Prologue as Prelude to Shooting Writing Teachers!

Recently, I finished "guest teaching" at a well-known writer extension program here in Los Angeles. The class was an advanced novel writing workshop. The teacher, who lets me come and teach from time to time, is a master writer with an amazing skill set, and I always enjoy the experience. This time, however, something happened that truly threw me for a loop.

One of the students said something to me that nearly knocked me out of my chair. I had just answered a question about whether or not another student should use a prologue in her novel. And the writer came back with the statement, "Oh, I was told not to bother using a prologue. People aren't using them anymore because nobody reads them."

I asked, "Who gave you this piece of advice?"
"Oh," came the response, "One of the people at [writing program name redacted]."
"People" meaning someone teaching through the writers program.

(I'm not mentioning the program because my beef here isn't against them; they are fine people. My beef is against the bonehead who gave this advice.)

I was speechless, or more correctly, I was keyboardless. I literally couldn't type I was so astonished at the utter badness of this advice. If it had come from some writing hack over the Internet I'd have just sloughed it off and corrected the error. But no, this came from a writing teacher at a prestigious writing program. DON'T USE A PROLOGUE; NOBODY'S READING THEM ANYMORE! Really?

I know exactly from where this sentiment evolved. The teacher, up on all the hipster authors and new YA superstars and hipster trends from hipster agents at all the hip new publishing companies saw that all these hip people were not using prologues—thus the new flavor of the month writing rule: no more prologues; the hipsters don't write them anymore.

I want to just go running, screaming down the hall when I hear this s@#t. I read almost 300 manuscripts a year. Most of them are genre (suspense, thriller, horror, mystery). Almost all of them try to use prologues, but fail only because they don't know what a prologue is or what it's supposed to do. Those who don't use them do so only because they don't know that they could, or should.

Let me be clear: this is no trend. This is no form of advice worth listening to; this is crap! A prologue is not a trend, it is a literary device used to enhance the opening of a story. The writer chooses to use one (or should do so) based on whether it will work with the story and genre, not based on some mythical statistic that readers aren't reading them anymore (and who tracked that little factoid anyway?).

Here is my prologue speech that I give writers who don't know a prologue from a steak sandwich:

" The prologue in a novel is the opener, the bang, the teaser that sets the tone and context for the introduction of the hero-heroine. If you look at any well-known genre author, most of them use prologues in their stories to set up the action. In mysteries the prologue is where the first murder occurs and the reader “watches” this happen, in a suspense story the prologue is where the opponent is first introduced, sometimes along with the first crime or physical threat; in a thriller the prologue is where the first death/danger/jeopardy is introduced that sets the tone for the adventure, also often the agent of the central opponent is introduced. The prologue is where the story hits the ground running and then stops on a dime with a big question: who got killed and why, who’s responsible, what’s going on here? Then the first chapter is where the hero-heroine is introduced in a benign way, usually showing daily life, some basic exposition about their lives, work, etc. The first chapter usually gives the basic context for the hero-heroine so the reader understands why he/she is the main character and where they fit into the adventure, and then the first chapter ends with them being sucked into the story through some raising of the stakes or some incident that pulls them into a mystery that grows more dangerous and more personally threatening as things progress—okay, maybe in the second chapter."

End lecture.

If a prologue is there, readers will read it. Especially if the book is a genre book. Television shows and feature films use prologues all the time as openers for the show. Viewers don't skip the opening of a movie because it is a prologue! They watch the darn thing. It sets up the adventure. It works the same way in a book.

So, once again I make the grand plea for you to use discernment and common sense when listening to people like me, i.e., writers who teach other writers. Just as in used cars, aluminum siding sales, and stock swaps there are those who sell trends when they should be selling substance.

Stay vigilant, listen to everyone, read everything, follow no one! Repeat the mantra after me ...

Now, go be brilliant.

LitReactor Launches Site for Writing, Learning, and Community: Is it Worth It?

Tomorrow, Oct 1, a new website is being launched to create a working community and learning environment for writers. Huffington Post was granted exclusive access to the site early and wrote a little post on it, singing its virtues (for the most part). In fact, it lead off the mag's book section (under "Media") with the post.

I find it fascinating that another website geared toward charging writers for the privilege of getting peer feedback is being given so much attention. There are tons of similar websites out there (including mine!) geared to this end, all set up by writers like me who are trying to make ends meet by doing what they love—sharing their knowledge and giving advice. I guess we could all get a day job, oh wait ... THERE ARE NO DAY JOBS! Not in California anyway (at 12+% unemployment).

So, we do what we all do best: write, teach, try to make it in the writing life.

I love that LitReactor is launching. I love that "name" authors are participating like Chuck Palahniuk (who I think walks on water as a writer). I love that some innovation and creative thought is going into this new site. But (yeah, isn't there always a "but"), is it really worth it to pay for peer feedback? Here is what the Huffpo post said:

"... peer critique has become quite common in sites such as these; in return, users can usually expect a more moderated, and considerate feedback space. A community is only as good as its members ..."

I've made no secret of my hatred of writing groups. I think they are a complete waste of a writer's time. Mr. Palahniuk has a quickie video on the new LitReactor site that gives his reasons for why writing groups are important: to paraphrase—they help keep you on track with goals and force you to be accountable for results. Okay, but you can hire someone to call you every day to do that. We all have to be accountable. But what about the critique part? Do you really want to pay to have other writers who don't know any more than you do tell you:

"Loved the story"
"Sorry, didn't work for me."
"Great characters .. .but maybe you should turn everyone into a robot?"

I'm sorry, but this kind of "feedback" is utterly useless to me as a writer (and I suspect to you to). Read my post on writing groups for a fuller version of my rant : writing groups post.

I think it is disingenuous to taught this site as more than it is: a nicely thought out, but run-of-the-mill money generator. I'm all for making money and doing so doing what I love to do. But, I would never charge anyone for the "privilege" of crowdsourcing feedback. If the source of the feedback was the likes of Stephen King, or Caroline Leavitt, or Masha Hamilton—fine. I'll gladly pay.

But, in this context, sorry. I don't need any more writer friends, I don't need to hear how "bitchin'" my story idea is, I don't need to get validated by anyone who's bailing out their writing boat at the same speed I'm bailing out mine, and I just bloody don't have the time to maintain another bloody social website that requires me to accumulate badges and "rewards" for participating so I can see my name in "lights," like I've just scored the highest hit-count in World of Warcraft. I'm all for incentivizing writers—but you can keep your badges and pats on the back.

What do you think?

Now go be brilliant.

Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest Winners 2011 (Yikes)

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is a writing contest held annually and is sponsored by the English Department of San Jose State University. Writers have to "compose the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels," i.e., be bad, very bad.

The contest was started in 1982 and is named for English novelist and playwright Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, author of the much-quoted "It was a dark and stormy night". This opening, from his 1830 novel Paul Clifford, continues in perfect, purple prose:

"It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."

Well, the 2011 winners and losers are in: (be ready to cringe)

1st Place:

"Cheryl’s mind turned like the vanes of a wind-powered turbine, chopping her sparrow-like thoughts into bloody pieces that fell onto a growing pile of forgotten memories."

Sue Fondrie,Oshkosh, WI

At 26 words, Prof. Fondrie’s submission is the shortest grand prize winner in Contest history, proving that bad writing need not be prolix, or even very wordy.

2nd Place:

"As I stood among the ransacked ruin that had been my home, surveying the aftermath of the senseless horrors and atrocities that had been perpetrated on my family and everything I hold dear, I swore to myself that no matter where I had to go, no matter what I had to do or endure, I would find the man who did this . . . and when I did, when I did, oh, there would be words.

Rodney Reed, Ooltewah, TN

For a list of all the happy entrants : http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/2011.htm

Here's to hoping they never write that novel!

I’m Talented—Dammit! Why Can’t I Sell Anything?

I recently worked with a writer who was beside himself with despair. He has been writing for years. He has been writing in every genre. He has been writing in every form: poetry, novels, short stories, narrative nonfiction, screenplay, play, automatic writing, everything. He has tried writing partners, writing alone, following a schedule, writing at random, dictating, stream of consciousness, writing software, you name it. With back against wall and painted into his own little corner of literary Hell, he decides he needs consulting help and that this will, at long last, reveal to him the secrets of why his writing is going nowhere fast.

He knows he’s talented (and he is). He knows he’s a storyteller (and he is). And he knows this is the work he must do (and it is). So—why can’t he sell anything? And then the plaintive cry, “Isn’t it enough to be talented? What the hell to they want from me?” “They,” of course, meaning agents, studios, producers, etc.

And so, here lies the problem. And herein lies the lesson. In all his fussing, ruckus, commotion, and tumult no one ever told him the greatest truth every writer (or artist) needs to hear on day one of their writing career: No! The beaches of Malibu are littered with the bodies of talented writers. Talent isn’t enough. “WHAT?!” Comes the shocked reply, “Then what the #@!% is?”

The response to this greatest truth is a single word: craft. Craft is what makes talent enough. Here was a guy who had a magical way with phrases, wording, subtext, and verbal imagery. But he didn’t know a semi-colon from a steak sandwich and was clueless about the basics of English usage. Beyond the idea of using three acts and having a main character, he had as much use for story structure principles as a concussion.

This poor soul was never told that craft informs talent; not the other way around. There are lots of talented people out there. In fact, everyone has a talent of some kind. Talent is given (by God, Goddess, The Great Pumpkin, whoever). Craft is learned taught by a master, teacher, mentor, or drill sergeant. Talent is part of who you are. Craft is part of what you do. Without craft, talent will always remain in potential; it will never be more than a pale reflection of what it could become.

Craft takes discipline, confidence, perseverance, and practice. Talent takes passion, intuition, trust, and spontaneity. Marry all these together and you find the artist. Lose or deny any one of them and you have the artisan. This is not to say that an artisan is less than an artist! No, no, no. In fact, artisans who master whatever craft ALWAYS find their talent and cannot help but become artists of that craft. But, there is a relationship that exists between craft and talent that must be understood. Even if you come at it through your talent first, you must always come back through craft to truly find the full expression of talent.

To be the artist, as writer, you must learn your craft. This means: grammar, spelling, punctuation, story structure principles, formats and styles, vocabulary, and the tools of the trade. Then with discipline, confidence, perseverance, and practice, practice, practice master the trade; become a master artisan. This takes time. This takes effort. This takes work. This takes patience.

Then something magical happens. Craft skills lift. Talent, always present, begins to stir. Craft gets honed. Talent finds its avenue and begins to flow. Craft becomes second nature, elegant, graceful. Talent finds its voice and soars. Okay, kind of corny and romance novelish, but this is what happens. It's a beautiful thing. Craft is the door and talent is what passes through it from potential to actuality. In time, the two are indistinguishable. You are the craftsperson and the artist and there is no telling them apart. This is the master of their craft and the self-realized creator. This is what we all strive for and what takes a lifetime to achieve—AND WE NEVER GET THERE. As good as we get, there is always more. As frustrating as this may sound, that we never get there, the good news is we become more for the striving.

Craft and talent; learn one to release the other. Learn your craft. And practice, practice, practice.