Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- September 15, 2017 Edition

> This-just-in department: "House Votes to Save Library Funding, NEA and NEH" according to Publishers Weekly.

> As they mark their 10th anniversary, Fiction Writers Review is featuring interviews from the archives, including this one with Jesmyn Ward about "Getting the Sough Right" on the page.

> Speaking of Ward, her novel, Sing, Unburied, Sing, is on the 2017 National Book Award longlist.

> Bookish offers its Fall 2017 Nonfiction Book Preview. And now I need an eighth day in every week.

> Shelf Awareness reports how some Florida bookstores are getting back to business after Irma, and what one publisher is doing to help.

> Thomas E. Ricks tells the story of how his latest book was vastly improved during a long, thorough revision/rewriting process, after his editor trashed his initial manuscript.

> The WOW! Women on Writing newsletter features (and connects to) myriad topics of interest, including craft and technique, submission, publishing, and marketing issues facing writers. I'm pleased to be featured in the current issue in "Success Stories From You," amid so much other helpful information.

> Here's what's new in the just-published 17th edition of the Chicago Manual of Style. (Or, as it's known in my house - Mom's Paperweight.)

> Wondering if the newish American Writers Museum in Chicago is worth a visit? Wonder no more.

> Finally -- We've all seen the article or blog post about how publishing a book is like birthing a baby or having kids (I even featured a guest post like that.) But the way Austin Gilkeson does it at The Rumpus in "Congratulations on Publishing Your First Baby" is an entirely new and fun take on the trope. Enjoy!

Have a great weekend!

Image: Flickr/CreativeCommons 

Stuff My Writing Students Say, Part 10: I knew that!

"It's funny. You really didn't tell me anything I didn't already know about the places in the piece that need work. But for some reason, I just kept hoping I could avoid it."

I heard the above quite recently from a student in one of my writing classes, after sending back a piece of creative nonfiction, in which I noted three specific areas I felt needed further work. But I've heard it other times, too. And frankly, I remember thinking this very thing myself years ago when submitting work.

You know the drill, don't you? Oh, this section on page 4 is not really as good as it could be, but it's not really terrible either. Maybe X won't notice.

But X always does notice, right?

Really, how silly are we writers? If we can see what's not working, why would we expect that the perceptive writer, editor, or a writing instructor, who we trust with our work, would fail to notice? (And, if we are paying that person and/or investing our time, why would we want them not to notice?)

I guess it's not that we really believe, deep down, that we are going to get away with anything. The opposite is probably true: I believe most writers want to be called out when their prose isn't top notch. I think this habit -- of pretending we don't see our own writing flaws and hoping someone else doesn't either -- has more to do with not wanting to do battle with those two dreaded R words: Revision and Rewrite.

What we won't do sometimes to avoid that two-headed monster, right? Including turning in prose we know is not as well crafted as we are capable of producing. Including not doing the deep thinking that goes along with rewriting a section which feels too thin. Including hoping another perceptive writer, editor or writing instructor will give us a pass.

I've learned a lot over the years about making peace with revisions and rewriting. In fact, these days, I don't consider myself to be really, truly writing something (as opposed to doing a "brain dump" or playing around on the page) unless I'm in the thick of revisions. Lately, I'm something of a zealot now about how much a writer can grow through the acts of Revising and Rewriting.

Much to the sometime horror of some of my students, I use one of the R words -- Revision -- quite a lot, all the time, in fact. And I also on occasion let go with the other R word – Rewrite – in it most feared form, the one preceded by the C word: Complete. Complete Rewrite, I may suggest (or urge or demand). The kind with a blank sheet/screen. C'mon, it's good for the writing soul, I'll urge.

But it's not always so dire. More often, it's just about paying attention to what we already know needs work, and working on it some more. Revising.

If you think your work needs work, why wait for someone else to notice?

Note: You can read the rest of the Stuff My Writing Students Say series here.

Write First? Think First? Can Obama Help?

Last night during his press conference, President Obama was asked why he didn't respond faster, publicly, about a specific piece of the AIG debacle. Obama said, "Because I like to know what I'm talking about before I speak" --which was maybe the most useful takeaway of the night.

Thinking before speaking – an interesting concept. Being informed, gathering knowledge, and knowing what one is talking about before opening one's mouth – not exactly a new idea, but perhaps one politicians don't ordinarily follow.

What about writers? Do you tend to write first and think about it later? Or do you like to know exactly what you are going to write before touching the keyboard? Does it depend on what you are writing? What's the writer's equivalent of knowing what I'm talking about before I speak (on the page)?

Over the years, I've come across writing instructors, MFA faculty, editors, authors and other writers firmly in one camp or the other. One well-published nonfiction writer I know insists one should never sit down to write unless all the points, and the narrative arc, as well as the closing idea, are all firmly in mind. Another equally successful author relies on the writing process itself to show her where she wants to go.

Annie Dillard says writing is pretty simple, it's just about putting the bricks in order, one on top of the other. But I agree with the MFA professor I know who once quipped, yes but first I have to mix the mud and make the bricks!

For a short essay, say in the 500–2000 word vicinity, I find I do usually have a pretty well-defined sense of my point and how I'll get there. If not, then I will work on getting to a clear idea of what I'm going to say before I write. This way, I don't tend to over-write quite so much and then have to deal with a lot of pruning later. Since most of these short essays are on tight deadlines, shortening the revision and editing time is useful. On the other hand, I’m an advocate of writing, writing, writing – and then putting aside the "unused" portions for later, when it seems to find its way into something else.

An entirely different approach prevails when I am writing a longer essay or piece of memoir. Then, I want to explore my ideas on the page, to play with them, move them around, and see where they might lead me. In a general way I might know beforehand "what I am talking about," but as a writer I also know that there are infinite ways to "speak" about it, and the more I experiment with all those possible ways, the more likely it is that the reader will know what I'm talking about too.

For memoir and the longer literary essay, I often don't know exactly what I want to say until I get through at least one full very rough draft, which tends to be many times longer than I intend. Yes, that does mean I will often write 10- or 12-thousand words to get a 4,000 or 6,000 word piece. Perhaps a more skilled or experienced writer can skip this part of the process; I can't. The fun (and I think, the discipline) of writing nonfiction for me is seeing what emerges out of my personal experience once I put it on the page and take the time and patience to let the work evolve.

Politicians know too well that making public remarks before all the facts are in can be disastrous. And yet many of them, presidents included, do it anyway. Perhaps it's possible that Obama the President is listening to what Obama the writer has learned. And wouldn't it be refreshing to know that what comes out of a president's mouth actually had time to take up residence in his brain for a while?

Still, that doesn't mean I like the time it takes to know what I’m talking about before I write the final version. I'm impatient by nature; just ask my kids (and husband, mother, hairdresser). Yet when I do skip this step – what I call letting it marinate – because I'm in a hurry or tired of revisions or mentally need to move on, and "go public" with a half-baked manuscript, I always get into trouble.