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II. SUBMISSIONS, continued b) Craft and Critiques Voice is often touted as a desirable element in fiction, yet it’s difficult to pinpoint (“I know it when I see it”). What does voice mean to you? How can it help create and define a character? Voice, to me, means sensibility. It is word choice, at the simplest level and style of locution at the next level. But fundamentally it is what a narrator notices and ignores that tells us about him or her. Voice is a character’s emotional intelligence. One way to achieve it is to make your narrating character react against our expectations. For example, we read a paragraph describing a special kindness from, let’s say, a teacher to a student: the paragraph explains the teacher’s thoughtfulness, conscientiousness, concern, affection for the student. But the paragraph ends with I hate teachers! then we wonder Why? How can she? Who is she? And we want to read to find out. Sarah Dessen says, "I never start a book until I have the first scene, last scene, climactic scene and first line all in my head." Cheryl Klein’s Second Sight references arcs (such as climax) within each scene. What tip or exercise do you suggest for making scenes emotionally satisfying? (Each writer’s process is different, relative to Sarah Dessen’s quote.) I agree with Cheryl completely. Each scene has a beginning, middle, and climax/end. Techniques to build movement toward the climax include modulating the pacing; increasing the conflict and/or the stakes; shifting the point of view, if the narration allows for it; third person; and so on. (Note: point of view manifests not only in who narrates, but also how: e.g., is perspective close-up or at a distance?)
Do you read the synopsis before or after reading a full manuscript—or do you bypass the synopsis? (Why?) I never read synopsis first and rarely after. I might look at it to see how the author understands his or her story, if I feel elements do not line up—if, for example, the thematic implications contradict each other; things like that. What kinds of flaws do you commonly see in otherwise well-written manuscripts? What self-editing tips do you suggest? At the micro level, (a) Eliminate needless quantifiers: some, few, a lot, many, and so on. (b) Eliminate needless modifiers: Adverbs rarely add value. (c) Distribute details; eschew information dumps. At the intermediate level, narrators often over-sequence physical movement. She heard the doorbell, put down her book, rose from the chair, crossed to the door, and opened it. Writers worry a reader will be lost if inbetween actions are omitted: [writers] are very wrong. Even She heard the doorbell and went to the door is over-narrated. Why not The doorbell rang; “Hi, BFF, what’s up?” There are zero inbetween actions and no one gets lost or feels cheated not knowing how she made it from chair to door. The [over-sequencing] problem exists because writers do not know how their text can control and/or command the reader’s imagination. Solution: study a couple of well-written paragraphs (any Stephen King, The Giver, Tuck Everlasting) and notice how you jump with the writer from action to action, seamlessly. At the highest level, a well-written manuscript controls the reader’s emotional involvement in the story. Therefore, a reader feels suspense, dread, elation, etcetera as the story warrants. Narration often fails to create these underlying feelings. This happens for many reasons. The result is a flat reading experience. The story gets told; the end. That is not good enough. We want storytelling to draw in, excite, compel readers to find out What is Going To Happen. That is why we read. I will say it again: we read stories to find out what is going to happen. The experience of reading should be exciting. The toolbox of techniques for controlling the readers is beyond the scope of this question, but I particularly want to sort through it at this workshop. Tell us about your approach to revisions in an accepted manuscript—one for which you’ve provided an editorial letter and/or invitation to re-submit. Revision is deadly serious because it shows me what the writer is truly made of. I cannot work with an author who cannot revise, or bring an editor an author who cannot revise. To me, revision is fully 50 percent of an author’s work. I do not read summaries of changes authors sometimes send or even check my own notes before reading a revision. The original problems and changes are either clear as I read or I can distinguish them re-analyzing the manuscript. I may send additional notes and request more work, but only if I see substantial progress from the original draft. Let’s say an agent is satisfied with a client's revisions, and pitches the manuscript to editors who request a submission. How long should the author expect to wait until the agent sends the manuscript to these editors? About an hour. Excepting exceptions. Say, for example, one editor is favored but about to change jobs. The agent might await the transition. Or an editorial shake-up is a-coming to a major player and heads have to roll before those remaining can think about a debut author. Or a house needs the results of an auction for a competing project first. Or an agent might wait for a pending announcement that will skyrocket the author’s worth. We craft submission strategies per project, and many variables get sifted and sorted to effect a plan. Agent-editor and agent-publisher relationships are also factors. Still, for all that, no wait is justified in the absence of extenuating circumstances: the agent should submit a requested manuscript right away. I often send manuscripts directly upon returning from a pitch lunch or ending a pitch call. How would you describe your working relationship with your authors? Each differs. One author might not want to mention a new manuscript, and it simply arrives one day. One author may want me to brainstorm early in a novel’s conception. I like to suggest story ideas or themes relevant to an author’s interests and/or talents. For example, I suggested John Cusick write a novel around surrogate pregnancy and Cherry, Money, Baby resulted. I told a client not to write a novel that I knew, from this author’s half-dozen previous books, would devolve into an abstract mess. When a manuscript arrives, I read it, maybe make notes, and talk to the author about a rewrite or a revise. The process repeats until the manuscript is ready. I will already have explained how the manuscript may be received by specific editors, houses, and/or imprints, as well as reviewers, booksellers, and the public—continually working to clarify a book's identity to position it among the zillion others. Editors talk about positioning a book. The exact considerations precede our manuscript submissions. Once the novel sells, the editor takes charge. If conflicts arise, the editor and/or author will call me in to smooth the wrinkles. As the industry has changed, I now see myself as my authors’ single long-term, deeply engaged writing coach/adviser. I want my writers to develop, I want each book to top the previous.
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