How's Your Premise?: The 7-Step Premise Development Process Workshop

Venue: The Writers Junction
Location: 1001 Colorado Blvd., Santa Monica, CA
When: Sat April 7, 2012
How Much: $65
Time: 1PM–4PM
Who should attend: Screenwriters, Novelists, Nonfiction Authors

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A Storygeeks Workshop

Click to Register: http://7steppremise.eventbrite.com (LIMITED SEATING)

At a Glance

• In-person seminar on how to develop the perfect premise line for any story
• Covers the essentials of premise development, log line development, and premise-idea testing
• Teaches the two essential structures necessary to tell any story
• Come prepared to work on at least one of your premise ideas
• Appropriate for screenwriters, novelists, and creative nonfiction authors
  
  

A solid premise line is essential in writing effective agent or publisher query letters, pitching film production companies or studios, or for having that perfect elevator pitch ready for that unexpected meeting with whoever might be empowered to move your story forward to final publication or production. But, how do you know you really have a story? And how do you know your story will “work”?

The way you know is by learning the real meaning, purpose, and power of the premise line. The premise line is not just a “pitch tool,” it is your canary in the coalmine and when fully mastered can save you time, money, and literally years of writing frustration. In this hands-on course, participants will learn how to master the dynamic process of premise line creation, design and testing which are so critical for validating any story’s narrative integrity. Along with case studies from the movies and literature, participants will take original story ideas and then implement premise building and testing techniques to generate an original premise line, as well as developing a story’s log line.

Over the course of this 3-hour workshop, you’ll learn:

The 2 Essential Structures Needed to Tell Any Story

• The 7 components of the Invisible Structure
• The 7 components of the Visible Structure
• The real definition of “story premise”
  
  

The 7-Step Premise Development Process

• How to determine if you really have a story
• The anatomy of a premise line
• Case studies from film and literature
  
  

Premise Typing: Know What Kind of Premise You Have

• The soft-generic premise
• The 7 components of every high-concept premise
• What is a log line and why you need one
• What is a tag line and why you need one
  
  

The 7-Step Premise & Idea Testing Method

• Learn the Premise Testing Checklist
• Test and validate your own premise idea
  
  

If you are ready to learn real tools that will lead to productive and profitable writing, then this workshop is for you. Sign up today!

Writing and the Archetypes: Are They the Best for Developing Characters?—Part 2

So, in part 1 of this 3-part series I introduced the concept of the archetypes and why writers use them. And, like I said there, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why archetypes might be useful tools for developing characters in fictional settings.

But, here’s the problem: they’re not characters, they’re archetypes!

This is the essence of the problem. Archetypes are by definition not people. They are aspects of people, aspects of being human, aspects of … you get the point (actually, it's the other way around ... we're aspects of the archetypes!). Archetypes make for great traits, characteristics, qualities, but they do not make for whole characters. They make pieces of characters.

Stories are about us. Stories are about human beings and the human condition. Every story, any story, all stories MUST be about a person on a journey. If the story is not about a person on a journey it is not a story, it is something else: a situation, a problem, a predicament to be solved, whatever; but it’s not a story (I’m sure I’ll get some mail on this one).

A human being is a character. A character has traits-characteristics. The human is an aggregate of behaviors and these traits-characteristics. Taken separately (i.e., an archetype) these traits-characteristics-behaviors cannot standalone. They do not have choice, they do not have will, they cannot act in pursuit of a goal, they cannot be flawed by some moral conflict that speaks to some inner lesson to be learned (or not). Only a fully formed human being, a multidimensional person, a protagonist can stand alone to drive a narrative forward. Archetypes help, but they do not drive. Motivation drives a story and a protagonist. Motivation is the crankshaft of every story (or at least the best kinds of stories). Archetypes reflect motivation (i.e., a trickster is motivated to trick), but they are shadows in this regard. Without human desire and choice the motivation is shallow and thin. Only a human gives meaning, significance, and purpose to motivation—not archetypes.

So, herein lies the problem. All those great writers out there who have written books on this, who have built careers on pushing the archetypes as the foundation of all storytelling, who have banked their entire story-development theory on the primacy of archetypal development are not bad and wrong, but they are gilding the lily in my opinion. You can write a great trickster character, but that will take you just so far. You can write a great villain, but that will take you just so far. You can write a great ally, but—

Maybe this metaphor will help clarify the relationship between a pattern (archetype) and the thing is generates (human being):

Say you are a knitter and you want to make a quilt. So, you buy a knitting pattern that comes in the mail and when it arrives you open it and hold it in your hand. You are not holding a quilt, you are holding a patten for a quilt. The pattern is a piece of paper with instructions, knitting code, and directions: i.e, it is an abstraction of something it will help to create. It is the raw material for making a "real" quilt, which is something you can use to warm yourself or lay on a couch to look pretty for the neighbors when they come over to spill coffee all over it.

Let's take this one step further. You are a writer (okay, a stretch, but go with me) who wants to write a story about a quilt. Which is going to be the most useful to you as a storyteller: the abstract pattern, or the physical quilt? Obviously the latter and not the former. Having a big, warm, wooly quilt gives you a fully dimensional object that you can describe and interact with as a writer. A pattern for this object cannot do those things; it's just a pattern.

And so the difference between the Enneagram and the archetypes. The Enneagram is the fully dimensional and realized object that functions in the world with form. The pattern (archetype) is the function without form. The pattern is essential, the pattern will inform, the pattern will guide, but the pattern is not as rich or useful as the thing it helps to create. Patterns can exist without the things they represent. The things they represent can not exist without the patterns. We can't exist as human beings without the archetypes, but they can exist (and do) without us.

And this is how using archetypes as the foundation of story development can derail and undermine your process, rather than support it. Using patterns of human behavior to cobble together a whole character is not unlike a Victor Frankenstein approach to storytelling. You can't piece together a great character or a great story like a quilt. You must find the crankshaft for motivation and you must find it in the full dimensionality of a protagonist, if he-she is going to drive a story from beginning, through the middle, to the end. Archetypes give wonderful, recognizable, and universal conceits all humans can recognize despite culture or upbringing. But they can’t carry the narrative. For that you have to find what I call the “narrative crankshaft."

In the world of character development (and in story structure, in my opinion) the best tool for discovering, developing, and implementing motivation in a narrative is the Enneagram System. The Enneagram is, in fact, the best tool available for describing human motivation and its related behaviors—period. This is why it has become one of the most popular tools today used by therapists, organizational development consultants, coaches, and a host of other personal-growth and business-development gurus.

I can already hear the objections. “Oh, really? So, all the other personality-typing systems out there (MBTI, DIsC, BPP, etc.) are all chopped liver?” No, of course not. But, they are personality-typing systems. They do not cover motivation; they describe behaviors and traits, not unlike the archetypes. The Enneagram System is not a typing system (despite what many Enneagram practitioners think). It is a holistic paradigm for modeling what motivates human behavior, thought, and feeling in all realms of life. That's what makes it such a gold mine for writers and storytellers. And this is the essential difference between the Enneagram and all other "personality systems," including the archetypes.

When it comes time to write a story and develop characters, a writer needs to be able to see the whole picture, not just the pieces of what is under the hood. Archetypal models won’t do the job, nor will running characters through some personality-typing test. What will do the job, however, is the Enneagram because only the Enneagram shows you the crankshaft for human personality; it is not personality, but it is the driver of personality. The Enneagram, not the archetypes, drives human action and thus creates the narrative crankshaft responsible for driving a story from beginning to end.

In part 3 of this series we’ll look at the Enneagram more specifically and why it is not only a fantastic tool for character development, but also for discovering a story’s natural, right, and true structure. This is something I call the Enneagram-Story Bridge™ and it can be the springboard for liberating any constrained writing process.

Big words, I know. But, it’s a pretty big bridge.

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.

Premise Line–Log line Conundrum: Aren’t They the Same Thing—NOT!

Wending one's way through the language of the story development jungle is one of the most crazy-making issues faced by new authors and screenwriters. This problem is wonderfully exemplified by the phrases “premise line” and “log line.” Yes—now is a good time to go running screaming down the hall.

We hear these phrases used interchangeably all the time. Well-intentioned advice given by so many writing teachers and gurus becomes migraine material when "premise line" and "log line" are actually used in the same sentence referring to the same thing. I’ve actually heard this done by story consultants, “Yes, you need a great premise line. In fact, the log line is the key to any good premise. So, take the time to develop a great premise line.” Still running screaming down the hall, FYI.

Okay, I didn’t hear this exact exchange; I paraphrase. But this is what happens. Writing teachers mix these two critical concepts up and spew them out as if they were Twiddle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Premise line and log line are two DIFFERENT tools, two DIFFERENT concepts, and two different skills. Okay, stop running down the hall now and listen.

So, what is the difference?

The premise line is your story. Period. The premise line is a complex and subtle construction that reveals not just a main character and an adventure; it actually delivers the basic structure of the story to the reader-viewer. The art of the premise line is the art of precision and clarity of ideas. A well-formed premise will “click” when you read it to someone and they will say, “Yeah, I see that story. I’d read that.” They “see” the story in just a few short lines. But, getting those lines just right might take hours, days, or even weeks. I’ve known some to take months. What is it they “see”?

The premise line gives them a clear vision of a protagonist acting with a purposeful desire toward a goal that is opposed by some force, and all this leading to some dénouement. This is a simplistic definition, but it captures the essence of what a premise line accomplishes. I will be writing a later post that breaks this down specifically with examples, but for now, know that the premise line is the structure of your story told as a single sentence (that’s right—1 sentence; and not a long run-on sentence sprinkled with comma splicing!) that has forward movement and gives a sense of the story’s beginning, middle, and end (no, don’t give away the ending).

Here is an example of a good premise line (three guesses what book/movie):

When the innocent, youngest son of a powerful mafia godfather discovers his beloved father has been shot as part of a turf war, he agrees to join the family to exact revenge and re-establish the family’s honor, until his actions force him to cross a line he was never meant to cross, dooming him to become the next Godfather.

Contrast this to a log line. The log line is your story’s high concept in a short sentence. If you don’t know what high concept means (yes, it means something) then check out my post on this concept.

The log line, unlike the premise line, does not show the overarching shape of your story, it does not give you the action line of the protagonist, nor does it give you a sense of the big picture. No, the log line’s job is to grab you and get your mind and emotions churning. There are seven components to a high-concept idea:

• High level of entertainment value
• High degree of originality
• High level of uniqueness (different than original)
• Highly visual
• Possesses a clear emotional focus (root emotion)
• Targets a broad, general audience, or a large niche market
• Sparks a “what if” question
  (Excerpted from my book The Anatomy of a Premise Line: 7 Steps to Foolproof Premise and Story Development. Bookbyte Digital, publication date 2012)

When a story has one or more of these components, then it can say it is high concept. The more the merrier. If it only has one or two, the claim can get iffy. Each of these bullets means something specific and are important to understand. Please refer to my post for more explanation. But, for the purposes of this post understand that the log line exemplifies these seven components of the high concept, and it does so in few words. Here are some examples:

• A monster shark terrorizes a small coastal town [Jaws, Peter Benchly]
• A cop battles uber-thieves when they take over an office building. [Nothing Lasts Forever, Roderick Thorp (film: Die Hard)]
• A young boy discovers he’s a wizard and goes off to wizard school. [Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling]
• A man saves a pregnant woman in a world where women no longer give birth. [Children of Men, P.D. James]

None of these tell you about a hero or heroine, none of them give you any idea about the journey to be traveled, but they do grab you and get you wondering “what if.” That’s the job of the log line.

These are the differences between the two tools. It does not take a rocket scientist to see how they work together to form a powerful effect in pitching a story. One grabs you and the other satisfies the “what if” with a bit more detail. Together they sell the story and get you that next meeting.

So, to summarize: premise line and log line are two different tools that work synergistically to create a powerful image of your story. They were built to work together, not separately. If you build them well, you will take many lunches—and you won’t have to pay either.

Now go be brilliant.

High Concept: Yes—It Actually Means Something!

As writers we have all come up against the agent, publisher, studio hack or fellow writer who, when asked to give feedback on our story retorts, “Yeah, good idea, but … it needs to pop more. There’s no high concept.” Sigh. And what the heck does that mean? What are you supposed to do with that? People throw this phrase around like the definition is common knowledge.

But when asked to explain their sorry selves, these same people only deliver cliches, like:

• It’s your story’s hook
• It’s what’s fun about your story
• It’s your story in a single image
• It’s your story’s heart
• It’s your story as a movie one-sheet
• It’s the essence of your premise
• And so on …

All of these have some truth to them. All of these speak to the idea of a high concept, but none of them really explain the darn thing. “High concept” has become a term d’art that everyone uses and that no one really understands.

After much hair pulling, moaning, and sleepless nights analyzing this idea, I have stumbled upon an elegant construct that I think will with both define the term accurately, but also give writers a tool for testing their ideas to quickly see if there is a high-concept component present. It goes like this:

High concept applies to any idea: motorcycle design, toothpaste, cooking, comic books, novels, movies, the list is endless. High concept is about essence; that visceral thing that grabs you by the scruff of the neck and doesn’t let go. From a writing perspective, a story idea that is high concept captures the reader’s or viewer’s imagination, excites their senses, get’s them asking “what if,” and sparks them to start imagining the story even before they have read a word. High concept drives the commercial book business, as well as the film and television industries. A high-concept idea has the following seven qualities:

The 7 Qualities of a High-Concept Idea™:

• High level of entertainment value
• High degree of originality
• High level of uniqueness (different than original)
• Highly visual
• Possesses a clear emotional focus (root emotion)
• Targets a broad, general audience, or a large niche market
• Sparks a “what if” question
  (Excerpted from my book How Not to Write Your Self-Published Book: Top 25 Writer Fails & Fixes. Xela Opus Press, publication date 2013)
  

Let’s look at each of these to get a better idea of what they mean:

High-level of entertainment value: This can be elusive. Defining “entertainment value” is like trying to define pornography; it’s in the eye of the beholder. Simply put, you know if something is entertaining, or not, if it holds your attention and sparks your imagination. If you are distracted easily from the idea or interested purely on an intellectual basis, then it is safe to say that the idea may be interesting, engaging, and curious, but not entertaining.

High degree of originality: What does it mean to be original? Some common words associated with originality are: fresh, new, innovative, novel (no, not a book). Think of originality as approach-centric. The idea may be centered in a familiar context, but the approach (original take) offered to get to that familiar context has never been used before, for example:

Frankenstein:
Familiar idea: evil monster terrorizes the humans.
Original take: the monster and humans switch moral ground and the humans terrorize the monster.

Dog Day Afternoon:
Familiar idea: man robs a bank for money.
Original take: man robs a bank to get sex change for his transsexual lover and wins the hearts and minds of the people.

Lord of the Flies:
Familiar idea: survivors shipped wrecked on an island.
Original take: the survivors are proper English schoolboys who abandon all civilized norms reverting into primitive savages.

So, originality is more about finding new ways to present the familiar, rather than inventing something new from scratch.

High level of uniqueness: Whereas originality is about approach and fresh perspective, uniqueness is about being one-of-a-kind, first time, and incomparable. Being original can also involve uniqueness, but being unique transcends even originality.

Highly visual: high-concept ideas have a visual quality about them that is palpable. When you read or hear about a high-concept idea your mind starts conjuring images and you literally see the idea unfold in your mind. This is why high-concept books make such good films when adapted. Books with cinematic imagery are almost always high-concept stories.

Possesses a clear emotional focus: Like imagery, high-concept ideas spark emotion, but not just any emotion, usually it is a primal emotion: fear, joy, hate, love, rage, etc. There is no wishy-washy emotional engagement of the reader. The involvement is strong, immediate, and intense.

Possesses mass audience appeal: The idea appeals to an audience beyond friends and family. The target market is broad, diverse, and large. Some ideas are very niche, appealing to a specific demographic, but this is usually a large demographic. High-concept ideas are popular ideas, mass ideas, and often trendy ideas.

Usually born from a “what if” question: What if dinosaurs were cloned (Jurassic Park)? What if women stopped giving birth (Children of Men)? What if Martians invaded the Earth (War of the Worlds)? High-concept ideas are often posed first with a “what if” scenario and then the hook becomes clear. The hook is that part of the high concept that grabs the reader. It is often the one piece of the idea that is the original concept or the unique element. In the three examples just given, each of them has a clear hook that leads to a high-concept premise line (the "premise line" will be the subject of a later post).

Do you have to have all seven qualities for an idea to be high concept? No, but the more of them you have, the more likely you will have a strong high concept. When the idea of high concept is put in the context of these seven qualities, it becomes easier to see that commercial ideas and literary (i.e., soft) ideas often have a clear line of demarcation. That line is the high concept. The next piece of this concept concerns the log line, which is a practical tool for realizing the potential of your high concept. In other words, your log line (different than a premise line!) is your high concept stated in a short, concise sentence. But, this is the subject of a later post.

I hope this helps. It sure helped me when I figured it out.

Now, go be brilliant.

Death to Story Gurus (metaphorically of course)!

Gurus: it seems the world is over-run with them. Cults, cults of personality, cults of politics, cults of religion, therapy cults, food cults, sexual cults the list goes on. There is at least one more type we should list, sadly: the story cult.

Yes, story gurus abound these days. Throw a stone and you’ll hit one. I won’t name names (you know who you are), but writing and story gurus use the same tactics as any cult leader to recruit, retain, and indoctrinate their “followers.” Here are some of the red flags to know if you are getting sucked into the web of a story guru:

• “You need me to help you become a better writer.”
• “You need my methodology/system if you are going to succeed.”
• “One class isn’t enough, you have to do the whole series to really get the benefit.”
• “Sign up for the next class series or you’ll fall behind in your development as a writer.”
• “My next book has exactly what you need, so make sure you buy it.”
• “If you really want to succeed, sign up for this writing retreat; you won’t get this information from anyone else.”
• “Join my writing group, or you won’t make any progress as a writer.”

The message is clear: you need me, you can’t do this alone, and you need a guru/teacher.

(Dramatic pause) … NO, YOU DON'T! You do not need a guru; you do not need a teacher. And anyone who tells you that you do is selling you snake oil and pulling a flimflam on you. But, let me explain why I feel this way.

The word “guru” has developed a bad connotation because of all the vampires out there that suck people’s power and money under the guise of “teaching.” There is nothing inherently wrong with listening to a guru or a teacher. We all benefit from teachers who teach. We all become more for learning from people who have been through experiences we have not, and who can transfer their knowledge to us as a gift. But, when getting that help demands us giving up our personal power, AND our bank accounts, then I certainly have a problem with that—and I hope you do too.

Sadly, there are many people who line up to give up their power to so-called experts in every field, least of all in the story-consulting world. I know, I work in that world, I teach in that world—but hear me, I am no guru! My approach is simple: take classes, buy books, listen to everyone; but, follow NO ONE! My tweet version of this philosophy is: Death to gurus! I speak metaphorically, of course.

Teachers and gurus are never a necessity. You can learn everything you need to learn on your own. But, it saves time to have someone teach you things if they already have the experience and insights you lack. You will have those experiences eventually yourself. You will gain those insights yourself. But, why not take a shortcut if one is offered; ala a teacher or guru? Nothing wrong with that.

But, the job of teachers is to teach themselves out of a job. Their job is not to produce perpetual students, but to produce more teachers. Any good therapist should therapize themselves out of a job by getting patients better, not keeping them hooked on years of therapy. Any good leader does not produce followers, they produce more leaders who change the world and make life better for everyone. The same goes for story gurus.

I teach classes; I sell books; I consult with clients. And you will pay me for the privilege because it has cost me years of time and money to gain my skills and knowledge. I’m worth the price of admission! But, I make no demands that you follow or keep buying, or ever use me again. If you choose to continue to work with me, great, that’s a preference, a choice you make consciously, NOT a necessity that is foisted upon you by my guilting you into following my methodology or “teachings.” You don’t need any story consultant or me. We need you, however, if we want to do what we love to do, i.e., teach and work with great writers.

So, to sum up: Death to story gurus. You are your own guru. You are your own teacher. Use us out of preference, not necessity. We don’t want your power. But, we don't work for free, so there’s the tradeoff. We who do this story work are lucky to have you , so thank you.

Now, go write.

Writing Groups—Be Afraid, Be very Afraid

Recently, I got into an argument with a writer who was raving about her writing group. She waxed poetic about the support she felt, the valuable input (though some advice conflicted), the feeling of connection she felt and all the other warm fuzziness that comes with being with like-minded people.

So, what was there there to argue about? Well, my response to her was, "Quit the thing immediately."

That kind of set her off and so the argument began. Now, granted, I can be a bit snippy and self-righteous when I get all in a tizzy about something. I tried to cool my jets, but her effusive love affair with her writing group pushed too many of my buttons. So, we argued, and in any such argument, there are never winners, just losers. She wasn't bad or wrong in her devotion, nor was I in my cynicism. But, that got me thinking ... was there some happy medium between her "true-believer" status and my "file for divorce" mindset? What was the bigger picture here?

I found myself reviewing all the reasons why I hate writing groups. In a nutshell, I find them to be anything but helpful to writers. Most of the participants are bad writers to begin with and have no real experience or expertise to offer other writers. Members typically are unpublished, unschooled in writing craft themselves (that's why they're in a group), and they almost never know how to give constructive criticism. Input from group members usually falls into three categories: empty praise, vicious critiques, or banal suggestions. I also find that, over time, familiarity within the group, between members, begins to undermine any real advice that might be offered, as cliques form, power struggles arise, and rivalries fester as the "good" writers battle against the "bad" writers. After a year or so, the group inevitably resembles more "Rome before the fall," rather than some harmonious group of supportive and objective writers.  

And then there is the simple logic of it:  members of any writing group are normally on the same level, when it comes to craft, as other members.  It's rare that you ever get one or two members who are "stars" and know more than the group as a whole.  So, what is the point of being there?  Do you really want to get story feedback from people who are at the same level as you, when they don't know substantially more than you, or don't have any more expertise than you?  Again, what is the point?  If you're looking for positive feedback, call your mother.  If you want real story feedback, call a professional; groups won't deliver what you really need: insightful, experienced, and objective input. (Now, obviously, there are writing groups that work. But, I believe these to be rare and anomalies of freak chance.)

There is, however, an even more fundamental reason why writing groups should be thought of as crimes against nature. Writing is not a group sport. Writing is a solitary and isolated process. Every writer I know who has any success in the field has complained to me, on their Face Book page, or through other public forums how miserable they are during the writing of a book; how lonely, how despairing, and riddled with fear and doubt. Well—welcome to the writing life! Joining a group to avoid this reality is simply not going to work. Writing process, as I have often said, is the literary equivalent to water boarding. A writing group will not save you from the sensation of drowning that awaits you when you leave its warm and fuzzy folds. Just deal with it and know that it will not kill you and that you will come out the other end. The group will only give you misdirection, premature or undeserved praise, and ultimately prolong your torture.

So, I guess, for me, there is no middle ground, no bigger picture that might serve as a basis for feeling okay about writing groups. For me the issue is productivity and process. I think you are just on your own when it comes to both. What should you do instead, if you are truly looking for useful input and advice? There are several more productive and realistic alternatives to writing groups:

• Readers: Develop a group of trusted readers who will not tell you what you want to hear, but who will tell you the truth. Preferably people who love to read and who you don't know, or know very little. Give them specifics on what you are looking for with input and let them go at it. This will be real-world advice you can use.

• Editors: Find a great line editor and a great developmental editor. Line editors clean up your basic grammar, spelling, punctuation, and usage. they also conform your text to Chicago Manual of Style conventions (or whatever style guide you use). Developmental editors give you the story and structure feedback most writing groups are clueless about. These are people who may not be good writers, but they are great storytellers and they will help you become a better storyteller. Worth their weight in gold when you find them.

• Classes: Read everything you can on how to write and take every class you can afford. This can be a black hole of your time as well, if you are not careful, but there are some great story and writing teachers out there who can arm you with new tools and help you with learn how to survive the water board. Listen to everyone, follow no one! As I always say, you are your own guru and teacher, ultimately. Many poo poo classes, but I say try them, you might like them. How are these different than writing groups? Classes end!

I know that there are many writers who will read all of this and feel compelled to come to the defense of their writing group. Feel free to do so. I have great respect for loyalty. But, consider that for all the time you will wast driving back and forth to group meetings, kibitzing before and after meetings, listening to other peoples stories and self-absorbed criticisms you could be writing at home and getting pages done. Maybe bad pages, but so what. Your first draft is always shit anyway. Everybody's first draft sucks. Join a group if you must; just know that it will take more than it gives and, when all is said and done, leave you feeling like you need a shower.

Now, go be brilliant.