Countdown of favorite posts of 2020: day 3

Countdown of readers' favorite posts of 2020 continues with the sixth most-popular:

Should books last forever? On writing in a 'cancel culture'

Writers think a lot about how to write but, surprisingly, not always about why they write in the first place. The Writer’s League of Texas’ Becka Oliver cornered a disparate trio of writers – Sarah Bird, Varian Johnson, and Joe R.Lansdale, one Black, two white, at the WLT’s recent virtual “unconference” and bumped into a debate about the life span of books in today’s “cancel culture.”

 

Why write? “That is a hard and complicated question,” Johnson acknowledged. “I write because I’m trying to work something else (out) in the world.”

 

“I would call (writing) a happy compulsion,” Lansdale said. “I write for me. I write like everybody I know is dead and hope readers like it.”

 

“It’s a defense against all the nonbelievers who surround you,” Bird said, noting that when she first began selling stories she was still reluctant to award herself the title of “author,” and would have answered the question by saying, “I write for money.” Later, during harder times, “I wrote to cheer myself up. . . (and) to memorialize my family.” Later, she termed the writing of her most recent book, Daughter of a Daughter of a Queen, a fictionalized narrative of the only woman among the 19^th-century’s all-Black Buffalo Soldiers, “a calling.”

 

Then, having reached the point at which she could retire from writing, she found she no longer could abandon that calling. “I would be mentally ill if I didn’t.”

 

Nice word, that, “calling.” “Can you talk about what the calling of writing to kids,” Oliver asked Johnson, whose primarily for young readers books include The Great Greene Heist, The Parker League, and more.

 

Turns out, writing for kids is more complicated than a reader might think.

 

“Middle grade (literature) has to be written for years 8-12ish, while remembering that adults will read it too. . . The first draft is for only me, before putting the words out for an audience,” Johnson said.

 

Image: Pixabay

Later drafts are about “sculpting for that (i.e. middle grade) audience,” including dealing with such difficult issues as racial slurs. “I think my only responsibility is to be true to the story, including some of the larger themes. The characters have to be true.”

 

And there it was again. The word in the room. Race.

 

Lansdale, whose dark tales are definitely not written for school age audiences, agreed with Johnson on the need for discretion when writing for the young. But for himself, “If you’re going to address race in the past, it may be uncomfortable. If I’m going to write about racism I have to write about the ugly aspects of it.”

 

So, how do classic books about those “ugly aspects” – the Huckleberry Finns and To Kill a Mockingbirds – with their plentiful racial epithets and violence, stand up in today’s audience? Is it time, the group debated, to “cancel” books written about race by White writers for primarily White audiences?

 

Lansdale was adamant about defending Mockingbird, which he opened his eyes as a youngster brought up in deep East Texas. (Some of his own writings, such as the thriller The Bottoms have been compared to Harper Lee’s story, and his comic duo Hap and Leonard features Black and white oddball investigators.)

 

“The thing about books like To Kill a Mockingbird, which I read as a kid,” Johnson said, “(is) when people say that defines racism for the South, no, it (defines) racism for white people.”

 

But although, as Lansdale noted, “some of those books make white readers see what we don’t see,” Johnson didn't find that sufficient. 

"Why," he asked, "should a book be expected to last forever?” 

In a mirror darkly – or writing tips to diss (carefully)

Is it only because my to-be-read-pile of books is getting low that I notice good writers -- or at least well-read authors -- breaking rules I’ve often been told to avoid? Some of these are derived from respected sources, for example, that late saint of writing, Elmore Leonard’s “10 Rules for Good Writing.” Others came from who knows where, parroted endlessly by writing critique groups. In the public interest, here are a few I’ve seen smashed to bits with good results. But before we all go out and do likewise, we’d better have some really, really (oops – excessive use of adverbs) good reasons to break them.

Here’s #1 from Leonard’s rules: Never open a book with weather. May I submit in evidence to the contrary Nancy Pickard’s The Virgin of Small Plains, which opens, yep, with weather. Not, however, any ordinary sunny day weather, but a blizzard in which a woman’s body is discovered.  So, caveat #1: Never open with weather -- unless it’s damned interesting weather.

image by Ria Sopala from Pixabay

While Elmore Leonard is spinning in his grave, let me pick on his rule #2: Avoid prologues. But what if they’re prologues that are essential to the story, such as exhibit #2, the opening chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone? I admit, J.K. Rowling – or possibly her editors -- didn’t label this “prologue,” but it has familiar marks of the dreaded “P” – a different point of view and several years’ distance in time from the main story. Is labeling what would otherwise be a prologue, “Chapter 1,” enough to avoid the dreaded prologue curse? Exercise caution!

Here’s a rule that’s not on Leonard’s list, but that I’ve encountered (and heard dissed) more times than I can remember: Never open with a dream. And its corollary, never open with a character waking up. These are what started my current rant, from Ruth Ware’s The Woman in Cabin 10, which opens both with what looks like a prologue – “In my dream. . .” followed by (and labeled Chapter 1) “The first inkling that something was wrong was waking in darkness. . .”

I’ll expand on these because Ware does such a masterful job with both. First, she lets readers know that the character is dreaming. Do I need to point out how much more honest this is than stringing readers along for paragraphs or pages before doing the dream reveal? Anybody old enough to remember the original Dallas TV series will understand the frustration of the “it was all a dream” formula which was revealed after an entire season. At least those writers had the excuse of believing one of their major actors was about to jump ship. Novel writers do not.

Second, when Ware’s protagonist wakes up, it isn’t her ordinary waking up episode or even because she’s such a ditz she couldn’t remember to set her alarm. No, it’s something very wrong that causes her wake up and foreshadows an even more devastating wake up later in the book. As with the “weather” opening, reserve “waking up” for the essential and interesting awakenings.

Here’s yet another rule-breaker from my recent reading -- #7 on Leonard’s list: Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly. To which I add, unless it’s absolutely necessary to the story, as in Joe R. Lansdale’s historical novel, Edge of Dark Water. Lansdale is from Texas, and as a regional writer, regional dialect is essential to his stories. However, he doesn’t fall into the 19^th century trap of writing dialect phonetically. (Seriously, do not!) (Hmmm – Leonard’s #5: Keep your exclamation points under control. You are allowed no more than two or three per 100,000 words of prose.)

Or take a tip from another historical novel, Colson Whitehead’s Nickel Boys, and drop dialect in according to the “sparingly” part of Leonard’s dictum to add to the characters’ essence. And don’t forget that dialogue in dialect still needs to be interesting. And essential. (Have I used the word “essential” too often?)

I don’t remember reading this next rule but I’ve certainly been hit over the head with it enough during writing critiques: Don’t let your character describe her/himself by looking in a mirror. Maybe this comes from Leonard’s #8: Avoid detailed descriptions of characters. Or maybe it’s just lazy, as in 50 Shades of Grey, whose protagonist describes herself, yes, while looking at her reflection in a mirror. (Hey, I opened by stating that these rule-breaks can come from well-read writers, not just good writers. Did any other reader slam 50 Shades closed at that point? Probably not.)

But what about readers who feel a desperate need for a physical description of a character? It’s several decades too late for writers to go omniscient, as Margaret Mitchell did in the opening of Gone with the Wind, “Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm. . .” with more to follow about Scarlett’s hair, eyes, freckles, waistline and, of course, clothes.

For more modern books with multiple point of view characters, it’s perfectly permissible to have one character describe another. A similar ploy I’ve seen used to good effect in recent years is to have a POV character describe herself with reference to another character as in, “she was my age, 35, but looked a decade older.” Or “about my height, build, hair color, etc.”

Ware, however, isn’t afraid to put her character in front of a mirror when she needs to describe something that isn’t that character’s usual appearance, for instance the ghastliness of her face after a string of sleepless nights and too much to drink. As always, use the mirror trick sparingly and with caution.

I’ll finish with a final Leonard dictum, #4: Never use an adverb to modify the verb “said,” and Ware’s break from it: “‘. . . it wasn’t me,’ Eva said, but quite kindly.” And continues, “There was no trace of the slightly tribal defensiveness the girls downstairs had betrayed.” (Just noticed that this quotation is a two-fer break with many critique group rants – modifying the “said” verb and multiple uses of adverbs. Sharp eyes may notice that “quite” is also an adverb, although critique readers usually only jump on adverbs ending in -ly. As always, use sparingly, wisely, and only when absolutely, positively essential!)

For more rules to abide by – or break wisely – check out Elmore Leonard’s full list at the Gotham Writers Workshop site. Read, write, and feel free to share some of your most- and best-broken rules.

Should books last forever? On writing in a 'cancel culture'

Writers think a lot about how to write but, surprisingly, not always about why they write in the first place. The Writer’s League of Texas’ Becka Oliver cornered a disparate trio of writers – Sarah Bird, Varian Johnson, and Joe R. Lansdale, one Black, two White -- at the WLT’s recent virtual “unconference” and bumped into a debate about the life span of books in today’s “cancel culture.”

Why write? Oliver asked.

“That is a hard and complicated question,” Johnson acknowledged. “I write because I’m trying to work something else (out) in the world.”  

From top left: Oliver, Bird, Lansdale, Johnson

“I would call (writing) a happy compulsion,” Lansdale said. “I write for me. I write like everybody I know is dead and hope readers like it.”

“It’s a defense against all the nonbelievers who surround you,” Bird said, noting that when she first began selling stories she was still reluctant to award herself the title of “author,” and would have answered the question by saying, “I write for money.” Later, during harder times, “I wrote to cheer myself up. . . (and) to memorialize my family.” Later, she termed the writing of her most recent book, Daughter of a Daughter of a Queen, a fictionalized narrative of the only woman among the 19^th-century’s all-Black Buffalo Soldiers, “a calling.”

Then, having reached the point at which she could retire from writing, she found she no longer could abandon that calling. “I would be mentally ill if I didn’t.”

Nice word, that, “calling.” “Can you talk about what the calling of writing to kids,” Oliver asked Johnson, whose primarily for young readers books include The Great Greene Heist, The Parker League, and more.

Turns out, writing for kids is more complicated than a reader might think.

“Middle grade (literature) has to be written for years 8-12ish, while remembering that adults will read it too. . . The first draft is for only me, before putting the words out for an audience,” Johnson said.

Later drafts are about “sculpting for that (i.e. middle grade) audience,” including dealing with such difficult issues as racial slurs. “I think my only responsibility is to be true to the story, including some of the larger themes. The characters have to be true.”

And there it was again. The word in the room. Race.

Lansdale, whose dark tales are definitely not written for school age audiences, agreed with Johnson on the need for discretion when writing for the young. But for himself, “If you’re going to address race in the past, it may be uncomfortable. If I’m going to write about racism I have to write about the ugly aspects of it.”

So, how do classic books about those “ugly aspects” – the Huckleberry Finns and To Kill a Mockingbirds – with their plentiful racial epithets and violence, stand up in today’s audience? Is it time, the group debated, to “cancel” books written about race by White writers for primarily White audiences?

Lansdale was adamant about defending Mockingbird, which he opened his eyes as a youngster brought up in deep East Texas. (Some of his own writings, such as the thriller The Bottoms have been compared to Harper Lee’s story, and his comic duo Hap and Leonard features Black and White oddball investigators.)

“The thing about books like To Kill a Mockingbird, which I read as a kid,” Johnson said, “(is) when people say that defines racism for the South, no, it (defines) racism for White people.”

And if, as Lansdale noted, “some of those books make White readers see what we don’t see,” Johnson replied, “Why should a book be expected to last forever?”

***

I notice that in an earlier post I promised to provide guidance on some of the “tools” writers use in their work. But I admit, I’m now digging deeply into the virtual Thrillerfest, with its dozens of author conversations, so I’ll end here. Stay tuned for words from Virginia, Wyoming, South Carolina, and more!