There comes a time in every life where a persona goes as far as it can go, meaning atrophication and death are not far behind. But Kaidance refused to let that be the end of her story. Just as a snake sheds its skin in the process of growth, she cast off all the things that made her who she was, abandoning an existence that was no longer large enough to accommodate her new and transformative life energy. Her new persona was a tabula rasa, a blank slate on which she would write for herself a better destiny and a new life for this new year.
To those loyal few who take the time to read my daily scribblings, I just wanted to say, Thank you! Warm wishes for you to have a promising and fulfilling New Year!
“So the writer who breeds more words than he needs, is making a chore for the reader who reads.” ― Dr. Seuss
No better moment exists than when you first get hit with that brand spanking new premise for a story. There will be those of you who disagree, citing the signing of a contract and being handed a check for your work as a better moment, but I beg to differ. When a story first bursts to life in your mind, you are in the superposition of optimism. The story will be great, the best thing you’ve ever written and will be well-received by the washed and unwashed masses alike. No reality lurking about to place limitations on your spectacular vision at this point.
So, you do your prep work—outlining, research, character development, etc.—and pound out your first draft. And you’re happy with yourself. Real happy. Your first instinct is to share it with the world, but before you slap your baby in the mail or post it online, I need to break some bad news to you. Your story isn’t perfect. Not only is it filled with mistakes but it’s a tad overweight.
Since you most likely don’t have access to an editor at this stage in your writing career, the onus is on you to sharpen the edge of your blue-pencil blade to fix typos and cull clumsy or ambiguous phrasing.
If you’ve ever handed a story to someone to read, a story you were sure was error-free, you quickly learned that spotting mistakes in your own writing is difficult. The problem with self-editing is your mind glosses over errors because it knows what you meant to write and sometimes reads that instead of what you actually wrote. Fortunately, self-editing is a skill you can learn to hone in order to eliminate mistakes and improve the quality of your writing:
1. Don’t edit on the fly
I know this is a hard thing to do, but when you’re writing why not concentrate on getting your idea down on paper first? Sure, if you spot a typo it’s okay to correct it or to approach a sentence from a different angle in order to keep flow going, but when you begin deleting sections of your work or get caught in the dreaded rewrite loop—reworking the same paragraph over and over again—you’re placing road blocks between you and the forward progression of your story.
One solution to help break you out of this bad habit may be to try a distraction-free writing program like OmmWriter, Write or Die, Freedom, Grandview, and Don’t Look Back.
2. Set it and forget it
Once you’ve finished your latest magnum opus, stuff it in a drawer and go about your business before you even think about attempting to edit it. Concentrate instead on one of the many things you had to put aside in order to make time to write. What you’re doing here is stepping out from among the trees so you can see the entire forest.
You’ll find when you eventually return to your work, you’re approaching it with a new set of eyes that are better equipped to spot things you’ve missed, things that don’t work as well as you initially thought they did, inconsistencies, etc.
3. Big picture editing before sentence micromanagement
I know, I know, you’re eager to jump in and fine tooth comb your work sentence by sentence, and good on you for being that keen, but before you get into the detail work, I need you to consider examining your content and overall structure. Is there important information missing from the piece? Or a section that’s either irrelevant or seems out of place? How about scenes in desperate need of drastic revision?
Focus on the major issues before you begin tweaking words and sentences.
4. Put your work on a diet
You’ve over-written the piece. Uh-uh, don’t argue. You’re a writer who’s in love with the notion of stringing words together to convey ideas that plant images your audience’s mind, which means you over-write. Don’t be ashamed, most writers use more words than are absolutely necessary.
It’s time to get your piece into fighting shape by cutting its body mass index by ten percent. It’s easier to drop this excess poundage than you think, by simply losing mediocre phrases, unnecessary adjectives, and repeated points.
5. Don’t rely solely on spell-check
A spell-checking program can be your friend, but we all know from experience that it isn’t foolproof. The human eye is still the best tool for catching those sneaky homophone imposter stand-ins (to, too, two; it’s, its; yaw, yore, your, you’re; there, their, they’re), the ever-elusive missing words, auto-correct mishaps, etc.
6. Be backwards in your reading
Mistakes love sliding past you because they realize how tough it is proofing your own work. One of the ways to flip the script and catch them at their diabolical game is to start at the very end of your story and read it backwards. Sounds silly, but it works.
7. Push your darlings out of the nest
One of the awful things about being a writer is that you’re never one hundred percent completely satisfied with your work. But no matter how determined you are to touch the face of perfection, the hard fact is your writing will never be flawless. Accept it. You’re just going to have to settle for the best you can humanly manage. You’ll know when you’ve reached that point when you begin making slight adjustments, then reverting it back to its original form.
It’s time to stop, kiss your darlings on the forehead and push them out of the nest and let them fly into the world.
***
Actually, there are a plethora of editing tips that you can utilize before you get to this stage and instead of listing them all, I’ve decided to post the links below and allow you to browse them at your leisure and cherry pick the ones that work best for you.
Finding balance in your life isn’t simple. Balancing life and writing is even harder. Finding balance in your writing? That’s something you’ll be working on for the rest of your natural writing life, because a well-written story balances exposition, description, action and dialogue, but not in equal measure. You need to keep a watchful eye on exposition.
In its basic form, exposition is the part of a story that sets the stage for the drama to follow, introducing the theme, setting, characters, and circumstances, usually at the beginning of the story. Sounds straightforward enough, right? Well, writing good exposition that flows with the story and continues to draw the audience in, isn’t as easy as it sounds. In fact, many writers misuse exposition as an illegal dumping ground for information that not only causes a distraction that breaks the flow of a story, but also decreases interest.
And you don’t have to be an expert to spot the exposition dump (aka infodump) because we’ve all experienced and recognized it while reading a novel or watching a movie or television program. It’s that speed bump or sometimes roadblock in the story where the writer unloads a ton of information at once as a means of explaining things like backstory, characters, and the rules of the story world. If you’re a culprit of this, stop it now. We’ll forgive your ignorance in past works (go back and cull the exposition, if at all possible) but it’s a bad exposition technique and the line must be drawn here. This far, no further.
Typically, infodumping occurs when a character, new to the scene, is introduced to a foreign setting and is force-fed all the knowledge of the various individuals at play, the rules of the micro society, and the overall big picture of the story world. You’ll find this a lot in science fiction and fantasy tales.
Other bad/lazy infodumping techniques include “The Lecture,” where a speaker over-explains information the writer discovered during their research period of the writing process and thought would show their faux expertise in the subject. The other offender is commonly known in the sci-fi writing community as the “As You Know, Bob,” conversation, where one character tells another character information they already know. Please don’t do this. Not only is it lazy, but it comes across as unrealistic.
This isn’t to say that all exposition is bad, in fact, properly executed, it takes up roughly 10% of a well-balanced written piece (the other 90%, of course, being the description, action and dialogue that make up the scenes). Some of the information embedded within expository text is actually relevant, it simply requires a little finesse to fit it in seamlessly and not disrupt the story’s flow.
Of course, if you handle your description, action and dialogue properly, you can whittle that 10% down and most people won’t notice or care about the missing exposition.
Well, that’s enough infodumping for me today. I’m off to tear a story down and rebuild it.
“Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.” – Gustave Flaubert
Live a good life. This isn’t something I should have to tell you. As you make your way through the workaday world, you should strive to do no harm, treasure your relationships with family and friends, seek calming pleasures that contribute to peace of mind, and live in harmony and balance.
Your written life? That’s a different creature all together.
Safe, tame, bland, and sometimes “it’s good” (with the unspoken “but…” attached on the end like a phantom limb) are among the worst things someone can say about your work. Whenever you write, your goal should be to provide elements that hook your audience and reels them in and after the story has been told, leaves them with an emotional takeaway.
Writing is about risk-taking, about snapping off the handbrakes, about shrugging off restraint, about leaving your internal censor bound and gagged in a tiny room, allowing your words and imagination to run amuck and wreak havoc in the world you’ve created.
If you’re not currently writing this way, what’s holding you back? What’s bridling your passion? What’s preventing you from creating bold characters, powerful phrases and dangerous situations? If not yours, then whose hand is on the lever that controls the sluice gates holding back the churning anxiety, obsession and peril your story desperately needs?
Are you trapped within the safe zone because of fear? Then allow me to geek out a moment as I quote the litany of fear, an incantation used by the religious/political sisterhood known as the Bene Gesserit from Frank Herbert’s science fiction classic, Dune:
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
Fear is also an art-killer. It’s typically the fear of being judged by professionals, critics and peers, of not being admired by the audience for taking a controversial stance or doing horrible things to characters. But the possible opinions and tastes of everyone outside yourself shouldn’t factor in while you’re creating your story. The transfer of ownership hasn’t taken place at this point. It isn’t the reader’s story yet, it’s still yours, so why not write fiercely?
Give your characters barbed tongues and let them spit venom. Give them the courage to do all the things you would never dream of attempting, even on your most adventurous or foolhardy day. Tear their hearts out and make them suffer as you place them smack dab in the center of conflict and tension-filled drama.
Basically, I’m asking you to fish out that key that you’ve hidden in the back of a junk drawer within the deep recesses of your mind and open the door to your wildest imaginings.
You’ll come to discover that if you’re open, honest and free in your writing, yes, you will have your critics and people who won’t either like or understand your work, but you’ll also attract an audience that will come back for more.
What’s that? You need more incentive? Okay, well I didn’t want to break out the big guns but here goes:
I dare you to become more engaging and intriguing with your writing. I double-dog dare you.
Luckily my favorite table was open at the bistro I frequented in Alphabet City, the one by the window where the midday sun filtered through shelves of antique colored milk bottles, mason jars, and assorted glassware.
I scanned through the menu feigning interest in all the food options available for some unknown reason though I knew what I was going to order because my order hadn’t changed in over three years. The food here wasn’t really great but it was one of the few places in the city that had a natural ambiance that suited my temperament.
I felt a presence looming over me that smelled of Christmas—actually, the smell was of apples and cinnamon, which always reminded me of Christmas—so I placed my order by rote without looking up from the menu, keeping up the pretense of struggling with the choices of so many delectable options which was silly but perhaps I wanted the staff to recognize how much I liked the place.
“Um, that sounds delicious,” a voice said in a register higher than I was accustomed to in the bistro, a woman’s voice. “But I don’t actually work here.”
I looked up and was nearly blinded by a rosy-cheeked, platinum blonde woman bundled in the whitest fur coat in existence—hopefully not a real fur coat because that would be cruel—topped with a fur hat.
“Is anyone sitting here?” she pointed at the empty chair across the table from me.
I answered, “No…” as I glanced around at all the vacant tables situated throughout the eatery and I was about to bring this to her attention when she daintily and skillfully seated herself.
“Hi, my name is Mary, Mary Christmas,” she beamed a smile and proffered her white-mittened hand to shake. “You have a kind face so you may call me Mary or Your Royal Majesty Queen-Empress of the Known Universe, absolutely your choice but under no circumstances are you to refer to me as Merry as in Merry Christmas. I grew up being teased by that and I’m not having anymore of it.”
I didn’t answer because I was too busy processing what was happening which she took an entirely different way, most likely because I hadn’t completed the handshake ritual.
“Oh, you’re one of those, are you?” she sighed, slipping the mitten off her hand and rummaging through a white handbag produced from a fold in her coat almost if by magic.
“One of those?”
“A non-believer. A person who has to be shown instead of accepting things at face value,” she said as she pulled something out of her purse and handed it to me. “Here, proof.” It was her driver’s license and I’ll be damned if it didn’t list her name as Mary Christmas.
“Look, miss…”
“Mary.”
“Mary, I wasn’t doubting your name, strange as it may be, no offense…”
“None taken.”
“It’s just that, you know…”
“Know what?”
“Come on, you have to admit it’s a bit unusual for an absolute stranger to sit at your table uninvited.”
“Oh, but you did invite me.”
“I did?”
“Well, not you verbally, but your loneliness called out to me. I’m sensitive to things of that nature, people’s loneliness and all that.”
“I appear lonely to you?”
“Most definitely. No offense.”
“None taken, I guess.”
“And well, it’s Christmas time and no one should feel lonely on Christmas.”
“Oh, I get it,” I blushed against my will and was suddenly unable to keep eye contact with her. “Um, I’m flattered, I guess but this really isn’t my sort of thing. I don’t pay for…”
“Wait a minute, you think I’m a…”
“You’re not?”
“Definitely not.”
“I-I am so sorry! It’s just beautiful women don’t make it a habit of approaching me and…”
“Let me stop you right there. I will allow the infraction because you called me beautiful and before you misread anything else into me sitting at your table, if you and I become anything it will simply be friends, not friends with benefits or any of this other modern-day nonsense. I’m far too old-fashioned for that. And yes, even as a friend I still expect you to be gentleman enough to open doors for me as well as pull out my chair when we dine, thank you very much.”
“Um, okay?”
“And quit acting like this is weird,” Mary said. “Tis the season and I have no gift to bring other than to say, I see you. This has grown to be an unintentional world where people are acknowledged more on the internet than in real life, so I intend to change that, right here, right now, starting with you by asking you a simple question.”
“And what question would that be?”
“How are you doing?” Mary asked, looking me in the eye and giving me her full attention and I was about to respond with the automatic faux “Fine,” but there was something in her expression that made me feel that she was interested in hearing my honest response, so I told her.
I told her how I thought I was at the end of my rope. As an older gentleman who was closer to the end of the race than the beginning, I felt absolutely lost. My life was empty. I had felt this way before but then I wore a younger man’s clothes and was far more resilient, able to pick myself up by the bootstraps and rebuild my life but the change was always temporary and things crumbled and I had to begin again. The problem was I didn’t think I had the strength or wherewithal to start over again. I had lost all interest in the things I was once passionate about and all motivation to find something new was gone.
“Sometimes,” Mary reached her hand across the table and held mine. “We just need to focus on things beyond our circumstances to maintain our sense of peace and allow our senses to lead us to our true path.”
“Like you did by sitting at my table?”
Mary smiled and nodded. “Something like that.”
Now, I wasn’t one to believe in Christmas miracles but this bizarre woman, bless her heart, offered to be a knot at the end of my rope, transforming her from a random stranger to a catalyst of joy. And as the conversation continued, we discussed making a greater impact on society by acknowledging strangers and becoming a source of compassion for those in need and in turn challenging them to make the world a better place, filled with upturned smiling faces, happy to make contact with a living being instead of blue-lit zombies scouring their phones for acceptance and approval.
I never gave much credence to the idea of living a life of service as I equated it to religion and I was not a spiritual man by any stretch of the imagination but there was no denying how constantly amazed I was that a spontaneous conversation or a meaningful smile were so rare that they could literally be the highlight of someone’s day. Now, my newfound purpose in life had become making these rare moments of love between complete strangers the norm.
Thank you, Mary Christmas, for starting a revolution.
She sits across from me, Saffron does, and never has a name been more appropriate for she is an uncommonly spicy girl who despite popular public opinion is just a good friend—no friends with benefits or any of the other nonsense for I am far too old-fashioned for that. And yes, I still open doors and pull out seats for women despite the occasional feminist grumble.
But I digress.
Saffron often comes to me to vent and I have learned to take on the role of father confessor without giving advice or going the gallant male route of attempting to solve and/or fix her problems. That was not an easy lesson to learn. Currently, she is seriously involved with a woman but recently began seeing a married man at her dayjob. This man, this convenient bit of temptation, is currently in couples counseling and he is not sure what he wants from his wife or his marriage but he suspects he is starting to develop serious feelings for Saffron. She is afraid she might feel the same way.
I endeavor never to judge my friends, but again, I am old-fashioned when it comes to relationships and leading a person on or leaving them in the dark is simply wrong in my book. I realize that honesty is not always an easy path to travel and the words “I don’t love you anymore” and “I’ve found someone else” can be the hardest words to say, but sometimes they simply need to be said. As much as I enjoy spending time with Saffron, my feelings on the matter are starting to affect my ability to simply sit back and enjoy her company…so I spoke to her about it and voiced my opinions.
And it all just rolls off her back. The problem with this is I know the woman Saffron is dating and she is a kind and good-hearted person and while I cannot speak for her feelings toward me, I consider this woman to be a friend and thus I have a vested interest in her emotional well-being.
As a good friend to Saffron, I believe my only two options are to either mind my business and turn a blind eye, or continue to pester Saffron into doing the right thing. But as a good friend to Saffron’s partner, my two options are slightly different. I can either confront the married man and convince him to let Saffron go and work on saving his marriage, or follow him and learn his habits and when he is alone with no witnesses about, make it look like a tragic accident.
I feel a pressure against my body that gives way to a cracking and tinkling sound. Suddenly, I am awake and my eyes take in every detail in an instant. I am on the wrong side of my bedroom window, surrounded by hundreds of tiny glass shards that catch the morning sunlight. There is a masked man standing on the proper side of the window, arms outstretched in a throwing motion. These images are caught in time and for a moment I am weightless until gravity returns and the noises of the city coming crashing down on my ears. I am falling storeys per second into rush hour traffic, pushed by a man I do not recognize for reasons I cannot fathom.
My final thought before my physical being comes to an abrupt halt is surprising clear: If there is an existence beyond this, I will spend the rest of my afterlife tracking down my murderer. I need answers and he needs to pay for what he has done.
Aida was awakened by the gamey scent of wet dog fur amalgamated with mildew, blood and rancid breath. Instinctively, she reached for her husband’s side of the bed to find it empty and soaked with sweat. She rose to sitting and once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, her hands flew to her mouth in order to stifle a scream. There was a figure crouched in the corner of the bedroom, half hidden in the black slashes of shadow. It was moulting from translucent skin and changing in the process into a thing that resembled no man or beast, like the stuff and nonsense creatures of fish wife tales, only it hadn’t occurred at the fall of dusk or when the full moon was at its apex. No, this transformation began at the hour of the wolf, when the stars faded into pitch and the sounds of nature were lulled into unnatural silence.
At first, Aida feared this changeling had devoured her husband but as it turned to look at her she noticed that its eyes belonged to Benjamin, the man she had loved before she knew what the word meant. It was those very same eyes that studied her now, and she thought she detected the creature’s internal struggle, being torn between a deep-rooted love and overpowering hunger as if it was trying to puzzle out how to satiate its appetite without breaking its own heart.
The temperature in the room changed and Rupert’s breath came in frantic little gasps as he smelled the hot, sickly sweet fragrant cloud of burning sulfur that singed the edges of his nostrils. Hackles raised as long bronze fingers spidered on his shoulders and a mouth crowded with sharp teeth kissed his neck.
She hadn’t needed to surf dodgy websites in pursuit of self-gratification because telepathy was Annabelle’s internet porn. One peek into a stranger’s seemingly innocent thoughts allowed her to slip behind the velvet curtain of desire, leading her down a delightful rabbit hole of dirty little sexual secrets and it was all fun and games until she accidentally peeked into her aunt’s mind and found scenario after scenario of herself in various forms of bondage, being subjected to things she wouldn’t have done to her worst enemy.
MADD FICTIONAL 