When I last wrote about my current novel in progress, Time Passages, I was taking a pause before the final round of revisions. I am now so close to finishing. Not that it has been easy. Well, some of it was easy. Obvious spots where I got too wordy, scenes where a character acted, um, …
Writing Tips
I was reminded in class the other day of a writing exercise that I call Building Characters. The idea came to me from a chapter in a student’s memoir, about a bus trip her family took in Great Britain and Western Europe in the early 1960s. The group was an intriguing collection of characters—starting with …
For my birthday last year, a friend gave me a book, one that I probably would not have bought for myself because it’s a memoir. I don’t tend to read memoirs. But I loved the title: All the Way to the Tigers. Who wouldn’t be intrigued? And the author’s name rang a bell—Mary Morris. I …
Six weeks ago, I began the third round of revisions for my latest novel, Time Passages. I also sent it to my two best readers, Ginny and Margaret, who are founding members of my much needed support group. Obviously, I would be changing things as they read, but this felt like the most efficient process. …
Some writers have told me they dread revisions. They love the initial creation of a work—a poem, essay, short story, novel; that rush of excitement as the ideas flow, as the words pour out effortlessly and they seem to enter an out-of-body state. Revisions aren’t like that. Revisions can mean staring at the screen or …
The other day, I was waiting in a small parking lot to pick up a friend. A big black truck—so common here in New England—pulled in beside me. I had my car windows down to let in fresh air, but the pickup driver kept his engine running and had his talk-radio station on just a …
“Write what you know” is one of the more confounding pieces of writerly advice. It can, unfortunately, be interpreted as “write what you have experienced.” I say unfortunately because, for most of us, that would result in deadly dull fiction. I used to complain to my mother about having been raised in white-bread suburbia. …
Back in the day, when I lived in New York in the 1980s, a new singer-songwriter was getting a lot of attention—Suzanne Vega. I bought her first album as a cassette tape, and then had to buy it again because I wore out the tape. Eventually I bought the CD, which I found recently when I was reorganizing my music collection. I immediately played it, and aside from being transported back to that other place and time in my life, I was struck—again—by Vega’s wonderful imagery and lyricism.