Tag: Killer

Writing the Best Chick Lit Ever

Chick lit. Back in my day, it was candy. Today? Money.

And even still, you’d be surprised how many well-meaning authors screw it all up.

That’s why we’re Writing All Wrong.

Dear Writing All Wrong,

What advice do you have on writing good chick lit?

—Caroline Heidl, Germantown, Md.

Well. Uh. Yeah. Right, then. Good to see you’ve asked the expert on chick lit.

From what I’ve gathered, chick lit is like the literary version of Lifetime®, only better, and more intelligent. Of course, the same could be said of Caveman Legal thrillers, armpit slicks, and the occasional YA ghostpunk novel.  Here are some basics to getting these down, and getting them good (I think):

Don’t write about “man” stuff

Your chick lit shouldn’t contain any of the following:

-Chewing tobacco

-Eating pork rinds

-Losing an argument

-Being “OK” with someone pretending to listen

-Farting (or farting around) or burping (or burping around)

-Rounds of “chainsaw-jousting” while riding rocket-powered motorcycles 

Writing about the common traits found only among the man part of the human race will discredit your intent, sad to say. Even if it’s pretty cool when ladyfolk do that kind of stuff.

Write believable women

“Susan Sass is on top of the world, having purged herself of insecurities, trusting in her gift of good looks, and using her perfected charm and wit to win over anything and anyone she wants. But deep down inside—she’s the exact same winner as she is on the outside! And she gets along with everyone in life: ex-boyfriends, jealous co-workers, even her mother-in-law.”

That’s not believable. Flaws make for great stories. Throw a few in the mix. Instability. Calamity. Acne.

Renege on romance

Because exotic, spicy fairytales of farfetched flings are just that: lousy. Prince Charming isn’t a popular guest star in the chick lit kingdom. Neither is Prince Perfect-Abs. The lads of chick lit are more pauper than prince. That’s life.

Don’t keep your distance on the difference

Gender. It’s as much knowing what differentiates what “women want” and what “dudes do” when the circumstances could be the same. To put it lightheartedly:

Crisis: Severance of employment.

Chick: “How could this happen to me? I thought I was doing just fine here. Great, months of job hunting and flailing, here I come. (Cue more introspection)”

Dude: “Sh*t, how’m I gonna pay up for my Ford, my beers, and my cigs this month?

Crisis: Relatives moving in.

Chick: “Oh. My. God. This was my house. And now it’s a courtroom where I’m being judged 24/7. Can’t somebody declare a mistrial?”

Dude: “We got an air mattress in the closet right? Ok, we’re good.”

Crisis: Pregnancy.

Chick: “Here begins a new chapter of life, written before I picked up the pen. Breathe. This happens all the time. There’s a book on this, right? Ok. I’m not sick yet. Why am I not sick yet?”

Dude: “Wait, WHAT? How did I get pregnant? Man, all my bros are gonna flip.”

Come to think, I’m giving chick lit the win.

Writing All Wrong can be reached via email (WritingAllWrong@me.com) and followed on Twitter (@WritingAllWrong).

Why I’m Not Reading Your Book

I dabble with the idea of having a Reading All Right week here, but I can’t quite make the stab. This post gets close.

Speaking of close, that reminds me: I tried reading a book the other day. Couldn’t do it. It was as if the writer beckoned me not to take him seriously, such was his degree of fail. And I’m not the only one. People won’t read what pains them to read right away.

That’s why we’re Writing All Wrong.

I want people to read my book. What should I do?

—Brandt Bassett, Cadillac, Mich. 

Sorry BranBass, the path to self-discovery is not given by one who is not oneself. While I won’t go into what keeps people reading your book, I’ll do you one better.

Here’s what’s going to close the door on people trying to read your book. Do these things in the first few pages, and you’re done. Book closed, back on the shelf.

Clichés

“Avoid clichés like the plague.” Truer words may have been spoken, but the truth of that little cliché doesn’t ring as loud as it should. They stick out of your first pages like cankers, cold sores, and zits. Kill them all.

Pet words and phrases

If you like an uncommon word or phrase, and you brandy it about like it’s a word of common use, your reader will notice. A discerning reader will notice long enough to slam shut the book and whip their wallets and time at the more deserving. Found a great word plaything? Good for you! Stop using it over and over again right up front. Specificity. Vis-a-vis. All but [whatever]. Sinecure. Shut up.

Mirrors

If you describe your character by having him/her/it looking into a mirror, I will not read your book. You can do better than that. If you settle for the gimmick, I will settle for another work besides yours.

Weather

If I wanted a weather report, I would watch the Weather Channel. Unless your novel is about a meteorologist or weather conspiracies, then there’s no use for elaborating on the weather, unless you want to show off your lack of skills in opening a novel.

Waking up

If you begin with your character waking up, he’d better be an insect, and you’d better be Franz Frickin’ Kafka. If “no” to both of the above, please rethink your tactic.

Stage setting

Yes, you must set some sort of stage eventually. But if I’m reading a story, and there’s no story—only a stage—then I’ll read something that is a story instead. Thank you.

Opening the opening

You know it when you see it. “Our story begins with a herped derp…” “This tale begins with some dumb something…” “Our narrative unfolds in a classic fairytale princess castle…” If you’re stating the obvious, I’m shutting the book, turning off the Kindle, or deleting the iBook then and there. Insult your reader’s ability at your own peril.

Please tell me you aren’t making these mistakes. If you’re going to make them, make them later on.

Writing All Wrong can be reached via email (WritingAllWrong@me.com) and followed on Twitter (@WritingAllWrong).

8 Ways to Find an End to Your Story

Where to begin? With so many who never get around to that, the question stops many from putting pen to paper. But come now, you know everything, you’re off the ground when it comes to writing.

But where to end? Did you see that one coming?

That’s why we’re Writing All Wrong.

Dear Writing All Wrong,

First, I have to say, I really enjoy reading your posts, both for fun and taking notes for my own writing. It makes me laugh and cringe at the same time, because, honestly, yes, I make some of those mistakes.

But, on to my question — How do you know when you’ve written enough? Sure, readers like to know details, but when is “the end”, the end?

—Nichole B., Pensacola, Fla.

Written enough to reach the end? I guess you’ll know when you get there – hah!

Fair question. You’ve many a factor to keep in mind when it comes to that notion of “enough.” It’s not all about where and when you stop, but what you stop. So we being:

1) Know your story

“Well, duh, W.A.W, I know my story.” Do you? Then do tell. Sum up. Whatcha got? When you’ve got that summary written down, circle the last sentence(s). End it there. You now have a “stopping point.” Get there. It’s not that simple, but it’s that simple.

2) Write only what serves the story

Not “write only the story.” Readers like details, pigments, shades, and hues of colors that paint a vivid picture. And a bit of backstory won’t hurt. But when those details lead you on the rabbit trails laid in brick and carved for miles? That’s beyond enough. I don’t care how interesting the trail is, or what scenic view it offers. Story. Not served. Back to it. Lose yourself in things that don’t serve the story, and you’ll miss that end in sight.

3) Creating appetite vs. creating “food”

Unless you’re in the special place where you can afford all sorts of extra details, backstory, and handouts via blatant authorial intrusion (see: Rowling, J.K., “Pottermore,” YHGTBFKM), don’t waste time cramming your narrative with excessive details. Create an appetite; let what is unsaid tantalize the reader. Get on with “just enough” detail to tease the senses. You’ll find that keeping to boundaries will keep the story marching to its desired end.

4) Write what’s interesting; don’t write what interests you

There’s a difference. If you have to convince a reader that your subject is interesting, you may be fighting a losing battle right away. Peanut butter in mousetraps, stegosaurus-grade shotguns, underground Monopoly tournaments, Murphy’s Law enforcers: I could write of such things until the sun spits out a flaming hairball. I find them interesting. But not everyone’s interested. There’s a story that needs telling. Leave out detours of obsessions and digressions.

5) Asking “Is this enough?” and “Is this too much?”

Nothing wrong with asking the “too much” question. The answer’s usually “Yes.” Edit down until you’re asking if it’s enough. If the answer to “enough?” is “Yes,” then you’re done writing. If “No,” keep writing. Add, subtract, edit, redact. Get to where you always answer “Is this enough?” with “Yes” and “Is this too much?” with “No.”

6) Don’t end when you’re tired

Your story, or whatever you write, doesn’t end when you can no longer expend the effort. A rushed ending screams in agony if cheated by the whim of fatigue. Ask why you’re ending the story. If your answer isn’t good enough, then your ending isn’t good enough. Don’t stop until the tale is concluded well.

7) Do end when the story has been told

Obvious much? If you’ve told all there is you set about telling, then go for the landing and get that plane taxied in. Don’t crash it (unless that was the intention). Don’t crash land (unless that was the intention). And don’t leave the plane on the tarmac for too long. If that was your intention, then you’re doing this wrong. End the story when the story ends. Happily ever after. END SCENE. Save writing the “ever after” for the sequel. Your duty is done.

8) Do you really have an ending?

That might be the problem right there. If there’s no end in sight, you may not have an end, period. Even after all that writing. Drink deep into the story and muster up the courage to write the ending. Just get it out there. Does it work? Good. Go write your way there. It’s not always about writing, then ending. Sometimes you’re writing the ending, then writing to the ending. Then you’re done.

How do you end up at the end?

Writing All Wrong can be reached via email (WritingAllWrong@me.com) and followed on Twitter (@WritingAllWrong).