The Gift of Perspective

Last fall and earlier this year, I spent a great deal of time working on a project that for all its potential, wasn't quite coming together. What's worse is that, I was so close-in, I'd grown myopic. I couldn't mentally take the step back I needed to see it as a whole and do anything but minor tweaks, when in reality, I needed to fundamentally rethink the story's plot.

Fortunately, fate intervened, in the form of a couple of manuscripts that absolutely, positively had to be dealt with before I could return to the revisions. Now that I'm finished (until edits arrive, anyway!) I've gone back with eyes refreshed and a mind more open to what, as it turned out, were some fabulous editorial suggestions. Suggestions that might as well have been communicated in the buzzing of gnats or the trumpeting of elephants for all the sense I was getting out of them before.

This isn't the first time the gift of space (and the perspective that comes with it) has done me a great favor. I remember back in 2003, when I was struggling to sell my first contemporary romantic suspense (after writing a number of historicals.) I had a proposal that was literally going nowhere. Idiot judges failed to see its brilliance in contests. Idiot editors passed failed to recognize my genius.

Except, months later, I had one last chance to put this discarded masterpiece in front of an editor. I then pulled out the proposal, along with all the feedback I'd received -- and suddenly realized that, now that I'd gained sufficient distance to get my ego out of the way, those judges and editors hadn't been the idiots. My "baby" needed work, changes several of them (RWA contest judges in particular) had been kind enough to point out to me.

Having no time at all (my agent needed the proposal yesterday) to second-guess these revelations, I quickly put them into action, and the results, I thought, made for a much more engaging book proposal. So I shoved it into an overnight packet and sent it out that very day.

In less than a week, I had an offer, and that book, FATAL ERROR, went on to launch a line and garner a RITA nomination and a Texas Gold Award. All because I had finally gotten enough space to see my story in perspective.

Will perspective do me as big a favor this time? I have no way of knowing, but I can tell you that whether or not this project sells, I'll have done my best for these characters and this story. I'll have learned and grown as a writer, and in the end, that's what really counts.

Have you ever shelved a project that wasn't working, only to have an insight later that arrived to save the day? Or do you currently have a project that's frustrating you that might benefit from a few months' distance?

Setting aside such a project and working on something fresh to clear your writer's palette could turn out to be the best decision you ever made.

Great Minds Think... Differently

Yesterday, I met a friend with whom I'll be working on a brand new two-book writing project. We're both very busy right now, but I carved out some time, after a brief chat with her about general parameters, and typed out several pages detailing the backstory, characters, and a plot idea I had. I was feeling confident about my start.

But as we brainstormed, she started popping off ideas about what would work and what wouldn't and then suggesting alternatives. She supercharged the conversation with her own rapid-fire thoughts, based on many, many books' worth of experience with the publisher and editor involved, and the years she spent living in the city where the story will take place.

And much of what I had written changed, one of us riffing off the other's thoughts, both of us coming up with central ideas and characters for our respective, interconnected stories, and in the end synthesizing something richer than either of us could have done alone.

It happened not because we think alike, but because we think so differently. When I prepare to write a story, I get a whole lot of disjointed visuals. Mood, atmosphere, and setting. Snippets of plot events I have to carefully stitch together without really understanding the why or how. My friend works differently, thinking aloud and hammering out a coherent road map far more quickly.

Is one way right and the other wrong? Of course not. Do I feel compromised by having to alter my original vision to fit with someone else's? Heck, no. For one thing, I've been writing long enough to learn to shove my ego out of the way and listen when an agent, editor, or writer I respect gives constructive criticism. I've learned that my best books aren't written, but rewritten, and that sometimes, seeking input early and making minor course corrections can save heaps of work or even a rejection later on.

Our words aren't etched, inviolate, in marble. Those who rail about their artistic integrity and refuse to properly consider advice don't generally get contracts, or when they do, don't last long in the business. Of course, there are times to pick one's battles, times to defend the core vision at all costs. But there are many, many more times when a mind that thinks differently than your own offers the perspective you will need.

Five Paths to Perspective: Self-Editing Tricks & Tips

Focus is a great and necessary thing. But when you've been mired in a project for month upon month with your nose pressed to the page and your brain fully immersed, you become a little myopic to its flaws. Blind to the suckitude, is another way I'd put it.

When I'm "too close," I fail to see not only line editing type troubles, from missing words to misspellings and poor diction, but I can also miss more serious problems involving lapses in character motivations, hokey dialogue, "lazy" genre shortcuts (I write genre, so I'm not knocking it, but the whip must be cracked when the usual cliches rear their ugly heads), and predictability. To counter these problems and become my own editor, I look for ways to distance myself from and regain perspective on my pages.

Here are just a few that have worked for me in the past.

1. Take a break from the project to work on something else and then come back to it. Time works wonders to dispel the glamor. A writer on deadline may not have the luxury, however, so back-up strategies are needed.

2. Read the work in a different format. If you've been working off the screen, print the thing and physical write notes in the margin. Or put it on your electronic reader if you have one and pretend it's someone else's book you're reading and reviewing or critiquing.

3. Listen to your pages read aloud. When I write short pieces, such as articles, I often read them aloud myself, but for longer projects, I tend to, chapter by chapter, ask my computer to read it aloud to me. There are a couple of great programs for this purpose, TextAloud (free trial and then $29.95) and Microsoft Reader (free) available for download online. I use the latter, with a fairly expressionless, canned voice that is totally unforgiving that frequently makes me wince as it highlights and reads word after word. For some reason, though, it helps me focus on the sound of each sentence, and I consider it an essential editing tools.

4. Cast yourself as your agent/editor/critique partner and try reading from their perspective. In an especially persnickety mood. I swear, as I read, I sometimes hear Joni's voice in my head saying "You can do better" or "This way to the exposition." It's as if anyone whose ever critiqued you has taken up residence in your brain. (Though I recommend you reserve "the troops" for the editing process and keep them far from the writing process, where you don't want anything stifling your creativity.)

5. Change the venue. I edit galleys and such but never write at one big table in my house. So when I print out pages and take them there to read, it puts my brain in "seek and destroy" mode. Also, going to work at the library or a coffee joint -- anywhere different from where you normally work -- cues your brain that you're doing different work that day.

Though none of these tips and tricks for regaining perspective takes the place of feedback from others, they can help you to produce a much cleaner, more focused manuscript in the first place. Have any of your own techniques to share?

Can This Story Be Saved? Perspective 101

Sometimes, a project's just not working. You might come to the conclusion yourself, or it might be painfully visited upon you in the form of rejection (or gigantic revision letters and/or concerned calls from your agent) but failures of perspective strike nearly every writer now and then.

I can't tell you how many times I've been blinded by the white heat of the creative process, an impending deadline, or the need to hook up a new writing contract. But this close, quick work too often takes its toll. Fear, too, muddies the water and at times gives way to desperation. And let me tell you, desperation attaches its reek to the written word and stinks up the whole project.

Often, however, months or even years later, after the emotion's had a chance to dissipate, the writer can reread the work and, Wham, Bam, really see it for the first time. Objectively, with all its strengths and flaws revealed. Suddenly, the solution is obvious, and the story can be rewritten with a singular clarity of purpose.

In many cases, the manuscript can be saved, sometimes succeeding beyond the author's wildest dreams. Think of this: Jane Austen's beloved Pride & Prejudice was written in 1796 and 1797 (when the author was only 21-22 years of age). Afterward, it was quickly rejected, but in 1809, Austen revised and sold the book, which was published following Sense & Sensibility to lasting acclaim.

In this day and age, however, it's tough to imagine building a career waiting around eleven years to gain perspective on a failed piece of work. So what's an author to do to put "wisdom" on the fast track?

1. Putting the troublesome story aside to work on other projects is often helpful. Instead of flogging the dead horse interminably, go and till another field. Try writing something very different: nonfiction instead of fiction, historical rather than contemporary (or any different genre), a short story or article or poem rather than a novel. After accomplishing useful work in another area, come back and check your "horse" for signs of life (or, alternately, the realization that the poor thing should be buried, at least for the time being).

2. Review notes from beta readers, judges, agents, or editors. Often, our emotions (pride and prejudice among them!) prevent us from really comprehending what the reviewer meant. I distinctly recall pulling out months'-old judges' sheets I'd originally thought completely idiotic and suddenly seeing the truth in them. After heeding the suggestions, I revised and quickly sold the manuscript.

3. Try tricking your brain into thinking you're reading someone else's story. Format your manuscript like a real book, using landscape orientation, two columns, narrow margins, a smaller font, and single spacing. Then print it out and pretend you're simply reading it for pleasure. Where did you get bored? Or roll your eyes in disbelief? Oftentimes, the solution will jump out at you.

One last bit of advice: Never throw away a story that's not working. Always keep an archived copy, because you never know when it make tickle your unconscious and motivate you to revise and resurrect the thing.

Does anyone else have a great tip to share for gaining perspective on a project that's not working? I'd love to hear from you.

This Papery Hellsbroth of... Despair

Call me insensitive (I've been called worse), but I laughed my head off in self-recognition over AL Kennedy's despair while editing her book's page proofs. Page proofs, otherwise known as galleys, are the author's last chance to catch errors.

At the proof stage, the author may only correct spelling, punctuation, grammatical, and continuity errors. She's not allowed (under threat of being charged the cost of resetting type - as if this were still being done by ink-spattered medieval printers) to do any rewriting. Which is where the horror sets in, as the author -- desensitized to the story's charm after rereading it dozens of times -- sees nothing but, well, as AL Kennedy puts it...

Did you ever know what this final sentence means? Will that character stand up to even the most cursory examination? Why did you ever think this was any use? Can anything within the compass of your meagre abilities be done to remedy this papery hellsbroth of shit?

I usually finish my page proofs thinking, this is it, the beginning of the end. The book that will have the critics saying Thompson's lost it and my readers turning their backs on me forever. I'm so sickened by the activity, I'm never able to reread the book after publication. What if I find something else - something critical I missed which people snicker about behind their hands but are too polite to tell me? I can certainly relate to the old joke about writer's Hell being a place where all the libraries contain only copies of his/her own books.

By now, I've realized, of course, that it's familiarity that's bred contempt and that there's no paranoia quite like a writer's. Still, it does my heart good to know I'm not the only person who reacts this way to page proofs or the umpteenth revision of a manuscript. It's a great reminder that we lose perspective on our own work and, at times, turn into our own worst critics. I can think of one incident where a critique partner (thank you, Pat Kay) prevented me from trashing a proposal that ultimately went on to launch a publishing line and garner a Rita nomination and giving up on the idea I could ever write a contemporary novel, much less something as challenging as romantic suspense.

Anyone else ever suffer this same writers' ailment? Is there anything you can do to regain perspective?

Time & Distance & Revision

Did you miss me? I've been away from the blog, away from the Internet (gasp!) for about nine days. Thanks to Joni for keeping up BtO in such grand style.

I spent the week visiting my family across the country. It was a quiet trip. No gliders or mountain vistas or long hikes to view wildlife, but one of those introspective journeys where you spend hours and hours chatting with the folks who knew you first and face up to the You you might have been if you'd stuck around the homestead.

In addition to getting my family fix, the trip brought me a writing gift as well. With my nose forcibly pried from the grindstone, I was able to get enough time away and distance from the project at which I'd been laboring to give me valuable perspective. Somehow, I'd forgotten the lesson that it's blinding to stare at any one point so closely and for so long. Coming back to it now, I see it as if for the first time, as cleanly and with as much detachment as if I were editing someone else's work.

It's a valuable gift, this perspective. I'm going to try my best to remember it the next time I spend week after week churning through the same pages.

Hope you all have had a grand week too!

By the way, the artwork is Perspective Box 1660-1680 by Pieter Janssens Elinga. Find out more here.