The World's Greatest Book

Thanks to K.M. Weiland for sharing this excellent guest post.

When someone mentions the phrase “classic book,” what do you think of? That mammoth copy of War & Peace you used as a doorstop all semester in your junior year? That pile of Cliff’s Notes you borrowed from the library whenever you had to write book reports? All the black and white movies you opted to watch instead of reading the books?

Many of us have negative associations with classic literature, thanks to teachers who “forced” us to read these old books when we were in less-than-appreciative frames of mind. But it’s time to shake off the negativity! Not only are the classics a treasure trove of wonderful stories about our past, present, and future, they’re also a gold mine of learning opportunities for authors.

Ten years ago, I made the commitment to read all the classics, and so far, I’ve worked my way up through the “H” authors (Hemingway and Homer are on my digital shelf at the moment). I cannot even begin to tell you how much I’ve gleaned from this commitment, both as a person and a writer. I got to kick this experiment into high gear when I was asked to write Jane Eyre: The Writer’s Digest Annotated Classic. Analyzing this masterpiece of literature, on more than just a superficial level, taught me more about writing than has any other single reading experience.

Want to join the fun? Here are five reasons all authors should be reading the classics: Continue reading →

So many writers get discouraged. This stinks. I quit.

Others are overconfident. They’ve always had “a gift for words” so they fail to submit their prose to an editor’s scrutiny.

I recently shared an email exchange with an editing client in which I gently pointed out a flaw she’d missed. She thanked me for “not making her feel like an idiot.”

Learning to write well is like learning to play an instrument; it requires practice, determination, and a song inside that wants to express itself. Though you’ve been writing and speaking your entire life, if you’ve never gone through the process of drafting and editing a narrative, you’re at the beginning of the long steep path to writing well.

If you can communicate fluidly and fluently on a day-to-day basis, speak eloquently at meetings, and organize emails into cohesive paragraphs, it’s no stretch to imagine  you’re ready to “sit down and hammer out a book.” But when your editor takes your “fine work” and bloodies it up with red ink, it’s just as easy easy to feel discouraged. All this time I thought I was a good writer! Instead I’ve been advertising how incompetent I am with every email and office memo. Continue reading →

Search for “one-sentence paragraph” on the Internet and you’ll mostly find questions about whether writing them is even an acceptable practice. The one-sentence paragraph is not only legal, it’s a useful and powerful literary device.

One-sentence paragraphs are common when short pieces of dialog are being exchanged, but consider the effect of serial one-sentence paragraphs in other contexts. The following excerpt from The Blue Monk describes an ocean crossing in a small wooden boat:

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A few years ago, I attended a nonfiction-writing workshop where I was told by the instructor that to qualify as nonfiction, a work must adhere as strictly to truth as possible. But such an edict rests on the naïve assumption that truth itself is knowable. The clean, white dividing line between fiction and nonfiction is, itself, a fiction. Truth is as nebulous as fantasy.

In the late 1980s and early 90s, I spent a number of years living aboard a small sailboat, traveling through the Bahamas, crossing the Atlantic to Gibraltar, and living among a community of inspiring, colorful people who chose life afloat over terrestrial existence. I made several attempts to write my stories, and finally published my memoir twenty years later.

I began by writing individual stories, one at a time. Eventually, I had a collection of almost fifty. I placed them in mostly-chronological order and began to work them into a book with a single story arc that tied them together. Fifty stories became one big one.

For research, I dug into my past and conducted interviews with people who were “there,” some of whom I hadn’t spoken with for two decades. Opening long-closed doors was scary and exhilarating, and it revealed curious things about the nature of truth. As I asked questions, reminisced, and listened to the memories of those who shared pieces of my adventure, I found they remembered things I didn’t. I remembered things they couldn’t recall. Some of the things we both remembered, we remembered differently. “No, that was me who said that to you!” If some absolute, factual version of truth lies beneath the memories, perceptions, and other aspects of consciousness that filter reality, getting at it is a romantic fantasy. Facts are colored by memory, viewing angle, and time. Truth is an unattainable absolute. Continue reading →