April 6, 2016 · 6:45 am

#amwriting: know your style: hypocrisy in the industry

a writer's styleIn writing, style is far more than simply choosing to wear high-heeled shoes with jeans. Style is a multilayered representation of your voice and your knowledge of the craft of writing.

An author’s style affects the overall readability of his/her finished product. Good readability is achieved by:

  1. Understanding: Keeping to generally accepted grammatical practices. Purchasing and using a style guide when questions arise regarding a creative writing project
  2. Rebellion: if the author chooses to break the accepted rules, he/she does so in a consistent manner.
  3. Wordcraft: The way the author phrases things, and the words he/she chooses, combined with his/her knowledge of the language and accepted usage. Invented word combinations, such as wordcraft (word+craft) and the context in which they are placed.

Simply having a unique style does not make your work fun to read.

Ulysses cover 3Let’s take a look at James Joyce, the man I think of as the king of great one-liners. If you look up great lines quoted from modern classic literature, you will find excerpts from his novel Ulysses represented more often than many other authors.

Yet, while the average reader has heard and often used quotes from Joyce’s work, most people have not read it. They may have picked it up, but then put it down, wondering what all the critics loved so much about it.

The mind of the literary critic is as inscrutable as that of an ex-spouse: hard to understand but easy to run afoul of. I personally learned to love Joyce’s work when I was in a class, taking it apart sentence-by-sentence. Prior to that, I couldn’t understand it, despite the fact it was written in modern, 20th century English.

What makes Joyce’s work difficult for the average reader is his style: he was Irish and had the Irishman’s innate love of words and how they could be twisted, and often wrote using what we call stream-of-consciousness. In doing so, Joyce regularly, but consistently, broke the rules of grammar.

Consistency and context are absolutely critical when an author chooses to write outside the accepted rules of grammatical style. If you just don’t feel like enclosing your dialogue within dialogue tags, it is your choice. Simply tell your editor that is your decision, and she/he will make sure you have consistently omitted them throughout the manuscript.

Queen of the Night alexander cheeYou may, however, have written a book that is difficult for the average person to read, as Alexander Chee has in his brilliant novel The Queen of the Night. While his writing is sheer beauty, this particular style choice is a mystery to me. It makes the book difficult to get into, because you’re reading along, and suddenly you realize you’re reading dialogue, and you have to stop, go back, and reread it.

It is incomprehensible to me why an editor for a large publisher would accept a manuscript that is as annoying as that one flaw makes this otherwise amazing book. It is also proof that large publishers (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt in this case) are just as guilty as indies when it comes to making strange decisions that can negatively affect sales. They may have done this to elevate it to a “status” read,  a must-buy literary name-dropper for those who wish to appear fashionably cultured. If so, it’s a disservice to a work that is brilliant despite a flaw that would be fatal if it were to appear in an Indie author’s work.

Chee’s editor did one thing correct, however: the lack of closed quotes is consistent throughout the book, and so one can sort of get into the narrative—at least until the dialogue starts up again. This blemish is why I will only recommend the audiobook to readers who are easily discouraged.

Your style choices are critical. They convey your ideas to the reader, and if you make poor choices, you may lose a reader.

James Joyce and Alexander Chee made style choices in their writing that an Indie could never get away with. The world holds Indies to a higher standard, so the choice to omit something as vital as quotation marks would result in instant finger-pointing and mockery of the Indie publishing industry as a whole.

What you choose to write and how you write it is like a fingerprint. It will change and mature as you grow in your craft, but will always be recognizably yours. As you are developing your style, remember: we want to challenge our readers, but not so much that they put our work down out of frustration. Most of us who are Indies can’t rely on our names to sell our books.

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April 4, 2016 · 6:45 am

#amwriting: genitives and possessives: when good apostrophes go bad

they're their there cupEvery now and then I’m reading along and I’m jarred out of the book by the improper use of an apostrophe. Yeah I know, that seems pretty minor, but think about it: apostrophes denote possession (and I’m not talking demonic here).

Things to remember:

  1. Who’s is the contraction of “who is” or, less commonly, “who has.”
  2. Whose is the possessive of “who” or, somewhat controversially, “which.”
  3. Their(s) is the possessive of “they.” (They’re proud to own it, it’s theirs, and it’s not there.)
  4. Its is the possessive of “it,” and “it’s” is a contraction of it is.

Quote from grammar-quizzes.com:

“Whose replaces a genitive personal or inanimate noun in a relative clause. While some people may object to the usage of whose with an inanimate noun, grammarians approve of it and cite its usage by highly esteemed writers.” (end quoted text)

What does that slightly complicated explanation really mean?

Let’s look at some definitions:

Genitive: The genitive case is the grammatically correct term predominantly used for showing possession. Nowadays words falling into that category are more frequently referred to as possessive, which is simpler. With nouns, it is usually created by adding an apostrophe followed by an “s”: ’s to the word or by preceding it with the word: of.

  • John’s blue eyes.
  • The rim of the cup.
  • It is the cat’s possession, a possession of the cat, or a possession owned by the cat. (Universal fact: cats own everything.)

However, the genitive case is not always about possession and, for this reason, the word genitive won’t completely fall out of favor in the English language. Grammar-Monster.com says:

  • Dan’s bike (No one would argue this is the genitive case and the possessive case. It is the bike of Dan. It is about possession.)
  • Children’s songs (This is not about possession. It’s about songs for children. For this reason, some argue this is the genitive case and not the possessive case.)
  • Constable’s paintings (This is not about possession. It’s about paintings by Constable. Some would argue this is the genitive case and not the possessive case.) (end quoted text)

Grammar-Monster also says:

“Possessive adjectives and possessive personal pronouns are also forms of the genitive case.” Examples:

  • our carpet (our – a genitive form of we)
  • Can I use yours? (yours – a genitive form of you) (end quoted text)

Remember:

When referring to living beings, whose denotes possession and who’s is a contraction that refers to existence: who is.

So now we have some idea of “whose” versus “who’s.” But what about “It?”

Dealing with possession by the inanimate—we don’t need an exorcist, although a good maid service could probably help. But in this case, we are referencing something owned by  the inanimate:

  • The texture of the wall —it’s rough. (It is rough.)
  • I scratched myself on its surface. (The wall’s surface.)

Its…it’s…which is what and when to use it?

The trouble here can be found in the apostrophe. In probably 99% of English words an apostrophe indicates possession, but once in a while, it indicates a contraction.

  1. It’s is the contraction of “it is” and sometimes “it has.”
  2. Its denotes possession: It owns it.

it's and whose

Contractions (e.g., let’s, don’t, couldn’t, it’s, she’s) have a bad reputation in educational and formal writing. Many argue that they have no place at all in formal writing. If you are writing a thesis, you should observe your publisher’s or instructor’s requirements.

 

However, in writing fiction, avoiding contractions makes your writing appear stilted and hyper-formal. If you are serious about the craft, you will learn the exceptions to the rules when it comes to apostrophes, and not accidentally mingle possessives in with your contractions.

 

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April 1, 2016 · 6:45 am

#flashfictionfriday: The Iron Dragon

Earl Aeddan ap Rhydderch turned his gaze from the mist to the strange iron road that emerged from it, and then to where the road entered the cave. “Tell me again what happened.”

The peasant who had guided the earl and his men said, “The mist, the iron road, and the cave appeared yesterday, sir. We saw the beast entering its lair, and a fearful thing it is, too. No one dares to enter, but the monster can be heard in there. It’s a most dreadful dragon—we found the carcass of a large wolf that had been torn to shreds, trampled until it was nigh unrecognizable.”

The man’s companion said, “Everyone knows wolves are Satan’s hounds. It must have angered its hellish master. We found it lying cast to one side of the Devil’s Road.”

Aeddan looked back to the iron road, seeing where it emerged from the mist. He walked to the low-hanging fog bank, seeing that the road vanished just after it entered the mist, leaving no marks upon the soil. He turned and strode back to the peasants. “I agree it’s the work of the Devil, but why does the Lord of Hell require an iron road that leads nowhere?”

A faint grumbling sounded beneath Aeddan’s feet. “A light! Look to the mist!” shouted one of his men.

Turning, Aeddan saw a white glow forming in the fog, as if a large lamp approached from a great distance. “That’s no ordinary lantern. Mount up!” Moving quickly, he leaped into his saddle and turned his steed to face the demon. He freed his lance from its holster and settled it in the arret attached to his breastplate under his right arm. His fingers fumbled as he struggled to fasten the grapper, but at last it held firm. The peasants, knowing they were no match for whatever approached, had run for shelter up the hill.

The light deep within the fog grew and strengthened, as did the rumbling noise.  The light waxed brilliant and the earth shuddered as if beneath the pounding of a thousand hooves. Smoke filled the night air, reeking of the sulfurous Abyss, combined with a howling as cacophonous as the shrieks of all the damned in Hell.

What emerged from the mist was impossible—an Iron Dragon of immense height and girth.

“Courage men! For God and King Gruffydd!” His bowels had turned to water, but Aeddan and his men stood firm in the face of the demon, sure that death would be their reward.

Dragon-Linda_BlackWin24_Jansson

Dragon, Linda Jansson PD/CC via Wikimedia Commons

The fiery light emanating from the burning maw lit the night, and the ground shook as the beast roared and raced ever closer. As the beast sped toward him, a burning wind blowing straight out of Hell knocked Aeddan and his horse to the side of the Devils Road, and using that opportunity, the Iron Dragon thundered past him, heading into its lair.

Stunned, Aeddan scrambled to his feet, staring as the length of the beast passed him by, the body taller than a house and long, like an unimaginably giant, demonic centipede. The length of the beast was incomprehensible, lit  by the fire within and glowing with row upon row of openings. The faces of the damned, souls who’d been consumed by the ravening beast peered out as they flashed by. Sparks flew from its many hooves.

Terrified his men would be crushed by the immense creature he shouted for them to back off, his voice drowned by the din.

Abruptly it was gone, vanished inside its lair. In the sudden, deafening silence, Aeddan wondered how such a thing could possibly have fit into the cave. Yet it had done so, and other than the stench of its passing, there was no sign of it.

He remounted and settled his lance in the holster beside his stirrup, then turned to his men. “Rouse the village. We must seal it’s lair with stone and mortar. We may not be able to kill it, but at least, we can stop it from marauding and decimating the countryside.”

>>><<<

Mist shrouded the small valley just outside of the village of Pencader. Engine Driver Owen Pendergrass looked at his pocketwatch and opened the logbook, noting the time and that they had just departed Pencader. He said to the fireman, Colin Jones, “We should be approaching the tunnel, though it’s hard to tell in this mist. We’re making good time despite the fog. We’ll be in Carmarthen on schedule.”

“Sir! Look just ahead! What…?” Colin pointed ahead.

A group of mounted men dressed like medieval knights, complete with lances lowered as if prepared to joust, appeared out of the mist, attempting to block their path. “God in heaven—what next!” Blowing the whistle to scare them off the tracks, Owen pulled the brake cord but there was no way the train could stop soon enough. In no time at all, the train was upon the knights, scattering them and blowing past. Owen looked out the window, to see if they’d survived but they were gone as if they’d never been.

“Vanished,” said Colin. “Like the ghosts when we passed through here yesterday.”

Hiding his trembling hands, Owen shook his head. “It was a close call, but no harm was done. We’ll not be mentioning this to the authorities, eh? Not after the way our report was received yesterday. It’s a haunted valley, but it’ll do us no good to mention it to anyone important.”

Colin agreed, and turned back to fueling his fire, shoveling coal as if he could work the fear out of his mind.

The connecting door opened and Harrison, the chief steward, entered. Pendergrass told him the same thing, and the old man agreed. “We got in enough trouble at the yard yesterday for mentioning the ghosts. I’ll go soothe the passengers.”

“Tell them it was just the mist and the dark playing tricks on their eyes.” Owen shook his head and glanced out the window, seeing they had emerged from the tunnel into a clear, cold evening and would soon be at the next stop, the village of Llanpumpsaint. “Playing tricks indeed.”

“The Iron Dragon” © 2016 Connie J. Jasperson, All Rights Reserved

For more stories involving what may or may not be dragons, check out today’s post by Chuck Wendig–he has posted a writing challenge and over the next two weeks the links to many great stories will be filling the comment section:

Terrible Minds/Chuck Wendig: Flash Fiction Challenge: the Dragon

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March 30, 2016 · 6:45 am

#amwriting: too many words

My Writing LifeI have been accused of using too many words to say what I mean—and my critics were right. For the last four years, I have been on a quest to learn how to convey a story and keep my reader involved. I’ve had some successes and also failures. The successes keep me going, and every failure inspires me to figure out what went wrong.

Most of the time it was my love of playing with words that derailed my story. Today’s example is a passage from an early work of mine. I will be rewriting this book over the course of the next few years, once the three books I am currently working on are published.

When I rewrite this book, I will eliminate the verbosity. I won’t change the basic story, only pare down the wordiness. This book was written for my first NaNoWriMo and was completely unplanned. I had no idea of what I was going to write until 12:01 a.m. on Nov. 1st, when I began writing it. In the back of my mind lurked Fritz Lieber’s great character, Fafhrd, although he’s not represented in this tale. Yet, Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser influenced this tale.

It still shocks me that over the course of 21 days, a 92,000 word story about a group of mercenaries in a medieval Alternate Earth emerged from my subconscious mind.

The original manuscript is a great example of everything that is both wrong and right about a  stream-of-consciousness first draft.

  1. Positive: It has a great, original plot,
  2. Positive: It has wonderful characters,
  3. Positive: It (surprisingly to me) has a basically good story arc.
  4. Positive: It ends well.
  5. Negative: I led off with an info dump.
  6. Negative: I used no contractions (Doh!)
  7. Negative: I made way too free with my adverbs and modifiers. This fluffed up the word-count by about 15,000 unnecessary words.
  8. Doubly negative: I used hokey phrasing, because I was trying to write well.
  9. Negative: Oh, and another info dump was inserted toward the end.

The example:

“I’ve brought along something so that we shall not have to boil the water to drink it,” ventured Lackland as he uncorked a bottle of wine. “Chicken Mickey was right about the trots you know, but I will never tell him that; the old thing enjoys mothering us so. It would take away the joy of nagging us to death if he thought we were able to care for ourselves.”

What? We shall not? From what hell hath this beast arisen? Still, once the hokey crap is pared away, something worth reading can be found.

SO, let’s take that unwieldy, 70-word behemoth of a paragraph apart and trim it down.

“I brought something so we won’t have to boil water to drink.” Lackland uncorked a bottle of wine. “Mick was right about the trots you know, but I’ll never tell him. It would take away the joy of nagging us to death.”

_72982736_vikings courtesy of BBCI trimmed it from 70 words to 42, and made it stronger without changing the meaning or intention. I changed the way Lackland refers to an absent friend, Chicken Mickey, the Rowdies’ supply-master. By this point in the ms, there is no need to use his full mercenary nickname every time he’s mentioned. Everyone knows Mick’s nickname and why he has it (he retired from the Rowdies to be a chicken farmer for a while, but that didn’t work out) so going with the short version of his given name, “Mick,” immediately helps that paragraph.

In the process, I axed one of my favorite sentences: “The old thing enjoys mothering us so.” It’s redundant as the sentiment is expressed in the sentence that follows, which also shows Mick’s character despite his absence.

Also of great benefit is the cutting away of unneeded words: along, to drink, ventured, as—these are words that can “go without saying” in the context of that paragraph. The reader understands they are there as silent partners: unwritten but understood. At this point, I feel that no dialogue tag is needed because Lackland has an action to perform, showing both who speaks and setting the scene.

Using contractions makes dialogue more natural. Some people would go even further than I did, and make “It would” a contraction. I don’t like the way “It’d” looks or sounds so I won’t do that—and that is part of what I think of as my voice. It is a deliberate usage choice, one that I prefer.

When I wrote the first draft of this manuscript, I was at a different stage in my writing development than I am at now. I had never been involved with a writing group, and I had never studied the mechanics of writing. The rudimentary skills I had were developed from trying to copy the styles of my favorite authors, but I had a limited understanding of the mechanics of writing fantasy fiction. The only writing I had done was for myself and my children, although I had done a lot of that.

While I had a standard high-school education and some college and had done a bit of writing in the course of my work, I realized I was woefully uneducated about the craft of writing. I made it my business to get an education, via the internet. It’s free and available to anyone who wants to learn. You just have to want to learn.

I began attending seminars, and writer’s conventions. I scavenged garage sales for books on the craft of writing and I joined local writing groups. I found other writers and made life-long friends, learning a great deal from them.

Nowadays, I have my own voice and my own style. I write far leaner prose in my first draft than I did in those days, and the editing process is not nearly such an ordeal as it was the first time I had one of my manuscripts edited professionally. I continue trying to learn the craft, updating my education constantly.

leonard elmore quoteChoose your words carefully, so they express what you want to say clearly, and in as few words as is possible, while still conveying the atmosphere and mood.

  1. Nothing can be included that does not advance the plot.
  2. There can be no idle conversations “just to show they’re human”: conversations must advance the story.
  3. We don’t need a chapter detailing the history behind the core conflict. Let that emerge as needed.
  4. Never use three words when one suffices.
  5. If you’re in love with a passage you wrote because it’s “great writing,” it probably should be cut.
  6. Ax all redundancies. It only has to be said once, unless the character has forgotten it, and that “forgetting” is a core part of the plot.
  7. Adverbs are important. They need to to be chosen carefully and used sparingly.
  8. If you occasionally love to wax poetic, go ahead and write poetry—just not in the middle of your political thriller. You have permission to love action-oriented genre fiction written with lean, mean prose, and still appreciate (and write) poetry.

What I didn’t know when I first began this journey is this: deleting the excess verbiage will add up to large gains, reducing the overall length of the book, increasing readability and (hopefully) the reader’s enjoyment.

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March 28, 2016 · 6:45 am

#amwriting: Verbs: when to use “if I was” and “if I were”

epiphanyMost of my ideas for blog posts arise during work, or in conversation with other writers. Usually, these revolve around concepts I have a basic understanding of but haven’t really given a lot of thought to. Writing about them helps to clarify and cement them in my mind.

Every now and then a grammar topic comes up that I’ve never really thought about. If it’s a subject I am not really clear on, I will research it, and then try to distill my discoveries into bite sized chunks.

We writers often operate by instinctively using the knowledge we gained in school. Often, as in my case, that knowledge is a bit tarnished and worse for the wear.  Today’s topic is one fabulous instance of that very thing.

Last Tuesday, we were standing around the virtual watercooler at the virtual offices of Myrddin Publishing. We have authors and editors on three continents, so we use a virtual office. A grammar question arose, and this is how the conversation went:

Shaun Allan (UK) said: Grammar question, please. ‘As if it were’ or ‘as if it was’ ?

Ross Kitson (UK) said: Would it depend upon the subject of it? If it were an individual then I’d say “was” whereas if ‘it’ were an event then I’d say ‘were.’ Might be best to ask a non-Northerner.

Connie Jasperson (me) (US) said: Ross Kitson is correct (in my opinion).

Stephen Swartz (US) said: were.

Gary Hoover  (US) said: A HUGE issue with most people is the subjunctive tense. Anything that is not actual but could be is subjunctive (as your phrase indicates). “If I were a carpenter.” Is correct because the singer isn’t actually a carpenter. “I was a carpenter” is correct if he actually was. (Gary inserted the link to Wikipedia’s article on “English Subjunctive”)

Alison DeLuca (US) said: I’m a subjunctive slore! ‘Were’ all the way.

It turns out this conversation revolved around the “Past Subjunctive Tense.” Gary, Stephen, and Alison had it right.

As a result of this conversation, I did a little more digging, wanting to know more about this oddly named construct. It just so happens that on Saturday morning, Stephen Swartz and I both happened (at the same time) upon an excellent blog post by the Grammar Girl, Mignon Fogarty.

When you go out to Wikipedia the whole subjunctive verb thing looks quite complicated, but it doesn’t have to be. The subjunctive (in the English language) is used to form sentences that do not describe known objective facts. For the purposes of this post, we are only looking at Past Subjunctive definitionSubjunctives: the verbs was and were.

But first, what does “subjunctive” mean?:

Dictionary.com defines “Subjunctive.” as:

adjective

1.(in English and certain other languages) noting or pertaining to a mood or mode of the verb that may be used for subjective, doubtful, hypothetical, or grammatically subordinate statements or questions, as the mood of ‘be’ in ‘if this be treason.’

Compare imperative (def 3), indicative (def 2).

noun

2.the subjunctive mood or mode.

3.a verb in the subjunctive mood or form.

First, let’s consider what Past Subjunctive Tense covers: how to use the words ‘was’ and ‘were.’

Which is correct?

  • I wish I were a penguin. I would fly through the water.
  • I wish I was a penguin. I would fly through the water.

If I am only  only wishing I were a penguin, were is correct. If I actually could be a penguin, was would be correct and I would have to rewrite my sentence, by deleting ‘I wish’ and changing ‘would’ to ‘could.’

The Grammar Girl goes farther. She says: Believe it or not, verbs have moods just like you do. Yes, before the Internet and before emoticons, somebody already thought it was important to communicate moods. So, like many other languages, English has verbs with moods ranging from commanding to questioning and beyond. The mood of the verb “to be” when you use the phrase “I were” is called the subjunctive mood, and you use it for times when you’re talking about something that isn’t true or you’re being wishful.

I love that clue—that verbs can be wishful.

fiddler onthe roof soundtrackThe Grammar Girl gives us a great example: Think of the song “If I Were a Rich Man,” from Fiddler on the Roof. When Tevye sings “If I were a rich man,” he is fantasizing about all the things he would do if he were rich. He’s not rich, he’s just imagining, so “If I were” is the correct statement. This time you’ve got a different clue at the beginning of the line: the word “if.”

However, there are times when we use the verb ‘was’ even though the subject of the sentence has not yet happened, or may not happen at all. Grammar Girl says:  But “if” and “could” and similar words don’t always mean you need to use “I were.” For example, when you are supposing about something that might be true, you use the verb “was.”

Past subjunctive verb forms express a hypothetical condition in present, past, or future time:

  • Don’t complain about the food. What if I was a chef?
  • I wish I were reincarnated. What if I was a penguin?

If it’s only wishful thinking, we use “were.” If it might be true but we don’t know or it hasn’t happened, we use “was.”

So now, thanks to a bunch of editors hanging around the water cooler and the miracle of the internet, we know how and when to use our moody, past subjunctive verbs.

If you are a grammar junkie (as I am becoming) I highly recommend you check out Mignon Fogarty’s Grammar Girl blog, or pick up her books.

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March 25, 2016 · 6:45 am

#flashfictionfriday: Dreams and Shadow Truths

Neil Gaiman Sandman quote memeTales, dreams, shadow-truths…the fabric of the multiverse. One universe touches upon another, and the dreamer dreams. The faerie queen leads her court though the forest and one more mortal falls in love.

Books are evidence that once upon a time a mortal slept, and dreamt. Within the pages of dusty, leather-bound books lies proof that the philosophers’ stone exists in the realm of imagination spinning words of straw into gold, and bequeathing immortality to those who possess it.

The multiverse is yours for the taking if you believe, and are unafraid to dream.

Open a book, and  step into a realm unknown.

 

“Dreams and Shadow Truths”  by Connie J. Jasperson © 2015 was first published on Aug. 10, 2015 on  Edgewise Words Inn

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March 23, 2016 · 6:45 am

#amwriting: The Garden Path

Plum Trees in Blossom, Pissaro 1894 via Wikimedia Commons

Plum Trees in Blossom, Pissaro 1894 via Wikimedia Commons

Today we are looking at the second of two creatively named structural errors that can introduce ambiguity to our work. On Monday we looked closely at “squinting modifiers” and today we are walking the “garden path sentence.”

Most of us are aware that many times a sentence is made stronger by the elimination of relative pronouns, such as that, which, and whom. Often, these words are understood and are therefore unneeded.

However, overzealous new authors recovering from a severe ego-bruising at the hands of a writing group sometimes get a little crazy and slash every instance of the “offending word” from their narrative. Such a knee-jerk reaction is ridiculous and can create the “garden-path sentence.”

Spring Hedges in Bauerngarten, Heinrich Vogeler 1913 via Wikimedia Commons

Spring Hedges in Bauerngarten, Heinrich Vogeler 1913 via Wikimedia Commons

From Wikipedia, the fount of all knowledge:

“A garden path sentence, such as “The old man the boat,” is a grammatically correct sentence that starts in such a way that a reader’s most likely interpretation will be incorrect; the reader is lured into a parse that turns out to be a dead end or unintended.

“Garden path” refers to the saying “to be led down the garden path,” meaning to be deceived, tricked, or seduced.

After reading, the sentence seems ungrammatical and makes almost no sense, requiring rereading to fully understand its meaning after careful parsing.”

pac-man jpgIn this case, confusion arises because we read like Pac-Man eats: one word at a time, as fast as we can, following the line. We attempt to understand sentences as we are reading them. The “garden-path sentence” begins by taking you toward a particular destination, but midway through it takes a turn for the bizarre.

Disambiguation memeThere are two types of garden path sentences.  The first is “locally ambiguous,” meaning that it can be cleared up with minimal changes to the sentence. Many times the addition of a word or punctuation will resolve the issue:

  • “The raft floated down the river sank.”
  • “The raft that floated down the river sank.”
  •  “We told the man the dog bit a medic could help him.”
  • “We told the man whom the dog bit that a medic could help him.”

Wikipedia offers the sentence: “The old train the young fight.”

  • When you add a comma it reads: “The old train, the young fight.” The addition of the comma makes sense of the words.
  • One could also argue that the sentence means “The old train the young to fight.”

ambiguityThe other type of garden path sentence is “globally ambiguous” because when it is taken out of context the meaning is still unclear no matter how many times you reread it . It requires a complete rewording.

A sentence should always be understandable. Context is extremely important to the meaning of an ambiguously phrased sentence. What happens to a sentence when you take it out of context? It has to stand alone, and still make sense.

Again, Wikipedia offers an example of confusion: “The cat was found by the shed by the gardener.”  This sentence is open to several interpretations. Perhaps the cat was by the shed, or the shed was by the gardener, or both the cat and the gardener were next to the shed. When this sentence is isolated from its paragraph and taken out of context, the meaning is unclear.

Consider a more active phrasing and reword the sentence to say “The gardener found the cat near the shed.”

The way to resolve the garden-path sentence is to

  • Insert a relative pronoun (such as “that”) for clarity.
  • Insert proper punctuation for clarity.
  • Reword the sentence to make the meaning clear.
The Garden of the Author, by José Benlliure Gil via Wikimedia Commons


The Garden of the Author, by José Benlliure Gil via Wikimedia Commons

Readers want to read without bumps and hiccups. Anytime they have to stop and reread something you risk losing them. Sentences that are ambiguous stop the eye.

We never want to introduce haziness into our work, and because we wrote it, we sometimes don’t see that it is confusing. If you have asked a beta reader to read a section of your work, and he flags a portion as being unclear, don’t just look at it and wonder why he can’t understand what seems so clear to you.

You must “parse” it. Tear that passage down to its component parts and find out what it is that the reader doesn’t understand. When you take the offending sentences out of their context, you can see if they will stand on their own. If they don’t, a simple rewording may be all that is needed.

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March 21, 2016 · 6:45 am

#amwriting: squinting modifiers

Squinting ModifiersThis week we are going to look at two structural errors that introduce ambiguity into our narrative.

First up is the hilariously named squinting modifier.  Who thinks up these things? The first time I came across that expression, I thought it was a joke. However, in the world of writing, a “squinting modifier” is simply a type of misplaced modifier. According to Neal at Literal Minded, the term can be traced back to George Campbell’s The Philosophy of Rhetoric, published in 1776.

It is a common error that can be difficult for the author to spot in their work because the author’s mind sees what was intended, not how it appears to an unbiased eye.

This structural error introduces ambiguity:  it seems to qualify the words both before and after it.

  • Students who skip classes rarely are reprimanded.

Does this mean students who rarely skip classes are reprimanded? Or, perhaps those students are rarely reprimanded.

Mignon Fogarty, the Grammar Girl, offers this example:

  • Children who laugh rarely are shy.

Is the author talking about children laughing rarely, or rarely being shy?

ambiguityMisplaced modifiers (frequently adverbs) make our work unclear, or “ambiguous.” The best way to avoid that ambiguity is to move the modifier so that your meaning is clear, or completely reword the sentence.

  • Children who laugh are rarely shy.
  • Students who skip class are rarely reprimanded.

When you introduce a large number of modifiers into your work you run the risk of

  • Introducing passivity to your narrative
  • Unintentionally introducing ambiguity

If you haven’t figured it out by now, there is an easy way to identify adverbs. Most, but not all, end in the letters “ly.” Knowing this makes it fairly easy to identify adverbs in sentences.

As I said, not all adverbs end in “ly.” Some frequency adverbs, do not follow this rule.

  • always
  • never
  • often
  • sometimes
  • seldom

Still, knowing that ‘ly’ at the end of a word indicates an adverb will help you avoid overusing them.

You may wonder why we want to limit the modifiers in our prose—and it’s a good question. How we use modifiers is part of the voice of our work.

If we are writing genre fiction (i.e. romance, mystery, sci-fi, fantasy) your prospective readers will not endure fluffed up prose written for the beauty of the words. They want lean prose, with an active voice, and to achieve that active phrasing, we cut back on the “ly” modifiers. Instead of telling you how the scene looks, an active voice shows you what the protagonist sees.

Telling: The night was hot and damp. Darren entered the alley, which was awfully dark and smelly. “Rafe?” he asked quietly.

“Over here,” said Rafe. He was all raggedy and dirty.

Showing: Darren entered the alley, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The odors of overripe privies and decomposing garbage lingered in the humid air, along with the reek of despair. “Rafe?” he whispered.

A pile of rags stirred and a familiar voice said, “Over here.”

When we use active phrasing, we are better able to convey atmosphere.

Adverbs ending in “ly” are often called “adverbs of manner.” Despite the rants of some self-proclaimed gurus in certain writing forums, these words have a place in active prose, and anyone who says they don’t is not fully informed.

This is where it becomes a matter of style and the author’s voice. We choose our words deliberately to convey the story the way we see it, precisely placing modifiers to achieve a certain effect.

Perhaps you are trying to convey a character’s lack of conviction regarding his plan of action: Rafe is a down-on-his-luck confidence man, a reformed scam-artist drawn in to do a job only he has the skills for.

“I’m fairly sure this will be safe.” Rafe crossed his fingers for luck. “It’s not that much dynamite.”

Several authors I know well would never use the word “fairly” because its an indecisive word. That indecisiveness is what I want to convey. This is the difference in our “voices.”

The way I see it: Rafe could say “I’m almost sure” but to me, that phrasing feels clunky and obvious–it does show his doubt. But, in  my opinion, what it doesn’t convey is Rafe’s desire to sell his reluctant partner the plan he has little confidence in. He has to convince Darren to go along with it because they have no other option. Rafe is a conman, trying to reform. He has an important reason to not just lie about it, so he wants to be as truthful as he can be and still sell Darren on the plan.

Writing involves words of all kinds and using them properly.

Adverbs are a powerful seasoning to add to your prose–be sparing and make the best use of them. Those you do use should go unnoticed in the narrative.

Your readers will thank you.

List of common adverbs

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March 18, 2016 · 6:45 am

#FridayFiction: The Dunes at Westport

P.S. Krøyer, Summer Evening at Skagen Beach – The Artist and his Wife (1899) Via Wikimedia Commons

P.S. Krøyer, Summer Evening at Skagen Beach – The Artist and his Wife (1899) Via Wikimedia

The Dunes at Westport

Hidden where the dune grass grows

Beside the salty sea

Tall, the dune grass shields our tryst

Beside the wide, grey sea.

 

Hard and sweet, the wind does blow

From off the tumbling sea

The path is lined with strawberries

Wild and thriving in the lee.

 

A basket filled with simple foods,

Bread, and wine, and cheese,

A blanket spread upon the sand

Sheltered from the breeze.

 

Seabirds glide upon the wind

Calling from on high

Pipers step at water’s edge

With plovers they do vie.

 

We’ve slipped the bonds of modern life

And come down to the sea

Sheltered in the dunes we’ll rest

My only love and me.

 

A secret tryst, my love and I

Beside the salty sea

A day beneath the wide, blue sky

My dear, dear man and me.

“The Dunes at Westport” © 2016 Connie J. Jasperson, All Rights Reserved

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March 16, 2016 · 6:45 am

#amwriting: rejection is not the end of the world: keeping track of submissions

lasceax prize

Recently I realized I had submitted a short story to two places. One place was a magazine that pays per word, the other was an anthology that offered no remuneration, but was being published by a well-respected professional group.

Quite often publishers prefer that you not make simultaneous submissions, although some don’t care. Most will want a story to be new and previously unpublished, but again, some don’t care.

Fortunately, this particular tale was not what the anthology was looking for–no money was involved there and I try to concentrate on submitting my work to paying gigs as often as possible.

Thus, I have begun to keep a list of what short story was submitted to what magazine or anthology. If it is rejected with comments, I consider the remarks, address them if they are valid and immediately submit it elsewhere. The fact is, rejection can be a positive thing.

Of course, I have enough rejections to wallpaper an outhouse. Not everyone will love your work. You have to keep trying, but eventually you will sell a story.

When I first began this journey I didn’t understand how specifically you have to tailor your submissions when it comes to literary magazines, contests, and anthologies.

When you have a great story that you believe in, you must find the venue that might be interested in your sort of work. This means you must buy magazines, read them, and write to those standards.

Go to the publisher’s website and find out what their submission guidelines are and FOLLOW THEM. (Yes, they apply to EVERYONE, no matter how famous, even  you.) If you skip this step, you can wait up to a year to hear that your ms has been rejected, and they most likely won’t tell you why.

Formatting your manuscript is crucial. If you are unsure how that works, see my blogpost of July 24, 2015,  How to Format Your Manuscript for Submission.

It’s not worth a publisher’s time to teach you how to be a writer–you have to learn that on your own.

A sci-fi magazine like Analog Science Fiction and Fact will not be interested in fantasy from an unknown author. If you read Analog, you can see they mostly publish hard, technology driven sci-fi. If they publish a fantasy piece at all, it will be by one of their regular contributors, and will likely have been solicited by them for a particular feature.

Analog’s Submission page clearly says: “Basically, we publish science fiction stories. That is, stories in which some aspect of future science or technology is so integral to the plot that, if that aspect were removed, the story would collapse. Try to picture Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein without the science and you’ll see what I mean. No story!

The science can be physical, sociological, psychological. The technology can be anything from electronic engineering to biogenetic engineering. But the stories must be strong and realistic, with believable people (who needn’t be human) doing believable things–no matter how fantastic the background might be.”

You have been warned. They want science, not magic.

Therefore, I never submit to this magazine as I don’t write hard science fiction. I don’t enjoy the kind of work they publish, and that is an important clue: If you don’t read what they publish, you likely can’t write it to their standards.

An excellent article that addresses that well is  “What Editors Want; A Must-Read for Writers Submitting to Literary Magazines.”

Because I have so many short pieces floating around in the ether, I now keep a list, organized like this:

Submissions log

Remember, only submit your best work. If you have a well-written piece that reads smoothly when read aloud and is rejected for whatever reason, find a different magazine, contest, or anthology to submit it to. Chances are it simply didn’t resonate with the editor at that place, and who knows–it may be exactly what the next place is looking for.

If you are stumped for places to send your work, there are several sites that offer classified ads calling for submissions:

NewPages Calls for Submission

Every Writer’s Resource

Let’s Write a Short Story

Lascaux 2015If you are new to this, a good place to start is the Lascaux Review. This is a literary magazine, but they have great contests, and their rules are fairly relaxed:

The Lascaux Prize in Flash Fiction http://lascauxreview.com/contests

The Lascaux Prize in Flash Fiction is presently open for submissions. Stories may be previously published or unpublished, and simultaneous submissions are accepted. Winner receives $1,000, a bronze medallion, and publication in The Lascaux Review. The winner and all finalists will be published in The 2017 Lascaux Prize Anthology.

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