Scott McCloud

Adventures in Cartooning: How to Turn Your Doodles Into Comics by James Sturm, Alexis Frederick-Frost, and Andrew Arnold

The Christian Writer’s Manual of Style: Updated and Expanded Edition by Robert Hudson

A Novel Idea: Best Advice on Writing Inspirational Fiction by various Christian writers

The Complete Guide to Self-Publishing: Everything You Need to Know to Write, Publish, Promote and Sell Your Own Book by Marilyn Ross and Sue Collier

Dan Poynter’s Self-Publishing Manual, Volume 2: How to Write, Print and Sell Your Own Book by Dan Poynter

The Fine Print of Self-Publishing: Everything You Need to Know About the Costs, Contracts, and Process of Self-Publishing (4th ed.) by Mark Levine

Wild Ink is not the only title out there about writing YA, and it’s always good to get other perspectives on the genre and how to break in.

Writing Great Books for Young Adults: Everything You Need to Know, from Crafting the Idea to Landing a Publishing Deal by Regina Brooks

Most community learning centers, colleges, and universities offer classes in creative writing. So do writing organizations, both brick and mortar and online. If you’re short on discipline, class assignments can motivate you to complete essays, short stories, or even longer projects.

Writers’ conferences include workshops on the writing craft, marketing your work, and staying inspired. The good ones include opportunities to get a critique on a page or two of your manuscript and make a pitch to a working editor or agent. Some of these conferences have well-regarded writing contests for unpublished writers. Choices abound, and conferences can be excellent opportunities to hear firsthand from industry hotshots. Many of the bigger, more credible conferences are attached to professional organizations.

Writers’ organizations give you the opportunity to meet kindred spirits, learn more about writing and publishing, and generally connect with the writing community. For example, the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) is an organization with a worldwide membership (see http://www.scbwi.org). Local chapters provide members with gatherings, classes, and support. When you join, you’ll gain access to information about writing and publishing in the children’s market, of which young adult fiction is a part.

There are also professional organizations dedicated to genres of adult fiction. Mystery Writers of America, Romance Writers of America, and Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America all have regional chapters. (To date, a Young Adult Writers of America does not exist.) Depending on the YA subgenre you’re interested in, you could gain a lot of knowledge and support from attending conferences sponsored by these organizations.

Groups spring up to serve writers within a particular region as well. In Colorado, where I live, there are organizations such as Colorado Authors’ League, Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers, Rocky Mountain Chapter of SCBWI, Northern Colorado Writers, Lighthouse Writers Workshop, and others. All offer classes and writing contests. Try doing a search for writing organizations in your area.

Other organizations are devoted specifically to increasing literacy among teens. The Young Adult Library Services Association (YALSA) is the fastest growing group in the American Library Association (ALA)—and the ALA has a long history of connecting media specialists throughout the United States. The International Reading Association (IRA) is another effective organization dedicated to literacy. Both YALSA and IRA have outreach programs directed at young adults themselves. ALAN (Assembly on Literature for Adolescents of the National Council of Teachers of English) links teachers who work with teens nationwide. Authors can join any or all of these organizations, and membership fees are reasonable. Voice of Youth Advocates (VOYA) magazine is focused on teens and literacy. Authors can subscribe.

At what point do you show your writing to other people? That’s a big question. When I was writing my first novel, I didn’t show it to anyone but my children, my husband, my sisters, and one friend. This runs counter to the advice you’ll get from other sources who say that feedback from close family members and friends has no value. In my case, feedback from people who were close to me, particularly my children, was of great value. Both my kids have a knack for spotting discrepancies and plot holes. They were the perfect teenagers to tell me what they thought.

Back then I didn’t know about critique groups, and if I had known, I probably wouldn’t have joined one. I still believe that if you show what you’ve written to the wrong person at the wrong time, you risk sending your artistic self into hiding. When sharing your writing with other people, you lay yourself open to their reactions. Some of those reactions will be kind. Some will be mean. Some will be helpful and others completely off base. The main point: Once you put your writing out there, you can’t take it back. And there’s a delicacy to writing, especially at first. When you write a story, you’re exposing your innermost thoughts and feelings—your view of life. This makes you vulnerable.

Sometimes, not showing what you’ve written is the best way to strengthen the relationship between you and the writer within. You don’t dig up an apple seed to see how it’s growing. You let it germinate and send shoots into the air and light. You water it. You wait until it’s a good strong sapling before you hang anything on its branches—and you don’t get angry if the tree doesn’t bear fruit immediately.

However, it’s also true that no one can read his or her own work for the first time. Good readers who will spot plot holes, cardboard characters, or stilted dialogue can be immensely helpful. When you get criticism from people who know what they’re talking about and also care about helping you, it’s worth more than you could ever pay. So just as showing your writing to the wrong person at the wrong time can hurt you, showing the right person at the right time gives you a chance to grow much more and much faster than you could on your own.

My first rule when receiving criticism: Consider the source. And in my experience, there are three categories of critique: constructive, destructive, and useless.

Constructive critique. Constructive critique comes from knowledgeable people who want to help you write better. They look over what you’ve written and make suggestions that tighten the structure, streamline the flow, highlight the characters, and help the plot stay on track.

Keep in mind that sometimes an excellent critique may be delivered bluntly. Just because the delivery is blunt doesn’t mean your work is not respected or the person giving the critique has nothing valuable to offer. Some of the best advice I’ve received has seemed harsh at first.

When you’re ready for constructive criticism, you’ll crave honest feedback like a marathon runner craves water. You’ll seek out people with a knack for editing and beg them to tear your manuscript apart. You’ll want to hear what’s wrong with your story just as much as you want to hear what’s right. After listening to forthright comments about flaws and weaknesses, you’ll even overflow with gratitude. That’s how valuable constructive critique can be.

Destructive critique. How do you spot destructive critique? The critique will be expressed in generalities that give you nothing to work with, statements like “This is the worst thing I’ve ever read,” or “You have nothing to say,” or “What made you think you could write a story?”

When listening to critique, look for useful specifics. “I like the way this begins, but in paragraph 7 on page 2, I started to lose interest. It seemed repetitive.” Or “The part where Donovan ditches Cheronne is well written, but why does she forgive him so easily?” Or “This chapter starts out at a fast pace with Ava getting close to Kira’s secret, but it starts to fizzle on page 5 when Thelonius just sits around.” Or even “This first chapter leaves me cold. I really start getting involved with your topic in the second chapter.”

Destructive critique would say, “This is a bad story.” Or “Cheronne’s an idiot.” Or “Thelonius? What a stupid name.” Or “Your topic is boring.”

The best way to handle destructive critique? I’m not sure, but deep, slow breathing is a start. Remind yourself it’s just one person’s opinion. You don’t have to listen. If you can laugh, you’re home free.

Something else that deserves mention: If you always react to critique with knee-jerk defensiveness, that’s a different problem. You may be responding to constructive critique as if it were destructive. If you’ve received specific feedback, think it over before automatically rejecting it. Is it relevant to your book? If so, you’ve just been given a precious gift. But if you feel too hurt to consider the merits of the advice, you’re not ready to receive critique. (You may want to go shopping for a rhinoceros hide, because you’re going to need it in the writing business.) It’s perfectly all right to back off and wait until you’re stronger. And it’s always a good idea to be selective about whom you invite to criticize your work.

Useless critique. One more category of critique is the useless variety—critique from well-meaning people who don’t know what they’re talking about. Either everything will be generalized in a glaze of positive comments such as, “This is the best thing I’ve ever read,” or the advice will come out of left field, making ridiculous objections like, “I don’t think your characters should tell the truth because people don’t like to hear the truth,” or “I think you should take out the part where Samantha knocks on Kareem’s door”—when actually that particular part is central to the plot. Imagine if J. R. R. Tolkien, author of Lord of the Rings, had been told, “Your book is good except for the Hobbits. Why not just tell a normal story?” Or if someone gave Harper Lee, author of To Kill A Mockingbird, a critique saying, “You give children too much credit—you should write from the point of view of adults.” Useless critique is maddening, confusing, and, well . . . useless. It misses the mark.

Sometimes useless comments are so biased in your favor it’s like talking to a doting mother who says, “What zit? I don’t see any zits on your face,” when it’s obvious there are three big ones right in the center of your forehead. Something inside you will feel restless and dissatisfied when you get a useless critique, even if it’s positive.

It’s important to trust your intuition. If you’re not being defensive, you’ll be able to recognize helpful critique. You’ll light up when you’re given insights that show you how to take your story from good to excellent.

And in the end, the most important critique you’ll ever get will come from yourself. After all, you’re the one who knows the most about what you’re writing.

Writing groups are designed to provide regular critique for the members. In an ideal group, laughter overflows as insights roll. Incisive comments are handed out with respect, gratefully received, and weighed within each writer’s sense of purpose. Individual strengths are honored, and a context of trust and enjoyment propels the members forward. Supportive synergy surges through the group, leading individuals to create more and write better. Writers who are part of a functional group can grow exponentially, and fast. Well-founded critique is the absolute best way to improve.

But not every group will work out. Sometimes members will give you destructive or useless critique. Sometimes personalities clash. After all, there isn’t a “writer” personality. You don’t automatically share traits, values, or visions with someone just because you’re both interested in writing.

You could get wildly inconsistent feedback. Member A thinks your wording is purple, Member B says it’s too stark, Member C has no idea what you’re trying to say, Member D is sure you’ve spelled everything out too plainly . . . You’re left dazed and confused.

Finding the group that’s right for you is a little like dating. Start with pieces of writing that don’t matter much while you get a feeling for who you’re dealing with. It’s hard to know in advance who will be capable of giving perceptive critique. Even if every member of a group is well-read, a well-read person is not necessarily a good writer any more than a movie buff is a good actor. To further complicate matters, not every good writer has a flair for critique.

Critique groups, like families, have different sets of rules. Some groups operate well within a highly defined structure. For example, a particular format is followed every time. The person receiving a critique may not be allowed to speak. The critique itself must be worded with something positive first, something less positive second, and something more positive to finish up. (This is a good idea, especially for new writers who aren’t used to criticism.) Other groups are loose and free-flowing and yet get a lot accomplished. Members who’ve been together a long time may leap straight to the heart of the critique, allowing the writer to enter the discussion.

Some groups are genre specific, seeking members with similar writing goals. This makes it harder to find enough members. More important than individual focus is group synergy, compatibility, and trust.

Trust is a big factor in effective group dynamics, and different people have different criteria for bestowing trust. For me, the big three requirements are honest criticism, respect, and confidentiality. I want to know my fellow writers will lay it on the line and won’t be offended when I do the same. I want to be sure we’ll all refrain from blabbing outside the group about what is discussed inside. It goes without saying that each writer makes the call on what to keep and what to throw away, including criticism.

Generating momentum. Working with writing buddies in a critique group is a fantastic way to keep momentum going. For one thing, if I know my buddies are preparing new chapters, I’m not going to let them down by procrastinating, getting distracted, or backpedaling. And I look forward to reading their work, hearing about their week, and listening to their insightful wisecracks as we keep each other accountable to the goals we’ve set.

Critique groups can be organized in dozens upon dozens of ways. As I see it, so long as members find help to write better and keep going, the format is secondary. Keep looking until you find a place where you fit. Professional organizations such as the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators can put you in touch with existing groups looking for new members or with other writers looking for community.

One of the things a good critique group can help identify is whether a book is heading for a dead end—meaning it has a fatal flaw. Unlike fatal flaws in characters (which can add interest), fatal flaws in the style or storyline of a book lead nowhere. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t point out a few easily avoidable dead ends that show up for YA writers of both nonfiction and fiction.

Writers of nonfiction YA can dead end their books in several ways: (1) by removing all juice from their subject, petrifying it; (2) by treating readers as if they’re 6 instead of 16; and (3) by presenting concepts in convoluted terms using very long sentences and obscure vocabulary. Just say it, and say it well, with enthusiasm.

Novelists can easily dead end their books by leaning too heavily on true stories when writing fiction or by preaching to their readers. Let me explain.

Basing a novel on real events. If you plan to write a book of fiction based closely on actual events you’ve experienced, you’re heading for tricky territory.

I know I’ve said it’s a good idea to delve into your own life and write about what’s real to you. It is a good idea, but only if you follow the structure of fiction—which means you’ve got to have clear tension and resolution, character arc, and plot lines. If the story you’re telling has really happened, you may feel compelled to faithfully convey the true chain of events. If you do, you’re unlikely to wind up with an effective plot line.

Can an exciting book emerge from a true story? Without a doubt. We’ve all read examples of outstanding fiction based on true life. However, large numbers of writers trip up on this issue. They make the mistake of thinking something is automatically interesting just because it really happened.

If you decide to use actual events for the foundation of your novel, pick your details with care. Leave out the parts that don’t serve. Make full use of poetic license. The story must come first. Also remember that, legally, you can get into trouble if you duplicate real people without their express permission.

Preaching. Another problem is talking down to readers. A condescending or preachy style is a big turnoff, not only to adults but also to teenagers.

As a group, teens are much maligned. “Teenager” has turned into a derogatory term, variously synonymous with troublesome, unruly, scatterbrained, and even criminal. Teens don’t want to encounter this unfair stereotype when they read. They want to be respected, not patronized or lectured. Adults reading YA will not appreciate condescension either.

Does this mean you should avoid having a message? Not at all. As we explored in Chapter 3, messages are important to fiction. But don’t hit the reader over the head. Embed your message into the core of the story itself.

Will the Point Be Taken?

Let’s say you have strong feelings about teens ruining their future health by snarfing junk food, guzzling soft drinks, and getting only enough exercise to make it from the fridge to the computer and back again. You write a book with a character whose main activities are centered around snacks, soda, and surfing the net. Primary interactions with that character consist of some people warning him about consequences while others incite him to practice unhealthy habits. You write scenes of his ensuing battle with diabetes and end with obvious conclusions about how his lifestyle has resulted in disease.

Your motivation is to make a point and get your readers to change bad habits. But will the point be taken? For a better result, you could write about a teen with a driving ambition to design world-class gaming software. Night after night he works late on his dream project, falling behind in homework, propping himself up with caffeinated sugary drinks and fistfuls of French fries. After some dramatic setbacks, he enters and wins a major software contest, only to have his best ideas stolen by a rival. As he searches for the identity of the thief, he’s getting blurred vision and excessive fatigue. Ignoring his failing health, he keeps pushing. At a crucial moment, he slips into a coma. A friend rushes him to the hospital, where he’s diagnosed with diabetes. He gets treatment, changes his habits, identifies the thief, and wins back his credibility in software design.

In the first story, the message is screaming at the reader from page 1. In the second story, the message is embedded for the reader to discover.

An example of an embedded message from a well-known novel comes from J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. The story features Rita Skeeter, a journalist whose pen drips lies about Harry Potter. The message: Don’t believe everything you read.

Some people worry that unless teens are bludgeoned with a blatant message, they won’t receive it. Not so. Young people grasp complex ideas with ease. They’re perfectly capable of adding profound perspective to any discussion. And they’re certainly able to pick up messages left in the background of a book.

Another way to talk down to readers is by backing away from conflict, dancing around it, or inserting pat resolutions. Teens are ready for a more complex approach. Do not cheat on the conflict. Weak or undeveloped subplots won’t cut it either. Fill your plot with twists, turns, and interesting secondary characters. And remember that young people care about more than dating, clothes, and social status. Most teens are far from shallow, and the same goes for adults reading YA.

Respect your readers, and they’ll respect you back. When writing, I make it easy for myself by simply assuming my readers will be smarter, better informed, more savvy, and in all ways more brilliant than I.

Your story deserves your best writing, and there are loads of resources around to help you improve. All approaches are valid so long as they get you to write your book. However you learn best, whatever gets you to practice most, do it. And keep going.

Chapter 6

Resources
for Writers

Chapter 6

Resources for Writers

Resources
for Writers