WWW - Q & A Session

I think once a month, I'm going to have a Q & A free-for-all session where you can ask any writing questions you want and I'll do my best to answer them. We can talk about craft, about submissions, about dealing with editors, about querying agents—you ask the question, I'll do my best to answer them.

Also, if you're also a published writer and someone asks a question you'd like to address, don't worry that you're stepping on my toes if you answer it. I'd like the Q & A to function as a group discussion. Everybody dives right in and starts communicating.

But remember—if you don't ask questions, this is going to be the most boring Wednesday Writer's Workshop post ever. So think up some questions and start asking!

WWW - The Waiting Game

Back when I was unpublished, I spent a lot of time on eHarlequin's forums, specifically in the Submission Care thread, where a lot of aspiring (and, eventually, published) writers found kindred souls in the submission process at Harlequin/Silhouette. One of the most frequently-asked questions was "How long do you normally have to wait after submitting your manuscript before you hear back from the editor?" And the answer, naturally, was "Who knows?"

Some of us heard fairly quickly, especially if the answer was a flat, "Thanks but no thanks." Others had submissions that took months, even years, to get an answer. The response time depended on a lot of variables, from how you queried, when you queried, whether you submitted after a contest win and editor request, etc. But I think most of us unpubs figured that once we got published, the waiting game would finally be over.

But that's not necessarily so. My first few books, I'll admit, had pretty good turnaround. My fourth book, in fact, took only a week from my submission to the editor's call. However, as I learned in 2008, that's not always the case, even when you have a few books to your name. I sent my first two-book proposal to my editor in July of 2008. It took several months to hear back from her, and the wait ended up meaning that I went all of 2009 without a book on the shelves. Talk about a career setback!

There are plenty of reasons why it took so long for the editor to get back to me--staff changes and shortages, her large list of authors, the RWA convention--so I can't say I was surprised. She got behind. It happens.

The problem was, I really didn't know what to do with myself during the wait. Since I'd had fits working up the two proposals, which didn't want to cooperate with me at all, I foolishly allowed myself to take a month's break from writing. Which turned into two months. Then three. Then, when I realized I had to get back into the writing game, I wasn't sure what to do next. Work on the proposals I'd sent, not even knowing if the editor would want to buy them? Or should I start something new? And if I started something new, should I write it as part of the series the other proposals were part of, or should I look at something else?

Eventually, I wrote something that was part of the Cooper Family series I'd already proposed, but I wrote it so it could easily stand alone if she didn't like the other books. I managed to get that book proposal to her while she was still considering the other two proposals, and it ended up being one of the two she finally bought.

So here's what I learned from the experience:

1. A short break from writing is fine, but be tough with yourself.

Fix a time to get back to it and stick to the schedule, even if you don't have a book in the pipeline yet. Start working on the next one.

2. Be patient but also check in with your editor if the wait has been long enough.

Editors are busy people, and I think a reminder now and then that you're still waiting to hear from them is appropriate, as long as you don't become a nag. If you've had a full with your editor for three or four months, I don't think it's bad to ask for a status check.

3. Manage your time wisely, and make reasonable judgment calls.

Because my editor expressed approval on the two books she finally pitched to the senior editor, I decided to go ahead with working in the first book of the two in order to get ahead, even though the senior editor hadn't made the final go ahead for the buy. That way, I was close to finished with the book by the time the editor made the official buy.

4. Always be thinking ahead to the next book.

Even if it's nothing more than making notes or keeping a list of research links, always look ahead. For me, it includes setting aside time one day a week, at minimum, to brainstorm and work on the new ideas I have. This way, when my contract books are done, I'll have something else ready to send to my editor to keep things rolling.

Waiting is hard. We all hate it. But we all have to do it. The secret to surviving the long waits to hear from editors is moving forward to the next project. Even if you sell the book under consideration, you need something else to pitch for the next contract.

Having something new in the pipeline at all times makes the most of the downtime spent waiting, and it moves your career forward faster and more effectively than any other strategy.

WWW - Crafting a Powerful Romance

If any of you were fans of the soap DAYS OF OUR LIVES back in the late 1980s, you probably remember the twisty, angst-ridden, sweeping romance and marriage of Steve "Patch" Johnson, the tortured bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks, and Kayla Brady, the pretty, sweet daughter of a fishmonger who ran a low income emergency clinic on the riverfront. It was a bad boy/good girl romance that transcended the archetype, and Steve's tragic death not long after the birth of their daughter was one of the most heartbreaking moments I've ever watched on a soap.

The Steve and Kayla romance sucked me in completely. I bought my first VCR just to tape their story, and when they returned to the show in 2006 (yes, both of them—did you really think Steve was DEAD dead?), I discovered that most of their story had been saved as digital video files, so I got to relive it again. Even twenty years later, the story stood up beautifully, proving that a well-done romance is timeless.

So what was it about the Steve and Kayla story that kept me riveted two decades ago and drew me in all over again when I discovered the clips? Here's what I discovered when I gave the question some thought.

1) Great romance starts with conflict.

There is nothing more bland than a couple of pretty people with good attitudes and lots in common falling in love. Yeah, it happens in real life a lot, and those people probably have great, happy lives. But it's not compelling to watch.

Humans crave drama. And drama comes from conflict.I'm not sure I've ever seen a successful fictional romance develop from a more unlikely pairing than Steve Johnson and Kayla Brady. Steve was rough, bitter and sarcastic. He was basically a hired thug—and Kayla was one of his paid projects. First he was hired to scare her away from a doctor she was working for, which he did by trashing her apartment while she was out, making threatening phone calls. In fact, the first time he ever saw her, he was hiding in her closet, watching her undress. Later Steve took a job following her and spying on her for a bad guy who wanted information about Kayla's brother.

At first, Kayla came across as a sweet, optimistic goody-two-shoes. A crusading nurse willing to put herself on the line to help other people, she wasn't particularly warm to Steve's rough talk and sexually aggressive posturing. With a cop for a brother, she was in a position to make a lot of trouble for Steve, and she didn't mind reminding him of that. Hardly an auspicious beginning. But man, the set-up promises one heck of a pay-off later.

2) Great romance works through conflict a step at a time.

Steve and Kayla didn't go from stalker/victim to husband/wife in a couple of months. Every step along the way played out in a logical and interesting manner. Internalization gave us glimpses of the shame that Steve felt for what he was doing to Kayla, and the curiosity and attraction Kayla felt for the glimpses of the good man inside the thug who was driving her crazy.

We slowly saw different facets to both of their characters: Steve's compassion for a couple of abandoned kids living on the streets and Kayla's strength and determination in the face of dangerous circumstances began connecting them, shattering preconceived notions about each other and building a new understanding between them. Slowly they began sharing truths about themselves with each other.

3) Great romance is built on character growth.

Every character in every book starts with a worldview. For Steve, it was that there were actually two worlds. One where normal people lived, where the justice system worked and everything was happy and rosy, and one where people like him lived, people who couldn't trust the system to find justice for them. It was the jungle for people like him, survival of the fittest, every man for himself. People in his world stayed far, far away from people in that shiny happy world where normal people lived.

Kayla, on the other hand, believed that if you trusted the system to work, it would. You just had to tell the truth, be good, let justice take its course and everything would work out.

Neither of them managed to hold onto those worldviews after they came into contact with each other. Kayla saw how the system let people like Steve and the young street kids he helped fall through the cracks. And Steve saw that the system could work if there were compassionate and decent people—like Kayla and eventually her family—who cared enough to patch up the holes so that people didn't get lost in the shuffle. Each of them learned something from the other, incorporated those lessons into their lives, and became better and fuller people because of it.

For any good romance, you need conflict. You need to work through those conflicts one step at a time, adequately dealing with the obstacles that arise. And you need character growth as the pay-off for the conflict.

I've simplified a very complex romantic story to cull out three important points, but I think these are points that all of us need to pay special attention to when we're developing romances for our own characters.

WWW - Amanda, the Python and the Pet Shop Robber

My 10-year-old niece has decided to write a play, inspired by a section of her social studies book that used a play to illustrate life in the early days of the American colonies. As I am the resident author in our family, she came to me for advice. She had an idea--she wanted to write about a pet shop. But that was all she knew.

It occurred to me that, sometimes, all that any writer knows about her stories is that it's about a pet shop. Or a cowboy. Or a murder. We've all started with that one little nugget of something--a place, a situation, a character--and had to build the story from there.

But how do you explain that process to a 10-year-old?

I started with the obvious. "What happens at the pet shop?"

She thought a moment, and finally said, "A mean girl comes in and opens all the cages, letting the animals out."

I asked her why the mean girl did that. We thought about it, and we finally came up with the idea that she wasn't really mean. She just thought animals shouldn't be in cages. She was an activist, and she opened the cages as a protest. So, now we had our story problem. But we didn't really have our who.

Whom does the story problem most affect? Every story needs a protagonist, right? My niece, Ashlee, decided that the pet shop manager, Amanda, had the most to lose. The activist released the pets on her watch. It was her job to gather them back up.

So we had our who. And by virtue of our story problem, we also had a what--our protagonist's goal. Clearly, Amanda wants to gather the animals and return them to their cages. We even had a tacit "why"--it was her job. But, as I explained to my niece, "it was her job" isn't a compelling motivation for our purposes. Stories need to transcend the mundanity of real life. Motivations need layers. Sure, a sense of responsibility would lead Amanda to round up the animals. But a true consequence of her actions would make the story seem more urgent to the reader.

We decided that the store owner was scheduled to come in to inspect the store that afternoon at four. The store had to be spotless, all the animals accounted for, by the time he arrived. Now our motivation had a strong sense of urgency and a personal consequence for Amanda if she was unable to achieve her goal.

So, we had our who, our what, our why--Ashlee was ready to get to work. But I explained that we weren't quite there--because the most important element of all was missing.

The why not.

Conflict drives story. No matter how beautiful your prose, you're not a storyteller until you can come up with believable, sustainable conflict.

I explained to Ashlee that if Amanda gathered up the animals in time to impress the big boss, without anything standing in her way, we wouldn't have much of a story. So something had to happen that threw a wrench in her plans.

Ashlee's first suggestion was that Amanda was able to get all the animals but one--a python. I thought that was a good start, but a more intense complication might be to have TWO animals missing after all the others were rounded up: the python...and an expensive angora rabbit, which just happens to be the python's favorite kind of snack. Now, you had two animals out, and one of those animals posed a grave danger to the other. The plot thickens!

But is that really enough conflict to sustain a story? You're still looking at an anecdote, not a story. You need an adversary. Someone or something that poses a true obstacle to the protagonist achieving her goal.

Because even if the python is hungry, and the rabbit is vulnerable, you're still looking at a situation that's part of Amanda's goal, not a true conflict.

There needs to be a reason why she might not be able to catch the python and rabbit on time. Something that stands in her way.

"Something like a robbery!" my niece piped up.

A child after my own heart.

A robbery was a great idea. As the pet shop people are frantically trying to catch the python before he catches the rabbit, in comes a robber, holding up the store. The longer he holds them at gun point, the harder it is to reach their goal. We finally have a true conflict.

So we had our story basics: Who, what, why, why not. We had a complication--the python and rabbit sideshow--and we had a ticking clock.

But did we have a story?

Not completely. Story also involves characters--who they are, where they've been, what they know, what they don't know. Story includes exposition, dialogue, action, reaction. My niece and I talked about ways we could use the complication to help resolve the conflict--perhaps upon learning the store employees can't access the safe, the robber spots the runaway rabbit and demands to take him as payment. And the second he grabs the rabbit, the python, which was lurking in the ceiling tiles, drops down on the robber in an attempt to grab the rabbit. The python ties up the robber, saving the day. And the rabbit gets away with his life, quickly caught by one of the employees and returned to his cage. The employees get the store cleaned up in time for the big boss to arrive, and Amanda gets her promotion and her raise.

Yay for happy endings!

I have no idea if my niece will ever get around to writing her play. But I think she has a little clearer idea of the elements that go into telling a story effectively. I have to admit, I learned a little something myself by breaking story structure down to its most basic elements in a way even a 10-year-old--or a multi-published author--could see how everything fits together.

Maybe the next time you're sitting at the computer, with just one little speck of an idea rattling around in your brain, you'll think of Amanda, the python and the pet store robber, and it'll be a little bit easier to turn that snippet of an idea into a story.

In fact, why don't we give it a shot right now? Here's today's writing assignment: take the same starting elements Ashlee and I started with—write a story about a pet shop—and give me the answers to the following questions: Who? What? Why? Why not? Who is your protagonist? What does he/she want? Why does he/she want it? Why can't he/she get it?

You can choose any genre you want, any story situation you want. The only rule is to have a pet shop be a focal element of the story. Let's see how many different ideas and story styles we can come up with!

By the way, don't forget I'm also blogging today on the Riding with the Top Down blog. I'll be sharing some details about this month's Cooper Justice book, CHICKASAW COUNTY CAPTIVE, and as always, a little comment love would be most appreciated.

WWW - The Formula

We writers talk a lot about "the rules." What they are. What they aren't. Whether or not to break them. I think there are probably no hard and fast rules about "the rules." Sometimes you break them at will. Sometimes you don't. Sometimes you break them on some things but keep them on the others. Sometimes you don't have a clue what the rules are to begin with.

But I'm a lot less interested in "the rules" than I am "the formula." You know, the formula all romance writers write by, according to scoffers and critics.

I can hear the outrage now. We don't write by a formula! How insulting.

Well, um, I do. I write all my books by a formula that's been around since the days of Aristotle. It's called the Three Act Structure, and I think almost all good genre novels follow that formula, whether we realize it or not.

In Poetics, Aristotle lay the foundation for story structure we know as Three Act Structure. Put simply, this structure can be described as "the beginning, the middle and the end." But Aristotle himself, and the millions of storytellers who came after, have refined the three act structure, defining the integral parts and functions of each act and how they drive the narrative and result in a satisfying story.

Nowhere does the three act structure figure more prominently than in screenplays and stage plays. Screenwriter and teacher Syd Field was a pioneer who made the three act structure one of the foundations of his screenwriting classes. In his book Screenplay, this is how Field breaks down the three-act screenplay:

Act One - Pages 1 - 30 (approximately)
THE SET-UP
In these thirty pages, the writer sets up the story, the characters, the dramatic premise and the major players and their relationships.

Act Two - Pages 31 - 90 (approximately)
THE CONFRONTATION
In Act Two, the main character's attempt to reach his goal is thwarted again and again, forcing her to change the way she tries to reach her goal. Each change leads to a new obstacle standing between her and her story goal.

Act Three - Pages 91 - 120 (approximately)
THE RESOLUTION
The third act solves the story problem, for good or for ill. Your character reaches her goal or is forever thwarted. Or, perhaps, the events of the story cause her to change her goal and find a different sort of success than she originally sought.

(Field, Screenplay, pp. 9-12).

Romance writers may recognize the structure Field outlines in his book. Roughly, the three act structure is similar to the so-called "formula" many romance writers have followed for decades in plotting their stories. And why not? As Aristotle recognized as far back as 350 B.C.E., human beings tell stories the same way. Instinctively, we understand that a story requires the three parts Field outlines. In fact, by keeping the three-act structure in mind as we plot our stories, we can improve our pacing, avoid a sagging middle, and create a dramatically and emotionally satisfying ending that will leave the reader happy--and eager to buy our next books.

When plotting your novel, try starting out with a broad three-act outline. The Set-up--who is your protagonist? What does she want? Why does she want it? What is keeping her from getting what she wants? You probably recognize a seminal form of Debra Dixon's Goal, Motivation and Conflict concept in the previous questions. That's because Dixon knows what Syd Field and Aristotle knew: goal, motivation and conflict are essential to Acts One and Two of the three act structure.

If you properly set up Act One, you have a pretty good idea where to go in Act Two (a.k.a. The Dreaded Middle). You know what the protagonist wants, and you have a good idea what stands in the way. Act Two is all about escalating that conflict, making sure that each subsequent obstacle is bigger and more complex than the obstacle that came before it.

If, at the end of Act One, you've driven your protagonist up a tree, you can certainly get her back down again. But make sure that as she hits the ground, there's a bear after her. And the next tree you drive her up should be taller and more perilous than the one before, and the bear that chases her when she gets down better be bigger and meaner than the one before.

At the end of Act Two, you will have reached that point we romance writers know as the Black Moment. In screenplay structure, this is the Act Two turn. It's that point in the story where it seems impossible that your protagonist will ever reach her goal. All is lost.

Here is where the quality of the first two acts come into play. In the process of setting up your story problem, defining your protagonist and antagonist, and escalating your conflict, you should have built in the escape hatch through which your protagonist escapes to reach her goal. It's not enough to discover the antagonist's weakness. Ideally, the protagonist must have learned something over the course of the confrontation that helps her do something at the end of the story that she could not have done at the beginning. It can be as simple as standing up to an overbearing parent or as complicated as giving up the goal she's spent the entire story pursuing in order to reach a different, more important goal.

If you can take the three act structure and break it down into its parts, you have created a solid outline for your novel. But what if you're not a plotter? What if you're a pantser? How can the three act structure help you?

Try approaching the revision process with the three act structure in mind. When you're through with the story you've written by the seat of your pants, apply the three act structure as a measuring stick. Have you spent too much time on the set-up and given short shrift to the middle? Has your middle overtaken the story, meandering around without escalating incrementally toward the black moment? Is your black moment the logical result of the confrontations your hero or heroine experienced in Act Two? Does your resolution drag on too long, or is it the short, sweet button to your story that it's supposed to be?

The three act structure has stood the test of time. Put it to work for you.