Advanced Quick Tips for Writers

If you know that glorious moment when you write THE END on the final page of your novel, you know that after the high wears off, you have more work to do.

Writing the rough draft is an act of complete creativity. All of your soul should be poured into those 70,000 - 100,000 words you've typed into your computer. Now it's time to take a surgical knife to your soul.

This isn't as scary as it sounds. You're not trimming the parts that will someday make you an example of genius in literature. You're cutting the stuff that distracts people from really experiencing your unique voice.

The greatest writer in the world will still have these problems in a rough draft. Even though I've noticed I have less to edit as the years go by, I still have plenty. And if I'm not convinced it's there, my editor is always happy to point it out! :)

These are four tips with examples that will give you a polished, professional edge with your manuscript:

1. DON'T BE PASSIVE
2. LOOK FOR "WAS"
3. NO CLICHES!
4. GIVE A POSITIVE SPIN

Look at the examples in the illustration for more info. Remember, you aren't cutting your genius moments. But you do want to edit out the parts that whisper of amateur. And you want to cut anything that doesn't change or define the plot or characters.

Happy writing!

A Vision of a Silent Night

By now, I’m sure I took a wrong turn somewhere.

I try to remember where I was coming from, and where I was going. My past is a foggy memory, and my life seems removed. Irrelevant.

So I travel this path, dark and dusty and rocky. My moccasin slippers seem ill-equipped for the stones and the hills. I see dim lights ahead—some sort of small town? I wouldn’t be able to see anything if it weren’t for the sky. I’ve never seen such a brilliant sky at night, not even out in the middle of nowhere where all the stars that usually hide reveal their presence.

There’s one star that’s particularly bright. If I’m not crazy, it seems to be pointing downward—as an arrow? This is a strange night and a strange place. A prickly sensation passes over me. I would suspect a dream, but it’s so real. I feel a chill in the night air. I smell something smoky, like the remains of a bonfire at a campground. I turn and view a logical world, as far as my eyes can see. This isn’t the nonsensical meanderings of a sleeping brain carrying out the day’s thought garbage. I can hear the bleating of sheep on a nearby hill. The leaves of the trees rustle with whispers when the wind gently pushes their branches.

Beyond that, it is a silent night.

What else can I do? I follow the star. It appears to be pointing at the little village anyway. I reach the outskirts of the small town and wonder where I might find a place to wait out the night until I can figure out how to get home. Somehow, I have stepped into a story. I have been brought here to remember.

“Perhaps a journey every soul must take,” I whisper.

I see movement in a small cave with a rickety shed built over the entrance. I feel a holy pull and I step forward, my heart racing and my soul sensitive with passion, because by now I’ve recognized the significance of where I am. I can’t get to the stable fast enough.

Are you here? My spirit calls to him, my eyes flood with tears and the hair rises on my arms as a chill passes over me. Are you really here?

I almost forget there are others present who do not see this night as a memory. I stop in respect and allow the young man and the girl in the corner to see me before I interrupt.

“Good evening,” I say in a reverent voice, for my eyes have found beauty. To one not paying attention, he might look like any other newborn, with red, wrinkled skin and a head of dark hair. His blinking brown eyes view his world for the first time.

But he is the loveliest sight to me, and before I realize what I am doing, I’ve dropped to my knees. My head is bowed. It is the only response that feels appropriate.

They seem to understand. The man smiles tentatively and beckons me closer. The girl—I suppose I never realized how young she really was until I see the light in her eyes, barely more than a child. Younger than me by decades. She is uncertain and awkward in her movements as she holds the baby. I feel a wave of empathy and sit next to her, touching her shoulder. It is thin and small.

“It’s okay,” I say softly. “You’re going to do a great job, Mary.”

For some reason, she understands my words, and I understand hers, though she answers in a different tongue. I praise the Keeper of this vision for allowing me to know her heart.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice high and quiet. “He is a beautiful child, no?”

“The most beautiful I have ever seen, and I have four of my own,” I say with a smile. I have a motherly reaction to the naivety I recognize in her features. I ask after her condition, glad to see things have been cared for and she is holding the baby against her chest and under her coarse cloak where he will be able to stay warm.

“The midwife came and saw to things,” Joseph explains. He moves away, reclining in the straw, exhausted. His eyes close and in seconds he is softly snoring.

“It has been a long night.” Mary looks at her husband with sympathy. “He has taken care of me. He is a good man.”

“A good man makes all the difference,” I say with understanding, before my eyes return to the baby’s face.

I am unable to speak and overcome with awe. I can only watch him for what seems like hours. Finally I make myself break the silence because I have to speak the question. A question that is nearly cliché in the holiday season, but here, it cuts through my heart with meaning.

“Do you know, Mary? Do you know who this is?”

She turns wide brown eyes on me. She nods. “This is the Messiah.”

She whispers it; as if she’s afraid I will reprimand her for being foolish. Little does she know.

“Do you know what this little Messiah is going to do for us?” I dare to reach out a finger and touch the little fist that has broken from its wrapping and gives an unsteady wave. The tiny fingers wrap around mine and hold fast. He grabs hold of my soul at the same time, and I almost can’t breathe with the love that comes over me—but not my love for him. His love for me.

“He’s going to save us.” Mary’s voice holds an element of fear. She must truly have an idea of the true nature of the saving, though her people believe the Messiah will be a political conqueror who releases them from their bondage. I search her somber eyes and think she knows more than she is confident enough to say. But what mother would want to say it? She has just experienced the powerful nature of love that gripped her body, mind and being. It is the gift of God—the protective blessing of a mother’s love.

But Mary’s mother-love won’t be able to protect forever. I suspect she knows that.

I reach for her shoulders, intent that she hear my words. How many times had I longed for a chance to return in time and speak to her? “Mary, I’m so thankful for you, and that you are willing to do this. To spend your all on this little one, knowing he belongs to the whole world, and to all of time and eternity. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be you right now, knowing the price of our sin, knowing God is hiding somewhere in that bit of baby flesh. God is going to get you through this. He’s going to give you exactly as much grace as you need to do this. And we’ll all be thanking you thousands of years after you’ve done it.”

She lifts eyes brimming with tears. I sense she understands. She gives a quick nod. We sit in silence after that. Shepherds come and go, and Joseph wakes to check on them. Eventually dawn begins a tug of war with the light of the star, and inevitably the sun wins the battle.

When day comes, Joseph packs their belongings and prepares to move his family out of the stable. Their day will be routine, dull and irritating. They will wait in lines to register and pay taxes to a king who doesn’t care about them. They will find a place to stay. In a few days they will walk into the temple and have their son dedicated. In the meantime there will be meals to fix and fires to build and animals to care for. They will talk about money, about travel plans, about friends and family they have left back home. They will make decisions about what to do to care for the little Messiah who has been sent, for whatever divine reason, into their humble, struggling family.

But Mary will know the whole time. She will see that dark spot on the horizon, and she will be altered because of it. How could she not? I see her ultimate sacrifice, and though it will pale in comparison to the suffering destined to come upon him, hers will not be small or trite.

“Thank you,” I say one more time before they walk away. I go back the way I came, toward the place where vision meets dream, and dream meets waking, safe and sound in my own comfortable bed.

I remember the last glance I stole of my Savior. I know they say newborns don’t smile.

But that one did.

Are You Reading the Wrong Christian Fiction?

Recently, I was listening to a group of women discuss fiction. Christian fiction, specifically. Being an author of Christian historical romance, my ears perked up. The general consensus? They had a hard time reading romance novels, not because they didn't enjoy reading fiction, but because the stories and specifically the male protagonist caused them feelings of dissatisfaction in their own relationships.

It struck me as odd, because I don't think that way. If anything, the hero in a well-told romance causes me to see the good in my husband. It makes me feel closer to him.

I learned long ago my personality type is rare, so maybe it's because I'm weird. But I tend to think, since problems with Christian fiction seemed common to all of the women who were talking, that it's something with an easier fix. 

I think women are reading the wrong books. I think the faults in the publishing world have caused an unproductive catch-22. Somehow we got into the mode of buying the books that are thrown in our faces. Who has time to scour the bookshelves for something more meaningful? Maybe the general public doesn't know more meaningful is there. But somehow, the popular books have became generalized, syrupy, cookie-cutter copies of a what a story is meant to be.

I observe. I've looked at the books on the shelf. I've listened to women talk about authors they like. I've considered every bit of insider advice I've received from agents and editors. I've come to a conclusion. There's something wrong with what's in demand.

I'm picky about my fiction. I will only read something that is unique, and something that resonates. Most of the time I can tell whether it's worth reading by page 50. (Sometimes the first paragraph reveals all you need.) I want characters thoughtfully developed and intricately designed, as near to real people as you can get. I want a plot to surprise me, intrigue me, make me mad, make me think, and make me see something in myself I didn't know I needed to take a good hard look at. Authors such as Francine Rivers and Lynn Austin have this down. I know whatever book they come up with I will not regret picking up. This is why, years ago when my calling was new, I asked God to make me a writer like those two women.

The problem for readers is the catch-22 of "same old, same old" books on the shelf, but it's also due to the extreme pressure on writers. Authors put countless hours of emotionally draining effort into their stories. They are rewarded with, if they are very fortunate, around a dollar for every book sold. (Generally, this number is fewer than 5,000 total.) Mid-list authors (most of the authors out there) get very little attention even if they manage to snag an agent or publisher. They do most of their marketing work, try to please by the standards set before them, and generally, as I have observed, their unique voice fades away. They are not able to devote the time to their books required for something to be special, to mean something to a reader on an intellectual or spiritual level.

It's why I decided to Indie-publish. I don't think I can accomplish what God has called me to do with sales statistics in control of what the stories say. Popular books with lots of marketing, unless they come with a name tag like Francine Rivers or Lynn Austin, don't tend to be books that will change your life. And the whole point of art is to change our perspective and our thinking.

So how is this practical for the average Christian wife and mom or hardworking career woman with no time to read, but a desire to do so anyway? How do you find books that are worth the sacrifice you make for them? How do you decide before you begin if an author will be able to surprise you and make you think, and will avoid giving you false perceptions of what your reality should be?

Here are a few practical things I do when I'm looking for something new to read:

1. Skip the author who publishes more than 1 book a year. 

I just can't think of any authors who have started to over-publish (though I can understand why they would considering the little money they make off of any one book) who have been presenting masterpieces. Personally, it would be impossible for me to have more than one book ready in a year's time. Stories with meaning HAVE to cure. There's no way around it.

One caveat! If the author is new, they may have been working on several projects for years, so in the first year of self-publishing, an author might have more than one ready. I mean here that I suggest you generally skip the author that is an established, published author and has been for years, and is coming out with 2 or 3 books a year. In my reading experience, it's just not a great sign.

2. Read the descriptions on the back cover.

Did you know the author writes that description? It's his or her way of telling you what to expect from the book without giving the story away. It's a delicate process that takes FOREVER to write, believe me, so don't just grab a book because everyone else is reading it. Read that description and ask yourself if it grabs you and appeals to your interests. If you can't get through the description, you probably shouldn't read the book.

3. Trust an author you like, but pay attention over time.

I'm ultra-loyal to an author who has taken me on a memorable journey. But unfortunately, sometimes authors seem to only have one good story in them. Or they start giving into the pressures of publishing and lose their special voice. If you notice the stories aren't what they used to be, don't be afraid to move on.

4. Look for the hidden gems.

This is tricky and can be time-consuming, because as flawed as traditional publishing is, independent authors are hard to find in the murky waters of all the badly-written books available due to the ease of self-publishing. You have to be willing to take a chance on someone you've never heard of. If you read on a Kindle, look for authors that offer a sample for free, because as I said before, you can usually tell in the first paragraph. Between that back-cover description, the first page or so, and checking to see how often an author is putting out a book, you can get a pretty good idea of what the story will be like. 

5. If you find an author who is worthy of it, it is ESSENTIAL that you do a few things that will take you five or ten minutes but mean everything to the author.

> Do a (positive) review on Amazon.(I say positive because there's never a reason to slam someone's art. Your opinion might not be someone else's. If you don't have anything nice to say about it or more than three stars to give it, just let it go. You don't realize how critical these reviews can be.)

> Share the link on social media. 

> Let that poor, (quite literally!) struggling author know that his or her words made a difference, because that is what any true author is really hoping to accomplish.

What about you? How do you find great books and new authors? Do you know of any lesser known gems you'd like to share in the comments? Support your Indie authors!

You can also follow my Book Love board on Pinterest. I only pin books that have been worth the time to read, and I include all genres. Here's the link: Pinterest: Book Love

Get reading!

Why I Don't do NaNoWriMo

If you're not a writer or you haven't ever contemplated writing, you probably have no idea what NaNoWriMo is. You are excused from reading further.

If you are contemplating it or are busy getting ready for it, the purpose of this article is not to discourage you. I do not believe NaNoWriMo is evil or even bad. If it helps you get writing, and you are supposed to be writing, then it's a good thing for you. 

I'm only here to tell you why I've never done it or seriously considered it. You will probably be in one of two camps reading this. Either you will stridently agree (less likely) or you will be indignant with disagreement. I've never been the type of writer who fits the norm. I'm not the diligent and organized fiction writer who sits down with my neatly typed outline and writes my daily 500-2,000 words without a moment of angst or indifference.

I'm the writer who, even if she writes an outline, will almost always deviate so far from it that it's ridiculous to even attempt one. I'm the writer who has a mess of hurriedly scribbled notes and thoughts and research piled on the desk and beside it and littered around the rest of the house. I'm the writer who will stare desperately at the screen for two hours without writing a word, and the next day will feverishly write 10,000 words or more. I'm the writer who eats, sleeps, and dreams stories and words and adventures and aches to get them recorded so other people can share them. I'm the writer who hates the details, the business, the money. I would rather just write every waking moment.

And that is probably why the idea of a month to write one novel goes against my grain. To me, a novel begins in the recesses of my imagination where some image of a piece of art or words of a song or another story I read or saw causes some spark that ignites. It simmers for months or years. It slowly takes shape as I consider the characters and their desires and fears. Only when I am sure of who they are do I dare to begin to write. And from there, I may indeed write their story in a month or two. But it is far from done. That is where the real work begins of shaping and molding the words into something pleasing and good.

That's the problem I have with the extreme excess of published books we have available. They're written too fast, they follow the same formula and lose the precious tone of the true writer's voice. They may be neat and orderly and follow all the rules, but they don't pose any questions, they don't spark any imagination or inspire any beauty.

If you have a burning desire within you to release the pressure of your exploding imagination through the avenue of a novel, you should. But do it the way you need to in order for it to be your true work of greatness. Don't just follow the rules, do your duty for November and then never think of it again. If you CAN do that, I would question why you are even doing it in the first place.

Not everyone needs to write. If you don't need to, why clutter up an already congested world of books? Let's make sure we aren't wasting our lives doing something that is someone else's job. Find your passion, find what makes you soar, and do THAT. You'll never regret it.

For me, it's writing. And for me, it could never be contained by a month or a plan.