Winner? Take all.

The Journey Prize winners were announced yesterday. Winners plural. Ten to be exact. This edition of the Journey Prize breaks 33-years of tradition, which usually sees a long list of 10-12, a short list of 3 (and once, two), and one winner. That’s standard operating procedure for literary prizes - a broad spotlight that narrows until the winner stands alone, holding the pot. But for this special edition, which is a showcase of Black talent, the jury chose to do something different. The jury, by the way, was David Chariandy, Esi Edugyan, and Canisia Lubrin. Name a more iconic trio. I’ll wait.

I don’t know why they chose to go this route but I’ve been on my share of juries and have some ideas. Sometimes, the winner is unanimous, a book or story that stands so obviously head and shoulders above its peers that there’s almost no discussion. Just as often, the jury is divided and the winner is a compromise, the first choice of two jurors but not the third. Or the entry that everyone can agree they love equally though it isn’t anyone’s first choice. Which is no slight on the winner because by the time a jury gets down to choosing a short list, an entry has already run the mother fucking gauntlet.

Stories in the Journey Prize anthology must charm many, many gatekeepers. First, the editorial board of a literary magazine greenlights publication. These mags have vanishing resources, limited space, and strict word counts. I guest edited one issue of one magazine and it was excruciating to turn away stories, compelling, beautifully composed stories, on the grounds that I had twenty five pages and had to choose the combination of prose that fit exactly within those pages, no more, no less.

Second, the story must be chosen, out of all the stories published that year, as one of three that gets put forward for the prize, assuming the publication in question has the resources and wherewithal to submit.

Third, the jury must like the story enough to longlist it. Any time I do jury duty, I’m acutely aware of the idiosyncratic nature of taste. A different combination of judges reading the exact same stories or books could have and would have made different choices. The year I juried for the Journey there were stories that could have absolutely made the longlist if a different combination of authors were making the call. And by the time we got to the short list, it was agony. That’s often what happens. There are three spots and maybe five or six books that (in the jury’s idiosyncratic opinion, in that particular moment of that particular day) deserve a place.

What does it mean, then, to award one winner and what does it mean when a jury chooses ten? I haven’t got insider information and was not - sadly - a fly on the wall during deliberations but if I was on the jury, for this historic year when emerging Black authors are finally being offered a small portion of their due, I would also be inclined to say fuck it, all these stories and these authors deserve the spotlight.

You know what I think is revealing? Have a look at where the winning stories were published. Twelve stories total. Four(!) from Prism International. (Good eggs) Two from no where. Two stories that were turned away at every gate. Or two stories that were nurtured in private because those authors didn’t see themselves or their stories reflected in magazines. Or… well, I don’t know. Maybe two stories that were written specifically because the doors were thrown wide and the guards took a holiday.

Taste is a tiny bit nature and mostly nurture, formed by the stories we were raised on and the steady diet we were fed by teachers and book sellers. And if, for most of your life, all you see and read is one kind of story, told by one kind of person, guess what happens to your taste. When gatekeepers share the same narrow taste…. that’s how you end up with a paucity of Black representation. It’s nothing to do with writers or their stories and everything to do with flawed gatekeeping.

In a perfect, equitable world we wouldn’t even need special editions. Good on the jury for handing out ten crowns. Massive congratulations to Christina Cooke, A.Z. Farah, Zilla Jones, Sarah Kabamba, Téa Mutonji, Lue Palmer, Terese Mason Pierre, Jasmine Sealy, Dianah Smith, and Iryn Tushabe, whose twelve stories I cannot wait to read. You can pre-order your copy of the Journey Prize Stories now.

This ain’t National Geographic

There is a moment in V.V. Ganeshananthan’s Brotherless Night when the first person protagonist declares: “Even now I do not wish to translate that word, kottiya. Must we explain each humiliation to be believed?” (pg. 113)

It’s a powerful moment in a powerful scene, but even out of context, the line is important for what it can teach us about craft. Writers who are not white sometimes struggle with this particular issue. How much of the culture/ language of the story should we translate? Can we assume the reader knows the definition of a salwar kameez? Must I explain that ammachi means maternal grandmother? That cousin brother is a male cousin and not, in any way, incestuous?

Authors, take heart. There’s a simple solution to all of this. Just assume no one will ever read your story. Write for an audience of one and let that one be you.

There are two good reasons for this approach. First, publication is ANGST-RIDDEN and something every author looks forward to with gritted teeth. The only part of the process you are sure to enjoy is the writing. So if you aren’t amusing yourself, what’s the point?

Second, it’s a fool’s errand to write with any particular audience in mind. Readers are special snowflakes, each with their own life experiences, culture, and ways of seeing the world. You are never going to be able to curate your work in such a way that each and every reader fully understands every word or undercurrent or moment of subtext or character motivation.

We’re writing fiction, not a National Geographic article. If you start defining every little thing, the pace will grind to a halt and that’ll be the end of the reader’s attention. Focus on the characters and the story. Include nothing that the characters would not themselves think. Forget the reader.

When editors italicize salwaar kameez or idiyappam, when publishing houses ask for glossaries, they are not only doing so for the benefit of an imagined reader, they are imagining a very specific reader. Guess what skin colour that reader has? Guess what language he speaks? Guess his gender (hahah. trick question). Guess his sexuality.

Readers are all kinds of people. And it is a truth universally acknowledged that good stories, told well, transcend cultures, borders, ethnicity, language, and time. Otherwise, how do you explain the enduring appeal of Shakespeare, Austen, Jesus’ parables, or Lord Buddha’s life story? Or the fact that I have been reading Tolstoy for decades and still only have the foggiest idea what a samovar is.

Lately, I’m noticing a sea change. Sugi Ganeshananthan’s novel, that I quoted above, came out this year and includes plenty of Tamil words, some translated, others not, none in unnecessary italics. Reema Patel’s Such Big Dreams - set in India and told from the perspective of a narrator for whom English is (at least) a third language - is full of words and slang that I assume are Hindi or possibly Marathi, none of it italicized, almost none of it explained. These authors know readers are intelligent.

Many of the words in Michael Crummey’s Galore are a mystery to me but it’s still one of my favourite books of all time. His writing is better for being true to the characters, for his commitment to their dialect. And listen, if Crummey’s not including a glossary for words like dunch and skerry and slut lamp, then neither am I, and neither should you.

Dissection

In grade eleven biology, my lab partner and I dissected a frog. We cut it open and stuck pins in all the organs, and in studying close up the frog’s anatomy, we gained a better understanding of our own.

In any story there’s the narrative readers passively imbibe. But underneath that narrative all the tools of craft are working together to bring the story to life. On Saturday I led a workshop where a room of writers dissected a story by O. Henry/ Giller-winner Souvankham Thammavongsa.

Have a read (or a listen) to Good-looking and then come back to read our results.

On the face of it, nothing much happens in the narrative. And yet, the story is compelling. Why?

TENSION

Dissection

A key tension in the story is the disconnect between the way characters want to be perceived and the way they are perceived. Dad talks a big game but his child sees through the charade. Meanwhile the son would have us believe he’s a fair-minded narrator even as he contradicts himself (Now, I love Dad, and I hate to say this but…). Neither man is entirely honest, leaving the reader to judge. Stories are more interesting if the reader must play an active role.

WHAT WILL HAPPEN?

Readers are constantly trying to figure out: what’s the story about? what will happen next? This is why writing instructors harp on about show don’t tell. Because if you tell the reader what the story is about, if you telegraph what’s about to happen, you rob the reader of the mystery-solving fun.

Although, note how much the story tells and how little it shows, in particular that the once scene takes place in the second act at the coffee shop. This is one of those instances when a guideline (show don’t tell) doesn’t apply. Telling is a tool as much as showing and some stories require its use.

Dad’s doing his push ups with a smirk on his face. Mom’s saddled with three children. We know where this is going, right? Man cheats. Woman discovers the infidelity. Bam: family in crisis. Surprise! This isn’t that kind of story. Good-looking is successful because it keeps the reader guessing. Just when you think you’ve figured out where it’s headed, the plot veers left.

STAKES

If you want the reader to care, you must raise stakes. At the first whiff of infidelity, the external and emotional stakes are present. Will an affair crack this family apart? Will the child be forced to collude with his father in hoodwinking his mother? But while our attention is focused on the obvious, Good-looking slyly reveals the real stakes are philosophical. The family unit was never in peril but Dad’s actions jeopardize his son’s love and respect. Ironic considering this is a man who spends the whole story obsessed with earning a stranger’s respect.

PLOT

Plot can take the form of action rising to a climax. Or it can be a gradual accumulation of knowledge. The narrator’s contempt for his father is present from the jump (Dad thought himself a good-looking man) and builds to a devastating blow: Now, I hate to say this, and bless his heart, but Dad had talked all night, looking like a dumb fool, a chunk of muscle.

During the anniversary party, I couldn’t help but hear a sinister tone in the clink, clink of those champagne flutes. They were as potent as gun shots.

DESIRE

Often when a story leaves you cold it’s because it hasn’t laid bare the characters’ desires. During the date/ non-date the Professor’s motivations are straight forward. But Dad is a mystery. He’s so eager he arrives early but he’s brought his son along. My theory: Dad’s confident in his appearance so sex isn’t what he needs. It’s this educated woman’s admiration that he wants above all. When the narrator senses this truth he experiences a rare moment of empathy: I felt sorry for him then. Perhaps this is why Dad puts his wedding ring back on. It’s anther surprise we don’t see coming but perhaps it makes sense in hindsight. Having failed to win the Professor’s respect, he decides Mom - a younger woman who dropped out of school and maybe sees him as he wishes to be seen - is enough.

TURN, TURN, TURN

Mom and Dad celebrate a 50th anniversary. Who saw that coming? This unexpected end made me question the narrator, remember all those times he contradicted himself and wonder what else he misunderstood. Was the rampant philandering (Dad gets older, but the women stay the same age) real? Mom calling during the date/ non-date, laughing about the women at the gym: was she the butt of the joke or in on it, secure in her husband’s fidelity? Reckonings that force the reader to re-consider the story, see it all differently, in light of new information, make for delightful endings.

CHANGE

Stories are about change. Usually it’s the characters who change their actions/ minds/ lives. But sometimes it’s the reader who changes. In this story, the characters don’t change. What alters is our understanding of the story. In the closing beats, the narrator muses on the Professor. This stranger he met once is the one who got away.

“The action of the character should be unpredictable before it has been shown, inevitable when it has been shown.”
- Elizabeth Bowen

An unexpected plot twist that makes complete sense. This is a child whose father drags him across town at bedtime to chaperone a date/ not date. Whether or not it happened, he pictures himself parked in front of television while a parent conducts an affair in the next room (that’s exactly what Mom would have done. She’s not off the hook either.). His vulnerability is laid bare when we realize this man spent his childhood feeling so neglected that decades later he yearns for a stranger who put his needs ahead of her desires.

IN CONCLUSION

A man makes a shocking declaration of love that upends everything. Good-looking could have so easily been a straight forward tale of a family torn asunder by a father’s infidelity. Instead, it’s the son’s confession that rocks our understanding of the story. When you’re writing a story and the plot seems obvious, try an alternate route. It could lead to a more interesting end.

ps. Here are more thoughts on how to end a short story.

Toast is not exotic

As a rule, in my writing, I never italicize non-English words. At first, this wasn’t a conscious decision. It was just common sense. Italics indicate emphasis. And if a story is from the point of view of a Spanish-speaking character, say, then words like hijo and lo siento and hola would have no particular emphasis in the character’s mind.

When my short stories were published, editors sometimes italicized the non-English words. To be honest, I didn’t notice. Probably no one asked my permission. Or maybe they did and I was too green around the gills to know better or refuse.

But after The Boat People came out, a reader asked how I’d convinced the editors not to italicize the Tamil words. And that stopped me short. Because the fact is - bless my editors - it never came up. Speaking with other writers, hearing them tell their stories about fighting their editors on this very thing I’d taken for granted, I became more aware of the italics. And now, as a reader, seeing italics used inappropriately sets my teeth on edge. Imagine a dishevelled preacher ranting in the dessert. That’s me. AUTHORS! EDITORS! DO NOT ITALICIZE NON-ENGLISH WORDS. CEASE AND DESIST.

Let’s say a story is written from the perspective of a character called John. If John is having toast for breakfast, would you italicize toast? No, you would not. Because it looks idiotic. Italics around non-English words seem to telegraph the message: “hey! look! here is something exotic!” Which…come on now, since when is warmed up Wonder bread exotic? We’re agreed here, right? So please let us extend the same courtesy to a character called Mahindan who is eating appam. Let him finish his meal in un-italicized peace.

The mistake editors and publishers and yes, sometimes writers, make when they italicize non-English words is to temporarily lose sight of their craft (and also, I’d argue, their own common sense). They lose sight of the character and the story’s point-of-view and pander to the reader.

Why is the reader at the centre of the story instead of the character? And also, who is this imagined reader exactly? More on them next week. Meantime, here are some other, entirely different, thoughts on toast.

Hired pen

It’s a new year and I’ve got a slate of new client offerings. If you’re working on a creative writing project and need professional feedback, mentorship, or one-on-one support to kick start revisions, I’m your pro. Full details and pricing are here, along with client endorsements. I’m currently booking for Winter and Spring 2024.

Experience

For the past several years, I’ve been helping clients with their fiction - and occasionally non-fiction - through a manuscript evaluation service. The author sends me their draft. I read, consider, then return detailed feedback. We have a couple of meetings and off they go to tackle a big revision. It’s great work, especially when writers report back on how much their books have evolved.

“Sharon Bala’s thoughtful reading, clear-eyed questions, and deep dedication to her role as a mentor transformed my novel into a truer, stronger version of itself.”

— Janika Oza, author of A History of Burning

In 2020 I began mentoring through the Diaspora Dialogues Long Form Mentorship Program. Working with authors one-on-one, over the course of several months, watching their expertise grow, and their manuscripts improve in real time, has been an absolute privilege and one of the great joys of the past three years.

I’ve worked on literary fiction, fantasy, speculative fiction, historical fiction, family sagas, short fiction, and memoir. Some writers I’ve worked with have been traditionally published (that’s industry jargon for not self-published). Some have signed with agents. An author I mentored in 2020 recently published her debut.

Expertise

I figured out how to do this work by practicing with my author friends. You get adept at diagnosing the problems in a story when you’re routinely parsing the works-in-progress of experienced talents. And you quickly learn the art of gentleness when someone else takes a scalpel to your manuscript. Mainly I’ve absorbed these skills by studying the master - my editor Anita Chong, whose preferred punctuation is the question mark. Recently, a writer I was mentoring congratulated my Socratic Method. Who do you think taught me that?

“[Sharon’s] feedback about arc, character and voice was invaluable to my manuscript and helped me work through sticky spots that weren’t working at a crucial point in my revision process, between an early draft and the draft I ended up submitting to land a publisher.”

— Carmella Gray-Cosgrove, author of Nowadays and Lonelier

Philosophy

I believe in guidelines, not rules, that asking questions is infinitely more useful than prescribing answers. This is art, not science, and there’s no single formula to describe all narratives. There are many traditions of storytelling and I’m the expert in precisely none of them.

However, I do know a few things about the tools of craft and how to wield them. And I’m adept at ferreting out that interesting, buried, storyline. Yeah. That one. The complicated, dishy thing you didn’t mean to write, perhaps don’t want to write, but maybe need to write? I don’t know. Just a suggestion.

Always, always, I aim to empower writers. It’s your book. You’re in the driver’s seat and know what’s best. My role is to guide, to help you find your way through the maze you’ve created to the story at the centre only you know how to tell.

If you’ve hit the wall on your manuscript, are struggling with revisions, or seeking a mentor, get in touch. It would be my pleasure to help.

“Sharon’s thoughts on character development, story arc, pace and plot were critical, nurturing and insightful. Her in-depth notes helped me craft a more complete and contained story world for my characters. If you need another set of eyes to guide your work in a positive direction, look no further than Sharon Bala.”

— Xaiver Michael Campbell

Thou shalt have no commandments

The stubborn ram in my nature bristles whenever I hear directives like must or can’t or don’t or need.

Don’t write a flashback in present tense.
Every story needs plot. (LOL.)
Every story must have a single protagonist.
Don’t write prologues or epilogues.
Non-english words must be in italics.
You can’t move between minds in a single scene. Who do you think you are, Virginia Woolf?

This sort of black and white advice might be well-meaning. Or is it sinister, an attempt to quash a writer’s ambition and keep them in their place, bound within the confines of the western tradition, an automaton pumping out the kinds of stories that some market-driven authority believes are most commercially viable?

Well, for the moment, let’s assume this counsel comes from a good place. Fact remains, it’s all nonsense. There are no rules for good writing. There are only guidelines which will serve you 75-95% of the time. Proof: for every “rule” there are a million exceptions. Suzette Mayr’s The Sleeping Car Porter includes flashbacks masterfully written in present tense. The forthcoming debut by Jamaluddin Aram - Nothing Good Happens in Wazirabad on Wednesday - is brimming with point-of-view characters instead of a single protagonist. Importantly, I think, Aram’s storytelling style is distinctly non-western, which is to say the narrative is communal and indirect, without anything so dull as a clear moral lesson. When we throw out the rule book, we make room for other modes of storytelling, a wider breadth and diversity of literature, and frankly, more interesting tales. Even commercial fiction (for our purposes here, I mean fiction that sells well and makes a lot of money and is generally more concerned with telling a gripping yarn than, say, the poetry of a sentence) is full of broken “rules.” Louise Penney is a great one for mind weaving within a scene, within even a paragraph.

Writers, go forth. Write the story you want to write. Tell it the way you’d want to read it. And then, in revisions, yes, consider the guidelines. Is the prologue spoiling the ending? Is the epilogue trying too hard to leave your reader with a particular message? Is the rotating point-of-view confusing? Are the polyphonic voices fragmenting the story? If yes, is this what you intend? Approaching a draft with curiosity - asking yourself questions and holding yourself to account - is a better, more interesting, approach than burying a work-in-progress under arbitrary commandments.

Exclamation points

There’s an old Seinfeld episode where Elaine is dating one of her authors (ah, the 90s). She comes home to find he’s making dinner and asks if there are any phone messages (ah, the 90s), then takes umbrage when she sees he hasn’t added an exclamation point to the happy news about a friend’s new baby.

When it first came out, I only understood part of the joke: Elaine and the gang will latch onto any reason to break up with a paramour. But now I understand the rest of it. Of course Jake Jarmel isn’t tossing around exclamation marks willy nilly. He’s a good writer. He’s probably using his prose to emphasize the point instead of lazily relying on punctuation.

Elaine Benes though… not a great editor.

Best of 2022

It’s been a while since I’ve done a yearly round up but here are a dozen of my favourite reads (so far) this year. In no particular order:

Such Big Dreams by Reema Patel (novel): The stand out in this novel is its first person protagonist, a former street kid turned office peon who lives in a slum and is underestimated by everyone she meets. But Rakhi’s no one’s bitch.

Because of Nothing At All by Paul Sunga (novel): Full of surprises and riven with dark humour.

Fifth Sun by Camilla Townsend (non-fiction): Accessible and fascinating history of the Aztecs that kept me company in a cold and dreary January.

Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century by Kim Fu (short stories): One of the most inventive collections I’ve ever read, each story its own madcap experiment.

Sequence by Arun Lakra (play): This brainy script kept me on my toes.

We Measure The Earth With Our Bodies by Tsering Yangzom Lama (novel): There were passages in this novel during which I unconsciously held by breath.

The Verifiers by Jane Pek (novel): Finally a truly well written whodunnit.

Animal Person by Alexander McLeod (short stories): The stand-outs in this collection are the first and last stories which are brilliant on their own and subtly reflect on each other making them stronger as a pair.

All This Could Be Different by Sarah Thankam Mathews (novel): The sentences are sublime.

Botticelli in the Fire by Jordan Tannahill (play): A romp!

The last two are new releases coming in 2023 and well worth pre-ordering:

Birnham Wood by Eleanor Catton (novel): Un-put-down-able. A masterclass in juggling multiple points-of-view.

Desperada by Sofia Mostaghimi (novel): If you’re over the white-lady-goes-abroad-to-find-faux-enlightenment story and ready for something more honest and raunchy, this one’s for you.

And a bonus trio of pop culture goodies:

Slash/Back (movie, Crave): Shot on a shoestring in Pang, Nunavut, with a cast of non-actors, this light-hearted horror about a group of teen girls who go alien hunting, has all the appropriate jump scares and spectacular visuals. But for me the stand out was the sound track. Here’s the trailer.

Astrid and Lily Save the World (limited series, Crave): A binge-able delight about two best friends who accidentally become monster hunters while dealing with all the usual highschool bullshit. Big Buffy vibes except instead of a creep-o showrunner it’s all women and non-binary folks behind the camera and the gaze shows. Have made the appropriate witchy sacrifices in hopes of a second season.

Articles of Interest (podcast): Avery Truffleman is one of the most thorough and throughful content producers in audio. This season’s seven episode arc is all around preppy style. Turns out I’m interested in fashion? You will be too.

Tell me without telling me

The other day I put on a coat I hadn’t worn in several months, put my hand in the pocket, and pulled out a scrunched up poop bag.

You know that “tell me, without telling me” meme that went viral a couple of years ago? Here’s a funny example from TikTok. And a zinger from Twitter:

It occurred to me, when I found that poop bag in my coat pocket, that it was one of those revealing details I’m always harping on about in my writing workshops or with the authors I work with and mentor. Show don’t tell. Cut the tell; leave the show.

Showing is a muscle you strengthen with time and practice. You practice on the page as you write. You practice on the page as you read and notice how other authors reveal rather than explain. You practice off the page, as you live your life, as you put your hand in your pocket and find crushed up dog treats or a soother or a lighter or a piece of chalk or a crumpled medical mask. Tell me it’s the 2020s without telling me.

Workshops

Head’s up: I’m leading two workshops in January. Space is limited in both so get a jump on those resolutions and sign up fast.

STORY DISSECTION

The first workshop is IN PERSON. Weeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!! I’ve been cooking this session up since, I kid you not, 2019. I was talking to Memorial University about being their Writer-in-Residence for an upcoming semester and got this great idea for a small group session called Story Dissection. Here’s how it works: we close our eyes and listen to a story together. (Seriously, how nice does that sound? Don’t you want to return to story time on what will probably be a grey and freezing Saturday in January?) And then, we roll up our sleeves, get out the literary scalpels, and conduct a dissection. We’ll understand how has the author used all the tools of craft to build their story, to ensure sufficient tension and curiosity and interesting characters. Join this session you’ll leave having learned a thing (or six) about craft AND you’ll hone your dissection skills. I ran a virtual version of this workshop last year, when I was the writer-in-residence at Memorial. It went well but in person will be more interactive and fun. And if you were at that session in 2021, know that we’ll be dissecting a totally different story. This workshop is free and made possible by The Writers’ Alliance of Newfoundland and Labrador. We are lucky to have them. You must be a member (and in St. John’s on the 14th) to attend. Membership is free for writers who are Black, Indigenous, and/or People of Colour. If you write, you’re a writer so tell your imposter syndrome to take a running leap off Signal Hill and sign up already.

Saturday, January 14
2-5pm
The Lantern in St. John’s (35 Barnes Road)
Free! Space is limited and you must register here by January 4 to attend. Registration doesn’t guarantee admission. Selected participants will be contacted by January 9.

MASTERING DIALOGUE

The second workshop is virtual and focused on dialogue. This one’s for writers who are past the beginner stage (ie. Do you know the difference between direct, indirect, and summary dialogue? If so, giddy up). It’ll be focused on how to write dialogue that multi-tasks and how to write conversations that surprise, with a hat tip to that elusive unicorn: subtext. And we’ll get into the more esoteric too, like the philosophy of quotation marks.

Saturday, January 28
12:30 - 2pm NST
$17. Attendance is capped at 15 and already half-sold out. Sign up here. Vite, vite!

My dialogue workshop is part of The Winter Writing Weekend hosted by the Afterwords Literary Festival. There are other workshops, interviews, and panel discussions that weekend. Check the whole schedule out.

Care a lot

Recently, a straight white guy tried to mansplain threading and bikini waxes to me. I smiled and wandered away. No, actually, I’m not sure about the smile. It might have been a scowl. Difficult to say. I’ve never had much of a poker face and my days of tolerating the senseless monologues of idiotic men are over.

A few days earlier, at the park a different white man had asked where my accent was from. I could have said Ontario. Or Japan. Instead, I channelled Lucille Bluth (RIP), called my puppy, and walked away.

via GIPHY

We are living in a liminal time, still in a pandemic but partially vaxxed. Like hibernating animals, gradually, sleepily, returning into the world. I don’t know about you but I’m finding the transition strange. Small talk is a forgotten language. I’m happy to see friends but interacting at length with acquaintances is a bridge too far. And navigating awkward or infuriating conversations? That’s a core competency I’ve lost. I propose this is for the best. Why did we waste so much time and energy frantically searching for the verbal off-ramp in nightmare conversations with people we’d never met before and please god would never meet again, when all the while we could have been at home in soft pants re-watching Spaced?

Let’s leave politeness behind in the beforetimes. Politeness is toxic waste anyway - gaslighting and/ or misogyny and/or racism poorly concealed in the guise of civility.

“It is the summer of caring a lot but not giving any fucks,” says writer Lyz Lenz. AMEN. For me 2021 is shaping up to be this kind of year: lots of care, zero fucks given. Last year, I worked a lot. Too much. Because it turns out the only holidays I take involve planes and since all my trips were cancelled, I just kept thoughtlessly working. And then it was the end of December and I hadn’t taken a break beyond the 10 days I was in Ontario and I was furious. Sometimes burn out manifests as rage. This year my resolutions were: 1. get a puppy and 2. work less. The two are incredibly compatible.

Yeah, I like money. But I’m also a writer and a lot of the work I was doing was unpaid or underpaid. This year, I’m focusing my energy on work I care a lot about. Some of this is mentorship. Some of it is volunteer. A lot is my actual work: writing. For the rest I’m being strategic, saying no quite a bit more than yes.

I used to feel bad (okay, I still do sometimes) turning down requests. Which is illogical. Feeling bad about not wanting to do something is akin to politeness: a waste of energy. Heading into the after times I want to give zero fucks about the silliness that doesn’t matter and care a lot about the things and people that do.

Diversity road to no where

Originally published June 15, 2020

Last week #publishingpaidme blew up on Twitter, highlighting the ugly truth Black authors have long known, that they are offered a fraction of the advances white authors get, even when the Black authors in question are well established award-winners with an international fan base and a history of successful books, and the white authors in question have untested debut manuscripts or less, perhaps just a single essay that went viral. How can this be, this appalling and unfair disparity? IT’S WHITE SUPREMACY. WAKE THE FUCK UP.

White supremacy isn’t just pillowcase-hooded lunatics and tax-payer funded terrorists who call themselves cops. Supremacy is an entire industry - publishing houses, literary journals, literary agencies, books’ columnists, Bookstagram influencers, the faculty at MFA programs - overwhelmingly staffed by a homogeneous group of people. Is it any wonder they unconsciously undervalue the voices and work and stories of authors who don’t look like them? Is it any wonder they publish books stuffed to the gills with moronic tropes? Is it any wonder the books about Black characters that net the big money advances are written by white authors and feature said tropes? Some publishers have vowed to do better, Penguin Random House included. And I’m sincerely rooting for them, not least because they have been a good home to The Boat People. But I’m not getting my hopes up prematurely. We shall wait. We shall see.

Fact is, I’ve already been down this diversity road to nowhere. Last year I was asked to join an advisory board for a literary journal. They wanted to diversify their content and created a new volunteer board. Except they didn’t have a plan for how this board would accomplish the job. There were no meetings. In hindsight: a red flag. And in requesting my unpaid labour, they weren’t giving me any decision making power (apart from the ability to curate 25 pages in a special issue). I had my reservations, a bad feeling in my gut that these were, well-meaning perhaps, but ultimately, empty words about diversity, perhaps only a check box on a grant application. But years of reading literary magazines have proven how few Asian and Black and Indigenous authors get fiction published. My own experience is the stories I’ve written featuring white protagonists are more readily accepted. So I said yes to the volunteer work I did not have time for, because holding the door open is important. As anyone who isn’t a naive fool might have guessed, my good intentions backfired. A year later it became obvious that despite being on something that purported to be an advisory board, my advice was not wanted, thank you very much, and they would publish a known and unrepentant plagiarizer, despite the fact that I’d made it abundantly clear on Day Zero that this was the one non-negotiable about my involvement. Surprise! They didn’t want my counsel so much as my on-trend brown skin and the false veneer of diversity it conferred on the masthead. (Related: Isn’t it curious how mediocre white guys keep getting second and third and infinite chances?)

Fast forward to the present. In the overdue cultural reckoning that has resulted from George Floyd’s brutal murder, many an empty word has been uttered. Companies large and small are preening for back pats while simultaneously doing nothing. Or worse. An indie clothing store in St John’s posted their commitment to anti-racism on Instagram along with their grand plan to start a book club, of all things (this store that doesn’t sell books save the kind of amusing trifle you might find in a downstairs loo). Punchline: They want a black/ indigenous/ person of colour to lead said book club. It is what my mother would call a “goo contract.” Naturally, there is no mention of payment. Hey guys! We’re looking for slave labour. Spread the word. #blacklivesmatter.

“The right acknowledgment of black justice, humanity, freedom and happiness won’t be found in your book clubs, protest signs, chalk talks or organizational statements. It will be found in your earnest willingness to dismantle systems that stand in our way.”

— Tre Johnson, Washington Post

Tre Johnson, in a searing and thoughtful Washington Post essay on book clubs, writes (emphasis mine): “The right acknowledgment of black justice, humanity, freedom and happiness won’t be found in your book clubs, protest signs, chalk talks or organizational statements. It will be found in your earnest willingness to dismantle systems that stand in our way — be they at your job, in your social network, your neighborhood associations, your family or your home. It’s not just about amplifying our voices, it’s about investing in them and in our businesses, education, political representation, power, housing and art.”

Dismantle the systems. This is the work. The revolutionary work. Organizations could scrutinize their staff, their leadership teams, their payroll, their tenured faculty, their editors and gatekeepers, the merchandise they choose to not just sell but heavily promote. Companies, yes, even an entire industry, could diversify all of this if they wanted. If they were earnestly willing to tear down the systems that artificially prop up one group’s supremacy at the expense of everyone else. If.

RECEIPTS

Because there’s always some fragile bro piping up ”but…but…” here are:

Pie charts, bar graphs, and hard numbers illustrating demographics from the 2018 Canadian Book Publishing Diversity Baseline Survey and America’s Lee & Low 2019 Diversity Baseline Survey Results.

Here’s a first person video account from someone who works inside the industry. Here’s another.

Finally, you don’t have to be on Twitter to pay attention to @BIPOCPub.

How to revise your novel (part 5)

Originally posted: September 14, 2020

The last several posts have tackled the most common issues that plague manuscripts - beginnings, endings, dialogue, characters, pacing, conflict, flashback, interiority and action, and that old cliche: show vs. tell. To conclude, I’m going to offer some more general advice.

1. Read your manuscript out loud. Each and every word. Pay attention to your annoyance and your boredom, the passages where your eyes glaze over. Pay attention to the cadence of your sentences, the unintended tongue twisters, prose that trips you up.

2. Set the manuscript aside for a few weeks or a couple of months. Come back to it afresh.

3. Every scene should reveal character or advance plot. Better still: do both.

4. At every stage along the way think about specific details. Julia cuts class and lounges in bed with a book. Julia skips calculus and lounges in bed with the new N.K. Jemisin. See?

5. Most manuscripts would be improved if 70-90% of the direct dialogue was removed. You can quote me on that.

6. A common blunder is to repeat the same word on the page, often in the same paragraph. A keen eye and a thesaurus are your friends here.

7. Watch for other forms of repetitions: characters repeating themselves in dialogue, the narrator giving the reader the same information two or three or seventeen times, scenes that are re-enacted. These repetitions are a sign you aren’t trusting the reader.

8. On that note: resist the urge to over explain. The delete button is your friend.

9. As the author you must know all, far more than what is on the page. Hemingway’s iceberg theory is a useful metaphor: the reader sees only the tip of the story; the rest they intuit. Or, said another way: "A few things I have found to be true. If you leave out important things or events that you know about, the story is strengthened. If you leave or skip something because you do not know it, the story will be worthless.” (ps. most of what Hemingway writes in that piece is absolute tosh but there are a couple of gems if you’re willing to have a scavenge)

10. Every author has their own cache of ticks - words and phrases we tend to overuse. (Look and relief are two of mine.) At some point at a late stage in revision, cull the ticks. I keep a running tally of tick words in my notebook so that right before an important draft (say the one that goes to submission), I’ll do a quick search and replace.

11. Speaking of ticks, here’s my hands down, numero uno pet peeve: smiles, nods, and eye rolls. Give yourself a cap, say no more than seven smiles, three nods, and one eye roll allowed per manuscript.

12. Exclamation marks should be used sparingly.

13. For God sakes, make sure you haven’t written a rotten egg.
    

If at this point you’re feeling overwhelmed by the work ahead, take heart. The trough of disillusionment is a normal and necessary part of the process. And if you still feel uncertain or would like a fresh set of eyes and specific editorial advice, drop me a line. This series has only skimmed the surface of my expertise.

How to revise your novel (part 4)

Originally posted: September 7, 2020

This is the fourth post in a series about novel revision. Part 1 considered characters and pace. Part two covered conflict, flashbacks, and thought vs. action.  Part 3 tackled beginnings, endings, and dialogue. Today it’s that old saw: show don’t tell.

SHOW NOT TELL

Here it is, the single most common weakness of every work-in-progress: too much telling, not enough showing. Sometimes we tell instead of show. Other times we show and tell, illustrating a scene in perfect detail only to explain to the reader the very thing they’ve just witnessed. That’s how worried we are that the reader won’t get it. In the case of the latter, the solution is a quick backspace. In the case of the former, the work is more difficult.

Adjectives and adverbs are telling signs. Instead of saying Mary eyed Bob suspiciously, describe what’s suspicious in her manner. What does suspicion look and feel like? Instead of the adverb, show us the feeling or action.

I don’t know who needs to hear this but: you don’t need adjectives on dialogue tags. He said furiously. She asked anxiously. They cried dolefully. STOP. Stick to he said and she asked. If dialogue is accompanied by an emotion, find a way to embody the emotion.

BE SPECIFIC

Abstraction is another telling sign. First drafts, by their nature, tend to lean heavily on words like suddenly and something. I think of these as placeholders we drop in the ground as we write toward a first draft. In second and third and seventh drafts though it’s important to return to those placeholders and fully articulate the suddenness or what the something is. Don’t tell the reader the lights went out suddenly. Make the lights flame out in a way that feels sudden for character (and by extension reader). Hot tip: most of the time you can just delete the word suddenly without doing anything else.

Ditto vague descriptions. You could tell us there were eagles in the sky and rain on the way, sure. Or you could show the eagles “beating muscled wings, threading in and out of black thunderclouds” as Valeria Luiselli does in her Lost Children Archive. You could tell us Edgar feels vulnerable or show him grasping opposite wrists as Ian Williams does in Reproduction. Weeks after finishing the novel, this visual has stuck with me, more importantly the feeling of tenderness it inspired has lingered. That’s the power of specificity.

FILTERING AND MEDIATION

Stories are most immediate and immersive when they can get right in close. But too often writers filter the story through an unnecessary lens. Compare two versions of the same scene:

“Outside, Gillian noticed two neighbours squabbling. She saw them jab their fingers at each other across their property lines and heard their voices growing louder.”

“Outside, Gillian’s neighbours squabbled. They jabbed their fingers at each other across their property lines, voices rising.”

There’s no need to tell the reader that Gillian is seeing and hearing the action. Remove the filter words notice and saw and what happens? The pace quickens and the reader is drawn closer to the action.

Here’s another telling move: mediating flashbacks. Compare two version of the same flashback:

“Jim thought of Blake with a smile, remembering how they first met on a plane to Mexico City. They were stuck in the middle aisle, sandwiched between two frat boys.”

“Jim and Blake met on a plane to Mexico City, in the middle aisle, sandwiched between two frat boys.”

IN CONCLUSION

Narration and exposition have a place in fiction but if that’s all you are doing, the reader will skim. Stick to your bones fiction is writing that reveals, that leaves room for interpretation. Let’s say you have this line: “Marty served his guests tea.” That’s fine but consider this version instead: “Marty’s mugs were a motley collection, branded freebies from conferences and radio station give-aways, the white ones stained with years of tea and coffee, most of them chipped.” The mugs show Marty’s mugs and the reader may draw further conclusions about his personality and home life from those mugs.

Writers have a tendency to worry too much about the reader. Take my hand, dear Reader, we seem to say. Allow me to be your tour guide on this journey. NO. STOP. Create the world, animate the characters, then get out of the way. Let the reader wander unchaperoned. Trust them to read between the lines and connect the dots. Be open to the narrative being understood in a different way than you intended. Your story will be stronger for a multiplicity of interpretations.

The next post (the last in the series) is a laundry list of advice.

How to revise your novel (part 3)

Originally posted: August 31, 2020

This is the third post in a series about novel revision. Part 1 considered characters and pace. Part two covered conflict, flashbacks, and thought vs. action. This post tackles beginnings, endings, and dialogue.

BEGINNING

If you are new to fiction, if this is your first novel, odds are good the true beginning of your story is lurking somewhere past the first few paragraphs/ scenes/ chapter. It’s very likely your prologue, beautifully written though it might be, is unnecessary. Especially if it spoilers the ending. Go find the real start of the story and then delete all the stuff that comes before.

Does your novel begin with a character waking up? (Mine does!) It might be fine but be warned that characters getting out of bed is a very, very common and cliched beginning. And now that I’ve told you this, you’ll start to notice it everywhere.

ENDING

I’ve blogged about endings before but it bears repeating: Do you need that epilogue? Really? Are you sure? Because 99.9% of the time, epilogues, like prologues, are unnecessary. In fact, the last sentence/ paragraph/ scene/ chapter of an early draft is usually redundant. Resist the urge to tie up all the loose ends. Trust the reader to get the story.

An earlier draft of Butter Tea at Starbucks had this final sentence: everything feels miraculous. Someone in my writing group suggested that last line was too on the nose so I removed it and sure enough, the ending was stronger.

DIALOGUE

A common issue in early drafts is an over-reliance on dialogue. It’s the rare, exceptional author who can successfully use direct dialogue to carry a story. Remember that there are many, many other ways to convey information to a reader including: action, narration, and scenery. And when you’re writing dialogue, don’t neglect summary and indirect dialogue.

Coming up next: show don’t tell.

How to revise your novel (part 2)

Originally posted: August 24, 2020

This is the second post in a series about novel revision. In part 1 we considered characters and pace. This post will tackle conflict, flashbacks, and thought vs. action.

CONFLICT

Or rather, lack thereof. After flat characters, lack of conflict is the second most common problem in manuscript after manuscript. Including my own! Being a published author doesn’t make you immune to shitty first drafts.

Are your characters too virtuous? Are they too obliging? Does every conversation end with everyone getting exactly what they want? Are you letting your characters off the hook too easily or too quickly? Put your characters in peril. Make them morally complicated and imperfect. Make the people in their lives intractable and difficult. Let bad things happen to your beloved protagonist. A common pitfall: dumping all the problems on the side-kick. That’s how hard we work to spare the protagonist! But now your sidekick has the more compelling storyline so why should the reader care about the supposed main character?

There is a scene in The Boat People where Mahindan is in a detention camp in Sri Lanka. The war is over and he’s trapped in a literal hell. In a very early draft, my writing group pointed out that in the entire scene, Mahindan was the only character who didn’t seem hungry/ in pain/ in physical discomfort/ scared. This was a huge failure of imagination on my part. I went back to the drawing board. Added hunger pains, insect bites, the ick factor of being without a bath, the hum of anxiety, the high pitch of terror. It took time to really settle into that uncomfortable difficult place with Mahindan. But writing is work. Suffer for your art.

FLASHBACKS AND OFF-STAGE

A while back I read a manuscript by a promising and talented author. Most of the scenes were framed inside a flashback. Now this framing structure can work well. The novel A Little Life is narrated in this structure and the device adds to the sense that life is happening in a circular way for the characters, blurring the lines between past and present. For that book, with its particular themes, and its excess of conflict and tension, the flashbacks worked. But that’s rare.

More often flashbacks, like minor characters, can be vestigial organs. You started writing without really knowing what was going to happen and mid-way through a scene you realized “oh, this important thing has to come first” and rather than pause the flow of your work, wrote that thing as a flashback. That’s a reasonable first draft strategy. But later, in revisions, scrutinize those flashbacks. Would the action unfold better in real time?

One sneaky way we writers avoid conflict  is by making it happen off-stage and/or in flashbacks. Flashbacks can be useful but they lack the immediacy, the heart-stopping quality, of real time events. So be sparing when you are utilizing it to relay senes of conflict. Similarly, if Banquo’s going to get knocked off, bring the action centre stage. Don’t fade to black just as the tension is rising and then have some characters recounting the big fight in the following scene. (Booooo! complains the reader)

THOUGHT VS. ACTION

Perhaps because the stories take place inside our own heads, many of us have a penchant for letting characters live too long inside their own heads too. Even if your main character is in a coma and the entire story is taking place in their dreams, there will still be action, right? The character will think they are out in the world running and jumping and having fights about the fence with the belligerent neighbour. And you have to convey those memories or dreams in such a way that it feels like it’s really happening.

Conversely, some manuscripts are all action and zero interior thought so that characters become puppets. The balance between inner and outer life will be different for every book but it is a balance. You can’t just have a character involved in a high speed car chase - say - without giving us some idea of what she’s thinking, how her heart is pounding, how her mind is racing, how her reflexes are taking over, why she’s doing this, what she hopes to gain, what she fears to lose etc.

The next post is about beginnings, endings, and dialogue.

How to revise your novel (part 1)

Originally posted: August 17, 2020

Manuscript evaluation is one of the things I do for a living. In a nutshell: I read someone’s manuscript and return detailed notes to get them started on re-writes. Every story is unique but there are several common issues that plague all our drafts (mine too). If you’re struggling to revise your manuscript, here are three things to watch for:

UNFORMED CHARACTERS

In early drafts most secondary characters are blanks and the antagonists are one-note. Protagonists might be morally complex and more fully formed but there’s often something still missing, usually motivation. What’s making them act destructive? Why are they so helpful? Why do they care so much about this issue/ person/ place/ thing? When it comes to characters, you need to interrogate them thoroughly until you know everything about them.

TOO MANY CHARACTERS

Squint at each character. Make sure they earn their place. Sometimes characters are vestigial organs. Though necessary at the start to help you understand the protagonist, you might find they’ve served their purpose by draft two or six. Thank them for their service and then let them go.

Two or more minor characters can often be merged into one. A couple of years ago I was reading my friend Jamie Fitzpatrick’s novel, The End of Music. There’s a character who appears on the first page, who sparks a nostalgic memory for the protagonist, Carter. Later, she re-appears unexpectedly as the manager at his mother’s nursing home. She’s a pretty minor character but plays a necessary role. In earlier drafts these had been two different characters but somewhere along the way Jamie’s editor advised him to merge them. The merger makes the story stronger. It gives the reader a little dopamine hit to meet the woman again and remember her from the first page. And her presence in both parts of his life strengthens the theme of nostalgia and memory (which his mother in her old age is losing).

PACE

When it comes to our own work, most of us are terrible judges of pace. But readers are very very good at sensing slow parts of the book. Does every scene advance plot and/or character (ideally both). If not, jettison the scene. Or strip it for parts to graft on elsewhere and trash the rest. Much of revising is also moving the puzzle pieces around. Swapping around scenes and chapters, shifting beats within a scene, passages of prose, action and so on. Think about arcs, not just character arcs, not just story arc, but the smaller arcs that happen within a scene or chapter or even a conversation. Are the stakes present early enough or do they arrive at the very end like a footnote. And if so, is this what you intend?

This is part one of a series on re-writing and revising. The next post covers conflict, flashback, and action.

Put the toast to work

Originally published: August 23, 2017

Dialogue is one thing but what about the stage business? Action in a scene - a character moving through a space, physically interacting with other characters - serves several functions. It enlivens the narrative while grounding it in a fictional reality. And it paints a picture, allowing the reader to visualize the story. I'm a fan of interweaving stage business with dialogue, sometimes even using it to replace dialogue tags (he said/ she said). For example, consider:

I don't know, John said. It was there this morning.
vs.
I don't know. John buttered his toast. It was there this morning.

This example came from fellow Port Authority writer, Jamie, who smartly pointed out that the toast only deserves to be in the scene if it serves a greater purpose. It's not enough for the toast to highlight the speakers.

Now consider this:

Where's the cheque book? Nora asked, searching the junk drawer.
Dunno. John buttered his toast. It was there this morning.

Better right?

I'd probably take it a little further, show John swiping a pat of butter off the block, describe the dry scrape of knife on toast. Nora, meanwhile, pulls out scissors and rubber bands and junk mail and pens. John dips his knife into the jam and spreads a thick glob of strawberry over the greasy toast. Nora slams the junk drawer shut, yanks another one open.

This is a lot of unnecessary detail and most of it would be cut back in revisions but do you smell what I'm cooking? The toast now tells us who is speaking, suggests something about motivation, and gives insight into character. It furthers the action. The toast provides subtext - something unsaid to read between the lines. The toast is multi-tasking.

Dialogue tips from the Port Authority

Originally posted: February 24, 2020

My writing group was exchanging emails about dialogue, why it flatlines and how it can be revived. Putting words in a character’s mouth - words that sound authentic and are compelling to read - is no easy feat. So the next few posts will be devoted to dialogue.

There are no hard and fast rules for good writing and anyone who tells you otherwise is either lying or ignorant. But there are guidelines that will serve you well 75-90% of the time. Note the spread: 75-90% of the time, you can safely defer to the playbook. The other 10-25% of the time, you’re better off improvising or breaking the rules. Caveat aside, let’s begin.

To start, here are The Port Authority’s collected thoughts on good dialogue:

1: Characters should talk to each other, not the reader. Don’t use dialogue simply to convey information that you think the reader needs.

The last part of that sentence is important. Often, what you think the reader needs is quite a bit more than the reader actually needs. Restraint is part of the discipline of writing. Leave room for the reader to use their intuition.

As a manuscript evaluator, I see this a lot: Character A says something that Character B surely already knows. Can the dialogue be prefaced with the phrase “as you know”? If so, delete. 

2. Pay attention to how you and people around you speak. Rarely do we formulate our thoughts in smooth, complete sentences. We speak in fragments, double back, pause, hesitate, um, ah, jump from subject to subject, use slang, drop inside jokes and so on. If two characters are speaking too fluidly they are going to sound like sociopaths or robots. Now maybe your story is about sociopathic robots looking for love in a post-apocalyptic world. If so, as you were. Otherwise, delete.

3. Less is more. Three lines of dialogue at a time is usually plenty. I like to write lots and lots of dialogue in a first draft and then cull it back later. As someone who reads my own and other people’s drafts for a living, one thing I’ve noticed is there is often a gem of a sentence lurking in a paragraph of dialogue. Liberate the gem. Delete the rest.

4. Delete the inessentials (“Hello. Nice weather we’re having. Those Leafs, eh?”). Go straight to the juice. (See #7)

5. The best dialogue has a thrum of tension. Perhaps it’s right at the surface - characters at each other’s throats, airing pent up grievances. But often it’s an undercurrent, a frisson that electrifies some mundane chit chat. Our best teachers are stories. Pay attention to how other writers pull off this trick. Short fiction is a good place to start. The excellent ones are chock-a-block with barbed dialogue.

6. If Character A wants something from Character B (let’s say it’s the answer to an important question), Character B should not oblige. Leave things unsaid. Leave someone wanting.

7. Related: If Character A isn’t quite sure what Character B knows BINGO! Now you’re getting into the realm of subtext. The best dialogue exists on two planes: there are the words that are being said and all the unsaid stuff lurking underneath, the unspoken elephant in the room, ill will or discomfort. All of this non-verbal material is subtext. And subtext is ripe. Subtext is the juice.

8. Imagine a tool box. You’ve got a hammer, a wrench, a tape measure, a couple of screwdrivers, pliers, a drill and so on and so on. In your writing tool box you’ve got narration (a voice in first, second, or third person conveying a story), exposition (background information conveyed by the narrator), time shifts (flashback and flashforward), action and so on. Dialogue is only ONE type of tool.

Where many writers - even published, established ones - go wrong is they forget there’s a whole box and grow too reliant on a single tool. That tool is usually direct dialogue. (Groan) Listen, a Robertson screwdriver is handy but you can’t build a whole house with one. Also, there are other types of screwdrivers! There are other kinds of dialogue too: summary and indirect. Direct dialogue is the easiest tool to use poorly. Summary and indirect dialogue to the rescue.

9. Ideally, dialogue is hard working. Great dialogue does more than one thing: reveals character, advances plot, dials up tension, adds to the mood etc etc. But writing dialogue that multi-tasks is not easy. The good news is, you don’t need dialogue - especially direct dialogue - as much as you think. Circling back to the first point (Don’t use dialogue simply to convey information), sometimes you don’t need dialogue at all. Use a different tool. The reader needs to know something? Give it to them via narration or exposition.

You might have noticed that most of this advice boils down to: delete. In the next four posts, we’re going to pick up our pencils, lick the lead (gross), and get into how to actually write it well, beginning with summary dialogue.

How to write summary dialogue

Originally posted: March 2, 2020

This is the second in a series of posts about dialogue. If you missed the first post, go back. 

In my last post, I promised more practical advice on how to write dialogue. I also likened dialogue to a screwdriver and said there are three types, each with its own specific use. This post is about summary dialogue. My understanding of the three types of dialogue (summary, indirect, direct) is heavily indebted to Janet Burroway’s Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft. If you only read one book on how to write fiction, let it be Burroway’s.

Summary Dialogue

Summary dialogue is condensed conversation. It conveys the gist of a conversation (or a whole series of conversations) without the actual words. In Lesley Nneka Arimah’s “War Stories” the adolescent protagonist has gotten in trouble at school for humiliating a classmate at recess. At home, the protagonist is questioned by her father:

“ ‘So what is this your mother is telling me?’ he asked, giving me another change to explain myself. I had the words this time and told my father about Anita and bras and the machination of girls. He listened without interrupting, stealing my pawns as I moved them on the board. When I finished, my story dangled in the air between us. Then my father began to tell one of his own.” — Lesley Nneka Arimah “War Stories” from the collection What It Means When A Man Falls From The Sky

Imagine if Lesley had instead used direct dialogue, and had her protagonist tell the entire story of this recess drama and all the action and ill will that led up to it. She’d have needed more words, for one thing. Summary dialogue moves fast. If you find your pace is flagging, consider replacing direct with summary dialogue.

Pace aside, note what else this passage does. The narrator tells us her father listens without interrupting. That reveals character. They are playing chess and he’s taking all her pawns. That bit of action animates the scene and again reveals character. This is not a man who is going to let his young daughter win at chess to artificially prop up her ego. And then of course, he has a story of his own. At this point, there is a whole lot more direct dialogue. Because guess what? This playground drama is not the main point of “War Stories”. The real story belongs to the father. With the switch to direct dialogue, Arimah slows the pace right now to indicate that this, this is the important stuff. Pay close attention now. (If you want to know the father’s story or what happened at recess, read “War Stories.” It’s great!)

Summary dialogue is especially useful in a scene with three or more characters all speaking to each other, say at a party or a dinner. Here’s an example from Jamie Fitzpatrick’s The End of Music:

“They switch to red for dinner. Carter breaks the cork and has to push the rest of it in to pour. They drink and spit flecks of cork. Soon he is finding out things he never knew. His wife hates her hair and has never found a style that can minimize the expansive of her forehead and the impossible thick bridge of her nose. Also, even her most carefully selected shoes look absurd, big banks at the end of each leg.” — Jamie Fitzpatrick, The End of Music

This summary dialogue is multi-tasking. First, it reveals mood and setting. They have switched to red for dinner which suggests they were drinking white or something else before this. He’s broken the cork but they continue drinking. So they are not snobs but also the wine is not the key thing here so much as the company and the conversation. The line “Soon he is finding out things he never knew” suggests a level of inebriation, of letting loose. And then of course we learn some particular and quirky things about the wife. She’s not a point of view character. But in this summarized conversation, her inner life is revealed through her preoccupations.

Next up: indirect dialogue.