Category Archives: fiction tips

10 Things I Learned at the WV Writers Conference

by
Jessica Nelson

I wanted to title this blog “10 Super-Cool-Awesome-Amazing Things I Learned at the WV Writers Conference,” but, alas, all that would not fit into the title bar on Blogger. But I digress.

So this past weekend was the annual West Virginia Writers Conference in Ripley, WV. This was my fifth year in attendance and my second year working it as an intern. As always it was a great time, but the thing I love most about it is that every year I learn something new. There is always an abundance of knowledgeable presenters to lead workshops and panels. Since many of you are non-West Virginia natives and may not ever make it to a WV Writers Conference, I’ve decided to share the top ten things I learned this year.

10. You have to be brutally honest with yourself. In particular, you need to be honest about your style and your work ethic. This came from Sheila Redling’s workshop. One example she gave was if you are the type of writer who only writes five words a day, you will not feasibly be able to put out two books a year. If you know you are easily distracted, take care of anything you know will be a distraction before you sit down to work. Hold yourself accountable for your work.

9. Sometimes when you’re stuck, it’s because you’re out of sync with your characters. Also from Sheila Redling, this advice resonated with me. On a fundamental level, it makes sense. How can you tell your character’s story when you and your character are not on the same page? So sometimes you need to take a step back from the story and focus on the character. When you and your character have reached a new understanding, go back to the story and try again.

8. Monsters are metaphors. Now, I know that not everyone writes fantasy, sci-fi, or horror, but this advice applies to almost any antagonist. Monsters in particular are metaphors, or embodiments, of our worst fears. A couple of classic examples instructor Frank Larnerd gave were Frankenstein’s Monster (fear of science) and Freddie Kruger (fear of being punished for our sins). And your monster metaphor should match your hero’s fear/weakness/past. That is how you “build a better monster.”

7. When making a “monster” (or villain, or antagonist), do a “monster sketch” that addresses the following: what makes him/her/it a monster? Why is he/she/it like this? What is one noble/good thing this monster does? This came from Marie Manilla’s workshop “Monster Theory…” and forces us as authors to create a fully formed, three dimensional, realistic antagonist. Seriously, try to answer these questions with your antagonist in mind. You will have no choice but to explore all the facets of your character.

6. For anyone writing in verse: the first word and last word of a line hold the most power, so choose your line breaks carefully. This can also apply to prose. The first and last phrases are the “power words” in a paragraph. I participated in a workshop by Kate Fox where we took a handful of lines, written out like prose, from famous poems and each re-wrote them into verse the way we thought they should go. Even though we were all using the same words, our choices in line breaks gave each version a different meaning and different effect on the reader. Even the length of the lines impacted the tone and message of the poem. So make sure your line breaks contribute to the intended effect of your verse. 

5. Start with a believable context. This applies mostly to fiction writers, especially those writing fiction with outrageous or paranormal or fantastical elements. This advice came from storyteller and champion liar Bil Lepp, who made us all believe he’d been smashed into the ceiling by a dentist’s chair. You want to know how he did it? He eased us into it. He started out telling us about a toothache he got, the subsequent trip to the dentist’s office, and getting bored sitting in the dentist’s chair while waiting for the dentist himself to come into the room. So he started playing with the pedals that made the chair change position. The story started so normal and familiar that when odd things started happening, we all subconsciously suspended our disbelief. We trusted what was happening in the story, because he made it fit and work within the context. This is great advice to fiction writers, because if you get too crazy, too quick, you lose your reader’s trust. And even if the point is to be fantastical and out-there, the use of real, normal, and familiar details helps to ground the reader and allow them to connect the story to their own lives.

4. Writing without “emotional language” (“I love this” or “she hates that”) allows the details to “show” your feelings without being sappy or overly sentimental. This nugget of wisdom comes from Jon Van Kirk. He discovered the truth of this statement when he did an assignment with his students at a university. He told his classes to describe a lost-to-them but still familiar location. In the first class, he told them not to use “emotional language” and the students produced vivid descriptions that evoked a range a heartfelt emotions—without ever once naming those emotions. The second class did not produce the same results. Because he forgot to tell them not to use emotional language.

3. In the first few pages of a novel, set up the character, conflict, setting, and voice. This advice came from Edie Hemingway’s “Strong Beginnings” workshop. It applies to any genre of writing and can even be adapted for short stories and other styles of writing. Basically, you want to set up everything the reader needs to know in the first couple of pages. Who is the story about? What are his/her age, race, education, and (to a lesser extent) appearance? What is the conflict of the story? You don’t have to spell it out, but you can start to hint at it or get the ball rolling. Where is the story taking place? And—this is very important—you need to establish the voice, which, ideally, is a combination of your voice as a writer and your character’s voice. Most importantly, establishing all that in the first couple of pages not only grabs the reader’s attention, but it will also hopefully grab a publisher’s attention and keep your manuscript off the slush pile.

2. Don’t get stuck on the first page. Chances are your original first page will change or the story will ultimately start somewhere else. This also came from Jon Van Kirk and his workshop “The First Fifty Pages.” Basically, you don’t have to write your draft in chronological order. You can write any scene from any point in the novel at any time you want. Then, when everything is written, you can figure out the order. For someone like me who gets stuck on the first few pages (every single time), this came as quite a relief. It was like I had been granted a stay of execution. Now if only I can get myself to walk away from the chopping block.

1. Writers are amazing people. Technically, I am re-learning this, as I do every year at the conference. And it’s something you learn from the conference as a whole. Writers are big-hearted, friendly, encouraging, and just all-around-awesome people. Not to mention talented. I’m always thankful that there are writers willing to share their talent and knowledge—not just in the form of presenters, but the attendees as well. And writers are just nice. I had nearly half a dozen people or more come up to me at some point over the weekend to tell me I was doing a good job, or thank me for my hard work, or tell me that they liked my writing. I’m not sure there is anything that makes a writer glow more than another writer complimenting her work. I also had one woman call me over in the parking lot on the very last day. She handed me a copy of her poetry book with the handwritten inscription “Thanks for all you do,” which left me a sentimental puddle all over the asphalt. And, of course, every year I make new friends and reacquaint myself with old friends. Let’s be honest, a conference is only as good as the people who are there. And if you are at a conference that’s filled to bursting with writers, it’s guaranteed to be amazing.

Writing Conferences

by
Sandy Tritt

The first time I attended a writers conference, I was scared to death. No, that doesn’t accurately describe the way I felt. Let’s say that if my knees were made of china, they would’ve shattered. I’m not usually shy, but here I was, Nobody from Small Town, Nowhere, going to a real, live WRITERS CONFERENCE. The people there would all know so much more. They would all be published. And, of course, they would all be snobs, putting me in my place in short order. 

Except it didn’t happen quite that way. Instead, I was welcomed and embraced. Yes, there were a lot of published writers there. And an agent. And a couple of publishers. But everyone was kind and friendly and willing to share of their knowledge. They treated me like I was important, too. I attended several workshops where I learned how to be a better writer. I listened to authors talk about how they found an agent and a publisher. I chatted with people who were a lot like me until late into the night, talking about writing and challenges we were facing.

That was 22 years ago. I have not missed the West Virginia Writers Annual Conference since. There were times I commuted back and forth because one of my kids was graduating, in a ballet recital, or in a body cast, but I always got there. In fact, I went from “the stranger” to giving workshops to being conference director to stepping back and just enjoying the process. It’s the place I find my closest friends and my annual inspiration.

So, if you don’t have anything to do next weekend, June 12 – 14, come and see me at the WV Writers Annual Conference. Voted “best conference for the money” by The Writer Magazine, it’s a fabulous weekend of relaxation, workshops, panels, and entertainment. Read more at http://wvwriters.org/home/annual-writing-conference/ or email me at SandyTritt@gmail.com and I’ll be happy to answer your questions. And I’ll greet you when you arrive so you’ll start your weekend with at least one friend.

If the beautiful hills of West Virginia are too far for you to visit, be sure to research writer conferences near you. Just go to your favorite search engine and key in “Writer Conference” followed by the state or country you live in. You’ll be glad you did. 

See you next week.

Bleeding on the Page

by
Sandy Tritt
 

Is writing an art or a craft? I’ve wavered on this, thinking one and then the other, but I believe the “truth” is that good writing must be both. A craft is something that can be learned, something that, with time and practice, can be improved upon. It is something that has basic rules and methods, such as using active voice, maintaining point of view, creating realistic characters, and writing sharp dialogue. It’s what we give tip sheets to help explain; it’s what we teach at writing workshops; it’s what we comment on within the pages of your masterpiece. A good writer simply must have a good handle on the craft of writing.

But there is more to writing than craft. A perfectly crafted novel is not necessarily a good read. There is something more, something that oftentimes cannot be named but instead is felt, that separates a well-crafted book from an I-can’t-put-it-down novel. In the 1946 book Confessions of a Story Writer, Paul Gallico (author of The Poseidon Adventure) writes: “It is only when you open your veins and bleed onto the page a little that you establish contact with your reader. If you do not believe in the characters or the story you are doing at that moment with all your mind, strength, and will, if you don’t feel joy and excitement while writing it, then you’re wasting good white paper, even if it sells, because there are other ways in which a writer can bring in the rent money besides writing bad or phony stories.”

That is what we do. We bleed on the page. We put our hearts and souls into creating not just a carefully crafted work, but a work of art. We don’t create characters; we discover them. We get to know them. We don’t decide what happens to them; we discover that, too. Whereas the craft of writing is a product of the brain, the art of writing is a product of the heart and the soul. The craft of writing gives structure to the end product while the art of writing is an exploration of The Truth and provokes emotion. Perhaps that is the greatest difference between craft and art—emotion. Just as viewing a great work of visual art can overwhelm us with emotion, reading a great work of literary art must also touch us deeply.

As editors, we love to nurture the artist in every writer. We love to highlight those passages that are exceptional and tell you how amazing they are—even if they need a little editing. We love to discover the great storyteller inside you and help give you confidence to continue to write and continue to hone your craft—so that you may, indeed, create a work of art.

Story Outlines

 
by Charlotte Firbank-King
 
A story outline should apply to anything one writes. My personal preference is to create a document called “Story Outline.” By all means, use a card filing system if that feels easier. Whatever method one uses, make sure it has all the character names, their traits, habits, hair color, eye color, occupation or other information and characteristics that define them.

Formatting: There are general rules to how one should format a manuscript. Find the one relevant to what one is writing and put that into the Story Outline file as well. It’s easy to forget when one gets carried away with writing.

Using the twenty-first century method—a PC—create a Story Outline document to make a chart of the things above, then incorporate a plot outline. When changes are made or forced, note these so that the plot can be remolded to fit. I say forced, because characters have a way of reinventing themselves as one writes. As the writer, one sometimes doesn’t like the character created and we change their role in the plot. Writers will understand this screwed logic. I think we’re all a bit touched in the head.

Research should go into a separate file. Either reference the book used with the relevant pages or the copied and pasted info from the internet or other sources. Be sure to put the link in or name the source so that one can go back to check validity if necessary.

As the author, one usually has the plot all sorted in one’s head. The reader isn’t privy to this head knowledge. What may seem quite clear to the author may not be so clear to a reader. A plot is all good and well in one’s head, but crafting it to read seamlessly and cohesively is a whole new challenge. Pay careful attention to which character is doing what. It’s dead easy to have the names, times, positions or places mixed, thereby confusing the hell out of a reader. A common error, as an example, is the character kneeling or seated in one scene and the next moment they are pacing or in a new place completely with no transition.


A mistake writers often make is having too much mystery and never leaving any clues. This can cause confusion and the reader is forced to remember too many things. Anyway, readers enjoy trying to figure out what is coming next. You score a hit when the outcome is a surprise.

 
Finally, use Beta readers. (These are non-professional people who like to read. They usually pick up character and plot flaws.) Then have the manuscript edited and proofread to ensure that it’s grammatically correct and makes sense—flows. If even one beta reader or editor says they don’t understand what one is trying to say, take note of the comments. Another method is to read aloud or into a recorder and play it back. It’s always possible the critiques are the dense ones, but not likely.

 

 

Let’s Dabble in Drabbles!

by Jessica Nelson
I imagine your first thought upon seeing this post title is Awesome internal rhyme! I imagine your second is What the heck is a drabble?
Allow me to introduce you to the shortest form of short stories. A drabble is a story that is exactly 100 words. No more, no less.
“Why would I ever want to write a drabbble?”
Funny you should ask that. Here’s why:
Drabbles force you to write your story succinctly. There can be no extra fluff. Every word must advance your story. Every word must be carefully chosen to describe as much as possible by saying as little as possible, because you only have 100 words to play around with. That’s it.
Short stories, by nature, tend to be character driven. As the shortest category of short story, drabbles demand that you get down to the nitty-gritty of your character. You have to find out what makes your character tick and convey that to the reader in less space than most scholarship essays.
Since this is a short story, our friend Rhonda Browning White reminds us to keep these things in mind:
  •  One consciousness (point of view)
  • One central action
  • One major change in the life of the character
  • A single emotional impact
  • A single understanding

She also reminds us to “use our zoom lens:”

  • Focus on one specific moment in time and/or place
  • Start at the flashpoint—the instant when something is different
  • Focus on one simple plot line
  • Focus on one main character
  • Focus on one internal conflict and one external conflict
Drabbles are the ultimate test for a writer. It’s easy to tell a full story in 1000, 5000, or 80,000 words. You have all the time in the world to move your characters around and reveal who they are. To do all that in 100 words tests your very nature as a writer. As writers, we tend to be wordy and long-winded, waxing poetic about the sunset at the beach or the less-than-pleasant fragrance of our character’s son’s gym bag after a week in his locker. (If that last sentence had been part of my drabble, I would have used up a third of my available space.)
The best way to start a drabble is to begin as you would any other short story. Just start writing. Word vomit all over the page, and get everything out. Once that is done, we can get to the hard part.
Here’s my example:
          Kara clutched the gun in her sweaty palm, her trembling finger resting on the trigger. Part of her worried that the gun would accidently go off. A larger part of her just didn’t care anymore. That part of her played words on loop like a broken record, over and over again.
          I’m sorry, Mrs. Peters, but the insurance won’t pay any more. Unless you can find the money to keep up the payments on your own, we have to send him home.
          Her jaw clenched as she saw her son in her mind’s eye. He was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and tubes that tangled all around him. His hair was gone, and his face was gaunt, but still he smiled at her, his big blue eyes shining with warmth and love.
          It’ll be okay, Momma. It will.
          An errant tear ran down Kara’s cheek. She sniffled, then lifted her chin and deliberately pulled back the hammer. “Put the money in the bag,” she said. “Now.”
 Not bad, if I do say so myself. There’s not an exceptional amount of plot going on here. It’s almost like a snapshot from a longer story, but that’s okay. You can still infer what the big picture is from this brief excerpt. Now, here’s the thing: that version is 170 words long. Not a drabble—yet.
Let’s try again.
           Palms sweaty, Kara clutched the gun in her sweaty palm, her trembling finger resting on the trigger. Part of her worried that about the gun would accidentally go off accidentally firing. A larger Part of her just didn’t care anymore. That part of her played words on loop like a broken record, over and over again.
          Words echoed through her mind. I’m sorry, Mrs. Peters, but the insurance won’t pay anymore. Unless you can find the money to keep up the payments on your own pay yourself, we have to send him home he can’t stay here.
          Her jaw clenched as she saw her son in her mind’s eye. Jaw clenching, she envisioned her son. Head bald and cheeks gaunt, he was lying lay in a hospital bed surrounded by beeping machines and tubes that tangled all around him. His hair was gone and his face was gaunt, but still he smiled at her, his big blue eyes shining with warmth and love.
          He smiled. It’ll be okay, Momma. It will.
          An errant tear ran down Kara’s cheek. She sniffled, then lifted her chin, and deliberately pulled back the hammer cocked the gun. “Put the money in the bag,” she said. “Now.”
This is what you’ll see if you use Microsoft Word’s Tracking Feature. It’ll keep track of your edits, and for our purposes, allows you to see just how much I had to take out and all the things that were rephrased. By keeping myself to a firm 100-word limit, I had to think outside the box to get my point across.
Let’s take a look at it without all the marks. Here’s the final product:
           Palms sweaty, Kara clutched the gun, her trembling finger on the trigger. Part of her worried about the gun accidentally firing. Part of her didn’t care.
          Words echoed through her mind. I’m sorry, but the insurance won’t pay anymore. Unless you can find the money to pay yourself, he can’t stay here.
          Jaw clenching, she envisioned her son. Head bald and cheeks gaunt, he lay in a hospital bed surrounded by beeping machines and tubes.
          He smiled. It’ll be okay, Momma. It will.
          She sniffled, lifted her chin, and deliberately cocked the gun. “Put the money in the bag. Now.”
Eureka! 100 words. Is it super frilly? No. But does it tell enough of the story that you understand what is happening? Yes.
Perhaps that Great American Novel you’re working on needs some bells and whistles. Truth be told, it probably does. But much like cars, if your story has an exorbitant amount of them, your reader will get frustrated. Use drabbles as an exercise in brevity and succinctness. It will greatly improve your writing and please your reader—and your editor!
Now, I challenge you to try it. Write your own drabble, and leave it in the comments here for a chance to win a 1000-word free edit! This contest will run until Saturday, July 12, at 12:00am Eastern Time. May the best drabble win!
And for more information about how to use the Microsoft Tracking Feature, email me at jgirl126@gmail.com for a How-To manual.

I Am Thankful for Mistakes

by Sherry Wilson

I am Thankful for Mistakes
This week as we give thanks for all of the wonderful things in our lives and celebrate with family and friends, I started to think about my writing life. More particularly about how my writing life might be improved—how all of our careers might be improved—by an attitude of gratitude.

Throughout school we learn to write, so by the time we graduate, we figure we have a pretty good idea of how to write. But do we really? The shift between school and a professional level of writing is like the difference between school band and a professional music career. In both cases, there is room to grow, to learn, to get better.

I think it’s when we forget about this quest that things become more difficult for us as writers. We need to give ourselves permission to relax a little and enjoy the process. I mean, if you decided you wanted to play an instrument and you signed yourself up for piano lessons, you wouldn’t expect to play like Glenn Gould next week—or even next year, for that matter. You would practice. You’d put in your hours. You wouldn’t do it because you thought you’d be able to play like Glenn Gould. You’d do it for the fun of it. Because, while learning a new instrument is work, it’s also fun. That’s why we call it playing an instrument. But we expect much more of ourselves as beginning writers. We expect to write like Hemingway, or Bradbury, or Stephen King. But what we should do is just relax, play around with the words and the ideas, and make mistakes—lots and lots of mistakes. Try writing it one way and if you don’t like the results, then try something else. Make the mistakes. Learn your strengths and your weaknesses. Find your own, unique voice.

We need to give ourselves the gift of allowing ourselves to make mistakes—without judgment. I mean, you don’t judge every wrong note you play when you learn the saxophone. If you put yourself down every time you make a squeak, you’ll never learn to play. Just notice the mistakes and keep going. Next time through, try writing it a different way. What works? What doesn’t? Why? Do you see just how large this gift is? When you are able to separate yourself, the person, from the written work, you’ll learn so much from those precious mistakes. And you can be thankful for the mistakes because they bring you so much closer to the writer you want to be.

In order to be a great writer, of course, or any writer at all, for that matter, we have to put in our time—pay our dues and practice. We have to sit our butts in our chairs and write. Like the cellist who will never get better without taking the time to play, the writer will never improve if he doesn’t do the work. No amount of talking about being a writer or critiquing or reading will get you there. It’s all about the hours in the chair. 

One good side effect of this, though—regular hours in the chair lets the muse know where and when to show up.

Besides spending the time writing, I’ve learned that when gratitude becomes a daily focus, amazing things start to happen. I’ve seen this in my own life over the past couple of years. So now I want to extend this to my writing career. But what do I mean? How do you do it?

  • Make a list of the things you love about writing. Why do you do it? Why did you start writing? What makes you keep going? What parts do you absolutely love about the process?
  • Pick three things that you are most thankful for in your writing life. What are the three best things about the act of writing?
  • Write these three things on a piece of paper and tack it to your monitor where you will see it every day.
  • Get a stone, ring, necklace or some other symbol that you can carry with you throughout the day. Every time you touch this object, think about how grateful you are for your writing career. Close your eyes for a moment and think about what makes you happy. Maybe it’s that feeling when the words just pour out onto the page and you feel like they’re coming from a different place—like you’ve tapped into something bigger than yourself. Imagine yourself writing, the words just flowing through you. Let yourself feel the euphoria. Experience it as if it were real and happening to you whenever you touch the object. Get into the habit of doing this several times a day. At best your writing will flow better. At worst, you will spend several minutes a day feeling truly happy and content with your life.

So what’s it going to be? You can go through your writing journey feeling like you’ll never get anywhere—you’ll never be one of the greats—you’ll never find that one right story when all the planets align and something like Harry Potter will fall into your lap or pop into your head while you’re riding a train. You can count all the reasons you aren’t as good as some famous writer. Or you can spend your time feeling good about all you’ve learned and the progress you’ve made. You can be happy that you had a good session yesterday and confident that you will again tomorrow. You can enjoy the process.

The top three things that I’m grateful for:

  • All of my wonderful writing friends—those who critique my work, those who argue with me for hours over comma usage, and those who just let me vent when I’m having a bad day. Yes, these friends are any writer’s greatest asset and I’m forever grateful for my writing buddies.
  • Unfinished projects—even if my time is limited and I struggle to find time to work on my own projects, I’m so grateful they sit there waiting for me. My characters are so patient. They only occasionally wake me up during the night and prod me to get back to work.
  • Those brief moments of flow when the words just pour out onto the page. It’s as if the story is writing itself right in front of me. I cherish each moment and live for the next one.


Let’s all give gratitude a try and see what happens. I don’t know what will come of it, but what harm could it do? Let’s spend the next year working on improving our attitude of gratitude and see where we are next year.  

The Most Important Sentence

by Charlotte Firbank-King
editor, writer, illustrator
The most important sentence you’ll ever write is the first line of your book or novel. There’s nothing easy about writing that first line—but many times, that line will decide if the reader will continue reading or not. Here’s what that first line must do:
Hook the reader
Here is an example of an opening line—the hook:
The captain stood on the deck of his ship in torpid heat, slowly whipping his wife.
This was an example given to me years ago by a publisher, and I use it all the time. A number of things cause the reader to want to read on—things that hook them.
1) What era is it?
2) Torpid heat? Where is it happening?
3) Why is the captain whipping his wife? More curiously, why is he whipping her slowly?
The reader wants these things answered. They are almost compelled to read on. Hook your reader in one or two sentences. 
Hit the ground running
The first line is the most important part, next the paragraph, then the first page, but having said that, if the first five pages aren’t fantastic you will lose the reader. Most certainly, you will lose the publisher or agent. They’re very busy and can tell in the first paragraph if they want you or not. Then they are more convinced if the first page is great. However, that interest wanes rapidly if the second page doesn’t deliver, but they will probably forge on for another page. After that, if you don’t continue to deliver, it’s all downhill and your manuscript ends up on the slush pile.
The opening paragraph doesn’t have to be a mother throwing her ten children into shark infested water—tempting as the thought might be when your brood is that big—but it does have to grab the reader’s attention and hold it.
Smaller hooks at the ends of chapters.
You want your reader to keep turning pages, so end each chapter with a hook that will drag them to the next one. After a gut-wrenching chapter the protagonist finally makes it to safety. You slow the pace, bring the reader down until they are ready to fall asleep and read another day. But then you drag them right back into the action. They must read on.
Emma sagged to the floor in lifeless air, safe at last. Then a door snicked open and icy fingers caressed her neck. End of chapter. A bit dramatic, but you get the picture. You could drag it out and switch to another character in the next chapter, but you might piss your reader off, so choose your moments with care.
Four examples of opening lines:
The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed. (Stephen King, The Gunslinger.)
It was the best of times, it was the worst of time, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. (Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.)
They shot the white girl first. (Toni Morrison, Paradise.)
Lolita, the light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. (Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita.)
Examples of first paragraphs/lines from our editors
Our team of editors is immensely versatile and talented. The nature of their job requires them to work in different genres, which they do with amazing ease and skill. Although our editors can work in multiple genres, they can’t work in every genre, which is why IFW needs editors versed in various genres. On a personal level, they each write in their preferred genre.
Sandy Tritt, short story, “Cousin Mary”:
What is the truth? And is the truth always more honest than fabrication? More noble? I don’t know. It makes my head hurt. But here I sit at the Crystal Cafe, waiting for my sisters. Stuffed inside my purse is the truth. The real truth. And I have just a few minutes to decide if I will reveal it.

Jimmy Carl Harris, “I Come to the Garden Alone,” the first story in his short story collection, Wounds that Bind:
 I buried you next to him.

Jessica Murphy, “Nature’s Conscience”:
 I awoke with a sharp pain in my back, sprawled across what felt like cables.
Sandi Rog, Yahshua’s Bridge:
 Alexander held his breath as the man he’d never called Daddy forced him underwater.
Patsy Evans Pittman, Blood Kin & Other Strangers:
Deena stood in the kitchen of the house where she grew up, giving the creamed tomatoes one last stir. It was hot as blazes and the window air-conditioner in the dining room didn’t help much. She blew the fringe of bangs out of her eyes, then swiped at the sweat on her upper lip with the sleeve of her over-sized WVU tee shirt.

Sherry Wilson, Second Beginning:
The cameras flashed as Danielle stepped out of the limo, her sights on the entrance of the Royal Albert Hall. The paparazzi swarmed around her like killer bees and she longed for a cloak of invisibility, if only for the short trip to the doors.

Rhonda White, Good Friends. Read the rest at Steel Toe Review: Contemporary Southern Arts & Literature – http://steeltoereview.com/2013/09/16/good-friends-by-rhonda-browning-white/:
She has a great body, my friend does, I’ll give her that. And I have no problem telling you she’s at least ten years younger than I am, and looks it.

C.F. King, All Things Carnal:
Thomas Gantry wore tolerance like a hair shirt, with grim determination. Daily, he did penance for Man’s sins. Self-flagellation was his redemption, and joy his nemesis.
As you can see, it’s important to start your story with a line that makes people want to read on. If you’re having trouble with this, let us know. We can help.
© 2013. Charlotte Firbank King. All Rights Reserved.

Deadly Sin Three: Passivity

Passivity is what lulls our readers to sleep—no matter how exciting our story. Here are some ways to get rid of this deadly sin.

PASSIVE SENTENCE CONSTRUCTION. Construct sentences so the subject performs the action instead of having an action performed upon the subject. This means the actor (subject) is mentioned before the action (verb), not after. Sentences that begin with “there are,” “there is,” “there was,” or “there were” are always passive. Get rid of them.

Passive: Sleeping was used by the writer to prevent exhaustion.
Active: The writer slept to prevent exhaustion.
Better: The writer slept.

Passive: A book is read by the student.
Active: The student reads a book.

Passive: There were three people in the grocery line.
Active: Three people waited in the grocery line.

PASSIVE VERBS. Watch for passive verbs, such as was, is, were, are, had, am, and so forth. Replace them with active verbs, the most active and descriptive words you can think of. Your prose will come to life.

PRESENT PARTICIPLES. Verbs ending with “ing” (and requiring a helping verb) are by nature more passive than those ending with “ed.”

Bad: She was eating breakfast.
Good: She ate eggs and toast. (Specifics never hurt!)

BONUS TIP: If you’re using a “helping” verb (was, were, is, are) there’s a good chance you’re passive.

BONUS TIP: Never start a sentence with “there was” or “there are” or any variation of these.

(c) 2008 Inspiration for Writers, Inc. All Rights Reserved.