Eva Hunter

Archive for the ‘The Craft of Writing’ Category


I Want You to Look At Sol

In Creative Writing, Literary genre, The Craft of Writing, Writing a Book on July 20, 2011 at 1:16 pm

I’m going to begin a new series in the next issue of PROFESSIONAL WRITING COACH, called “Writing the Perfect Sentence.” So you have some homework while you’re waiting. Find what you think is the perfect sentence. I’m not going to tell you what the elements that make up a perfect sentence are in this column. That’s what you’ll be finding out over the next several months in the new series. But here’s a hint: Often the best sentence in a piece–short or long, fiction or literary nonfiction–is the first sentence. See what you can find. Send your “perfect” sentence in through the comments section below. I’ll use them as examples.

But what’s this about Sol? Am I talking about Mexican beer, an acronym for “shit outta luck,” or–getting closer now–the Spanish word for “sun.” Sol: English Writing in Mexico is the on-line literary magazine published by Professional Writing Coach and a team of talented editors, in conjunction with the San Miguel de Allende Chapter of International PEN. We have a reading series every year, which begin this year with prolific author, Joseph Dispenza , reading from his new book (out in September in hard copy as well as Kindle) Old er Man/Younger Man: A Love Story. The proceeds from the readings, which will be twice monthly, go to scholarship funds for Mexican youth.

Our fourth issue of Sol has just been published. You can find it at   http://www.solliterarymagazine.com

And here’s an easy way to find your perfect first sentence. Choose it from either fiction or nonfiction in the current issue of the magazine!

Here’s an example from the beginning of Deborah  Ken Stein’s nonfiction piece, Saying Goodbye to Miss Spetgang.

The roof of our school was flat as a plank, and covered with a smooth, rubbery substance that gave a little bounce to my feet when I ran.

That’s a really good first sentence, and I’ll tell you why in the next issue. Meanwhile, start checking out the good writing in Sol: English Writing in Mexico and send me some sentences you think are perfect, by clicking on “Comment” below, and writing them in. Remember–not your first sentences, but something you’ve found already published. Identify the source, please.

Here’s how you get to Sol: English Writing in Mexico: www.solliterarymagazine.com


Choosing Organization for Your Story

In Becoming a Writer, Creative Nonfiction, Creative Writing, Literary Nonfiction, The Craft of Writing, Writing nonfiction on February 26, 2011 at 3:01 pm

THE CRAFT OF WRITING

part nine–Collage, Function as Form, Spiral

(If you are new to this series please check the archives for previous selections in THE CRAFT OF WRITING)

Today we’re going to discuss the last three organizational structures on the list. We’ve covered straight chronology, revised chronology, flashback, converging narrative, and the trip. This column will cover the final three: collage, function as form, and spiral.

Collage is what it sounds like. It is a way of writing that is organized through a series of observations or facts patched together into a (mostly) creative nonfiction piece. Although it sounds simple, it’s not. In my classes, I encourage only the most skilled of writers to try collage. The pieces of writing must be succinct and have a common thread that runs between each of  them. For a good example of a skilled use of collage, read Caroline Roberts’ piece, “A Simple Mole” in the July, 2010 issue of SOL: English Writing in Mexico. http://solliterarymagazine.com

In Function as Form, the story is organized by the subject itself. In Tracy Kidder’s literary nonfiction book,  “House,” for example, the story is about the experience of the owners, and the building crew, while a house is being constructed. It is organized by things like: pouring the foundation; putting up the walls; the landscaping. So Kidder tells us the story of what the family is doing while the cement foundation is poured–bringing out problems, decisions, misunderstandings that might have happened. Then he switches to what the building crew is doing while the foundation is being poured. Then the same thing with the framing, and so on–until the house is complete.  Obviously, as in all literary nonfiction books, Kidder had to be on-hand during the entire process. A book like “House” isn’t written from after-the-fact interviews. Read the rest of this entry »


Choosing Organization for Your Story

In Becoming a Writer, Creative Nonfiction, Creative Writing, Getting Published, Literary Nonfiction, The Craft of Writing, Uncategorized, Writing a Book, Writing a Novel, Writing Fiction, Writing nonfiction, Writing Short Stories on October 9, 2010 at 12:24 pm

THE CRAFT OF WRITING

part eight–Converging Narrative, section two

(If you are new to this series, please check  the archives for previous selections in THE CRAFT OF WRITING)

In the previous selection in this series, I introduced the idea of Converging Narrative as an organizational form–that is: two (or more) related stories run independently until they converge–or come together as one story–in what is usually the final pages of the composition. In this segment, I’m going to talk about the writing of my short literary nonfiction story, David’s Journey.

My specialty in those days (early to mid-1990s) was short literary nonfiction for magazines and newspapers, so I was always on the lookout for good stories. Just to review, literary nonfiction is defined as “real stories about real people and the dramatic events in their lives, using the techniques of fiction.” This does not mean, however, that literary nonfiction is a hybrid of fiction and nonfiction. That “hybrid” simply does not exist in the formal literary world.

Anyway. I had done a story about an organization in Portland, Oregon, that matched  veteran parents of disabled children with parents of newborn children who were born with disabilities. As part of the story, I interviewed a cranial-facial surgeon. I mentioned to him that I’d like to do an in-surgery story with him–meaning I would follow the progress of a surgery from inside the operating suite. A few weeks later he called  to let me know he would be doing a surgery on a child, now seven years old, with severe facial deformities.

The little boy’s name was David, and he was born to a first generation Mexican family who lived in Springfield, Oregon–which was about a two hour drive south of Portland. In the weeks preceding the surgery, I drove to Springfield several times to interview the family. What I found was Read the rest of this entry »

WORKSHOPS IN THE AFTERNOON!

In The Craft of Writing, Writers Resouces, Writing Fiction on September 12, 2010 at 9:46 am

With a few exceptions, I’ve switched all my writing workshops to the afternoon–from noon to four p.m. They’re now three-week workshops, rather than four. Why this change? For a couple of reasons: first, three weeks gives my ongoing students  (and me!) a little more resting time between workshops, rather than shaving classes for three months straight. And it gives me the mornings to get my own writing done. Those of you who have been following PROFESSIONAL WRITING COACH know that we’re doing an on-line magazine, sponsoring readings in San Miguel de Allende, about to put the first year of the magazine Sol: English Writing in Mexico out in hard copy as well as Kindle–your writing coach is very busy.

The next available writing class is in January, 2012. Click on “Writing Workshops” on the banner at page-top.


Choosing Organization for your Story

In The Craft of Writing, Writing a Book, Writing a Novel, Writing nonfiction on August 7, 2010 at 8:38 am

THE CRAFT OF WRITING

If you are new to this series, please refer to “The Craft of Writing” archives

part six in the series: “function as form”

 

We’ve already discussed the classic writing organizations of chronological, revised chronological, flashback, and the trip; and there are more to come. The organization we’ll look at today is perhaps a little less elegant than what we’ve looked at before. But–caution–that doesn’t mean that it’s not meticulous to build.

And “build” is the right concept to begin with. Tracy Kidder, that National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize winner, used function as form in several of his books. Consider House, first published in 1985. In this book, the blurb says, Kidder takes us from the “first nail  to the final coat of paint.”

What Kidder did, then, was organize his book around the specific stages of building a house. And since information about how many inches of concrete were poured for the foundation would be boring material,  except perhaps  for concrete pourers, Tracy chose a house that was contracted for by a specific family, and told their story–and the story of the crew–throughout the book. The disappointments, the joys, the misunderstandings, nail by nail, floor by floor, until the house, and the story, and the book, were done. Kidder brought the emotional aspects of having a house built to the fore: What happens when the actual room doesn’t look like the owner thought it would?  What if one goes away for the weekend and returns to find the kitchen sink in the wrong place?

Kidder’s story is classified as literary nonfiction, and we know the definition of literary nonfiction, don’t we: “Real stories about real people and the dramatic events in their lives.”

That’s “function as form.” How could you use it as an organization in your stories?

Next issue: Converging narrative as an organizational form


Choosing Organization for Your Story

In The Craft of Writing on July 23, 2010 at 10:38 pm

THE CRAFT OF WRITING

If you are new to this series, please refer to “The Craft of Writing” archives

part five in the series: “flashback” and “the trip”

We’ve all seen films or read books with the flashback strategy. A story is moving along, usually chronologically, (though not always) and the writer decides to fill us in on something that happened in the background with a scene from one or more of the characters’ pasts. There are specific names for these story lines–and they are specific and individual story lines: top story and back story.

So this does not mean that a writer can just meander along and suddenly decide there is something to say about past circumstances of the story, then just throw in a back story (flashback) scene. Organization is planned, not haphazard. I like to compare the artistry of building story to  that of a lovely weaving. The weaving is made up of a fairly large background of periwinkle blue.

But woven through the blue, at even intervals, are stripes of blood red. The stripes are an accent to the blue: blue is the weaving’s dominant color. In the flashback organization, the back story is dominant in most cases; the top story is the minor stripe.  There are variations to this, of course: sometimes that ratio is switched, and sometimes each of the two stories have an equivalent amount of words.

But in most cases, the top story is constructed to cover some dramatic happenings that take place over a short period of time, and the back story is all the events that led up to those dramatic events. How these fit together in the narrative is done within a specific pattern–like our weaving.

A friend of mine, for example, has just written a beautiful story about a month in his life when it seemed that a medical condition and the  drastic cure being suggested by traditionally-trained medical doctors would deprive him of the ability to continue a satisfactory intimate relationship with his partner. That month started with the symptoms of the disease, went through the times of worry and strain to the relationship, and ended with a cure through herbal medicine. This was the top story.

But there was background to this story–the man’s life and aspirations, how he met his lover,  their hopes for the future. This became the back story, which was skillfully woven between the segments, or scenes, of top story. Both of these parts–top story and back story–were stories that stood on their own. And I’ll tell you a secret about writing the flashback type of story. Many of us who use this organization first write each story separately, then weave them together. Read the rest of this entry »


Choosing Organization for Your Story

In The Craft of Writing on July 9, 2010 at 2:52 pm

New to this series? Look for previous articles in the “craft of writing” archives

THE CRAFT OF WRITING

part four in the series

Every art form has a structure.  We know that about music:  there are sonatas and symphonies, concertos and zarzuelas.  Classic art has structure: it may be one in which  design elements flow from upper right to lower left on a diagonal, or in which a painting’s composition is organized around that three-pronged focus called “The Golden Ratio.”

But, although most of us accept the fact that other art forms are built with specific formulas, sometimes writers resist the idea that good writing, too, requires structures for putting the material together.  Perhaps this is because it’s easier to fool ourselves about what skillful writing is, and isn’t, than about what skilled music—for example—is, or isn’t.

If we can do little more than play a few notes on the piano, we don’t convince ourselves that we are Carnegie Hall material.  Yet the writing parallel to piano key-pounding—just letting those words “flow out” any which way—often convinces the uninitiated that he or she can write.

I think I’ve made my point.  Writing needs specific organizational strategies, just like any other art.  Over the next several weeks, I’m going to introduce you to six of those strategies.  Here are the first two:

  • Straight chronology. We start at a certain point in the story, and tell it straight through to the end.  No flashbacks, no deviation from forward movement through the years, months, days, or hours.  Just straight through from whatever point of the story we choose as the starting point.  Margaret Mitchell’s Civil War novel, Gone With The Wind, is told in straight chronology.  So was Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary.
  • Revised chronology. We start at a point other than the beginning of the story.  We will eventually tell the tale’s beginning—we just don’t start building our story there.  Watching 1940s film noir is a great exercise for learning revised chronology.   A film may start with a dramatic final scene—the beautiful and brave heroine played by Joan Crawford, for example, has a touching deathbed performance.  Then the storyline fades back to an earlier time, after which the story progresses steadily back to the beginning scene—which happens to be the end.

Or we may have our story start with a scene in our 30-year-old character’s life,  jump back to when that character was five years old, then move forward to age 15, then age 20, then 25.  The story revisits the original age-30 scene, then continues to the end.

Biographies are often organized this way.  The writer starts at the most famous part of the protagonist’s life, takes us back to the formative influences, revisits the famous scene again, then takes the reader to the character’s mature years.

That’s Straight Chronology and Revised Chronology.

Next week we’ll be examining “Flashback” and “The Trip” as ways to organize your stories.

Don’t stop here! Keep on reading in this column, just below, and find out

what Professional Writing Coach does to goof around and not write!

Who Needs ‘Em? Conflict, Resolution, and Organization

In The Craft of Writing on June 26, 2010 at 9:40 am

 

New to this series? Look for previous postings in The Craft of Writing archives

The Craft of Writing

part three in the series

I met a guy in San Miguel de Allende’s Berlin Bar a couple of months ago. When he found out I’m a writer and a writing coach, he wanted to talk about his novel. OK, I’ll be honest. This sort of a situation is a groaner. But  I slipped into mode, and asked him how he was organizing his novel.

“Organizing!” he said. “Novels don’t need organization!” Ah, but he was wrong, I softly  informed him. Everything one writes needs organization. Organization, after all,  is about the story’s ordering of time. And writing, among other things, is about time.  But like many beginning writers, my new acquaintance thought that fiction had special rules—or, in truth, special non-rules—meaning: Just start writing, and see where the story goes.

Not so. The rules for writing fiction are as tight as those for writing the most exacting nonfiction. And, interestingly enough, at least when one is talking about literary nonfiction, the rules, or forms, of organization are the same for both genres.

Organization is a big subject, and I’m going to divide that discussion into a couple of  articles over the weeks to come. In short, though, here are some literary organizations in use today: chronology, revised chronology, flashback, converging narrative, the trip, function as form, collage. Don’t worry if you don’t recognize them all:  I’ll explain later.

But there’s an important step that comes before deciding on a story’s organization. That is defining conflict, resolution, and the equal or greater force.

A story’s conflict is: A person wants something. It may be love, it may be money, it may be self-knowledge. The resolution is: the person gets what he or she wants,  or doesn’t get it. The equal or greater force is: the thing, or things, that can keep that person from getting what he or she wants. Those things can be either tangible or intangible.

Here’s an example. I am a speaker at a conference. During my presentation, I become thirsty. I want water to quench my thirst. A glass of water is on a table five feet away. The conflict is: I am thirsty, and I want to quench my thirst. A possible resolution is:  I drink the water. But an alternate resolution is: I don’t drink the water, and thus don’t get what I want—the abatement of my thirst.

What equal or greater forces might keep me from getting what I want? Here are a few ideas: I take a sip, and the water is rancid, so I don’t drink it, and don’t quench my thirst. I try to walk the five feet, but fall over and break my leg, and thus can’t reach the water. Someone else drinks the water. I trip and fall into the table and the water spills. I am embarrassed to drink water in front of an audience, so my own inhibitions keep me from reaching resolution.

You get the idea.

Story is built from these three elements. The presentation of conflict is the beginning; the resolution is the end; and the middle of your story is the progress from conflict to resolution, using a series of scenes—or other story-development devices—that illustrate the protagonist’s journey from conflict to resolution. Sometimes he or she travels in a straight path toward what is wanted; sometimes there are setbacks. Sometimes the story ends with the protagonist getting what he or she wants; sometimes it ends with the protagonist not getting it. Read the rest of this entry »