Correct Punctuation

After you’ve been writing for some time, the type of editing you seek changes.

Early on, I was eager to recieve any help I could get fixing typos and minor grammatical errors. After a while you begin to know your own mistakes. At that point you want to say to critiquers, “I know there’s supposed to be a period at the end of that sentence. Can you tell me what you think of the major plot in this scene, please? Microsoft Word could have told me I misspelled ‘receive’ up there.”

But there are some things Word won’t catch. So here are some errors I still make or forget about.


 

Skip the end quote.

If a character continues to speak, uninterrupted, in a new paragraph, don’t close quotes at the end of the first paragraph.

Wrong:

Blake said, “It’s true. I murdered the duchess.” 

“But in my defense, she was being totally ratchet.” The murderer sniffled.

Right:

Blake said, “That’s a lie! I would never smuggle turnips!

“But I am a mad mango miscreant.”

Bonus tip: ‘ratchet’ is, by the standards of dumb things kids say, not bad. Calling someone “Cray” instead of “Crazy” just sounds stu and laiz.


 

This is probably just me, but one must be careful with ellipses. Far too often I see an author use the ol’ three-dots when a character is interrupted.

“I couldn’t have stolen the cookies from the cookie jar,” said Edward. “I was busy with…”

“It must have been you,” interrupted Bella.

The problem above is that ellipses indicate Edward’s statement trailed off. So Bella was just interrupting the silence that followed. Use a hyphen if you want to indicate interruption.

Oh, and don’t overuse ellipses. When YOU read it, they sound like dramatic pauses. The audience just sees a scene with lots of strange, awkward silences in the dialogue. Unless your scene is depicting any of my dates. The ellipses correctly capture that awkwardness.


I am shit with commas. I do my best to avoid sentences that require them. Seek advice elsewhere.


 

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Narrative Voice in Point of View (POV)

Point of view is a heckofa difficult issue for writers, novice and expert.

1st person:

The first project I really threw my weight behind was 1st-person-perspective. And am I glad it was. When writing narration, I didn’t have to worry about inadvertantly adding individualization as long as it was the lead’s color. What do I mean?

In telling the story of Goldilocks, it’s wrong to write,

“And then the dumb b**** just climbs straight into a bear’s bed after eating its food. Geez, what an idiot.”

This fairy tail narrator is adding his own views. It can take away from the pure story  (sometimes). However, if the story is told from the Woodsman’s point of view, it makes sense for the narration to sound exasperated.

And yes, I know the Woodsman is from a different story.

3rd Person Limited Omniscience (One Character):

Now you’re outside the head of the main character, but your narrative voice is still influenced by her. Say your lead is named Josephine and she’s a typical american midwestern teenager.

Josephine was so angry she couldn’t help but slam her locker shut. And there was Tara on the other side of the little door, smiling that perfect, s***-eating grin. But she was wearing that gorgeous green empress-cut top Jo loved loved so much.

Did you see how, even though the narrator wasn’t Josephine herself, it colored the prose? For example, all empress-cut tops are ugly, no matter who they’re on. But Josephine likes them, and therefore it’s “gorgeous.”

Also notice that Josephine is “angry,” but Tara is wearing a s***-eating grin. If Tara was the protagonist, it would be written differently.

“Tara wore her friendliest smile and the green top she knew Josephine loved. It might not be enough today, though. Josephine slammed her locker door, and she scowled with her whole body.”

aStatements like “she was angry” can only be written if you’re in that character’s head. Otherwise, they scowl. We can infer their mood from body language.

3rd Person Limited Omniscience (With Multiple Lead Characters):

Ugh. The most popular example of what I’m talking about here is George R. R. Martin. Every chapter begins with a character’s name so we know where we are and who we’re supposed to be paying attention to.

This is pretty common with, say, two characters. I see it all the time in thrillers (1 goodguy, 1 badguy) or romances (1 guy, 1 girl – in most cases) It’s a little harder to write because your voice changes from POV to POV. One character may know more about what’s really going on.

Some mistakes to avoid here: Don’t introduce a second voice halfway through your story. There’s nothing more jarring to a reader than suddenly entering the head of a new character when you’ve attached yourself to another for so long. I remember reading a book where the main character died unexpectedly, leaving us to follow around his protege for the rest of the story. It was meant to be a twist but was just kind of irritating.

Remember the video game Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty? After following the beloved character Snake in the prologue, you started a new level with Snake in a mask. Then, BAM! he took off the mask and you spent the rest of the game following around a wannabe Snake named Raiden. Fans were upset.

If you add more characters, you are forced to divest your narration of almost all voice. Like George R. R. Martin’s beloved clusterfuck complex tale of millions of characters generally being miserable assholes complex. If you end one chapter in the voice of a mother holding her dying child and begin another chapter in the head of a torturer, your audience gets whiplash. It can be done, but is for an advanced, talented writer like Mr. Martin.

3rd Person Total Omniscience:

This one may be the hardest. It’s hard for the reader to connect with any one person’s view, and therefore harder to get invested in the story.

The Mary Sue

A Mary Sue character, for those unfamiliar, is an idealized character in a story. It’s often a stand-in for who the author wishes himself/herself to to be. And importantly, real consequences don’t really apply to them.

CONSEQUENCES

Writers and critics alike tend to look down upon the Mary Sue, and for good reasons. The MS is all about wish fulfillment. Who doesn’t want to imagine themselves as The One, that person that’s special? The unique fella who discovers he’s actually a lost prince, or has a secret superpower?

Sue. Mary Sue.

Sue. Mary Sue.

Hell, I’m no different.

Any day now I expect an attractive young person to approach me and say, “This Starbucks was actually built as a test to see who could idle their time in the most ineffective manner possible. You’ve passed that test, and are therefore the Last Starfighter And Supreme Makeout Artist.”

So is wish fulfillment inherently bad? Well, no, not when it’s done right. For example, Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived. “The Boy Who Lived”… they practically nickname him “The Mary Sue.” But they’re wonderful, beloved books.

Contrarily, why does the ancient, beautiful vampire desire the bland Mary Sue? Just ’cause. It’s inexplicable and there’s no ‘cost,’ for lack of a better word.

Why is Harry Potter different? Because his parents died. And magic. And it’s as much a curse as a blessing. And REASONS. Hell, Harry even asks “Why me?” and gets unpleasant answers all the time.

Picture: Neo

Picture: Neo

Harry’s still a Mary Sue, but a darned good one in a darned good series.

RELATABILITY

The other complaint is that the character isn’t relatable. I have less of a problem with this, mostly for reasons you can find here and here. Often, people who say they want “relatable” really mean they want to read reflections of their own flaws and the conflicts they face. Pain, more often than not.

Personally, I’d rather read about the Mary Sue. But moving on…

OUT OF CONTROL CHALLENGES

There’s another problem with the Mary Sue. One for the author, rather than the audience. The problem of out-of-control ramping goals.

With each successive… success, the writer has to find a new challenge for our walking deus ex machina. “Well, he saved the city by discovering he could fly at the end of the last book. What power does he need to suddenly have at the end of this book to make it fun?” And the challenge has to be bigger and bigger with every story.

Example: I LOVE the Mass Effect games. The story is about the very first human to join an elite space police-force.

Next up: Balancing the checkbook!

Next up: Balancing the checkbook!

In the first game you have to save the citadel, the galatic hub of civilations. By the last game, you’re tasked with saving the entire galaxy.

Now there’s talk of a sequel.

About what, exactly? Saving the galaxy again? The universe? You blew your load a little early, Bioware.

Personally, I love me a good Mary Sue story. But unless you’ve considered the consequences, your story is going to be considered fluff by some people.

Give your protagonist consequences, some relatable characteristics, and if you’re planning on continuing the adventure, don’t write yourself in a corner.

 

Worldbuilding: Establishing the rules

This post is not so much about a how-to as much as a please-do. Too often writers have built themselves a fun world without ever building boundaries about what is possible. Example, you ask? Why, sure. Star Trek is about flying around space, exploring in a ship named Enterprise (in case you grew up under a rock on Vulcan).

This was a fun movie that made no sense

This was a fun movie that made no sense

In Star Trek: Into Darkness, the villain (Benedict Englishname) blows up some stuff on Earth and teleports himself away to Kronos (Google told me it’s properly spelled Qo’noS, for some reason.) Starfleet can’t chase him there, because Kronos is the home to the warlike Klingons.

There’s a reason no one transported themselves from one planet to another in the TV show. If you can just jump from planet to planet instantly, WTF is the point of the Enterprise? And don’t get me started on the whole magic-blood thing. The gods of science fiction and logic wept.

Similarly, the Time-Turner in the Harry Potter books so break any reasonable rules of magic that the reader is forced to ask “Why the hell don’t they just do that again?”

An aside: It’s okie dokie to break these rules in the right place, by the way. In fact, the start of your story may be “Evil Lord Kongoth(®) just took his power to tier 8, when we all know and have previously established that tier 6 is as high as it goes!” You know, just as long as your characters react appropriately when someone DOES break the rules.

Anyway, the final impact of your story can be wholly ruined by poorly established rules. If in your knights-and-swords historical fiction someone pulls out a shotgun and blows away your villain, you make your reader feel cheated and you’ve lost the impact of your work.

“Why didn’t he just do that earlier?” the audience asks. “If King Arthur had guns, Guinevere didn’t have to die by Atomic Hamster in scene 2! I feel cheated! And the impact of the author’s work has been lost!”

Horrors

Horrors

So invent some rules for your story. And then, for your own sake, don’t break them lightly.

The Query Letter: Everything You Need to Know

Part 1: Tip of the iceberg

Query letters are hard.

Damn hard.

Harder than writing the book itself, and almost as hard as the synopsis (I’ll probably write a post on synopsaises sometime. After an antacid and alot of whisky).

For the most part, your query should read like the inside flap of a book. It makes the agent want to read more. Don’t give away the twist ending (you’ll do that in the synopsis. Did I mention the synopsis was a b***h?).

 


It was anything but another day in the sixth lower plane of torment when Beelzebub woke up with a halo

This is crucial: HOOK ME IN THE FIRST LINE (OR TWO).

Line and sinker, too

Line and sinker, too

Agents claim to get hundreds or trillions queries every second. And most also claim to know, after the first margin at least, if they care about your project. So make it interesting. Unique. Gripping. Or write in the agent’s home address and include a picture of their pet hamster. My point is, get them to read the rest of it.


 

In a world where Galileo spotted an alien message in the stars, what else could ruin an opening like a rhetorical question?

Don’t start with an open-ended question. It’s cliché and some agents hate it. If you start your query with “What would YOU do if…”, the answer is “Rewrite my opening line.”


Dave must save Ruthie from the evil cyborg Schnozbot before his mother, Voldermom, can destroy the planet Omicron Persei Four.

Holy crap that’s alot of names to remember. Try to keep things as simple as possible. You can name people in the actual story, if you can get me to read some pages. What I need to know is your protagonist’s name. For now we’ll just call the love interest “The cute guy in fourth period with wings”? Now I know something interesting about him, but I don’t need to remember yet another name for later.

"These are all named characters. Let's start with the guy on the left..."

“These are all named characters. Let’s start with the guy on the left…”

If you were selling Fellowship of the Ring, you could probably call Gimli a “Dwarf companion” and Legolas “Some elf chick.” You’d only really need to mention the protagonist’s name: Samwise Gamgee. Just keep it as simple as possible.


 

This book is way better than Twilight or the Bible

Whoa. Whoa, whoa whoa. Do not badmouth anybody. Ever. Even if you made it cute or funny, don’t. Seriously. I cannot stress this enough.

Comparing yourself to existing works is okay as long as it sounds like, “Fans of Jonathon Franzen will love my novel THE HUNT FOR RED HAWKTOBER”. See how that doesn’t disparrage Mr. Franzen?

BECAUSE EVEN IF THE AGENT YOU’RE WRITING TO DOESN’T REPRESENT AN AUTHOR, HE’S PROBABLY RELATED TO THE AGENT WHO DOES

The publishing industry is like one pea in a pod. Intimate, let’s say. Hell, 90% of them live in NYC. All in one little town! Remember that!

And that’s everything you need to know. Everything. Okay, there may be more.

Worldbuilding: The Proxy Audience

I read and write fiction in fantastic worlds with their own unique rules.

As writers, we need more than just a pretty, unique setting. Story is god (and in this case, demigod). But alot of the time, the story and the world can’t exist without each other.

We can’t just start a story with “Here’s the world. Here are the rules. Here’s the glossary you’ll need. Got everything? Okay. Now here’s why you should care about the setting, starting in chapter 2.”

So how do you do all that and tell the story at the same time? Well, often, we use a PROXY AUDIENCE.

What is the proxy audience? Here’s an example.

Pictured: The Audience Proxy

Pictured: The Proxy Audience

The Star Wars universe has countless aliens, republics, rebellions, and space-wizards. Our hero, Luke Skywalker, will become one (a space wizard, not a republic).

Star Wars: A New Hope uses two great methods for world-building. First, it just lets characters live in their universe and the audience picks it up through osmosis. Galactic denizens buy secondhand robots from tiny sand-people? Okay. Aliens are as scummy as humans and they hang out in filthy cantinas? Sure, why not?

But for the story to progress further we need to know the RULES of space-wizards. So to do that, Luke doesn’t know jack shit about them. Having an ignorant character is method number two.

Everything about space-wizards has to be explained to Luke. He has misconceptions about the rebellion so Han Solo can disillusion him.

Luke Skywalker is the stand-in, or PROXY, for the audience.

When Obi Wan tells Luke that the force is an “Energy Field created by all living things blah blah,” He’s really saying that to the audience. Remember, the writer could have had Luke just already know this.

So remember, the easiest way to create a world with new rules is just to write in an idiot.

Harry Potter didn’t know what british-wizards were, so they held his hand along the way.

Neo didn’t know what techno-wizards were, so Morpheus gave him a tour.

And Ryan Gosling didn’t know what notebook-wizards were until Rachael Mcadams sent him to notebook school.

I think. I didn't actually read this one

I think. I didn’t actually read this one

And it doesn’t have to be your main character. Your sidekick leans over your main character’s shoulder and says, “What are you doing?”

BAM, there’s your chance to explain that Barney the Dinosaur was a serial murderer in your universe and why it’s important to the story.

Whether or not it’s mentioned, that’s true in all of my stories.

Overwriting action

 

Next up: Tightening the action.

Your prose is glorious. Your narrative is full of thought-evoking sentences. But then comes the action.

God, I love this scene

An example of a perfect action scene

 

Let’s say your main character is facing the evil overlord. You’ve spent the last 800 pages building up to this swordfight.

Dial back the flowery wording, Shakespeare.

Let’s look at two examples I’m about to make up on the fly.

Example the first:

Desmond prepared himself, setting his feet as his instructor had demanded. Feeling the weight of the iron and the beading of sweat on his forehead, he arced the blade upward and deflected the Dark Lord’s blow. The chime rung in the air and vibrations shook bones and confidence. Time and again he parried, never finding purchase in the sand to launch his own attack.

Okay, that was awesome, right? I know, I kind of got caught up there. But the reader doesn’t get the feeling of urgency.

Example beta:

The Dark Lord drove at the boy’s heart. Desmond deflected. Again. Again. His bones shook. So did his confidence. The sand shifted and Desmond couldn’t find purchase. There was no chance to launch his own attack. Every dodge, every parry reminded him: the Dark Lord could not die.

Okay. Which seemed faster? More actiony? The second. The first sounds like a dance. The second sounds desperate. I often wanted my scenes to feel like life and death, but they sounded like a deadly stroll in the park.


Coming soon: Fixing more errors in writing. From the blogger who’s never made none.