The Liars Club — A Blog by People Who Lie for a Living

First words. Um…

by Merry Jones on September 2, 2010

in Advice for Writers, Liars Club Philly, The Writing Life, The Writing Process

An Extra Extra! Feature:

For some of us, writing fiction seems a lot like trying to pick up a Hot Stranger in a bar: The opening line will make or break us.

If we blow our opening line in a bar, the Stranger turns off, never to find out what scintillating people we are; in a book, the reader stops, never to find out what scintillating prose awaits them on page two.

In other words, if we don’t grab them immediately, it’s over.

Or so many of us think. Of course, grabbing doesn’t have to involve a chokehold. But it does have to make readers (or Strangers) want to find out more. To engage them. Build curiosity. Create intrigue and draw them in.

Convinced about the importance of immediate grabbing, many writers sweat over these opening lines. Even talented, accomplished authors can find first lines daunting, getting intimidated, believing that these lines have to be perfect. Powerful. Strong. Meaningful. Dramatic. Unique. After all, these first sentences are supposed to set tone, establish style, lead readers into the world of the book—In short: hook them.

So what is it, exactly, that makes a good opening line? Are there rules? Definitions? Does anyone really know?

Maybe looking at some will help. Of course, Snoopy’s “It was a dark and stormy night” is unbeatable. But consider these:

“Mrs. Ferrars died on the night of the 16-17^th September—a Thursday.” The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, by Agatha Christie

“Last night I dreamt I was in Manderley again.” Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier

“Patsy sat by herself at the beginning of the evening, eating a melted chocolate bar.” Moving On, by Larry McMurtry

“They’re out there.” One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, by Ken Kesey

“I am ninety.” Water for Elephants, by Sara Gruen

“It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills.” The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler

“It was a Sunday morning at the peak of spring.” The Judgment, by Franz Kafka

“It was a slow Sunday afternoon, the kind Walden loved.” The Man from St. Petersburg, by Ken Follett

These opening lines are by iconic fiction writers. And, in a way, each sets a tone and presents key information. But, honestly, if you didn’t know where these sentences came from, would you think they were anything special? Please. “It was a slow Sunday afternoon…”? Or, “It was about eleven o’clock in the morning…”?

No, to me, the important thing isn’t the opening sentence; it’s all the sentences that follow it. Without a compelling story and appealing characters, these opening lines, even though by such distinguished authors, would be just—well, sentences.

So here’s the deal, or my theory of the deal: These authors didn’t worry about the opening sentence; they just started telling their stories. Even if those stories started in the middle or flashed back from the end, they had to start somewhere. Maybe by indicating time and place; maybe by introducing a character. Or revealing a thought. Or presenting a fact. Whatever started the telling made the first sentence. Just as whatever concluded the story made the last.

Mickey Spillane supposedly said that the beginning sells the novel and the end sells the next one. But that gives the first and last lines a lot of responsibility, causes lots of pressure. For me, the advice of my wise third grade teacher works just fine and doesn’t cause as much anxiety. Mrs. Kellen told her class, “The best way to start is to start.”

So that’s what I do. No perfect first sentence involved. No need for fancy phrasing or affected action. I just start.

So far, that’s worked pretty well for writing. I imagine it would also work for picking up Hot Strangers in a bar. If you try it, let me know?

Merry Jones is the author of the Zoe Hayes mysteries, including The Nanny Murders, The River Killings, The Deadly Neighbors, The Borrowed and Blue Murders, as well as non-fiction, including Birthmothers, and humor, including I Love Him, But… and If She Weren’t My Best Friend, I’d Kill Her.

Tagged as: author advice, how to start writing, Liars Club Philly, merry jones, Opening Lines, writing tips

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Keeping it Fresh

by Jonathan Maberry on September 1, 2010

in Advice for Writers, The Writing Life

An Extra! Extra! Feature

Yesterday I completed my 9^th novel (DUST & DECAY, to be published by Simon & Schuster in 2011) and today I started writing my 10^th (DEAD OF NIGHT, St. Martins Griffin, June 2011). That’s nine-plus novels since 2005, with more sold and as yet unwritten. I love writing novels and I can’t imagine ever getting tired of it…but I have friends and colleagues who have written a dozen or two dozen or many dozens of novels. So…I asked some of them how they stay enthused and how they keep it fresh.

Joining us today are Sandra Brown, Wendy Corsi Staub, Tess Gerritsen, Gayle Lynds, Douglas Preseton, David Hewson, James Rollins, Jack Ketchum, John Connolly, Jeff Abbott, and F. Paul Wilson

SANDRA BROWN: I think staleness is a consequence of the writer’s boredom with what he/she is writing. The first reader I must entertain is myself. If I’m not intrigued by the plot, if I don’t care what’s going to happen next, if I’m indifferent to a character who is a complete ninny and, as such, deserves total defeat, then my paying customer will feel the same. So I keep it interesting for myself. And with each book, I try to do something I’ve never done before. I build in an element that will make this story, and the telling of it, new and interesting for me, so that it will be fresh for the reader.

WENDY CORSI STAUB: The characters keep it fresh, always. We’ve all heard the saying that there are only so many plots, and only so many variations an author can create within those plots. Only when you breathe life into a character who can step into any premise and own it do you come up with something unique.

TESS GERRITSEN: What keeps it fresh? The material. Always striving for that chill up the spine. Even though ICE COLD is my 22nd novel (if you include my early romantic suspense novels) I got just as much a thrill imagining that story as I did with my very first book. I got just as lost in the crisis, just as horrified by the predicament of the characters. If I can’t feel the emotions my characters are feeling, then the story is a dud.

GAYLE LYNDS: I’m riveted always by the next book. I begin thinking about it long before I’m writing. At this point I have notes to myself for the next three books. When one loves the work, and doesn’t mind having no sense of comfort that one can pull it off again, it’s just darn addictive.

DOUGLAS PRESTON: What keeps it fresh is when I think of what else I might be doing to make a living. Digging ditches? I sit in my little 8 x 10 shack in the Maine woods and think that this isn’t a bad way to make a living. The truth is, I love writing, I love entering that mysterious quasi-universe that exists in my head and is slowly forming on my computer screen as I write a novel.

DAVID HEWSON: It took me a while to realize this but essentially every book is different. I have an ensemble cast, not a single protagonist. I vary the location, the point of view, the tone, the nature of the book. Some are mysteries. Some are thrillers. Some are just novels. There’s a lot of pressure to write the same thing over and over again and you have to resist it. Otherwise you’ll get bored, and not long after the readers. I can honestly say I feel more enthused about this series now, with the ninth book halfway done, than I did five books ago. Avoiding Conan Doyle syndrome is important for series writers.

JAMES ROLLINS: Some people think I’m crazy writing two books a year (okay, three books this year), but I think that’s a key to staying fresh. Each of the books is very different. Once I’m sort of burned out with writing a staccato-paced modern thriller, I get to switch to something entirely new: a fantasy, a kid’s adventure, a dabble into horror. Once done with that, I’m ready to return to the modern thriller. If I had to write thriller after thriller, I think I might burn out. So the more the merrier is my credo.

JACK KETCHUM: Doing stuff that’s not the same kind of stuff I did last time. That, and not doing a damn thing at all for a while. I like what Robert Mitchum said when asked how come he did so few movies. He said something to the effect of, “I like to lay off now and then. That way I’m always the new girl in the whorehouse.”

JOHN CONNOLLY: Well, at least since THE WHITE ROAD, I’ve tended to write every second book out of contract, or just about, which gives me the opportunity to experiment. NOCTURNES, THE BOOK OF LOST THINGS, THE GATES and, I believe, BAD MEN were all written without a contract or an advance, and I’ve been very fortunate that my publishers have been willing to give me that space, and to publish whatever results from it. As a consequence, I get to play with new forms, new genres, and different ways of telling a story, all of which feed back into the Parker novels. In addition, after taking a break from those books I tend to come back to them very refreshed, which I hope is communicated to the reader. The downside is that perhaps a certain amount of momentum has been lost in terms of gaining readers, as one Parker book doesn’t necessarily follow on from the previous one every year, and that really is the way to become a big bestseller: give the people the same thing every year, but just slightly different. On the other hand, if I did that I’d go crazy. I think I’ve achieved a nice balance, but not without making certain sacrifices.

JEFF ABBOTT: What keeps it fresh? Never repeating yourself. I mean, every book is a new challenge; it never gets easier. I am always learning something new about writing with every book. I cannot let myself become bored; that would translate into a boring book. So I always, always have to push myself.

F. PAUL WILSON: Fresh, shmesh. Trying to make each book at least as good as, if not better than, the last is an ongoing challenge that keeps you sharp. I can see, however, how a series could become a chore. I sidestepped that with Repairman Jack by deciding from the start that it would be a closed-end series – I would not run Jack into the ground. The stories would loop out from The Tomb and end at Nightworld. I’m just starting the 15^th and last novel in the series and I’m as psyched as ever.

The truth is, I can’t imagine not writing. Yes, it’s work, and it’s frustrating at times, but so is anything worth doing. For me, writing is an obsessive-compulsive disorder. If I won $80 million in the lottery today, you know what I’d be doing the very next morning? Well, I’d be in a CCU recovering from the heart attack winning caused me. But as soon as I got out, I’d be writing.

New York Times bestseller Jonathan Maberry is a multiple Bram Stoker Award-winning author and Marvel Comics writer. His many novels include PATIENT ZERO and THE DRAGON FACTORY (in development for TV), THE WOLFMAN, and ROT & RUIN. He also has the dubious distinction of being a co-founder of the Liars Club.

Tagged as: David Hewson, Douglas Preseton, F. Paul Wilson, Gayle Lynds, Jack Ketchum, James Rollins, Jeff Abbott, John Connolly, jonathan maberry, Sandra Brown, Tess Gerritsen, Wendy Corsi Staub, writer's life, writing advice

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Dear Gentlebeing…no thank you

by frost on August 31, 2010

in Advice for Writers, The Writing Life

Burning Question: How do you deal with rejection?

“Dear Gentlebeing

Thank you for submitting ‘Spock Meshugenah’ to Amazing Loonie Stories. While we did not find this story fit our needs, we hope you will think of us when you write your next masterpiece. No, really. The Editors”

Okay, here’s how it is out there. A magazine like Amazing Loonie Stories gets something like 200 to 300 submissions a week. You’re one of them. Next week they’ll get 300 more and odds are you won’t be one of them, unless you’re incredibly prolific and are writing a story every five minutes (in which case I suspect I know what’s wrong with your stories already).

Ways to make that story shine above the other 299 is a topic for another day. The point here is, the odds of you not being rejected are very much like those of you winning at roulette. You are going to be rejected.

More correctly stated, your story is going to be rejected. Why? Who knows? Maybe you haven’t really created viable characters. Maybe your premise is shaky. Maybe your idea of science fiction is what you’ve seen on TV or in the movies (certainly, if the story’s called “Spock Meshugenah”) and you don’t actually know the genre, haven’t even read The Martian Chronicles, never mind Charles Stross or The Windup Girl, and so you’re unknowingly penning outdated, hackneyed story ideas.

None of these things is an impossibility to overcome. You can learn and improve upon all of these things–mostly by writing more and reading more–either about how to write characters or more fiction of the kind you think you want to write. Rejection is about this story at this moment in time. It might not even be about your story. It could be the editor just bought something like it, so can’t take another story about autistic vampire robots from Jupiter (seriously, please don’t write that idea), or you haven’t bothered to read the magazine at all, and it’s really a magazine of stories about telescopes trained on the moon. Again, the problem is solved by reading–in this case, reading the markets you want to pitch to.

In every case, rejection is not a personal attack on you. Okay, I’ve heard of one rejection slip to an author that read “If I had to choose between buying your story and shooting my mother, it would be a bad day for mom.” That’s personal. If you got that rejection, then it’s personal. Otherwise, no. The most a rejection slip is telling you is “Your story isn’t ready.” The least it’s telling you is “This didn’t do anything for us.” If you quit because you got rejected, then you really didn’t want this very much. “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, sitting in the garden eating worms” is not a viable response to rejection. Yes, no one likes having their contribution turned down. But those who are in print now while you aren’t had to charge through the same gauntlet of rejection to get into print.

So deal with rejection however you have to. The healthiest form of rejection coping I ever saw was my teacher many years ago, T.C. Boyle, who had taken his rejection slips from Esquire and Playboy and many other large, well-paying fiction markets (most of them gone now), and had made a collage out of them, framed it and hung it on the wall: Rejection as a thing you look at. That’s healthy.

Here’s one solution for you. Before you send your story anywhere, pick a minimum of five markets for it. You can pick more, but no less–and these had better be markets you’ve checked, read, established print stories like yours. The list should start with the highest paying market and go down the scale. Once you have your list, then start submitting. If the story is rejected, cross that market off and send it to the next on your list. Rinse and repeat until you’ve run out of markets or it’s sold. If you go through your entire list there, and the story’s been rejected, probably that says your story is not ready yet. Now it’s time to reconsider it. Revise or set it aside. You should have been writing more stories anyway, while this one was out. If you write a story and then wait for it to sell before you write the next one, you are doing this wrong. Cut it out.

Rejection is part of the game. Accept that now and the rest will be easier.

Gregory Frost is the author of well over fifty published short stories. He spent six years writing them and being soundly rejected before his first one found its way into print. His latest stories are appearing in the anthologies Clockwork Phoenix 3 and The Beastly Bride.

Tagged as: Advice for Writers, author advice, gregory frost, rejection, submitting stories, writing advice

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No, No, a Thousand Times No!

by Jon McGoran on August 30, 2010

in Advice for Writers, The Writing Life

Today’s burning question is How Do You Deal With Rejection?

There are many ways to deal with the emotional pangs of rejection — hug your dog, drink yourself stupid, kill a random stranger – all valid responses and helpful in their own way. But there are also tactics to help prevent the worst of the pain. The first is what I call The Diversion of Delusion (or Optimizing Your Optimism). It is important at all times to have more than one submission out there, especially during the first wave of submitting, when you are sending out a lot of submissions. If you are sending them out in batches, send your next batch out while you still have one or two queries out there. Then, when a rejection comes in, you can immediately say to yourself, “Yeah, well screw them; I’d rather have this other agency, anyway”; redirecting your hopes to a shiny new prospect makes the pain from that #@%$ other one a lot easier to take.

Hopefully, though, there comes a time when an agent asks for your entire manuscript, and they will usually ask for exclusivity. So much for Diversion of Delusion; exclusivity means there are no other submissions on which to focus. Making matters worse is that you now have an honest-to-god, legitimate prospect. You raise your hopes and lower your defenses. By this point you have probably gotten used to the stacks of rejections from the cold queries you have sent out, but this is different. This rejection, if it comes, doesn’t just sting, it hurts bad. And now you don’t even have another submission out there. So now what?

Now you take what you have, you focus on the positive, and you move on. If you got past a query and fifty pages and an agent has asked for your complete manuscript (Is that second base?), you definitely have something going on. And if the agent says nice things about your manuscript before getting to “But” (as in “But while I greatly enjoyed it, I did not love it enough to represent it with the enthusiasm that is necessary to…”) take those nice things to heart. You earned them with your writing, and they are for real.

Here’s the thing: Your mother will say nice things about your writing no matter how bad it is (well, not all mothers…). Your friends will tell you it is great no matter what. But a prospective agent who is rejecting you? They don’t care, nor should they. If they hated it, they probably wouldn’t tell you, they would just send a form letter, or nothing at all. (Form letters can also mean they didn’t actually read it, or that they are just very busy, so come in off those ledges all you form-rejection-recipients.) But if they take the time to say something nice, they mean it. And that counts. So you take each little scrap of positive reinforcement, and you sock it away until you need it.

Hopefully, at some point, you will get your agent and publish your book, and then you will be able to boast about how many rejections you got before your success. And as a side benefit, all that rejection will have thickened your skin enough so that you can take it in stride when you find yourself sitting in an empty bookstore behind a stack of your unsold books, and the only time anyone even speaks to you is to ask where the bathroom is, or even worse, where the Stephanie Meyer books are.

And if that still hurts, well there’s always plenty of random strangers around…

Jon McGoran writes gritty and humorous thrillers under the pen name of D.H. Dublin. His titles include Freezer Burn, Body Trace and Blood Poison, all published by Berkley.