1 False Start

A Chapter by HGRolen

Amanda paced around the floor of her bedroom quietly humming to herself while chewing on her pen. She looked down at her tablet and read over the question again. Why do you want to work here? This was the one question she couldn’t figure out a believable answer for. Not for this job interview or for the last five.

"Why do I want to work at a factory, or a fast food joint, or a stinky fueling station?" Umm, I don't? I mean who would?

"I don't understand why I must have an interview for a minimum wage job anyway. At 10 credits per hour, I don't think I should be expected to show up to work with any shoes on!"

She looked over at the clock on her wall. 7:13. She didn’t have much time. She tossed her tablet on the bed and walked over to her window. It was raining again today; probably Ms. Cooper called in a request for it at the weather station. Amanda thought she saw her carrying a new book into her apartment last night, and she knew Ms. Cooper only liked to read when it was raining. There was a pounding at the door, startling her from her thoughts.

"Amanda! You better be getting ready; your interview is in half an hour."

"Okay mom," she said.

Those were the first words that she and her mother had spoken to each other in two days. Sometimes she wondered why her mother still let her live with her. Well, if she didn’t blow this interview, she could move out. Then neither of them would have to see each other again. She picked up her bag and checked to make sure everything she needed was in there. Phone, key, Id, credit card, all check.

"Now all I need is a new identity," Amanda laughed to herself.

Two months ago, there wasn’t anyone she would have rather been than Amanda Olson, but that was before she was expelled from University. Before her mother decided that she was worthless.

Amanda shook the unpleasant thoughts from her mind. She didn’t have time for self-pity. She put on her shoes, walked out her bedroom, avoided eye contact with her mother, and exited the apartment.

next chapter

© 2019 HGRolen

My Review

Would you like to review this Chapter?
Login | Register

Reviews

JayG

Oh my, you are so going to hate me. But you write and visualize well, so I thought you might want to know that there are things most people miss that can give your words wings. But there is a lot, though, and you’ve worked really hard on this, so it will sting just a bit.

First, you need to be more careful of viewpoint. You begin in the viewpoint of a verbal storyteller (more on the problems associated with that that later). But then, at random, you drop in and out of Amanda’s, as though she can hear you and is responding to what you say. For example:

• Why do I want to work at a factory, or a fast food joint, or a stinky fueling station? I don’t, of course! Nobody did.

The first line is a thought, and should be presented as such, in italics, because it comes directly from her.

The second line limps. When we ask ourself a rhetorical question, we may answer it, but why would we add “of course?” Probably not, because it’s not an emphasis we need to give ourself. So she’s really talking for the benefit of the reader—and it shows.

Next, look out for unneeded words. Every unnecessary word you can remove makes the story read a bit faster. And the faster it reads the more impact is has, because the action comes at the reader at a higher rate.

The next line, “I don’t, of course!” is inherent to the line before, you’d not say something like that unless the answer is that she doesn’t want to work there, So why waste the reader’s time reading something they already know?

And finally, that last line: As stated: “Nobody did,” it’s demonstrably wrong. Obviously people will work in such places or no one would be employed there. Watch for things like this, which are your personal viewpoint projected onto the protagonist.

In any case, to continue the thought she began, it should be something like, “Who would?”

And watch out for words we use in speaking, for purposes of cadence, which are unnecessary on the page. For example, look at all the places where you use, “that.” See how many of them can be ripped out to make the line read more smoothly. One of the final steps when I’m editing a story is to do a search for unneeded words. “That” is one of them.

1. This was the one question (that) she couldn’t figure out a believable answer for
2. … and she knew (that) Ms. Cooper only liked to read…
3. Those were the first words(that) she and her mother had spoken to each other in two days.
4. She picked up her bag and checked to make sure (that) everything she needed

“Had” is another clutter word:

1. She didn’t understand why she (had to-have) an interview for a minimum wage job anyhow.

This reduces to, “She didn’t understand why she needed an interview for a minimum wage job anyhow.” And, is the last word really necessary?

2. Those were the first words that she and her mother (had spoken to each other) in two days.

Reduces to, “Those were the first words she and her mother shared in two days.”

As an aside, haveing her miss that Mom reminding her what time it is shows that she cares, and still worries about her. Having her whine about mom letting her stay, after Mom does this makes Amanda seem petty, and less likeable.

3. Before her mother had started treating her like she was her biggest disappointment.

Reduces to “Before her mother decided that she was worthless,” for more impact.

Mom’s treatment of her is inherent to her feeling Amanda is worthless—or whatever term you use—and doesn’t need to be mentioned.

But forget all that. Why? Because it’s a symptom, not the problem (though you still need to look at squeezing out unnecessary words in anything you write). The first problem is that you’re using the tools of verbal storytelling in a medium that reproduces neither sound nor picture.

That matters a great deal, but it’s also something you’ll not see till someone like me points it out. Why? Because as you read, the story works—perfectly. But it only works for you, and only because you cheat. You know the story before you read the first word. You know how you want the reader to take the words, so you do. You know why she says and does things, so they make perfect sense.

And when you read, your performance as a verbal storyteller works for you. Asn you read, you vary tempo, intensity, and use all the tricks of that amazing instrument called the human voice.

But…who but you can hear it? The reader? Nope. What they get is what punctuation suggests. And the word-meaning they take isn’t what you intend, because they can’t access your intent. Instead, it’s what the words suggest TO THEM, based on THEIR background, not yours.

Have your computer read this aloud excerpt to hear how different what a reader gets is from what you intend.

But worse yet, as you read, you can feel your expression change to illustrate emotion—as it would were you performing before an audience. You literally make the gestures you would use to visually punctuate. But can the reader see that? No. Can they see your body-language? No again.

Here’s what we ALL miss: As the story progresses you can tell the reader that a character speaks angrily, or in a whisper, via a tag. But you cannot, cannot, cannot tell the reader how YOU speak any given line. And given that the reader doesn’t know what a line WILL say, they can’t guess.

That’s why the narrator’s job is to support the action going on, NOT explain it. Trying to transcribe a verbal storyteller, as so many hopeful writers do, can’t work.

I truly wish I had better news, but it can’t. And changing the pronouns to first person will change nothing because explaining is explaining no matter who does it. There is a vast difference between point of view, as defined by the personal pronouns you use, and viewpoint, which is a critical part of writing fiction, but is also something your teachers never mentioned. How your protagonist views what’s happening is unique to every character. It’s what makes characters memorable, because it supplies the flavor to the story. For a deeper explanation of who that is, and why it’s necessary, try this article:
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/2011/09/22/the-grumpy-writing-coach-8/

Bear in mind that what I’m saying has nothing to do with your talent and potential for writing fiction. Nor is it about good/bad writing, or even the story. The problem lies in something none of us notice in our school years, and one reasonable but inaccurate assumption, which is: The techniques we’re given in school are part of something called, “writing,” and, the profession is called, “Fiction-Writing.” It does seem reasonable that the two are related, but what we learned in our school days cannot be used to write fiction, for reasons I’ll get to in a moment.

Something few of us notice is that we pretty much are assigned only reports and essays to write while we’re in school. And we get pretty good at it. But the goal of that kind of writing is to inform. That’s a great ability to have when we’re on the job, and that kind of writing even has a name: nonfiction. Employers feel it’s a necessary skill, and since we’re being trained to be productive, and employed adults, school’s focus is on skills most of us will need in life and on the job.

Unfortunately, that leads to the second thing we miss: All professions are learned IN ADDITION to the general skills we’re given in our school-days. And, writing fiction is a profession.

Is there any good news? Well, it’s a problem you share with pretty much everyone who turns to writing fiction. And, it’s fixable.

What makes it hard is that we’re missing a LOT of information, and as Mark Twain so wisely observed, “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

For example of where what we think we know comes into conflict with the writer’s world, a scene on the page is nothing like on stage and screen. It has elements like “the short-term scene-goal,” not shared with the other mediums. There are issues we must take into account when opening a scene so a reader will always have context for what’s said and done. Did your teachers mention even one?

My point? How can we write a scene if we don’t know what one is? And that’s just one of hundreds of things the pro takes into account when they sit down to write. The differences between the approach to presenting a scene on the page and in other mediums are so great that it’s not a matter of fixing a line here and there—which is more bad news, I suppose.

But when I learned how little I knew about how to write fiction I’d already written six unsold novels, and I thought I was pretty damn close to writing on a professional level. But I was pretty much doing everything wrong. And I not only survived, after a rewrite, I sold four of those novels to a publisher, plus some short stories. So it’s more a rite-of-passage than a disaster.

Something to think about: From the day you, and everyone you know, first began reading you’ve consumed, almost exclusively, work that was professionally written and prepared. But reading fiction no more teaches us to write it than does eating teach us to cook.

We do, though, develop a feel for, and a taste for, work based on the techniques of our profession. Does it not, therefore, make sense to invest a bit of time, and perhaps a few coins, on your professional education and pick up a few of the nuts-and-bolts issues? Given that until I did, I was collecting rejections, and sold the first novel I queried after digging into those things, you know my answer.

Your local library’s fiction-writing section can be a huge resource. There, you’ll find the views of noteworthy teachers, and working pros in both writing and publishing.

A book on writing technique I currently recommend is, James Scott Bell: Elements of Fiction Writing.
https://www.amazon.com/Elements-Fiction-Writing-Conflict-Suspense-ebook/dp/B006N4DAZE/ref=sr_1_3?keywords=Elements+of+Fiction+Writing+james+scott+bell&qid=1563058732&s=digital-text&sr=1-3

One other suggestion is to take a look at a few of the articles in my blog. They’re aimed at presenting an overview of some issues you’ll find addressed in books on fiction-writing technique.

So the bad news? You’re not going to sell the novel and be rich and famous by this time next year. Mastering any profession takes time, study, and practice. No way around that. Still, writing is fun, and its own reward. It’s the only profession where you can be looking out of the window, staring at nothing, and when you’re asked what you’re doing, honestly say, “Working.”

The good news? Writing becomes a LOT more fun for both writer and reader, and your options multiply when the protagonist becomes your writing partner. And, with study you can exchange that sturdy cart horse called nonfiction that your schooldays gave you for Pegasus. And mounted on a winged beast? Who knows where you’ll fly to?

So give it a try. And whatever you do, hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

Posted 4 Years Ago

First, you need to be more careful of viewpoint. You begin in the viewpoint of a verbal storyteller (more on the problems associated with that that later). But then, at random, you drop in and out of Amanda’s, as though she can hear you and is responding to what you say. For example:

• Why do I want to work at a factory, or a fast food joint, or a stinky fueling station? I don’t, of course! Nobody did.

The first line is a thought, and should be presented as such, in italics, because it comes directly from her.

The second line limps. When we ask ourself a rhetorical question, we may answer it, but why would we add “of course?” Probably not, because it’s not an emphasis we need to give ourself. So she’s really talking for the benefit of the reader—and it shows.

Next, look out for unneeded words. Every unnecessary word you can remove makes the story read a bit faster. And the faster it reads the more impact is has, because the action comes at the reader at a higher rate.

The next line, “I don’t, of course!” is inherent to the line before, you’d not say something like that unless the answer is that she doesn’t want to work there, So why waste the reader’s time reading something they already know?

And finally, that last line:  As stated: “Nobody did,” it’s demonstrably wrong. Obviously people will work in such places or no one would be employed there. Watch for things like this, which are your personal viewpoint projected onto the protagonist.

In any case, to continue the thought she began, it should be something like, “Who would?”

And watch out for words we use in speaking, for purposes of cadence, which are unnecessary on the page. For example, look at all the places where you use, “that.” See how many of them can be ripped out to make the line read more smoothly. One of the final steps when I’m editing a story is to do a search for unneeded words. “That” is one of them.

1. This was the one question (that) she couldn’t figure out a believable answer for
2. … and she knew (that) Ms. Cooper only liked to read…
3. Those were the first words(that) she and her mother had spoken to each other in two days.
4. She picked up her bag and checked to make sure (that) everything she needed

“Had” is another clutter word:

1. She didn’t understand why she (had to-have) an interview for a minimum wage job anyhow.

This reduces to, “She didn’t understand why she needed an interview for a minimum wage job anyhow.” And, is the last word really necessary?

2. Those were the first words that she and her mother (had spoken to each other) in two days.

Reduces to, “Those were the first words she and her mother shared in two days.”

As an aside, haveing her miss that Mom reminding her what time it is shows that she cares, and still worries about her. Having her whine about mom letting her stay, after Mom does this makes Amanda seem petty, and less likeable.

3. Before her mother had started treating her like she was her biggest disappointment.

Reduces to “Before her mother decided that she was worthless,” for more impact.

Mom’s treatment of her is inherent to her feeling Amanda is worthless—or whatever term you use—and doesn’t need to be mentioned.

But forget all that. Why? Because it’s a symptom, not the problem (though you still need to look at squeezing out unnecessary words in anything you write). The first  problem is that you’re using the tools of verbal storytelling in a medium that reproduces neither sound nor picture.

That matters a great deal, but it’s also something you’ll not see till someone like me points it out. Why? Because as you read, the story works—perfectly. But it only works for you, and only because you cheat. You know the story before you read the first word. You know how you want the reader to take the words, so you do. You know why she says and does things, so they make perfect sense.

And when you read, your performance as a verbal storyteller works for you. Asn you read, you vary tempo, intensity, and use all the tricks of that amazing instrument called the human voice.

But…who but you can hear it? The reader? Nope. What they get is what punctuation suggests. And the word-meaning they take isn’t what you intend, because they can’t access your intent. Instead, it’s what the words suggest TO THEM, based on THEIR background, not yours.

Have your computer read this aloud excerpt to hear how different what a reader gets is from what you intend.

But worse yet, as you read, you can feel your expression change to illustrate emotion—as it would were you performing before an audience. You literally make the gestures you would use to visually punctuate. But can the reader see that? No. Can they see your body-language? No again.

Here’s what we ALL miss: As the story progresses you can tell the reader that a character speaks angrily, or in a whisper, via a tag. But you cannot, cannot, cannot tell the reader how YOU speak any given line. And given that the reader doesn’t know what a line WILL say, they can’t guess.

That’s why the narrator’s job is to support the action going on, NOT explain it. Trying to transcribe a verbal storyteller, as so many hopeful writers do, can’t work.

I truly wish I had better news, but it can’t. And changing the pronouns to first person will change nothing because explaining is explaining no matter who does it. There is a vast difference between point of view, as defined by the personal pronouns you use, and viewpoint, which is a critical part of writing fiction, but is also something your teachers never mentioned. How your protagonist views what’s happening is unique to every character. It’s what makes characters memorable, because it supplies the flavor to the story. For a deeper explanation of who that is, and why it’s necessary, try this article:
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/2011/09/22/the-grumpy-writing-coach-8/

Bear in mind that what I’m saying has nothing to do with your talent and potential for writing fiction. Nor is it about good/bad writing, or even the story. The problem lies in something none of us notice in our school years, and one reasonable but inaccurate assumption, which is: The techniques we’re given in school are part of something called, “writing,” and, the profession is called, “Fiction-Writing.” It does seem reasonable that the two are related, but what we learned in our school days cannot be used to write fiction, for reasons I’ll get to in a moment.

Something few of us notice is that we pretty much are assigned only reports and essays  to write while we’re in school. And we get pretty good at it. But the goal of that kind of writing is to inform. That’s a great ability to have when we’re on the job, and that kind of writing even has a name: nonfiction. Employers feel it’s a necessary skill, and since we’re being trained to be productive, and employed adults, school’s focus is on skills most of us will need in life and on the job.

Unfortunately, that leads to the second thing we miss: All professions are learned IN ADDITION to the general skills we’re given in our school-days. And, writing fiction is a profession.

Is there any good news? Well, it’s a problem you share with pretty much everyone who turns to writing fiction. And, it’s fixable.

What makes it hard is that we’re missing a LOT of information, and as Mark Twain so wisely observed, “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

For example of where what we think we know comes into conflict with the writer’s world, a scene on the page is nothing like on stage and screen. It has elements like “the short-term scene-goal,” not shared with the other mediums. There are issues we must take into account when opening a scene so a reader will always have context for what’s said and done. Did your teachers mention even one?

My point? How can we write a scene if we don’t know what one is? And that’s just one of hundreds of things the pro takes into account when they sit down to write. The differences between the approach to presenting a scene on the page and in other mediums are so great that it’s not a matter of fixing a line here and there—which is more bad news, I suppose.

But when I learned how little I knew about how to write fiction I’d already written six unsold novels, and I thought I was pretty damn close to writing on a professional level. But I was pretty much doing everything wrong. And I not only survived, after a rewrite, I sold four of those novels to a publisher, plus some short stories. So it’s more a rite-of-passage than a disaster.

Something to think about: From the day you, and everyone you know, first began reading you’ve consumed, almost exclusively, work that was professionally written and prepared. But reading fiction no more teaches us to write it than does eating teach us to cook.

We do, though, develop a feel for, and a taste for, work based on the techniques of our profession. Does it not, therefore, make sense to invest a bit of time, and perhaps a few coins, on your professional education and pick up a few of the nuts-and-bolts issues? Given that until I did, I was collecting rejections, and sold the first novel I queried after digging into those things, you know my answer.

Your local library’s fiction-writing section can be a huge resource. There, you’ll find the views of noteworthy teachers, and working pros in both writing and publishing.

A book on writing technique I currently recommend is, James Scott Bell: Elements of Fiction Writing.
https://www.amazon.com/Elements-Fiction-Writing-Conflict-Suspense-ebook/dp/B006N4DAZE/ref=sr_1_3?keywords=Elements+of+Fiction+Writing+james+scott+bell&qid=1563058732&s=digital-text&sr=1-3

One other suggestion is to take a look at a few of the articles in my blog. They’re aimed at presenting an overview of some issues you’ll find addressed in books on fiction-writing technique.

So the bad news?  You’re not going to sell the novel and be rich and famous by this time next year. Mastering any profession takes time, study, and practice. No way around that. Still, writing is fun, and its own reward. It’s the only profession where you can be looking out of the window, staring at nothing, and when you’re asked what you’re doing, honestly say, “Working.”

The good news? Writing becomes a LOT more fun for both writer and reader, and your options multiply when the protagonist becomes your writing partner. And, with study you can exchange that sturdy cart horse called nonfiction that your schooldays gave you for Pegasus. And mounted on a winged beast? Who knows where you’ll fly to?

So give it a try. And whatever you do, hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

Rating /100