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courtesy photbucket |
GFW Writers member, Susie Sheehey, is the winner of the June editor critique by Jason Black with her manuscript
Audrey's Promise. You may remember Jason was a guest on our blog and his post remains an all time favorite.
To learn more about Jason, scroll to the bottom of the page and don't forget to leave a comment.
Audrey Allen kept as much distance as possible
from bloodsucking media fiends, who always seemed to ruin everything and leave
disasters in their wake. So why was she sitting across from a TV anchor with a
dozen cameras and lights glaring on her face like a police interrogation?
[An
opening paragraph has to grab a reader, hard and fast. This one does well with
colorful language such as “bloodsucking fiends,” “ruin,” and “disasters.”
Interesting elements such as “TV anchor” and “police interrogation” grab our
attention as well. But on the whole, the paragraph doesn’t quite make me sit up
and take notice. Part of this is because the paragraph is at a distance from
Audrey; while the second sentence is clearly indicative of her thoughts, it
isn’t presented as inner monologue. There’s a distance to it, which diminishes
the immediacy of the thought. It’s odd, because elsewhere the narrative does
use true inner monologue to give us Audrey’s thoughts. So why not here? On the
whole, I’m left thinking that an immediate opening in Audrey’s inner monologue
might pick this right up. Something like: What
am I doing here in front of these bloodsucking media fiends? Considering
that other salient elements, such as Audrey’s name, are conveyed again in the
next several sentences, nothing is really lost by shortening this opening.]
“And we’re back in five, four-” the producer
counted from behind the shadows of the camera.
[For
example, this paragraph allows the reader to infer that it’s a TV studio, and
moreover, likely some kind of news or talk show, even if the opening paragraph
hadn’t mentioned TV at all.]
Because
I have a sick need to constantly punish myself.
[I like
this, because while it gives us one answer to the question presented in the
opening paragraph, it isn’t a direct answer. It isn’t the answer we were
expecting, and yet, it’s an interesting answer because it tells us something
about Audrey’s attitude, and shares with us her unique, personal voice.]
If it were possible, an even brighter light
switched on and burned into Audrey’s retinas. Every nerve ending squirmed in
her body, screaming for Audrey to stand and walk out. But she pulled the collar
of her sapphire blouse closer to her neck and forced a smile instead.
[The
paragraph is kind of rough. The phrase “even brighter” has only a weak correlation
with the first paragraph, because while lights were mentioned, their brightness
wasn’t. The second sentence contains an alliteration of S-words, “squirmed,”
“screaming,” and “stand” which I found distracting. I suspect this was
unintentional. As well, the verb “squirmed” is strongly tactile, while the verb
“screamed” is auditory, creating a semantic clash between the two. It feels to
me like the author is suggesting a feeling of compulsion which Audrey is
fighting, so why not use the verb “compelling” instead? Finally, the last
sentence doesn’t need both “But” and “instead.” Both of those words indicate
contrast between expectation and actuality, so together, they’re redundant. So
pick one, and for my money, “instead” is the winner. It’s a nice word to close
the paragraph on, bringing closure to the implicit question of whether Audrey
is going to give in to the compulsion to split.]
Breathe.
Smile, Audrey. You agreed to this.
“Welcome
back, folks. I’m Cathy Claise here with Texas State Senate candidate, Audrey
Allen.”
[Nice
example of using dialogue to convey information the author wants the reader to
have, while avoiding the dreaded “infodump.” The reason it’s not an infodump is
because Ms. Cathy Claise’s motivations as a character make it perfectly
sensible for her to say that, regardless of what readers might need to know.
After all, she’s not talking to us, she’s talking to her TV audience.]
Could this woman’s hair be any more bleached?
Sandra Dee meets televangelist Jan Crouch in her mid-forties, desperate to look
a decade fresher. But viewers had no idea she looked this fake up close. That’s
the magic of TV.
[Again,
the narrative is ambiguous. Much of this paragraph sounds like it could be
Audrey’s inner monologue, but it isn’t presented that way. Readers are left
unsure how to interpret what we just read: did Audrey think that, or not?]
“Audrey has captured the political field by
storm, stunning all of the Dallas district as the one candidate to take on
Wyatt Williams in this surprising runoff election. Audrey, how have you managed
to earn votes from both liberals and conservatives? Some conservatives
criticize that you refuse to answer questions on family and religion to hide
your deep-set liberal views.”
[The phrase “all of the Dallas district” is
awkward. Does it mean “the entire Dallas district,” implying that Dallas is
contained in a single legislative district, or is it a typo that should have
been “all of the Dallas districts”?]
I knew
this was a bad idea. Fire
fused to Audrey’s jawbone and spread down her esophagus. Even with the oncoming
heartburn, she knew this question was bound to come up. Journalists latched
onto any pinprick of weakness and blasted it into a gaping wound, turning what
was nothing into a hemorrhage of lies and misinterpretations. Despite her heart
rate thumping against her sternum, Audrey kept smiling.
[Little
stuff matters. The second sentence of this paragraph indicates a downward-progressing sensation, while at
least in my experience heartburn progresses upward
through the esophagus. Does it matter to the story? Probably not in the
slightest. But it does matter, because small eyebrow-raising moments like this
do chip away at the credibility an author has with the reader. Everything that
strikes us as not quite right—whether it’s relevant to the plot or not—makes us
less confident in the author’s ability to tell us a compelling story.]
As Audrey opened her mouth to answer, she threw
a glance over Cathy’s shoulder to her campaign manager, Miranda Gates, who’d
stopped guzzling her Starbucks coffee and stared back at her.
“Claire, I’m glad you brought that up.” That way I can quash your attempt to
sideswipe me. “First of all, I’m happy my message has reached both
conservatives and liberals on the independent ticket. After all, if elected
I’ll be serving both parties equally. However, the only thing liberal about me
is the high-def powder on my face from the make-up crew here.”
Audrey continued through the muffled snickers
from behind the cameras, and Miranda’s expectant nod.
“Just because I don’t talk about my family or
religious views doesn’t mean I don’t have them. I’m proud of my family. I’m the
person I am today because of them.” Even
though they may not be proud of me.
[Great
bit of inner monologue, there. That’s a very revealing contrast between speech
and thought. A line like that does wonders for sending the reader’s mind
spinning with curiosity about what juicy secrets this manuscript has in store
for us.]
“My focus right now is my campaign and the
people I intend to help with my platforms. Not marriage. So many women in my
district need help and a safe place to seek support. The Women’s Crisis Center
I’m sponsoring will provide that refuge. “
Way to
plug in the WCC, Aud. She could
almost hear Miranda’s cheers, silenced by guzzling more coffee. She watched
Cathy open her mouth to jab another potential zinger, but the fire in her belly
roared and Audrey wouldn’t give this woman the satisfaction.
[The
last sentence here is a little too on-the-nose in terms of interpreting
Audrey’s motivations for us. It usually plays better to leave motivations
unsaid, while providing enough visible evidence for them that readers can
deduce the motivations for themselves. Enabling readers to make those kinds of
deductions—and then staying out of the way so they can in fact do it—is how a
writer creates an interaction between the reader and the text. We don’t want
passive, bored readers. We want active
readers, whose minds are engaged while they read. If we’re giving them
something to think about and things to figure out, then they’ll be having fun.
If we do all the work for them and hand them all the conclusions, they’ll be
bored. Consider how it would read if that last line were shortened to something
like, “She watch Cathy open her mouth for another zinger, but Audrey’s fire was
up.” Then jump straight to Audrey’s next line. Now the reader has to connect
the dots. Connecting the dots is where the fun of reading is. Don’t take the
reader’s fun away by giving them pre-connected dots!]
“And Cathy, my personal faith has nothing to do
with my ability to be an effective State Senator. My experience in Texas
politics has taught me that an ability to work with others and keep a level
head is the best way to help everyone, without losing your sanity in the
process.”
Cathy’s laugh-on-command was more a nervous
cackle, devoid of genuine emotion. It bubbled under Audrey’s skin like hydrogen
peroxide. This desperate TV anchor was more fake than half the plastic-surgery
addicted women of mid-town. But also the most watched by that demographic.
[The peroxide crack is perfect. Spot-on for a
bleached TV talking-head. But again, the narrative is ambiguous between true
narrative and inner monologue.]
“Austin has its way of piling on the body count
at the Capitol steps,” Cathy quipped. “You seem more than ready to take on
Wyatt Williams next week. The other senators from around the state might be
less forgiving.”
Audrey bit the side of her tongue to keep from
rolling her eyes.
“This Women’s Crisis Center has a fundraising
event coming up, is that correct?” Cathy added.
Finally,
something worth talking about.
“Saturday night at the W Hotel in Dallas. We’ll
be auctioning off some valuable gifts for this incredible charity.”
“Don’t you think this event on Thanksgiving
weekend is bad timing? Won’t many people have spent all their money on Black
Friday?”
She
never quits.
“On the contrary, Cathy. This is the season of
being thankful for your blessings and there’s never a better time to give back
to those who need a little help and compassion.”
“Well spoken from the Prolific Peacemaker of
the 2nd District.” Cathy flashed her veneers at Audrey until her
cheeks cracked. A final turn to the camera let Audrey breath, and release the
pressure exerted on her big toe in her black heels. Cathy peered into the
camera. “Thank you, Ms. Allen, for joining us here today. Stick around,
viewers. We’ll be right back with the perfect trimming for that Thanksgiving
Turkey.”
[There
are two mechanical errors in this paragraph. There should be a comma after
“well spoken,” and “breath” should be “breathe.” Again, little things matter.
Mechanical errors indicate lack of effort, and give agents and publishers an
excuse to get through their to-do list faster by rejecting the manuscript. For
the indie or self-published author, mechanical errors give book bloggers and
Amazon reviewers easy fodder to trash-talk you or your book. For those reasons
alone, it’s well worth hiring a copy editor before sending the book out into
the world.]
Audrey watched the producer in a massive
headset hold up his fingers to count down. “And we’re clear.”
The microphone clipped to her silk blouse was
the first to come off, followed by the bulky battery in her back pocket. As she
fumbled with the wire, Cathy did as well with her words, fake yet again.
“Thanks so much for coming today. And sorry for
that last round of questioning. My boss would have fired me if I hadn’t asked
them.” Fluffing her bleached bob, Cathy motioned for her makeup assistant. But
trusty Miranda stopped her.
“And just how many times will you face
termination before you’ll practice ethics?”
[Oh,
snap! Let the catfight begin! Boy, there’s nothing like naked verbal aggression
to suddenly perk up a scene. And I like that it has come at a time we’re
totally not expecting it. The interview’s over, I’m expecting Miranda to whisk
Audrey away to her next campaign stop. I’m expecting the narrative to enter
some kind of scene transition, but no, it hits us with something much better.
Conflict! It also does a great job of immediately showing what kind of person
Miranda is. Nicely done.]
Amazing how her fake smile dissipated so
quickly into a Nancy Grace scowl. She must have practiced that in the mirror.
“Politics is a brutal game, and our viewers expect us to ask the important
questions.”
[More of that same stylistic ambiguity here.]
“I think viewers are more interested in the
truth, not sleight-of-hand tactics. Good luck getting us to visit your show
again in the future.” Miranda bit with a half-smile. Her hazel eyes pierced
Cathy’s plastic exterior. Audrey loved Miranda’s passion and unwavering
loyalty, and even more loved watching her take the graceful kill. But the
election was seven days away. As much as Audrey hated to do it, they needed to
give the media a sliver of mercy.
“Cathy, thank you for having me on the show
today.” The gracious tone was a lot easier to muster than Audrey expected, now
that she’d handed back the microphone to the adolescent-looking sound tech. “And
have a wonderful Thanksgiving with your family.”
Ten years of interning in the political
quagmire as her mentor’s aide and eventual protégé had taught Audrey that
cooler heads always prevailed on the Senate floor. But no amount of time or
turmoil would ever dampen her dislike of the media. Stepping off of the
makeshift living room in the small studio, away from the intruding cameras, the
nagging necessity of the media grew with every ding of Miranda’s Blackberry.
[Word
choice is critical. Every word carries a literal meaning, plus a more slippery
connotation. While readers will correct for a surprising breath of errors in
literal meaning (basically, we know what you meant), connotation is another
game entirely. Connotation is where the feeling of the words lives. When you
pick your words, pay attention to both layers of meaning. Here, the word
“makeshift” feels off to me, because both layers of meaning don’t quite fit my
image of a TV studio. “Makeshift” literally means something put together out of
parts that were handy, but not necessarily ideal, to do some job. As a reader,
I get what the author probably means: it’s not a real living room, it’s just a
fake TV-set living room. But “makeshift” has connotations of haphazard, shoddy,
and temporary. So even while I know what you meant, those connotations clash
strongly with my image of a TV studio set as something slick, polished, and
fully intentional down to the last detail. The clash leaves me with no coherent
perception of what this location is supposed to be. Intellectually, I know what you meant, but in my gut, I
don’t feel it. As well, consider the
word “Blackberry.” Beware, beware, beware technology. It changes so fast that
if you include mentions of specific technology in your story, the story is likely
to feel dated before you’re even done writing the book. Indeed, while the
Blackberry was indeed the number-one cell phone and e-mail device for
businesspersons and politicians not so many years ago, the iPhone has now
pretty much killed it. The story clearly has a feeling of being set in the
contemporary world, yet the word “Blackberry” makes it feel not quite
contemporary. And you can’t win by going with iPhone either; then you’re just
going to sound like you’re trying to be trendy. The answer is almost always to
be less specific when it comes to
technology. Does it matter what kind of phone Audrey has? Of course not. So,
just say “cell phone” and leave it at that.]
“I need a Diet, Mandy.” Tension pulled at the
muscles in her neck. Maybe it was all the weight of the extra makeup they made
her wear, or the weight of the election taking its toll. Soon enough it would
all be over, and hopefully Audrey could make the impact that her district
desperately needed.
Without taking her eyes off her Blackberry and
lightning-fast thumb, Miranda reached into her massive purse and pulled out a
silver can.
“You’re scary sometimes. But I love you.”
Audrey opened the can and sipped the delectable bubbles, letting it run through
her senses and across her taste buds. Thank
God.
“Pampering you is what I do best.”
[In terms of
characterization, I like this scene ending. It conveys a lot about the
relationship between these two women, without beating us over the head with it.
Again, it lets the reader draw the conclusions. But in terms of broader
story-craft, it doesn’t do anything in particular to propel the reader forward
through the story. It’s a nice, neat bow tied on the end of the scene, but it
doesn’t leave us with any burning question that we simply have to jump into the
next chapter to answer. Imagine, for example, if the scene contained just one
more short paragraph:
Mandy’s
thumbs came to an abrupt stop. She stared at her phone. “Oh, crap.” She handed
the phone over. “You have to see this.”
Now there’s a
question, and nobody had to look very far to find it: What? What does she have
to see? Tell me now!
That’s a hook
ending. That’s an ending which compels the reader to keep reading. And isn’t that what we want readers to do?
I’ve picked
on a bunch of stuff in this short scene—that was the whole point, after all—but
on the whole it’s a pretty strong scene. As an opening scene, it clearly
establishes the protagonist, her situation, one important supporting player,
and one character who may turn out to be an antagonist. It did all that pretty
smoothly overall, without infodumping or resorting to lengthy stretches of
exposition. Already, that puts this scene in a rarefied air compared to much of
what I see. My advice to this author is definitely to keep going. Work on those
little detail elements, which are still kind of rough, and definitely work on
clarifying the distinction between the narrative portions and the inner
monologue portions so readers are clear as to which is which. Do that, and this
will become a very strong scene indeed.]
A Note From Jason Black..
I am a book doctor who has helped
scores of novelists improve their work over the past several years. I take a very analytical approach to literature, seeking to discover the "fundamental forces of fiction" and
understand how those forces play out in narrative. My philosophy is that it is not enough simply to learn the rules-of-thumb for good narrative--use active voice, avoid adverbs, et cetera--without understanding why we have those rules, how they derive from those fundamental forces, and what effect following or breaking those rules has on the reader's experience of our stories. That's what I am constantly working to understand, and what I strive to share with my clients.
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