Christian Author Donna Dawson

He's crying again.  Sigh.  Duke seems to be in a perpetual state of emotional upheaval these days.  And this time I can't console him.  I do feel pity for him, however.  The Write!Canada conference grounds clearly specifies 'no pets allowed'--at least it did last year.  Why should Duke care?  It certainly isn't because of his dependence on a relationship with me, his not-so-compassionate neighbour.  It's because Duke wants to go enjoy the benefits of the conference--plain and simple.

Duke has come to understand what too many writers don't--that a conference for writers is the place to be.  Why?  Easy--it's the one place where we are on even ground with editors, agents, publishers and marketers.  They are at our beck and call--to a very small degree--because we have paid an entry fee to meet with them and pry their wisdom from them.  Duke knows this and wants a piece of it.  He wants to shamelessly flog his manuscript.  You know--the one that was rejected?  He has polished and hacked out and modified the poor thing and now feels it is ready.  And he is quite snippy with me at the moment because he feels I have the extra advantage.  I am a biped and therefore qualify to gain entrance into Write!Canada.  He is a quadraped (albeit a rather short and feisty one) and is, therefore, excluded via the 'no pets' rule.  He offered to go as my seeing eye dog.  And when I told him I see perfectly fine, he offered to poke out my eyes so he could be a seeing eye dog.  I politely (and a bit heatedly) declined the offer.  I haven't made matters any better by perusing through the registration package I downloaded and printed while he sits here and pines away.   

Not only do I have the opportunity to rub shoulders with agents and editors, but for three whole days I will be up to my eyeballs in subjects such as 'Techniques of Writing Fiction that will sell' by Michelle Buckman, to 'Eight Step Editing' by Jim Taylor, to 'Why you Need a Literary Agent' by Kelly Mortimer and on and on and on.  There's a plenary or three with Joel Freeman.  Duke's heard of Joel Freeman.  He knows that Dr. Freeman, the author of If Nobody Loves You, Create The Demand, holds a long list of accomplishments from being on the 'Who's Who in the World' list to being the veteran mentor/chaplain for NBA’s Washington Bullets / Wizards.  And much more.  Duke is literally chewing his claws as he reads the rundown on the list of speakers.  I've told him that I'm even going for a professional make-over by Image Consultant Diane Callendar.  While he has managed to hold his tongue, the look on Duke's face clearly says 'It's about time.  You look like a bag lady.'  I choose to ignore the slight and chalk it up to pure jealousy.

It is in this kind of quality event that many writers find their break.  When they just can't seem to get past the lower level editors of a publishing house, they can come to a conference and maybe--just maybe--catch the eye of that one editor who will go to bat for them.  They can reconnect with other writers.  They can find out exactly why that 'wonderful manuscript' just seems to be lacking the pazzazz needed to get published.  They can learn anything from the basics of writing to the complex technical side of the literary world.

I tell any writer that if they are serious about their craft then they should consider attending a writer's conference.  

Now Duke, if you don't mind, please do stop blubbering and let me get on with making my conference course selections.  And stop trying to eat the registration packet.

Duke the Chihuahua is bawling his eyes out. It’s a very unsightly picture but I can understand his noisy lament. Duke has received a rejection slip. Remember that Nanowrimo contest that he entered? The 50 k words in a month? And Dukey completed the task with nothing more than a few sleepless nights and a disheveled façade? And then he edited. And edited. And reworked. And slaved over that manuscript to make it just perfect.

I cringed on the day he mailed it off. Not because he was taking that step of courage in letting go of his masterpiece. No. It was because Duke was sure—nay positive—that this manuscript was the manuscript. You know—the one that every editor drools over and swears on the Holy Bible will be on the New York Best Times list within the month. I knew he was setting himself up. I guess my first inclination was the way he packaged the silly thing, wrapping it ever-so-carefully in brown butcher paper (recycled from his last doggy bone) with the tape lying perfectly even over each crease—as though the tidiness alone would guarantee acceptance. Or perhaps it was the shimmy and jive dance down the drive way to the mail box that clued me in. No. It was the small ‘X’s on the calendar for every day that had passed since submission. At any rate, I could see disaster looming on the horizon. (Yes, Duke I am well aware that I just used a very old and worn cliché but we’ll talk about clichés in another post.)

The mail courier arrived and I could tell by the look on the man’s face that he was well aware that the letter he carried would either brighten—or destroy Duke’s day. (Duke has a bad habit of blathering his news to everyone who will listen. It’s a side-effect of his over-excitable nature.) At any rate, Duke has been turned down and he is weeping. (Chihuahua eyes are nasty when wet.)

He and I have had words in the past about this kind of display of emotion. I have informed him that the editor didn’t hate him—just his work. It was nothing personal. But we writers have a nasty habit of attaching our self-worth to our writing. A rejection letter is a declaration that we are unworthy to breathe air as far as we are concerned. That innocent and well-meaning publisher or editor was simply informing us that “at this time we don’t need this kind of story. Thank you for a delightful read…” But we have translated that innocuous statement to read, “You suck. Stop writing. Now.”

Let’s look at the psychology behind literary art. Writing is a collection of ideas and perceptions from our view point. It is the pouring out of our opinions, beliefs, research and memories. It is no wonder we take it personally when someone says “I don’t like this.” But let’s look at the job of—say—an accountant. He does all he can do to juggle the numbers into order so that our delightful government can take their cut. But when the government writes him back and says, “Terribly sorry old chap but your accounting was off by $5.00--please send a cheque” does he cry? Does he throw in the towel? (Perhaps if a few 0’s were added he might but let’s not go there.) No. He simply writes the cheque and gets back to work.  While he may enjoy his work, he very likely has not come to believe that he is his work.

The point I’m trying to make, which Duke seems not to be getting, is that once we have finished the writing, the next job before sending that manuscript off is in disengaging our emotions from it. My instructor in university put it plainly. Be prepared to murder those darlings. In other words, don’t fall so madly in love with our manuscripts that we can’t permit them to be rejected.

If we want to find ourselves in the halls of the published (yes Duke I know I’ve used another cliche—I’m rather fond of them you know) then we must be prepared to welcome rejection. We need to do everything we can to educate ourselves in the craft of writing and then let others point out the areas where we are lacking. We need to recognize that while we are the authors of the work, we are not, in fact, the work. We will not end up on the slush pile when our writing does. When we are able to divorce ourselves from our finished product we give ourselves the means to improve our skill and then our chances of being published increase exponentially.

So now Dukey, dear, dry your buggy eyes, wipe that button nose, tidy that shaggy fur and get back to the computer. You have a manuscript to edit.

He has discovered that he is a very spoiled pooch.  His bed cusion is filled with sawdust.  Plaster dust mixes with the tears in those bulging eyes to leave Duke the Chihuahua with more grey in his facial fur than he would like.  And the noise!  He's got big ears and those big ears pick up sounds that I and his pet human can't hear.  This leaves our champion of the quill cowering under the plastic draped sofa in anticipation of the day's end and the silence it brings.

Renovations are much like edits.  We tear out the old and put in the new.  In writing, this can come in the form of cliche awareness.  I am the queen of cliche.  I use them liberally in my manuscripts.  And yet I do so deliberately--because my characters like cliche and I am certainly not going to argue with them!  There does, however, come a time when I have to renovate my thinking--move beyond the lingo of my day into the lingo of today's readers.  Now having said that, I still notice that I use words like 'cool!' instead of 'sick!'.  I just can't bear to move that far into the present.  (I have the same reluctance with the use of the phrase 'shut! up!'  Thank you but no.)   This brings me to a very important awareness writers need to have--the awareness of their reader.  Into what age category does your reader fit?  If, like Duke and I, you are writing to middle age adults and up you certainly aren't going to want the bulk of your characters talking street jive.  In the same way, if you are trying to reach out to the local teen set you aren't going to want to use formal speech as your main voice. 

So how do you figure out your readership category?  With a bit of a challenge.  Read your manuscript out loud.  Not only will you find a multitude of mishaps in the editing department but you will hear whether your language is formal or slang.  That is your first clue.  Take note of your characters.  If they are all 18 years old you might want to make certain that you visit a high school or college to track the social linguistics there.  If your characters are in mid-20's and there is a faster clipped pace to the writing, assume you are writing to a business minded set.  If your characters are seniors, a more formal, precise language is a good idea. 

And then there is genre.  Each genre has its own linguistic style.  I prefer the fast-paced, abrupt script of a suspense or thriller.  Duke, on the other paw, seems to gravitate toward the flowery and longer phrased romance novel.  For such a manly pooch he is quite taken with the 'breathless anticipation' that comes in the 'heat of the moment'. (now you know what cliche is  I must admit, it has been quite amusing seeing him try to hide the fact that he has been crying his way through another Harlequin inspirational when the plaster dust leaves such obvious evidence.  There is nothing more heartbreaking than seeing a blubbering Chihuahua with globs of mortar packed against his cheeks.

I thought you might like to meet Duke the Chihuahua. While I would love to explain away his tendencies toward vocal hystrionics by saying that he got into the cat nip on New Year's Eve, I can't. Duke thinks he is human (an opinion that I am loathe to correct) and enjoys a tune alongside his pet human. I hope you enjoy.

Duke the Chihuahua has conquered the wrimo!  I must say he's not the most attractive pooch on the planet at this moment.  Those bug eyes are spidered with nasty little red veins making him look like a Picasso cast-off.  A caffeine twitch is making one bulging orb blink like a faulty Christmas tree light. Tufts of fur ride atop his head all askew and a few of those once pert whiskers are rather bent and worse for wear.  He has at least had the decency to keep clean and so we are not assaulted with the fragrance of canine musk.  But our little darling has done it!  His pet human next door isn't quite certain that this is a good thing but that's his point of view.  My point of view is that our Dukey has done the heroic.

Speaking of point of view, I do see that Duke has jumped about a bit in his writing of that great novel but it's nothing that he can't fix.  He's quite talented at staying in one character's head--unlike myself.  I have no aversions whatsoever to skipping from character to character as though I am all-seeing.  This is called the omniscient point of view and I'm rather fond of it in spite of the hue and cry that comes from reviewers and editors alike. 

Duke has just stuttered out the suggestion that I share a bit with you on point of view.  Poor Duke.  He is just beginning to understand the folly of living on too much coffee and not enough sleep and the withdrawal symptoms are making the few remaining teeth clack together in his mouth like unhinged castinettes.  Nevertheless, his idea is sound.

We have four main points of view:

First person is told using 'I'.  Often detective stories are told this way.  I walked down the street and turned into a drugstore (a veritable magician that one--he turned into a drugstore!).  This is a very limited point of view because we can never know what other characters are thinking unless they tell us.  I can't see the thoughts of the villain or the victims.  I can only follow the clues and hope to figure the plot out.

Second person is told using 'you'.  This is nasty in book form however quite acceptable for a non-fiction 'how-to' article.  If you go to the corner store and slip into the darkness beyond the glass doors you will see... It is a hideous thing--unless you are very talented--and I am not--to write a novel in second person.  It gets boring, tiring and downright annoying.  Yes, Duke, that does mean that I will deliberately spill a hearty portion of grape juice on your manuscript if you write it in second person.

Third person limited is told using 'he/she/it' and restricts itself to only one character's view.  You stay within the head of that one character through the whole tale telling.  That means that you only know what he or she is thinking and not anything thought by the other characters.  Romance novels are typically done this way.

And my all time favourite, much to the dismay of those who must read it, is third person omniscient!  This allows me to start in one character's head and, ever so carefully, maneuver around to another character's head.  I love to have my reader know what everyone is thinking.  It's just more fun that way don't you think? 

And now, if you'll excuse me, I think I will run a bath for our elderly and slightly burnt out canine friend.  He's in bad need of a bit of coddling.  Perhaps a can of gourmet dog food after the pedicure and updo.  Oh, sorry Duke, I forgot that you are much too dignified for an updo.  (He has just informed me that hairdo's are for girls--although he's not really complaining about the pedicure).

Duke the Chihuahua, in his desire to ease the loss of Sir Pugsley's passing, has poured himself into his writing.  He did the one thing that I am still working up the courage to do--he signed on to the nanowrimo website.  What is nanowrimo you may ask?  It is a shortened form of National November Writing Month.  Nanowrimo. 

I can understand Duke's thinking.  When a loved one is gone it is therapeutic to fill the minutes with tasks that will keep our minds busy.  I am of two thoughts on nanowrimo however.  I find it difficult enough as it is to learn all the nuances of writing and then equally difficult to pass them on to my students.  I don't need them going off willie-nillie and writing--as the website states--'kamikaze-style crap'.  And yet. 

National November Writing Month tends to do what few creative writing instructors can do.  It inspires a person to begin and end a book without thought of rewrite.  It keeps it as basic as possible--shouts to the world 'write that book!'.  The beauty of a program like this is in its support and encouragement.  No one, anywhere, on the site says the writing has to be good.  That gives a writer incredible freedom.  They can write parallel to the thought that 'it doesn't have to be good--it just has to be done.'  And so it gets done.  Sometimes we get so caught up in having to make the blessed thing perfect that we never actually finish our book.  Ergo the authors who take twenty years to finish their first book.

As I watch poor Duke tap away on the keyboard, pausing on occasion to dab at an errant tear with the handkerchief willed to him by Sir Pugsley, I am reminded that life is somewhat like writing.  Often times we waste far too much of it in the intsy-wintsy details that we forget to live it.  So what if we sail through the moment's task with a bit too much of a laissez-faire attitude.  There is always time later for the fine tuning. 

Duke is rounding the final bend in his 50,000 word nanowrimo novel and I shudder to think of the number of edits the silly thing will need.  But Duke is doing what so many don't do--he is writing that novel.  From beginning to end.  And he is sharing in an experience that is global.  Like Duke, thousands of other nanowrimo's are tearing toward the November 31st finish line.  He, too, is sacrificing those tasty bones and choice chunks of table scraps in order to get that word-count completed.  He, too, has abandoned his personal hygiene to the point where he's beginning to look a smell more like the dog he is and less like the refined gentlepooch.  He, too, groans with the seizing up of joints that have stayed too long in one position.  And when it is all said and done, Duke the Chihuahua will be able to celebrate with those thousands world wide.

And then my job will begin.  I will likely be given the task of editing my canine editor's work.

Look for Nanowrimo at http://www.nanowrimo.org/

It is with great sadness that Duke the Chihuahua and our family offer our condolences to the pet humans of Sir Pugsley.  Sir Pugsley passed away at the Royal Roads Animal Hospital on November 12th.  He was a regal old pup and will be missed by his internet bridge companions and their pet humans.  Duke is in mourning.

Duke the Chihuahua is all a-dither.  He has just received the alarming news that my brother did battle with an errant moose.  I would have taken the time to explain to Duke that the moose lost the battle--and my brother's SUV did as well--but my brother is quite fine.  Duke, however, couldn't wait to get on the phone with his cousin Pugsley and verify the condition of Pugsley's own pet human.  I'm sure that the word will spread quickly thereafter and the remaining members of Duke's online bridge foursome will be made aware of the event. Even a misplaced moose and an overzealous Chihuahua can teach us much about the writing industry.

Let's say that Duke represents the average newbie writer. (I dare say, Duke would be put out to have me call him a newbie anything but since his teeth are long gone, I'm not worried about the ever-threatened nip.)  Full of energy and ready to take on the world, he bounces through his manuscript. throwing phrases together, sauntering from scene to scene and then wham!  Along comes something that side swipes him.  What does our newbie do?  He runs off in a dither. 

How often have newbies received that rejection notice or had an editor hit them with a particularly hard piece of editing?  It hurts and the impulse is there to run away and commiserate with sympathetic peers.  But wait!  What would happen if the newbie stayed put and forced himself to listen to the whole message--even the underlying tones that aren't actually written down but subtly implied?  What if that newbie pulled out other critiques and edits and looked for the common mistakes?  They would save themselves much heartache in future submissions because they would repair those common flaws before sending that manuscript to the editor.

Duke eventually went to a good source to find out the details of the accident but he could have made things much simpler by waiting to hear me out.  He would have learned that all was well--with the exception of one very unhealthy--unliving--moose and a smashed vehicle.  He would have learned that Pugsley is maintaining a stoic attitude and that he had already contacted the other two of the bridge group and was just going to contact the venerable Duke. 

As writers, it is so very important to value the words of professional editors.  No, you don't want to lose your writing voice in the quagmire of extreme edits but you don't want to take on the process with your emotions on your sleeve either.  Editors don't hate you--unless you send them repeated emails begging them to take your manuscript and whining 'Is it done yet?  Is it done yet?'   They have a job to do.  That job is to make your work shine.  When the moose sideblinds you in your writing world, don't fly off in a panic.  Stop.  Listen.  Analyse carefully and apply the wisdom that you learn.