I am a beginning writer, at least insofar as today's publishing business is concerned.
Although I am a published author, the book that earned me that distinction was published in the 1970s. I wrote it in longhand and then typed it on a rented typewriter. The writing world, technical and business, has been flipped over and shaken out since then, so I am starting again at square one, or ground zero, or… (insert your own trite phrase here). No, wait – I’m starting earlier than square one, because I have skills to unlearn as well as skills to learn, and I am finding the former a lot harder than the latter.
Before a beginning writer like me can master plot and characterization, it helps to master the mechanics – the tools and rules. A CNN video director, who was offering valuable tips to video amateurs, started with advice on how to coil up or toss out a camera cable. My own seven equivalent basic tips for the prose writer, as I have painfully learned them, are these:
1. At the end of a sentence, the period is followed in the modern world by one space, not
two. I’m sure you know that but I didn’t. I’m equally sure I looked at the woman who shared that with me as if she were a little askew. I read voraciously, and I had never noticed, in any book I read, that one space had disappeared for every one sentence that appeared. When I took a close look at the book right there in my hand, though, I saw that it was true. I don’t know when this change took place, but obviously after the seventies, since it came to my attention only recently. I also don’t know why it took place, or where those spaces went, but out there somewhere is an author who will write a wonderful book unraveling the Case of the Kidnapped Spaces.
2. Learning something and applying it are two different things. I don’t know when I will master this new one-space rule, because I am finding that, as I reach the end of a sentence,
muscle memory trumps brain memory nearly every time. I am tired of exclaiming “bad” as I slap my hand, and I’m tired of the bruises too, but I still have a ways to go.
3. That’s why (unless you still write with a quill pen on quarto sheets, or the pencil-on-lined-pad equivalent) you need more computer skills than it takes to send an email or write a letter. One of them is to become familiar with the “find” command in your chosen word processing application. If, like me, you are still inserting two spaces every time your fingers take over from your brain, you can call up “find”, enter two spaces in the “find” box, and (you guessed it) find all your offending double spaces.
4. Somewhere along the way, the possessive case was kidnapped along with one of the speaces that used to belong after a period. At least, the kidnapping took place with gerunds. Once, if you grabbed a verb which ended in “ing” and used it as a noun, the “ing” verb then was known as a gerund and someone had to own that gerund; a gerund always boasted a possessor. That is, if you offered that, when you wrote your mother, it assuaged your conscience, and you used the gerundial form of the verb, you once would have said, “My [possessive case] writing [noun form of“ing” verb, therefore gerund] to my mother assuages my conscience.” These days, even some of the best writers seem to say, “Me [object] writing my mother assuages my conscience.” Or perhaps, instead of “John’s leaving put me in a bind,” one of the following: “John leaving put me in a bind,” or “Him leaving put me in a bind.” I know this kidnapping took place some time back because I’ve been missing victims for a while and I’m missing more of them all the time.
5. “Pretty” should be used as a descriptor only when followed by “Woman.” If you review your manuscript and find that you are saying “pretty tired” or “pretty frustrated” or “pretty desperate” every few pages, as I sadly found I was when I reviewed the first draft of my memoir Faultlines and Fractures, try to control yourself. But don’t take this a warning specifically against “pretty.” Your sin may lie in overdoing another word, maybe “maybe.” The lesson is to strive not to overdo any word or expression, especially when, as with me, there are better substitutes out there. (Almost anything is better than “pretty” as I was using it.) That “find” function comes in fairly (notice I restrained myself from saying“pretty”) handy here as
well.
6. Exercise some self-control and organization on changes. Every time I looked at my MS, either in its official form or when I included a piece of it with a query, for instance, I saw something I wanted to change and I changed it on the spot.The result was that good changes not only were often lost, but I ended with a jillion versions with only tiny differences, and no
idea of which version was real. If a change is good enough to make in an email, or a submittal, or a backup, bring up the “real” MS version side by side with the one you want to change, and change them both. Otherwise your computer and your mind will sue you for divorce and the stated cause will be cohabitation with a horde of co-respondents.
7. Most of those six things I’ve learned lead to the seventh and final lesson: Unless you are an undiscovered genius, it is absolutely and irrevocably true that you need to revise your first draft, and you need to do that literally line by line. It may not move you a fraction further
toward being invited by an agent or publisher to send your manuscript, but it might keep that agent or publisher from tossing said manuscript off the bus it arrived on.
Although I am a published author, the book that earned me that distinction was published in the 1970s. I wrote it in longhand and then typed it on a rented typewriter. The writing world, technical and business, has been flipped over and shaken out since then, so I am starting again at square one, or ground zero, or… (insert your own trite phrase here). No, wait – I’m starting earlier than square one, because I have skills to unlearn as well as skills to learn, and I am finding the former a lot harder than the latter.
Before a beginning writer like me can master plot and characterization, it helps to master the mechanics – the tools and rules. A CNN video director, who was offering valuable tips to video amateurs, started with advice on how to coil up or toss out a camera cable. My own seven equivalent basic tips for the prose writer, as I have painfully learned them, are these:
1. At the end of a sentence, the period is followed in the modern world by one space, not
two. I’m sure you know that but I didn’t. I’m equally sure I looked at the woman who shared that with me as if she were a little askew. I read voraciously, and I had never noticed, in any book I read, that one space had disappeared for every one sentence that appeared. When I took a close look at the book right there in my hand, though, I saw that it was true. I don’t know when this change took place, but obviously after the seventies, since it came to my attention only recently. I also don’t know why it took place, or where those spaces went, but out there somewhere is an author who will write a wonderful book unraveling the Case of the Kidnapped Spaces.
2. Learning something and applying it are two different things. I don’t know when I will master this new one-space rule, because I am finding that, as I reach the end of a sentence,
muscle memory trumps brain memory nearly every time. I am tired of exclaiming “bad” as I slap my hand, and I’m tired of the bruises too, but I still have a ways to go.
3. That’s why (unless you still write with a quill pen on quarto sheets, or the pencil-on-lined-pad equivalent) you need more computer skills than it takes to send an email or write a letter. One of them is to become familiar with the “find” command in your chosen word processing application. If, like me, you are still inserting two spaces every time your fingers take over from your brain, you can call up “find”, enter two spaces in the “find” box, and (you guessed it) find all your offending double spaces.
4. Somewhere along the way, the possessive case was kidnapped along with one of the speaces that used to belong after a period. At least, the kidnapping took place with gerunds. Once, if you grabbed a verb which ended in “ing” and used it as a noun, the “ing” verb then was known as a gerund and someone had to own that gerund; a gerund always boasted a possessor. That is, if you offered that, when you wrote your mother, it assuaged your conscience, and you used the gerundial form of the verb, you once would have said, “My [possessive case] writing [noun form of“ing” verb, therefore gerund] to my mother assuages my conscience.” These days, even some of the best writers seem to say, “Me [object] writing my mother assuages my conscience.” Or perhaps, instead of “John’s leaving put me in a bind,” one of the following: “John leaving put me in a bind,” or “Him leaving put me in a bind.” I know this kidnapping took place some time back because I’ve been missing victims for a while and I’m missing more of them all the time.
5. “Pretty” should be used as a descriptor only when followed by “Woman.” If you review your manuscript and find that you are saying “pretty tired” or “pretty frustrated” or “pretty desperate” every few pages, as I sadly found I was when I reviewed the first draft of my memoir Faultlines and Fractures, try to control yourself. But don’t take this a warning specifically against “pretty.” Your sin may lie in overdoing another word, maybe “maybe.” The lesson is to strive not to overdo any word or expression, especially when, as with me, there are better substitutes out there. (Almost anything is better than “pretty” as I was using it.) That “find” function comes in fairly (notice I restrained myself from saying“pretty”) handy here as
well.
6. Exercise some self-control and organization on changes. Every time I looked at my MS, either in its official form or when I included a piece of it with a query, for instance, I saw something I wanted to change and I changed it on the spot.The result was that good changes not only were often lost, but I ended with a jillion versions with only tiny differences, and no
idea of which version was real. If a change is good enough to make in an email, or a submittal, or a backup, bring up the “real” MS version side by side with the one you want to change, and change them both. Otherwise your computer and your mind will sue you for divorce and the stated cause will be cohabitation with a horde of co-respondents.
7. Most of those six things I’ve learned lead to the seventh and final lesson: Unless you are an undiscovered genius, it is absolutely and irrevocably true that you need to revise your first draft, and you need to do that literally line by line. It may not move you a fraction further
toward being invited by an agent or publisher to send your manuscript, but it might keep that agent or publisher from tossing said manuscript off the bus it arrived on.
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