Where does a novella end and a novel begin? I’m reworking that long-promised fifth in the Candy’s Monsters series and this one is getting… LONG. Not 300+ pages long, but if I keep going the way I’m going it’ll hit the 200 mark or get damned close to it. Does this make it a novel? I don’t think so, but my quick check online is making me pause. There seems to be a variety of opinions on the subject. The Internet ALWAYS has a variety of opinions… My personal approach is to let the story determine its own length. I
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The adage ‘show, don’t tell’ can only take a storyteller so far. Sometimes the best adventures take place INSIDE a character’s head. Internal monologues are an interesting tool in a fiction writer’s bag of tricks. In a novel or short story, an internal monologue can be the voice of the story. This is often a good idea for a mystery as the reader is invited to go along with the detective as he or she interviews witnesses & suspects, checks in with the medical examiner, looks for clues at the crime scene, and fits the puzzle pieces into a picture
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I was reading an article in the science section of The New York Times about a writer transformed from novice Poker player to a winner in professional tournaments in less than a year. It was a remarkable profile. Maria Konnikova was doing research for a book about luck and decision-making. Poker struck her as a good starting point. It was. And it was so much more. She studied it and excelled, winning $200,000 and gaining insights into a corner of the world I know nothing about. The article also discussed her previous book on con artists, ‘The Confidence Game.’ I
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It’s pushing 90 degrees Fahrenheit (32 Celsius). The humid New York City summer permeates my mind as much as my body. Everything feels slow and heavy. Even my fingers are slow and heavy on the keyboard. The other day I completed a draft of a story that takes place in late September, integrating the detail of the feeling of sudden darkness as the sun drops below the horizon, bringing an early end to the day in the world outside the bar where the story is set. Was there a little wishful thinking involved? Maybe? The lethargy of mid-August is sticky,
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I’ve lived in New York City all of my adult life—that’s long enough to have experienced a bit of the “bad old days” when crime & grime reigned and Manhattan was a the center of the all things cool & edgy. I remember avoiding subways at night and even calling a car service for a lift home from a party in Brooklyn. Now? I just hop on the subway like everyone else. I remember that my friends had a 10pm rule, before 10 we could take the subway alone, after 10—only with company. The bad old days are long over.
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The strategic thinking of a chess grandmaster, the steely nerves of a professional poker player, the concentration of a pinball champ, the competitive edge of an experienced Scrabble player, the repetitive relaxation of solitaire…The games people choose to play—from family favorites like Monopoly to teen party social shortcuts like Twister; the games people choose to avoid, excel at, or lose with or without grace—often become shortcuts for describing characters in fiction. Let me say upfront that I’m not that great at classic games. My mom was fabulous and my dad not so much. I think I inherited his quick frustration
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Someone asked me that question and I didn’t know how to answer it. I started writing—making up stories—before I could read & write. I can’t remember a time when something I saw or heard didn’t spark an idea. Not all the ideas wind up in fiction. In fact, the ratio of initial sparks to actual completed manuscripts is lopsided. Lots of things produce that spark. It’s the choices that follow the spark that make—or do not make—a story. I have early memories of making up stories and of not worrying much about where they came from; the reaction of an
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I rarely talk about a story when the idea is just beginning to sprout, but I did just that a few weeks ago. The story landed like a giant bird on my head, squawking, “Tell this story now!” I started working on it immediately, cutting a long walk short, and even ordering a small beer (this took place in The Netherlands) so I could occupy a shady table a café and scribble in my notebook. After the scribbles, I walked back to where I was staying, grabbed my computer and drafted a good solid chunk of the story. A friend
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It’s true that I often double check things as I write. In addition to being a wretched speller, I sometimes doubt my (usually accurate) memory, and do a search on a fact, the name of a place, or the date of a historical incident. I like to get my facts straight in my fiction. But sometimes I write without WiFi. Untethered to the Internet, I make frequent spelling errors, mix up the name of a store (or school or building…), and leave some dates and places blank, to be filled in later. The text is nowhere near nailed down, but
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