Introducing Scene Stealers: Flex Your Creative Muscles with Writing Prompts

If you want to try a fun way to flex your creative muscles, please read on.

Welcome to Scene Stealers.

Here’s how it works:

  • We set the scene
  • You steal it, make it your own, and
  • Share your creation in the comments section

It’s as simple as that!

Of course, it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to share your work, but we hope you’ll do the exercise anyway. As they say, practice makes perfect ….

Now for the ground rules:

  • You must use the exact wording we provide.
  • Your scene/story must be 300 words or less.
  • Your work must be original and not previously published.
  • WTD provides an encouraging and safe environment for writers to learn. When commenting on someone else’s work, please list everything you like first. Only then offer careful suggestions.
  • We reserve the right to delete any comments or entries that we deem inappropriate and those that do not meet the specifications above.

This is not a contest, so we’re not asking you to vote for your favorite and we’re not awarding any prizes.

At least not yet …

But we do want your opinion of this idea. So please let us know in the comment section.

We’ll see how this goes and, if  the feedback is positive after we do a few of these, we just might turn Scene Stealers into a friendly competition down the road.

Here’s the first Scene Stealer for you:

Anna watched the sun come up for the fifth day in a row. Sleep had eluded her since the accident.

Now, steal this and take this story wherever you want …

We can’t wait to see what happens.

By Cheryl Craigie, Contributing Editor at Write to Done. Cheryl also blogs at The Manageable Life.

I Paid For This?! Surviving the Editorial Letter

A guest post by Lisa Kilian of What Not To Do as a Writer

There comes a time in every writer’s life when the plot is adequately twisted, the characters are adequately developed, and all the typos have been eliminated with a laser gun. You think.

Actually, you’re not sure if any of that is true because you’ve been staring at the same document on your computer for so long you’re kind of wondering if maybe you didn’t go blind last week. You think you’re reading words. You think those words are good. The dreams about your story have stopped and now all you dream about is book parties and signings and big wigs and wine.

You think you’re ready to submit. To publish. To throw caution to the wind and send that manuscript off for some close reading. Except you haven’t been able to read your own manuscript closely for months now and you’re honestly not sure what it says anymore. Your characters could be marrying dogs or lost somewhere else in the muddle, you have no idea.

That’s why you need an editor.

Someone who doesn’t know you or love you but knows writing and loves reading freshly pressed work. Someone who will look at your characters and say, “Hey, cool story, but did you notice Sally marries a dog on page 23?”

When I receive a manuscript to read, I welcome it with open arms. And the brave writers who have sent their words to me wait patiently in the background brimming with nervous energy. It’s a great relationship. We email back and forth about little things. We laugh. I read and make notes.

And then I send the editorial letter. And that’s when the fun stops.

Right there, in one convenient document, is an overview of all the concerns I have regarding their manuscript. Plot holes, flat characters, lagging prose, over-telling, over-explaining, back story — all of it. Their manuscript is suddenly less pristine and more of a mess and I know I’m not gonna be the one to clean it up.

Receiving an editorial letter after you’ve paid to have your novel edited sucks. It just — sucks. That’s pretty much the only thing I can say. But! That same editorial letter that sucks so much to read is also the heart and soul of what you paid for. You asked someone professional with an objective eye to read your manuscript and deconstruct it — and that’s exactly what they did. And they even went one step further and gave you suggestions on how to clean up your mess.

Still, I can hear it through the email; the writer’s happiness just deflates. I receive an answer just dripping with defeat. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Steel your skin and prepare your mind before you open that letter. And remember these things:

 

1. What is a Finished Piece to You is a Rough Draft to Me

 

You may believe your manuscript to be finished and polished — but if you’re sending it to an editor, it’s not. Why else would it end up on an editor’s desk? There are things going on in your manuscript that you are simply blind to because you no longer have the distance and objectivity to see it. Why would you? You’ve spent months with your nose to the screen trying to figure out how to finish this thing.

 

2. Just Because You Receive In-Depth Edits Doesn’t Mean You Suck

 

Everyone receives in-depth edits. Everyone receives suggestions for change. Everyone has to get edited. I, too, am a writer. And my critique group always makes suggestions for changes. They even tell me ::gasp:: that something is not working. And I get sad. I go home. I take a nap. And then I rewrite.

 

3. By All Means, Get Angry — Just Don’t Call Me

 

When you receive edits and they seem overwhelming, you’re going to get angry. And you’re probably going to be angry at me. That’s the nature of the beast. So get angry. But remember that it’s not me you’re angry with. Frankly, you’re upset with yourself because you sent something that you thought was ready to go and it turned out to not be so ready after all. And that’s okay, really. It’s human nature to get upset when things are hard and writing is just that. So read your letter, take a few deep breaths, hit a punching bag, and take a nap. Seriously. Naps fix everything. When your emotions are defused and you’re ready to get back to work, then you can email me.

 

4. I’m Not Here to Make You Feel Bad

 

My job is to make your writing better, and by default, make you a stronger person. My job is not to take your money and rip your work to shreds. It is not in my interest to be snarky and make you feel like shit. I don’t want to make you give up.

I want to make your writing better. I want to make your writing better. I want to make your writing better.

That’s the first and last concern on any editor’s mind when we read your work.

Lisa Kilian is the author of the blog, What Not To Do as a Writer. She has had essays published at Beyond the Margins, Best Damn Creative Writing Blog, and Write It Sideways to name a few. Follow her @LisaKilian or email her at lr.kilian@gmail.com She would love to read your work.

The Art vs. Craft Gap – a Writer’s Paradox

bridging-the-gap2

A guest post by Larry Brooks

If you want to see a room full of writers go ballistic, right up there with a lynch mob on the hysteria scale, tell them there really is a formula for writing a novel.  A list of elements and criteria that define the nature of the work.

They probably already know that stuff exists for screenwriters, but novels? No, novels are art.  Everybody knows that, and if you don’t, well you’re probably a screenwriter at heart.  Or maybe an engineer with a taste for Clancy novels.

So are novels works of art?  Absolutely, yes they are.  So is cooking and making candles, but nobody argues that recipes don’t work in those fields, and the same is true for writing novels.

While penning a novel is indeed an artistic enterprise, it is also one that depends on solid craft to be successful. And you wouldn’t set out to whip together a four-course meal or pour yourself a chapel full of candles without getting your head around the craft of it before putting on the old apron.

And yet, many novelists – even experienced ones – rip into the writing of a story without the slightest idea what the components or criteria for a good of a story are – that’s the craft of storytelling – armed only with a killer idea and a den full of bestsellers they’ve read, each of which have led them to the dual delusion that,

a) it doesn’t look all that hard

b) I’ll just head on down the storytelling road and see what happens.

As if that’s how it’s done.

How it’s done is all over the map, and that’s one of the reasons teaching writing is such a challenge.

Should you outline or write organically?

Should you depend on your drafts to add new elements and depth to the story, or are your drafts used for honing the elements to a crisp edge and elegant sheen? 

What is the art of storytelling versus the craft of storytelling?

Let’s look at two  metaphoric houses to tell the difference.  Both are built from specific designs.  Both are executed from blueprints.  But one is a tract home in a crowded neighborhood, the other – no bigger in terms of square feet – end up on the cover of Architectural Digest.  Both were built with excellent craftsmanship.  But only one is considered a work of art.

The art resides in the design, and the craft resides in the execution.

Say what?  You’re a writer, not a general contractor.  So let’s break it down.

At the design stage, both houses are nothing more than the sum of a bunch of concepts and ideas, just like a novel.  To simply stand upright against a stiff wind – the metaphoric equivalent of getting published in the case of a novel – there must be solid ideas and concepts in play which are executed with a sufficient level of craftsmanship.

But the essence of the truly artistic house is the originality, energy and beauty of the form and shape of the structure.  Without something exciting, fresh and thought-provoking, you risk your story being perceive as yet another tract house in a neighborhood full of mediocrity.

Unpublished novels earn and keep that label because they lack art or craft, or both.  It’s not rocket science to accept that premise.  But too many of those unpublished writers put all their chips on one or the other, without understand that it is the melding of both that becomes a sum in excess of the parts, which is precisely what publishers are looking for.

It boils down to this: a great idea or concept does not a good story make.  What evolves a killer idea into a marvelously compelling story requires craft, executed with artful creativity.

Art is the essence of that originality and the power of the end result.

Craft is execution using the tools of the trade: a great hook, a compelling set-up, a plot point that grabs the reader by the throat, irresistible stakes, magnificent tension and elegant exposition, blinding twists and heart-wrenching character arc, and a denouement that goes down like a smooth southern beverage on a steamy summer night under a full moon.  Or, one that scares the pants off you, depending on your genre.

In athletics they say you can’t coach speed, and the same can be said of the art of storytelling.  But it can be learned, and the formula for that is this: read, write, repeat… read, write, repeat.

The art of storytelling is an aesthetic sensibility that evolves with fickle timing, and you have to chase it down and then hold on until the whistle blows.  As for craft, the formula is much more precise: set-up, plot point, response, proactive pursuit, final twist, selfless heroism and irony.  Some call it orphan, wanderer,   and martyr.  Whatever.

It is a discipline that you’ll embrace before you write a successful, publishable story, whether it be through discovery as you write drafts or through story architecture that you create as a roadmap for your narrative.

And in the end, if you do it right, the reader will never know the difference between your art and your craft… just like that first bite of something succulent prepared by the hand of a master chef.  It just takes you there, without a hint of recipe, and equally dependent upon both the art and the craft of the creator.

Larry Brooks, aka The Storyfixer, is the author of four thrillers, one of which was a USA Today bestseller, another a Publishers Weekly “Best Books of 2004 selection. His blog StoryFix.com, is a resource for writers who are tired of workshop jargon.

Use Michael Bay as Your Writing Muse

Note from the Chief Editor: This is a guest post from Al at 7P Productions.

They say that a common mistake for new writers is the tendency of not fully using the imagination to tell the story. First time writers usually are not comfortable with letting loose the creativity needed to make the story dynamic. They tend to have uninteresting characters, a less than compelling plot, or simply a dull writing style. New writers should not be afraid to expand their vision to make the story more compelling.

If you need some inspiration on being a dynamic storyteller, look no further than Michael Bay. You may know him from modern classics such as Bad Boys, Armageddon, and Transformers. Who better to be your writing inspiration than the man who can bring out the super in superfluous?

Here are some guidelines that are inspired by Michael Bay’s signature techniques for elevating a story:

  • Start things off with an awesome explosion: Whether it’s a thriller, sci-fi, or even romance, Act I of the story needs to be impressive enough to make the reader want more. Its purpose is to engage the reader and to set the tone of the story. Entice the reader with the opening line and continue to hook the reader by giving a taste of the excitement and drama to come. Make the reader salivate for Act II.
  • Use sexy characters (even if she’s a car mechanic or an internet hacker): Every character has the potential to be interesting, particularly the supporting characters. Don’t fall into the trap of making flat one-dimensional characters if they’re not the lead hero. Do your homework and flesh out your characters as real people rather than commonplace characters and stereotypes. If they’re not interesting, you’re not paying attention.
  • Throw in more awesome explosions: Keep the reader engaged by continually increasing the stakes as the story develops. If you make the story linear, it becomes predictable. Create an unpredictable ride by adding more obstacles and escalating the stakes as the story progresses.
  • Put Planet Earth in danger: Raise the stakes to the highest level by ultimately putting the world at risk. This world can be everything within the hero’s sphere of interest, or simply the world inside the character’s head. Wherever you draw the boundaries, make sure it’s significant enough with respect to the character.
  • There’s never enough awesome explosions: A character arc is the growth of the character along the story. Use powerful events with the character to shape the arc. The peak of the arc is the revelation, where the character experiences the most significant transformation. Dramatic change can only happen as a result of dramatic events.
  • Create a situation where escape is impossible. Afterwards, find an escape: The great storytellers knew that if you want to tell a good story, you must know how to apply tension. According to Jerry Cleaver, author of Immediate Fiction, the components of a story are simple: CONFLICT + ACTION + RESOLUTION = STORY. The reader will follow the story to find out what actions the hero takes to attain resolution, but both components rely on conflict to be meaningful. To control the tension, control the conflict. Don’t be afraid to increase the tension to make the story more compelling.
  • End with the mother of all awesome explosions: Every great story has an ending worthy enough to make the story resonate well after the last word was read. Don’t settle with just tying up loose ends; draw out the tension and sacrifice everything as your exclamation point! Make the experience worth the reader’s time and give a finale that the story deserves.

I’m curious to know in which areas you see the need for improvement as a new writer. Would it be the characters, the plot, or the writing style itself? This article also has a slant towards fiction writers, but can these principles also be applied to non-fiction writing?

Image credits: focal intent

About the author: Al’s goal is to simply make the world a better place. You can read about his progress in his blog at 7P Productions.