Rachel Starr Thomson

Last week a blog reader who’s planning to strike into the world of Indie Authorship sent me an e-mail. Among other things, she said,

Sadly, I combine a strong streak of perfectionism with the ability to overlook glaring typos! I can’t afford to pay for a professional editor to work on my manuscripts and I know you’re a professional editor, so I’m definitely not asking you for free perks , but if you DO have any “fail-proof” tips for editing beautifully and professionally and catching ALL typos (!) to share with me and the rest of your blog readers, I’d be a happy writer … er … editor!

The fact that you’ve put “fail-proof” in quotation marks indicates you already know one thing:  you can’t do a fail-proof editing job on your own writing. In fact, book-length manuscripts are such complex things that it takes a whole staff of editors and proofreaders to catch everything, and as this article from Publetariat points out, recent cuts in editorial staffing and changes in job description affect even the books put out by major publishers.

But you can do a lot to improve your manuscript. Here are a few tips, mostly for the proofreading stage. Big-picture issues are not addressed here.

1. Read your work out loud. (And don’t speed read.) This will help you spot missing words and letters, wrong inflections, and confusing phrasing.

2. Run a spell check for homonyms and other easily muxed ip words. You know the ones: their/they’re/there, here/hear, were/where, you/your/you’re. Check your thens and thans to make sure you’re using the right one; ditto effects and affects. If you know you struggle with certain words, run spell checks for those too.

3. Check names, especially place names, to make sure you always spell and capitalize them consistently. For example, if you’ve been calling that mysterious firewalking child “the ale boy,” don’t suddenly start calling him “the Ale Boy.”

4. Ask your friends to help. Chances are you have some friends who are good at catching errors, and some of them might be happy to lend their eyes. You should offer to do them a favour in return, of course.

5. Tighten up. OK, this isn’t exactly a proofreading tip — but the number one problem I see in amateur writing is a need for tightening. Be concise. Be exact. Say things only once. Don’t say “He dropped down to his knees in the dirt on the ground.” Say “He dropped to his knees.”

Have fun editing! I hope these tips are helpful to you.

I recently finished reading this book on writing about literature. (Tough slogging at times, and I learned anew how nuts the modern world can be, but I learned plenty.) It’s a guide for university-level students who are studying literature, meant to teach them how to analyze what they’re reading so they can pen intelligent essays about it, whether they’re writing about fiction, drama, poetry, etc.

Much of the authors’ advice boils down to this: Pay attention to your responses while you’re reading. Note your thoughts and feelings as you go. Return to your notes once you’re finished, bringing your overall knowledge of the story to bear, and figure out WHY you responded as you did.

This is excellent advice for a writer. Dig out some of your favourite books. Read them over again, even if only in sections, and think about why you respond the way you do. I just pulled Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time off my shelf, flipped it open to the first page, and read this:

It was a dark and stormy night.

In her attic bedroom Margaret Murry, wrapped in an old patchwork quilt, sat on the foot of her bed and watched the trees tossing in the frenzied lashing of the wind. Behind the trees clouds scudded frantically across the sky. Every few moments the moon ripped through them, creating wraith-like shadows that raced along the ground.

The house shook.

Wrapped in her quilt, Meg shook.

It’s a marvelous opening, but think about it. Does it grab you? Does it create a certain atmosphere or make you feel that certain things are more likely to happen than others? Why? Is it the use of words full of emotion and violence, the moon “ripping” through the clouds and the shadows “racing”? Is it the contrast of Meg, wrapped in a quilt in her attic and thus making a very small figure, with the hugeness and wildness of the world outside? What do YOU think?

Try the same thing with some of your favourite authors. Look for specific things, positive and negative: Does this opening grip me? Is this conversation moving? Have I ceased to care about a character here? Is this scene especially atmospheric? Why is my heart racing at this point in the story? WHY? What is the author doing to call forth this reaction?

In any profession, you’re wise to learn from the best. And the first key to learning is a simple question: “Why?”

In her recent comment below, Elisabeth asked,

On the subject of writing, I have a question.  I’ve been writing under the impression that if you come up with an idea that fits “the blank,” but you don’t like that idea, then don’t use it.  In other words, use the ideas you like, and not just the ones that work.  Is that a good principle to use?

It was good of Elisabeth to ask this question, as I was at a loss for what to blog today and it’s a good question. As I understand it, she’s asking something like this: When I go to furnish my house, should I acquire a chair just because it’s capable of being sat upon, or should I only acquire those chairs which appeal to me aesthetically too?

To which question my answer is Both. When one needs to sit, one needs to sit, and to impose too many rules on suitable places for sitting will border on the ridiculous. On the other hand, when you CAN choose a chair both for its sitability and for its aesthetic qualities, by all means do so. You know why? Because chances are you’ll sit in that chair far more often.

When you pick up an idea for use in a story, it’s a big advantage if you really LIKE that idea; if something about it inspires you to work on it, to play with it, to celebrate it. If you use an idea just because it works, you risk ending up with something you’d much rather stick in a dark corner and not have to look at again. So yes, most of the time it’s a good principle to stick with ideas you like, but balance is important too — you might just find out, once you’ve given it time, that one of those fill-in-the-blankers has an odd sort of charm.

Today’s writing tip is cheating because I didn’t write it; I read this article in the Writers Digest newsletter earlier today, and it was so good I had to share it. (I’m also sort of somewhat on vacation, which makes less likely to blog with absolute faithfulness.)

The article, which urges writers to test their novel and short story ideas to see if they have “legs,” is an excerpt from The Constant Art of Being a Writer by N.M. Kelby. It’s got great practical suggestions along with a fascinating analysis of how a story is birthed. Check it out!

Back in May I received a letter from Brennan Cain, a reader and fellow writer who was struggling with writer’s block. I asked her permission to share her e-mail and my reply, since she really got me thinking about how to kick writer’s block!

Hello, Rachel,

Thank you very much for your prompt reply.  I enjoyed Worlds Unseen and, thus far, Burning Light appears to be just as engaging.

However, I have another question of a different nature.  I understand that you are a writing coach.  I truly desire to write Christian fiction, but it seems that the moment I decided it was ‘what I wanted to do with my life,’ I begun to have a great deal of trouble writing consisently and finishing my projects.  I have started a number of short stories, books and even a serial that I intended to use for a website.  However, I just can’t seem to make myself do the writing.

I never had this problem before.  I used to keep notebooks with me because when inspiration hit, I simply had to put it down right away.  I was full of excitement about the gift that God gave me and I delighted just to use it.  Now, it feels like I have to force myself to do the thing that I used to love doing.  I can’t say that I don’t still enjoy writing, because I still do; it’s just that it has suddenly become a chore.

I am not sure what to do.  Do your services cover such a problem?  If so, how much would such assistance cost?

Thank you, again for your time and have a blessed day.

P.S.  Reading works such as yours helps to keep me motivated not to simply throw my hands up and give up my dream.  Thank you for your dedication to allowing God to use the gifts He has blessed you with.

Here’s how I answered Brennan’s letter. I’d love to hear frm you on this topic, too. How have you tried to overcome writer’s block? What works for you?

Hi Brennan,

Thanks for your e-mail! I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed my books–and that they’ve helped to inspire you to pursue your own dreams.

I am indeed a writing coach, but I’m not sure I could help you with your problem. It sounds like what you’re facing is good old-fashioned writer’s block. All writers face it at one point or another, and it can last for varying lengths of time. The thing about writing as a profession, of course, is that it’s a discipline; you have to do it whether you’re feeling inspired or not. With that said, here are some thoughts for you:

1. Don’t take it too seriously. It sounds like your troubles began when you decided that you wanted to do this as a profession. You may be experiencing “this is too important syndrome,” in which case you want to give yourself permission to play and have fun with your writing, realizing that you don’t always have to write things that are brilliant or of great significance. Sometimes just that mental permission can make a big difference!

2. Take it more seriously. That is to say, treat it like a discipline. Set yourself time or word count or page count goals, and make yourself write something every day.

3. Break out of your box. If you usually write fiction, try some nonfiction. If you usually write from a guy’s perspective, try writing from a girl’s . Just do something different to help yourself be creative and perhaps discover new inspiration.

4. Read or watch movies in your genre that will inspire you to keep contributing your own work.

5. Exercise. Seriously. In the sun, if at all possible.

6. If you must, take a break. But schedule it. Give yourself a week or two off, use that time to recharge your creative batteries, and get back to work when the break is over.

I hope that helps! If you have a manuscript or more than one and you feel that detailed feedback would be helpful to you, I am available for coaching, critiquing, and editing. Let me know if you want to pursue any of those avenues .

Blessings,
Rachel

By the way, if you haven’t yet read Worlds Unseen or Burning Light, be sure to check them out — and don’t forget to pick up your free download of Worlds Unseen!

Apologies to Nike for stealing their slogan. In their ads it was way too ambiguous (just do WHAT?), but as writing advice, it’s good advice.

Just do it. Just write. Just stop procrastinating, excuse-making, Twittering, procrastinating, reading everybody else’s work, daydreaming about writing, cleaning your desk, and procrastinating. (I know it’s redundant. Shhh. That’s for effect.)

As my dad pointed out the other day, a book is two pages a day for 100 days. Can you write two pages a day? You can if you’ll just do it. Thinking about writing results in a lot of foggy nothing. Actually writing results in words on a page — words you can edit, revise, play with, enjoy, and eventually meld into a finished project.

Thanks to Debbie Ridpath Ohi, the writer’s cartoonist, for the comic. See more comics (and a lot of other good stuff) at www.inkygirl.com.

Today I drove forty-five minutes to a large barn full of holding pens (full of sheep, calves, chickens, guinea fowl, peacocks, and pigs), where I sat high up on risers overlooking a sort of caged platform, where a one-armed auctioneer sold livestock to a mixed crowd of immigrants, unwashed field-hand types, and farmers in plaid shirts.

I don’t often go to livestock auctions — this was my second. But I jumped at the chance to go, partly because I write, and the more new experiences I can gain — the more atmospheres I can soak in — the better my writing will get.

Writers don’t really come up with anything new; no one’s really done that since God created the world. Instead, we reflect on what’s already all around us. If you want to write well, experience as much as you righteously can of the world on every side. Go new places, and you’ll bring new life to your work.

Good writing is of course about words and meaning, but it’s also about rhythm. Just as a serious writer learns the meanings of words and how to weave them together for the greatest impact, he or she must also learn to listen to their sounds and weave them together for the greatest flow.

I’m re-reading Susan Cooper’s The Dark Is Rising, and I love the movement of her sentences. Here, she uses the rhythm of her sentences to mirror that in a character’s voice:

The rhythms of his voice, which had been rising and falling in an increasingly formal pattern, changed subtly into a kind of chanted battle cry; a call, Will thought suddenly, with a chill tightening his skin, to things beyond the great hall and beyond the time of the calling. “For the Dark, the Dark is rising. The Walker is abroad, the Rider is riding; they have woken, the Dark is rising.”

A young lady sent me a review of Worlds Unseen and Burning Light last week in which she paid me a very high compliment; she said the books were “like reading water.” I couldn’t be more honoured.

The best way I know of to develop an ear for rhythm is to read aloud. Read your own work aloud. Listen to it. Read the work of others. Feel the words on your tongue. Hear them in your ears. Read prose, fiction and nonfiction, and poetry.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
(William Blake, “The Tyger”)

If you want to write, by all means develop your vocabulary, your grip on grammar, your powers of dialogue and description. But neglect not to develop your ears–the best writing will echo there long after the covers of a book are closed.

Good afternoon, gentle readers! Today (not yesterday, because tech problems prevented me from getting online), we shall learn more about that merry little buttonhook of a punctuation mark, the comma. Judging from the comments left by readers on this particular series of writing tips, the comma tends to wrap itself around the brain of the average writer and constrict, like a boa constrictor choking its dinner. Today we shall loosen the bands with the following proclamation:

Commas are not restrictive.

In grammar there exist two categories of phrase. One is called a restrictive phrase. As Chicago puts, a restrictive phrase is “essential to the meaning of the noun it belongs to.” It restricts that noun, giving it a very narrow meaning. Restrictive phrases do not use commas.

In this sentence, “dog” is the noun and “with its ears perked up” is the restrictive phrase. It restricts the noun, not allowing us to confuse this dog with any other, less perky pooch:

The dog with its ears perked up belongs to me.

But in this sentence, “with its ears perked up” is nonrestrictive — it is telling us what this dog is doing, but it’s not really essential to the meaning of the noun. With or without its ears perked up, the same dog would still be walking down the street.

The dog, with its ears perked up, walked down the street.

A nonrestrictive phrase always takes commas around it. It is not essential to the meaning of the noun it describes. It’s essentially an interruption, and interruptions almost always take commas around them.

Here are a few more nonrestrictive examples. Note the commas setting off that interrupting — but always interesting — phrase:

My brother, swearing revenge to the skies, hopped away on one foot.

The unicycle, rusty pedals and all, wobbled down the street.

Our conversation was interrupted by a fine gentleman, dapper as a May morning on the golf course, who tapped me on the shoulder.

Until next time, fare thee well.

Before we carry on with today’s writing tip, let’s do a little review: If you recall, Chicago says of the comma that it “indicates the smallest break in sentence structure”; that it “denotes a slight pause.” Its ultimate purpose is to make it easier for readers to follow along. Ergo, one rule reigns above all others: If putting a comma here makes my sentence hard to follow, I probably do not want it; if my sentence does not make sense without a comma, I should put one in.

Ready for the next rule?

Chicago declares it with dignified grammatical gusto: “An adverbial or participial phrase at the beginning of a sentence is usually followed by a comma, especially if a slight pause is intended. A single word or a very short introductory phrase does not require a comma except to aviod misreading.”

In plain English, that means that if your sentence has an introduction, especially if it’s a long introduction, separate that introduction from the rest of the sentence with a comma. I’ve used several examples already in this post:

Before we carry on with today’s writing tip, let’s . . .

If you recall, Chicago says . . .

In plain English, that means . . .

A very short introductory phrase doesn’t need a comma:

In silence he waited for the room to settle down.

Unless you want to avoid a terrible misunderstanding –

Before shooting, the members of the pheasant club had tea.

In the above sentence, of course, we want to see to it that no one thinks the members of the pheasant club have been shot. That comma is a marvel of clarification.

Keep in mind that your goal is to separate introductions, or opening phrases, from the rest of the sentence. By their very nature these phrases are separatable; the sentence you have left over should make sense all by itself. You don’t want to go splitting up independent clauses (complete thoughts) for no good reason, like this:

A tall boy with a long red robe, was walking up the side of the mountain.

Just because a sentence is getting long or wordy doesn’t mean it should be split. As a general rule, do not split a subject from its verb with a comma unless you have an entire phrase in the middle. So you would not write,

The green-gowned woman from Timbuktu, stared at me.

But you would write,

The green gowned-woman from Timbuktu, her turban perched precariously atop her head, stared at me.

Tomorrow, the contest entries begin to be posted. I suspect this will take us well into next week, so we take a brief hiatus from comma rules. In the meantime, keep writing, keep punctuating, and keep denoting those slight pauses!