Anyway, there’s a new angsty writer on Dear Prudence’s chat for this week.

Q. How Much Hobby Sharing Can Spouses Expect From One Another?: As strictly a hobby, I write fictional novels in the evenings after my daughter goes to bed. I am a stay-at-home mom more by circumstance than by desire, though I have loved being there for my daughter. This activity has given me a chance to step into a fictional world for a few hours a night and something to do as my husband is fooling with his computer modeling, music, various artistic pursuits, or video games for the evenings after a day of work for him. I try to be supportive of his hobbies. Is it too much for me to ask for him to read what I write?

Considering Slate’s essay by Will Allison, which I referenced here, I am guessing that the advisee doesn’t read Slate (this question was pulled from Dear Prudence’s Washington Post weekly chat). I know we have covered this ground before obviously, but it bears repeating: no good can come of this.

So here’s my advice to the angsty writer — your spouse is doing you a favor by not reading your work. He knows it is dangerous territory and he just wants to steer far away from the landmines. And hey, at least you are sitting down to write. Most people don’t get that far. I mean, that’s pretty awesome. And revising too. Too bad about the fictional novel thing (okay, that was snarky, but really) but the rest you got down.

And then! Here’s a looooong letter from Since You Asked:

My feelings are larger, though, than just the girl: I don’t know what to do with my life. I’m about as Millennial as they come, I guess. I want to be a writer, more than anything. I want to write fiction (well, I do write it. I want to publish it, which I have no idea how to do since I know no one in the industry). I would like to do it professionally, if that makes sense. I want to write fiction, have a loving wife and be a good father. I want simple things, but so much of it seems beyond my grasp.

(The advisee is all of 23 years old.)

So what do you guys think? I don’t advise reading the whole letter, since this guy apparently majored in the fine art of wallowing (a painful pause as I recall a similar letter, written to my older brother, written at the same age in much the same way and with the same dreadful earnestness — ouch).  How would you advise this poor young  fellow?

The wisdom of the Golden Chobo -- listen to your critique group but trust your instincts.

At Cryptopolis tonight we critiqued a chunk of one member’s new novel. Listening to the critiques was rather like hearing an elephant being described by a group of blind men — everyone had a different idea of what the novel needed. Sure, we joked about agreeing and disagreeing with each other, but the upshot was, we advocated cutting vast swaths of the work (that was me), or fleshing it out further, or compressing chunks, or recasting events so they carried more emotional weight. Etc. Etc. As E said, “I think I’ve been told to cut every scene of this novel so far.”

What is a writer supposed to do with all that?

While the idea is not to try to rewrite someone else’s novel, it’s also true that we are all writers, and we all approach the problem differently. So if you know going in that readers are going to want to “fix” your novel the way they would fix it, then it’s easier to sort out the responses and get at the useful meat of them.

What are readers saying that doesn’t work? I’ve discovered that when my readers dislike a section, they often disagree on what is wrong but they all zero in on one scene. Okay, that scene or section, or plot movement doesn’t work. How to fix it is up to me — not according to a group’s critique. I do know people in critique groups who get that wrong.

They often think — and they are often beginners — that they must follow what the readers advise. This can be tricky if they get lots of conflicting opinions. Writers will either only hone in on one critique and not listen to the others, or become paralyzed by the range of opinions and be unable to make revisions.

The best way to avoid critique group confusion or paralysis is to remember that you the author are not looking for ways to fix your novel, although I have often gotten excellent ideas that I’ve followed from my readers. The point is to say, hey, this section isn’t working. What is the best way I can get my point across? How do I take this information — X doesn’t convey Y — and make it work?

Listen to your first readers, but trust yourself. You know what your novel needs and where it needs to go.

So don’t overthink — do a quick spell check, check for length, make sure your formatting is clean and professional, and send in your RTF today!

If you have any questions, e-mail the Workshop Coordinator address on the workshop page, or drop me a line in the comments here.

As for Apollo Con, this is one of the best little cons in Texas, you know. Don’t miss it. Martha Wells is Writer Guest of Honor, and Ann VanderMeer is Editor Guest of Honor. What more can you ask for?

Yeah, I like singer-songwriter and classical. There’s a Bach Concertos CD in there as well. But then there’s the weird stuff, for lack of a better description. A Native American flute player called Virgie Ravenhawk. George Thorogood, who, by the way, scored the soundtrack to some of my best stories.

There are my friends’ CDs — Allan Gill (Clocks and Calendars), Johnny Love (The Gilliam Section), Vanita Trippe (Bellevue Jubilee).

Here’s the thing about writing to music. The music starts the trance and gets me into the words. If I pick the wrong CD, it sometimes mismatches to what I’m writing, and then I have to choose again.

If I use a CD too much, that’s it. I can’t write to it anymore. I can’t even listen to it any more. It’s absorbed the story or the novel, and the only thing I can hear when I play it is the words. That’s why Rockin’ My Life Away might be all finished up (I haven’t used it in a while). Bach too, but I think it’s just that CD. I can’t imagine being tired of Bach.

Sometimes the music throws me out of the story, especially when the song is one I love. Gurf Morlix’s Slots. Steve Earle’s Telephone Road. Lucinda Williams’ Blue. Bellevue Jubilee Just The Moon. The Vivaldi Winter Concerto (oh my God, the melting loveliness). Then I stop writing to listen. In the case of the Vivaldi, I play it a few times before I can go on.

Music has become such a necessary ritual that on the rare occasions I write without putting a CD in first, it’s always a surprise when I come to and realize that I didn’t need to put in a disc. But when I am not having an easy start, or if I am facing difficult edits, I must have music. It’s the only way to jumpstart the mood.

What’s on your set list?

Jane Austen didn't need no stinkin' NaNo.

Remember my stance against NaNoWriMo? Oh come on, sure you do. To refresh your memories, here’s the link:

Writing a Novel? Don’t do NaNoWriMo.

For the full effect, read the comments. Good stuff there. So my question to you who took part in NaNo last year, how did it go? Especially if you were first-timers, did you think you learned something, produced good work, realized something about this novel writing gig, or all (or none) of the above? Please share your experiences.

I am still strongly against NaNo. I think it reduces an artform to gimmickry. While turning off the internal (or infernal) editor is a must, and speed can be exhilarating, speed for its own sake, and word count for its own sake is counterproductive. I’ve also had the experience of reading NaNo mss, when people bring them to workshops. I’m assuming that people don’t bring unedited first drafts to workshops,  and invariably, NaNo work is just more of a mess.

If you are a newbie and you want to start writing a novel, ditch NaNo. Instead, concentrate on the ABCs — Apply Butt to Chair and write.

Now for a counterpoint (I am all about the counterpoints:): Nicky Drayden, a writer I admire and am fortunate enough to be in a writer’s group with, is a staunch NaNo participant. She says it got her writing. Visit her blog to see what she has to say. And pssst: Nicky! Write something about NaNo so people can see it.

Diary of a Short Woman

(Don’t you love that title?)

Writing is solitary; workshopping is collaborative

The summer convention season is in full swing, and I will be appearing at two cons — ApolloCon in Houston and ArmadilloCon in Austin. I will post my schedules as soon as I know them.

I’m running the ApolloCon writers workshop and teaching at the ArmadilloCon workshop (run by the able Stina Leicht). This translates into a lot of critiquing in addition to my usual writers group critiques and so space and time to write my own words is at more than a usual premium. I am not complaining. Workshops are difficult but they are so worthwhile. If you are an aspiring writer or someone who makes time to write as part of your day, consider workshops. It may be difficult to put your work out there before your peers and pros, but the feedback is invaluable.

Writing is solitary; workshopping is collaborative. I learn a lot from reading other people’s work and having them read mine.

This year, I’m trying something new with the ApolloCon workshop. I set it up as a master class, although it was open to anyone. My focus is on getting work ready for publication. I specifically asked for only short stories or the first chapter of a novel, which is exactly what a pro editor would be looking at. I specified that work should be as polished and professional as possible. There are six students, so the class is a good size — we won’t have an overload of manuscripts so we can give everyone’s work some serious attention.

Ideally everyone will come out of the workshop with a plan of attack for making their work as submission ready as possible. Even more ideally, workshoppers will feel energized and excited about creative possibilities rather than feeling like they got a drubbing.

If you missed the deadline for the ApolloCon workshop, there’s still time to sign up for ArmadilloCon.

Zach Gilford as Matt Saracen, Friday Night Lights

Zach Gilford put in a tour-de-force performance in last week’s Friday Night Lights. He is the most underrated actor in the series and this episode gave him the chance to shine. Two scenes  showcased his talent — the dinner scene conversation in which he completely breaks down, and the eulogy he gives about his father, and the one, single, thin little story he has to tell about a man who abandoned him years before. The anecdote he tells is embarrassing in its inadequacy, and all the more poignant for that.

I’ve said it before about the writing on this show — it’s smart, emotionally grounded, compelling. For a series about high school football, it sure has a lot to do with relationships, families, pride, loss, love. Sure, sometimes there is inexplicable melodrama, but the genius is in the little touches. I learn something new about story telling with every episode.

Man, I love this show.

Back to “Agreeable. ” Maybe because the main character is a 17-year-old girl (uh oh) who plays sports, the story pulled me in and kept a hold on me. I had to set it down because this weekend we moved our daughter to her first apartment and I was moving boxes and furniture all day Saturday, but the story kept tugging at me and when I got home I finished it first thing. And it’s one of those I’ll keep thinking about and even re-read, but there were a few things that felt off, which only goes to show, we’re human, even Jonathan Franzen, and therefore cannot be expected to write perfect stories.

So if Jonathan Franzen were in my writers group, this is what I would tell him. The mother acted consistently throughout the story, but the father changed up, and I wasn’t sure why we weren’t given a transition. Both parents are jerks, and the m0ther is amusingly so–Franzen nails her self-absorption and her panic and ultimate failure with some telling dialog (better than telling; I think he was probably grinning like a fool when he was writing it because he knew how good it was). The father is a straight up asshole, but the problem is, he turns into a devious asshole at the crucial point of the book. We’ve been given no indication that he was ever a devious asshole to begin with, so it was a jarring shift. I would have liked to see either more deviousness to foreshadow or more straight dickishness at the crisis point.

If Jonathan Franzen were in my writers group, I might ask him to emphasize just a teeny bit more the main character’s emotional state upon realizing that she got shafted by the parental lottery. Not a lot, not even more than thinking, hmm, maybe she needs to feel something here. Sometimes, and I don’t know how it happens, but an author doesn’t even have to write the words to get the point across. It’s just the way the words are lined up or something, to convey the undercurrent.

Anyway, a lot of this is nitpicking because after all, the story succeeds as written. But it’s what I would have said, if Jonathan Franzen were in my writer’s group.

Great going, Jonathan! Really nice! I bet this one will sell to a pro market. Definitely start at the top with this one.

Patrice

I talked about how I started writing when I was a little kid and wrote lots when I was in middle school and high school. I brought one of my typewritten short stories from when I was 15 years old, and told the kids they probably had never seen anything typewritten before. I also brought a selection of magazines with my short stories and of course copies of Red Gold Bridge and Gordath Wood.

I gave my writing “rules:” write every day. Commit, don’t give up. Keep everything. Get to the end. You have a writing brain and an editing brain. Don’t try to edit as you go, because you will only hurt your feelings.

I told them that all the entertainment that they enjoy — video games, books, and music — all start with the written word.

We talked about rejections, and they were suitably impressed by the 45-50 rejections I got for Gordath Wood.

And we talked about favorite books. They like Twilight, the Hunger Games, a new book called Unwind, which sounds absolutely fascinating and I must pick it up, so thanks to the kids who recommended it, and Uglies. One young lady is a fan of John Grisham. There were also the Alex Rider series, James Patterson, and Lightning Thief.

People say kids don’t read. Pshaw.

Thanks again, everyone, and read on!

I added a prologue to GWIII and brought it to my writer’s group for their perusal. Here’s what I heard: “lacks urgency.” “Needs to start earlier at a more crucial moment.” “Characters aren’t engaged.” And my favorite — “It’s a fat guy eating whilst looking at a map.”

Fred, he of the last comment, brought three books with prologues and read from them. Two failed. They conveyed no useful information and were static. The third, from The Lies of Locke Lamora, worked (no surprise). There was action, conflict, and crucial information, and as the prologue took place years before the rest of the book, it was rightly a prologue that introduced Locke to the reader and to his world.

The thing about the prologue is, I’m not sure I want it or need it. I know there has to be some connection to our world but I’m not sure this is it. I know I want a framing device around the main story, but I’m not sure this is it either. So for now, I’ve taken that prologue out. I may try again with something different.

In general I don’t approve of prologues anyway, and this might be a case of forcing myself to do something I don’t want to do and that’s why it doesn’t work.