Writers Resources

Storytellers & Grammarians: The Different Types of Editors

KWhipkey 1 Comment

A few months ago, Hubs and I were at one of our favorite restaurants, enjoying a nice basket of Cajunized tots and a couple cold beers. And, being the creepers that we are, we eavesdropped, I mean overheard, a conversation from the next table that started me thinking. While waiting for their food, the boy at the table would challenge his sister on rules of writing, definitions of obscure words, and other English-related stuff. After the first couple rounds, Hubs started looking to me for verification, mouthing, “Is he right?” Because, as an editor, this should be my realm of expertise, yes?

Eventually, though, I honestly wasn’t sure without having to use some sort of reference guide. See, the boy had transitioned from the basic rules of grammar we all abide by into things like the roots of words and obscure facts about the structure of language and grammar that I rarely need to know while editing. But he clearly loved it as much as I love talking about the techniques of storytelling. And right there, the proverbial light bulb went off, clarifying something I’d been witnessing for a while, but that I hadn’t put into words — there are two fundamental types of editors.

I know what you’re thinking: there are way more than two types of editing. And you’re right, there are. For argument’s sake, here’s the list of the most common editing activities:

  • Developmental (Overall storytelling)
  • Line Editing (Word Choice, Smoothness, Clarity, etc.)
  • Copy Editing (Grammar, Spelling & Punctuation)
  • Technical Editing (One specific aspect of a manuscript)
  • Proofreading (Formatting issues, Typos, etc.)

Note that I called those editing activities. Because, while there are five different areas an editor can be skilled in, there are still only two types of editors — the storytellers, and the grammarians. What I’ve witnessed over the past few years is that, regardless of the type of editing activity, the person doing it will invariably fall into one of these two categories. Why? Because I’m talking about the core way they view a manuscript, their fundamental perspective.

You’ve heard me talk before about how editors are not all the same, how it’s important to know whether you’re working with a copy editor or a developmental one. And this is why. The core philosophy of your editor will dictate the quality and type of editing you receive.

Grammarians are fantastic line editors because they’re brilliant with the actual words. They love the English language will the zeal of an English professor and will be the first to call you out when you deviate from the grammar laws. In short, they’re the grammar Nazis I mentioned in my post on the different types of critiques. But in the grand scheme of things, they’re superficial editors. Meaning they never dive past the actual words on the page, the specific combinations of letters and symbols on a white background. This is the main reason you’ll see some editors charge tiny little fees and have a turn-around rate of two weeks. Because all they’re doing is polishing the surface of your work, putting a band-aid on wounds they may or may not even see.

I’m sure I’ve just offended a large portion of the editors out there, and for that, I’m sorry. But it’s true. A grammarian editor will never look at the deeper problems of a story. For that, you need a storyteller. Storyteller editors are a rare breed, capable of doing the same level of line edit quality as a grammarian, but also capable of seeing past the words to the story underneath. They’re the equivalent of literary surgeons. They’ll spot the weird bone spurs, the fractured character arcs, the fatal plot holes that bleed the life from your story, the illness that keeps the emotional context from resonating with readers. And this is true whether you hire them to only do line edits, or whether you want the developmental side. Because they can’t help but see those things.

Storytellers understand elusive concepts like voice and style, and they’ll help you bend the rules of grammar to fit your story. Grammarian editors won’t. To them, that’s a cardinal sin, and they don’t understand why you would want to do that. Storyteller editors will ensure all the pieces of your manuscript work to form a cohesive narrative. Grammarians won’t. They’ll make sure all your words look pretty. Storyteller editors will challenge you, pushing you become a better writer. Grammarians will fix your typos and call it good. I’m sure you’re starting to see the pattern here.

So, how can you tell the difference? When you’re looking for a freelance editor, or you meet your publishing-house-assigned person for the first time, how can you know which type of editor you’re getting? That’s the tricky part. Ideally, you’ll want to look at any previous work they’ve done. Buy (or borrow) one of the books listed on their resume and see how you feel about it. Is it solid grammatically, but riddled with storytelling problems? (Readers are surprisingly attuned to these kinds of issues, so you’ll be able to feel it, even if you don’t know exactly why it didn’t work.) Chances are, they’re a grammarian.

Another option would be to track down other authors the editor has worked with and ask them for their impressions. Did the editor help them with a particularly tricky part of their story, or were they fast? (Speed is an indication of quality, remember? It’s much faster to skim the surface of something than it is to really internalize and think about someone’s work.)

The final clue will be in the feedback itself. If you’ve found a storyteller, they’ll always start with in-depth feedback that delves into the core of your story. Their first email to you will likely contain information on theme, character development, pacing, and any potential problems with those areas. Or, alternatively, if you’ve hired someone solely for line edits, watch for feedback that steps out of that territory. Trust me, storytellers can’t help but point out flaws in logic or areas that are murky/underdeveloped. Whereas grammarians will stick exactly to that — the grammar.

It is my opinion, in case you couldn’t guess, that storytellers are the stronger editors, and whenever possible, you should seek one of them. But grammarians have their place as well. They’re excellent proofreaders, and if you’re confident in the integrity of your story (as in it passes your critique partners and beta readers with flying colors) and simply need someone to double-check/polish your grammar, they’re perfectly acceptable.  The important thing to take away from this is that there is a difference. So know exactly what you’re looking for, and who the best editor is for that. Don’t ask a grammarian to do developmental edits, and don’t expect a storyteller to ignore structural flaws while line editing. Understanding the way your editor is likely to view your manuscript will give you a better idea of what to expect in terms of feedback. Which, in turn, leads to a better working relationship, and everyone likes when projects go smoothly, right?

Featured From the Archives: How to Write Martial Arts Fight Scenes

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For the past few weeks, this post has surfaced almost daily in my stats, making it by far my most popular article ever. The fact that it is continually being Googled probably means that I would do well to post it again, don’t you think? Maybe the universe (and by universe, I mean all you lovely authors out there with the power to Google stuff) is trying to tell me that this information could benefit someone at the moment. Never one to ignore omens (my whole urban fantasy series is based around the concept of synchronicity, after all), I’m going to do just that.

This week’s feature is a little over a year old, but it’s as valid today as it was then, and I hope it helps those who are searching for it. Enjoy! 😉
 

How to Write Martial Arts Fight Scenes

by Kisa Whipkey

(Originally Posted on 8/9/13)

 
Fight scenes. Whether live action or written, they can be such a pain to pull off, falling all too easily into the realm of cheesy. You know the ones I mean; we’ve all seen and read them — fight scenes where the creator was more focused on what looks cool and/or badass, and less so on believability.

Recently, I sent a frustrated plea to the Twitterverse, begging authors to do their research before including the martial arts in their fights. Believe it or not, it wasn’t until after I sent that plea that the light bulb appeared and I realized I’m in a unique position to help my fellow authors. As both a martial artist and a writer, I have insight that could help authors overcome the hurdle of fight scenes. So today, I’m going to use that background to dissect a written fight scene and hopefully illustrate how to effectively incorporate martial arts techniques. About time, right?

First, let’s take a look at what you don’t want to do.

_________

Charlie grunted as his back slammed into the wall, his opponent’s hands wrapped thoroughly around his throat. He struggled, trying to kick his opponent in the groin but only managing to connect with the man’s shin. The attacker snarled, loosening his hold on Charlie’s neck. Without pausing, Charlie threw his left arm between them, turning to the side and trapping the attacker’s arm against his own chest before elbowing the man in the face.

The attacker stumbled backwards, grasping at his bleeding nose. Charlie didn’t wait. He had the upper-hand. He advanced toward his opponent, his hands raised to guard his face, his body relaxed into a sparring stance. The attacker glared up at him, straightening into a matching stance.

With a yell, Charlie threw a round-kick at the attacker’s head. His opponent ducked, sliding between Charlie’s legs on his knees and jumping to his feet with a swift kick to Charlie’s back. Charlie stumbled forward, turning to face his attacker before he was struck again and instantly ducked the knife hand strike aimed at his head. Charlie responded with a flurry of punches, varying his target from the man’s head to his torso and back again. The man blocked most, but a few landed, knocking the attacker from his feet.

Charlie stood over him for a split second before finishing him off with a well-placed axe kick to the sternum. As the attacker rolled on the ground, sputtering, Charlie ran for the safety of a nearby cafe.

_________

Now, that’s shockingly not as bad as some I’ve seen, although it’s sure not going to win me a Pulitzer either. Some of you may even think this is an all right fight scene, aside from the obvious grammatical flaws that could be fixed with a few more drafts. But this is the example of what not to do, remember? So let’s figure out why.

Did you notice that I gave you very little about why this fight is happening, or where? I didn’t even give you the attacker’s name! But I did tell you in agonizing detail the techniques they’re using and where the blows land, placing all the emphasis on the choreography, and none at all on the characters or motivation behind this moment. The result? A laundry list of steps you could re-enact, but that you feel not at all.

That’s because this approach is all telling. That’s right, the infamous telling vs. showing debate. I tell you exactly what’s happening, but I don’t show it at all. You don’t feel invested in Charlie’s situation. You don’t feel the emotions. You feel excited, sure, because it’s action, and even poorly written action is exciting. But it has no lasting impact on you, does it? This scene is about as forgettable as they come.

It’s also unrealistic. Who out there noticed the completely implausible choreography I threw in? I know the martial artists in the audience did, because it screams “cool factor,” its entire existence a nod to something awesome and badass, but that, in reality, is actually physically impossible.

If you guessed the knee slide under Charlie’s legs, you’d be correct. Bravo! You get a cookie.

This is why it’s important to understand the dynamics of a fight, not just the choreography. Those who have done a round kick know that while performing it, you balance on one leg, your body positioned so that your center of gravity is entirely over that back leg. If someone were to try and go through your legs the way I described, they would take out your supporting leg and you’d both end up in a flailing pile of limbs.

And then there’s the knee slide itself. If you read it closely, you realized the attacker is standing still. Where’d he get the momentum for a knee slide? Unless they’re fighting on a slick, hardwood floor that’s just been mopped, he would need a running start. I don’t know about you, but if I tried to drop to my knees to slide anywhere, I’d be sitting on the floor looking like an idiot asking to get kicked in the face. It’s just not believable.

So let’s try that scene again, this time, fixing all those things I called out.

_________

Charlie grunted as his back slammed into the wall, Eric’s hands wrapped around his throat. Hate emanated from his friend’s eyes, judgement and accusation burning them into a sinister shade of blue. Charlie gasped, choking as Eric’s fingers cut off his air like a tourniquet.

His mind screamed at him, desperate to know why it was being punished. His lungs burned, his mouth working like a fish on dry land, sucking in nothing but fear. The edges of his vision started to grow fuzzy, black dots appearing over Eric’s shoulder, distorting the red glow of the club’s EXIT sign like reverse chickenpox. Panic flooded his veins with adrenaline. He struggled, clawing at the fingers sealed around his throat. He tried to kick Eric in the groin but only managed to connect with his shin, the impact ricocheting painfully through his foot.

Eric snarled, loosening his hold, giving Charlie the opening he needed. He threw his left arm between them, turning to the side and trapping Eric’s arm against his own chest before elbowing his best friend in the face.

Eric stumbled backward, grasping at his bleeding nose. Charlie didn’t wait. He advanced toward his opponent, his hands raised to guard his face, his body relaxing into the sparring stance he’d practiced for years– knees bent, weight forward on the balls of his feet, head lowered. Eric glared up at him, straightening into a matching stance. Their eyes locked. It was just like old times, only now there was no one to referee the match, to stop it before it went too far.

All this for a girl. Charlie knew it was ridiculous, that he should walk away, but fury mixed with adrenaline, coursing through him like a pulsing heat. If Eric wanted a fight, that’s what he’d get.

With a yell, Charlie threw a kick at Eric’s head. Eric ducked, sliding easily into a leg-sweep, knocking Charlie’s support from under him. The ground smashed into his back, forcing the air from his lungs in a rushing wheeze. He rolled backwards to his feet, still fighting against the tightness in his chest. Eric closed in on him, pushing his advantage, arms and legs flying. Charlie blocked as many of the blows as he could, his arms jarring in their sockets every time he did, his ribs and face blossoming with pain every time he didn’t. He stumbled back through the shadows of the alley until he was once again cornered.  Cringing, he held his hands up in surrender. Eric backed off, eying him warily as he spit blood onto the darkened pavement.

Charlie’s knuckles were bleeding, his ribs bruised, and his lip split into an oozing gash. It was time to end this.

“All right, I give,” he said,  the words gravelly and pained as he forced his battered throat to work. “I’ll never go near your sister again.”

_________

Still not the most epic writing sample, but you see the difference, I hope? Now, we not only know who Charlie’s fighting, but why. I’ve also fixed the choreography so that it’s believable, and added emotional content and description, putting the focus on the characters instead of the martial arts. No one cares about the techniques, but they care a lot about how those techniques feel, the emotion behind the action. Understanding that is the difference between creating a scene from a clinical distance and creating a deeper POV that will resonate with readers.

So, how can you take your fight scenes from flat to amazing? Easy, just remember these three things:

  1. Show, don’t tell. The techniques themselves are not important, the emotion is. Only use a technique name if there’s a reason we need to know the exact kick, etc.
  2. Believability is king. Never throw something in just because it sounds awesome. Make sure it’s actually physically possible and makes sense with the choreography and your world.
  3. When stumped, ask an expert. If you’re at a loss, find someone familiar with the martial arts and ask. Don’t just rely on Google and Youtube. They won’t give you the insight personal experience can.

That’s really all there is to it. Not so hard after all, is it? And if you ever find yourself in need of some martial arts feedback, I’m always available. Just send me a note with your questions, and I’ll happily provide some help. 🙂

Featured From the Archives: The Pros & Cons of Posting Work Online

KWhipkey 2 Comments

Today, I released the first chapter of Unmoving into the truly unmonitored (otherwise known as free) pool of internet fiction. The dedicated among you will remember me talking about doing this very thing over a year ago. And while I did launch half of my master plan (the VIP Subscription option), I never did take the plunge into widespread distribution. That’s right, I chickened out. Because putting your work out into the ether, for free, is scary.

But today, I changed that. Unmoving is now available for your perusal on StarterSerials.com and will be joining the ranks of Wattpad and Figment soon. In honor of finally taking that leap, I thought it would be fitting to pull this particular article out of the archives, dust it off, and send it back into the world to help any of you wrestling with this very decision.

But before I let you go, I’d also like to announce a slight change in the posting schedule here on Nightwolf’s Corner. Due to the unexpected popularity of my book review option and the almost split personality my blog’s starting to take on, I’m adding a new addition to the roster: Book Review Wednesday. Yep, I’m splitting the book reviews off and giving them their own dedicated space, which leaves Friday’s post free and clear to resume the articles I’m sure some of you are missing — the snarky, informative ones about all things publishing, writing, martial arts, or whatever. Book Review Wednesday won’t happen every week, but the regular Friday posts will. I simply don’t read fast enough to post reviews on a weekly basis, but I think we can all safely assume I’ll be able to maintain the content you’ve come to expect every Friday.

And speaking of, let’s get back to the original point of this post . . .
 

The Pros & Cons of Posting Work Online

by Kisa Whipkey

(Originally Posted on 3/8/13)

 
It’s been 6 months since I posted about my bold marketing plan involving Wattpad & Authonomy. (Yikes! Where did the time go? Feels like I blinked and it was already March!) Those of you who follow me regularly will have noticed the distinct lack of announcements pertaining to said marketing plan. Why? Because I’m afraid. Afraid of making the wrong move; afraid of ruining my chances at becoming a successful author; afraid of facing down the ultimate demon of failure. I’ve second-guessed myself into a frozen stupor instead of trusting my instincts and jumping in head-first.

This isn’t the first time I’ve shot myself in the foot, letting fear keep me from pursuing my dreams. But it will hopefully be the last. In an effort to convince myself that the naysayer in my brain needs to be duct-taped to a chair in the corner and silenced, I spent the past week revisiting the reasons I created my crazy marketing scheme in the first place. And since my OCD side loves to make lists whenever I find myself spinning in circles like a confused dog, here are my top 3 pros and cons for posting work online.

PROS:

The internet is full of horror stories about how posting online can backfire like a pipe bomb, obliterating your chances at a successful writing career. And for someone like me, with a crippling fear of failure shackled to my every move, it can be incredibly hard to see past these anecdotes. But the truth of the matter is that posting your work online can also be the best move an indie author ever makes. In fact, there are even a few hope-inspiring articles popping up about the success you can find this way, such as this one by Lindsay Buroker on the merits of Wattpad. So before we wander down the more easily traveled road of negativity, let’s explore some of the good things about posting online.

  • Exposure:

The most obvious perk is the unlimited access to potential readers. The hardest job for any author is getting their book in front of people; something that’s becoming increasingly more difficult as the market gets flooded. So why wouldn’t you want to exploit every possible avenue of exposure? Manuscript Display Sites like Wattpad, Authonomy & Figment open windows into audiences you may not have found otherwise. Similar to the library, you offer your work for free (in serialized form) and gain instant access to thousands of readers. Some of whom are bound to become fans. Right?

  • Feedback:

The second big reason writers post their work online is for the feedback. Since you don’t need a completed manuscript to start generating interest, you can use the internet as a giant pool of beta readers. The critiques obviously range in value, but the chance to gauge reader response while your work’s still in process is pretty awesome. The trick is not to let the feedback you receive compromise your work. You can’t please everyone, after all.

  • Motivation:

Personally, I work best under a deadline. But it has to be imposed by someone else. I’m notoriously good at breaking deadlines I’ve set for myself, brushing them aside with flimsy excuses and promises to get them done later, because there are no repercussions. Aside from being a slacker and not getting my work done, that is. But as soon as you post something online, you answer to someone else. I don’t know about you, but the thought of disappointing my fans (all four of them) is a better source of motivation than caffeine. And Lord knows I could use some help in the motivational department these days.

CONS:

The world of online literature isn’t all rainbows and butterflies though. There are just as many reasons not to post your work as there are reasons to do it. In fact, I daresay there are more reasons why you shouldn’t. Here’s just a few of the major points:

  • Loss of First Publication Rights:

The biggest deterrent to posting online is the fact that you basically throw away your First Publication Rights. This doesn’t matter much to authors planning on self-publishing, but it’s death to any project trying to go the traditional route. Unfortunately, publishing online does count as being previously published. Which means that once you’ve posted online, you’ve basically committed to being an indie author. If you think your work has even a shred of marketability via traditional means, you’d be best to avoid this route like the plague.

  • Giving Work Away for Free:

It goes against most writer’s instincts to take a project they’ve invested in for so long and just give it away. It feels like you’re devaluing your time, declaring that your work isn’t good enough to deserve compensation. But is that really true?

In a market that sees thousands of books published every day, (with a majority of those being questionable in quality), it can be nearly impossible to get readers to take a chance on someone new. In this economy, consumers are appropriately stingy with their money, trusting in names and products they’ve been previously exposed to. By giving your work away for free, you offer them a chance to try something new without financial risk. If they like your work, you’re then on the list of trusted names and will likely see sales on your subsequent titles. But that still means sacrificing one of your projects to something intangible that may not ever turn into monetary reward. Like all gambles, it’s hard to tell if it’s worth it.

  • Plagiarism:

Any time you publish something online, it’s immediately exposed to the possibility of theft. That’s just the nature of the art world. Yes, there is recourse for artists/authors that have been wronged, falling victim to the pirates of plagiarism, but it doesn’t lessen the blow. Which is why you’ll see this fear thrown around in nearly every literary forum. The thing is, the likelihood of plagiarism is a lot slimmer than people think. Yes, it happens, and yes, it sucks. But the majority of people aren’t interested in stealing from you.

If you’re a creative person, then chances are good this isn’t your only project. And as much as it would suck to lose it to plagiarism, it really wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it? You could always go on to write more; create another masterpiece. The thief doesn’t have that luxury. So even though this is a definite negative to posting online, it’s also an inevitable risk that every writer will have to take if they want to become an author. Your book can’t become a bestseller if it never leaves your desk drawer.

As you can see, there are some pretty strong arguments on both sides. And, as with everything in publishing, there doesn’t seem to be a clear-cut answer, no matter how much we might wish it to be black and white. The best I can tell is that you should assess each of these points on a project by project basis. In my particular circumstance, with this particular title, posting online makes sense. I was never intending to pursue traditional publishing with this series, so why not start gaining some momentum now by getting my name out there? I’m definitely still scared of taking the leap, but no one ever found success by playing it safe.

What do you think? Do the pros outweigh the cons? How many of you have posted your work online and to what result? I’d love to hear your experiences. 🙂

Understanding Point-of-View

KWhipkey 7 Comments

POV. Love it or hate it, this is one of the most crucial decisions a writer makes. And yet, it often seems like writers overlook that fact, defaulting into whatever format they tend to read most. True, there’s something familiar and comfortable about mimicking a style you spend a large portion of your reading time in. But we’re not parrots, and choosing the right POV can make or break a story. It’s like the cinematography of literature, unseen and yet so incredibly crucial to the way you convey your tale. An invisible camera, it translates your ideas into images your viewers (readers in this case) can imagine. Whether it’s a sweeping panorama of landscape, or a close-up of your character’s soul, each style is specifically built to capture the mind’s eye in a variety of ways.

Why wouldn’t you want to put thought into how to wield a tool that powerful?

So let’s take a quick look at the various options, as well as their strengths and weaknesses, that way you can make educated choices about your next WIP: (Note, these will not talk about tense choice, as that opens a whole other can of worms. This is just the basic format for whose eyes we see through.)

First Person

May as well kick it off with the one that currently dominates a lot of genres. This one should be familiar to all of you — it’s the self-centered diva of the ball. In cinematography, this would be the camera that’s tethered to your character, perched on their shoulder like some kind of weird growth. It faithfully follows their every move and puts readers firmly in their heads. We experience what they do — their thoughts, their physical sensations, their fears and emotions, all of it.

The downside to using this format? Well, you’re stuck with that one character. Literally. The point of this POV is to let readers live vicariously as someone else. When you do your job well, they figuratively step into your character’s skin. Which means that they can only know what your character does. Want to show us what their potential lover is thinking when they stare at your MC? Too bad, you can’t. Want to clue us in to the nefarious plotting of your villain that’s taking place halfway across Fictitious-land from your leading man? Sorry. No can do.

Don’t get me wrong, First Person is a very powerful POV, but it’s limited. When deciding whether or not to use this one, look at the way your story is structured. Is it most effectively told from inside your character? Or do you want to be able to pull the camera back a little bit and show us more than just that character’s inner emotions?

Second Person

This is actually a fairly unusual POV, but you will occasionally stumble across it, more frequently in short stories than novels, though there are a few of those out there too. The cinematic version most akin to this would be a GoPro camera attached to your character’s head, where you’re literally shown the story through the character’s eyes. But not like the version seen in First Person. No, here, you never see the character’s face, because you are the character. This is my least favorite style of fiction because it always comes across as bossy. If First Person is the self-centered sibling, this is the bossy older sister who never lets you get away with crap.

Populated by an abundance of “you did this, you did that,” Second Person strives to get you to experience the story as if it were truly happening to you. The problem I have with it is a) I don’t like being told what to do, and b) it’s heavy-handed use of breaking the fourth wall (talking directly to the reader) actually makes immersion into the story that much more difficult. At least for me. I have seen it done well, but trust me, if you’re going to try this one, you better be a master storyteller. Not only is it extremely limited, but it takes a brilliantly light touch to achieve the escapism people are looking for when they read.

Third Person Limited

Another common one, this is the popular, people-pleasing twin to First Person, most frequently abused by those just starting out and often unappreciated for its generous gifts. The camera equivalent is the film style most often seen in video games. It follows a select character around, but at a slightly more respectable distance than that seen in First Person. Where First Person is all up in your character’s business, Third Person Limited is the quietly observing stalker in the bushes. You’re allowed to showcase more of the world outside of the character’s head, but also still allowed to show us their thoughts. But only their thoughts.

The key here is that “limited” tacked on to the end. Often, writers confuse the fact that they get to say things like “he did this” and “she said that” for the ability to jump between characters. But that’s incorrect, and is the biggest danger in using this style — head-hopping. Though you are most definitely outside of your character, you’re still tied to their movements. It’s a tight close-up or medium shot, not a free-roaming scenario that can pan across whatever part of the story you feel like. For that, you need . . .

Third Person Omniscient

Poor Third Person Omniscient is the wicked step-child. Once the favored style of fantasy and sci-fi authors everywhere, it now frequently falls beneath the mislabeled sword of head-hopping and is swiftly nixed from every manuscript. Except for a few stalwart authors in the know. Why the confusion? Because of the definition of that lovely “O” word in the title. “Omniscient” means that the narrator knows everything. This is the free-floating camera, disconnected from any one character and free to weave in and out of everyone’s thoughts at whim. This is actually the most versatile of the POVs, which also makes it the hardest to do effectively.

The trick to using this one is understanding the fine line between head-hopping and omniscient narrative (if you’d like me to go into further detail about this specifically, let me know in the comments, and I’ll do a separate post about it). Namely, you need to have a firm grasp on your characters and how to move the camera around effectively. The most visual example I can think of is where you watch a conversation between two or more characters in a movie and the camera switches back and forth between close-ups of each speaker.

Objective

Who here has never heard of this one at all? It’s okay. It’s not often talked about for some reason. To keep with our family analogy, Objective POV is the distant fourth cousin three times removed that you never knew you had. And there’s a reason — it’s hard. In Objective POV, you’re only allowed to impart the facts. That means no access to any of your characters’ heads. At all. No telling, no inner monologues, only observable details.

Have a bad habit of telling instead of showing? Try writing in this for awhile — it’ll break that habit real fast, because all you can do is show. Facial expressions, body language, physical details in the environment and characters’ appearances, these are the only tools you have to convey what your characters are thinking and feeling. In short, this is the literary equivalent of film. That same distance you feel between yourself and a movie? Yep, you’ll run into that here too, which is its biggest downfall — a lack of intimacy. But, when done well, this can be one of the more powerful writing tools.

So, there you have it, the five main POV choices. I’m sure some of you are wondering, if there’s an Objective POV, shouldn’t there be a Subjective one? You’re right, there is. It’s called the other four I listed. They’re considered subjective because all four allow you inside at least one character’s head. Satisfied?

This is by no means a detailed tutorial on how to wield each style effectively, but it does give you the basics of what each is good for, as well as what pitfalls you should be aware of. A good writer will experiment with all the tools at their disposal. Not every story will be best told in First Person, and not every character will shine in Third. So spend some time exploring the different techniques; the only thing it will do is increase your skill set. Make POV a conscious decision and gain one more level of control in your work. Understand how the camera moves, and you’ll gain a firmer grasp of storytelling in general. Humans are visual creatures, so use POV to help us see your story the way you do.

Any questions?

 

Featured From the Archives: The Different Types of Critiques

KWhipkey 3 Comments

This has always been one of my more popular posts, and I’m sure a lot of you still remember it (or are still stumbling on it — internet crumbs are awesome, aren’t they?). But there’s a reason I’m dredging it up from the archives this week — I have a similar post planned for next week that will expand on the ideas contained in this one, with a slight twist. So what better way to prep for that post, than to revisit the foundation for it?

Since this also happens to be one of my longer articles, I won’t waste too much time with an intro. I think the information contained below pretty much speaks for itself, no?

The Different Types of Critiques

By Kisa Whipkey

(Originally Posted on 6/14/13)

(Yes, I realize that’s frighteningly close to today’s date, and no, that was not done on purpose. 😉 )

Every writer knows there are varying levels of quality in the critiques they’ll receive. Some will be extremely helpful, offering ideas for fixing particularly troublesome areas, or finding plot holes/inconsistencies you missed during your 142 times reading the manuscript. Others will be glowing, fluff-filled ego strokes that feel amazing, but offer virtually no help. Still others will be harsh, brutal, and make you want to curl up in a hole, never to write again. And the worst part is, you can never predict which type you’re going to get. Sometimes the horrible, hate-filled ones come from the people closest to you, and the fluff-filled ego strokes come from the professionals you’d expected to tear it to pieces. So how are you supposed to deal?

The most common advice you’ll receive is to simply “grow a thicker skin.” But that’s right up there with “show, don’t tell” and “kill your darlings” in terms of prosaic, vague responses that ultimately provide no help at all. Instead, I suggest learning the various categories of critique, that way you’ll know instantly what you’re dealing with and whether or not to pay it much mind.

(Disclaimer, these are not official categories. They are completely fabricated by me, and therefore, contain the appropriate amount of tongue in cheek — lots.)

The Fanboy/Fangirl

These are the ego-flatterers. The “OMG!!!! I LOVED IT! SQUEEEEE!” type critiques we all secretly want to receive by the millions. But as much as they puff our chests with pride, they actually aren’t very helpful. Once you come down off your pedestal of hot air and strip away the loudly screamed outpouring of emotion, you realize that you’ve learned absolutely nothing of value. Except how awesome you are, and you already knew that, didn’t you?

A helpful critique, even a glowing one, should tell you why — why they loved it, what they identified with, what the strong points were. But the overwhelming, star-struck gushing of love from a Fanboy/Fangirl doesn’t usually contain a shred of this. You have their reaction to your work (and probably a new stalker), but you don’t have anything you can take away and replicate in your new project. So at the end of the day, soak up the adoration, but know that these kinds of critiques are fairly worthless.

The Thinly Veiled Swap Request

Similar to a Fanboy/Fangirl critique, these will include a generally positive diatribe of how brilliant you are and how you’re the best author they’ve ever read ever, and oh, by the way, would you read and critique their story now too, please? Yep, the Thinly Veiled Swap Request is really just a bait and switch. A cleverly positioned “I scratched your back, now you scratch mine, because you owe me.” You’ll usually see these kinds of critiques on public writing sites like Wattpad, Figment, and Authonomy, where the popularity system relies on the number of favorable reviews (or hearts) a story gets. These requests are vaguely insulting and usually best ignored. Upon close inspection, many will reveal that the person asking for a return critique hasn’t truly read your work at all. So be careful with these ones. Don’t fall for the fluff.

Your Mom (a.k.a. Friends and Family)

No, that’s not meant to be a badly worded “Your Mom” joke.  (I can’t believe you would think that of me! 😉 )

One of the scariest groups of people to share your work with are those closest to you. I’m sure it stems from the fact that they are close to you, and we tend to trust them over strangers. But that’s a double-edged sword. How many people really believe their mom won’t wax poetic over everything they’ve created, even if it’s the worst thing on the planet? She loved your stick-figure blobs and macaroni/toilet-paper-roll art, didn’t she? Yeah, exactly. Now, tell me again why you’re worried she’ll hate something you’re hoping people will pay for?

This category is its own special blend of helpful and unhelpful. Chances are good that even though you’re more terrified of showing your friends and family your work than having your wisdom teeth removed, these reviews will generally come back positive. Even if they hate it, these are the people that love you, so they’ll pull their punches. Which is also what makes this batch of reviews hard to trust. Instinctively, we do, because we value their input, but that can lead to a skewed perspective if we’re not careful.

The best approach is to bask in the positivity, but then cull the review for anything valuable. Surprisingly, this is where you’ll get your first truly helpful tidbits, as these readers are comfortable enough with you to point out potential plot-holes or problems with your story. Just make sure you keep your ears open and take the criticism graciously. You do have to live with them, after all.

The Critique Partner

Every writer should have at least one of these. Seriously! Every. Writer.

Critique Partners are an amazing blend of friendship and writing ability. Typically writers themselves, these are the people you can be your absolute strangest with. The people who won’t just smile and nod when you start talking about your characters like they’re real people, but actually join in! They understand all your writerly eccentricities because they have them too. But the best part about a critique partner is that they’ll give you brutally honest, valuable feedback. Of all the critique categories, listen closest to this one. Critique Partners are a step away from the professionals, and their suggestions are usually right. They can be the difference between handing an editor the equivalent of dog-poo and a beautiful, ready-to-publish masterpiece.

The Aspiring Writer Knock-down, Drag-out

All right, on to one of the less happy styles of critique. The Aspiring Writer Knock-down, Drag-out is a particularly nasty one. Stemming from insecurity and a fear that success is a limited resource, this critique will unfairly rip your work to shreds in an effort to beat you to the finish line. Most writers don’t fall into this category. Most of us are genuinely friendly and want to help our fellow authors succeed. But there are those out there with superiority complexes that thrive by tearing others down.

The worst part about these is that they come from people who sound knowledgeable. These insidious, evil creatures are armed with an intimate familiarity of the writing process, and they’ll attack your work at its core. The key to surviving one of these critiques is to see past the intentionally hurtful language and look for something positive you can use to grow. Don’t listen to the individual words, but look at the overall viewpoint. If they’re going after your character development with a butcher knife, consider that might actually be a weak spot in your story and use that clue to improve. The best way to defeat a bully is not to give them any power, so turn their negativity into something good that helps you, or ignore them completely. (Easier said than done, I know.) Politely thank them for their feedback and then go home and stab the voo-doo doll you made of them in the eye.

The Editing Writer

This is another insidious type of critique that masquerades as helpful. These reviewers assume that because they’ve written some drafts of novels, or some short stories that were well-received in school, they’re qualified to offer feedback as an editor. But that’s a slippery slope to go down. Not every writer is a good editor. And not every English degree equates to mastery of storytelling. Writing and Editing really are two completely different skill sets. Some writers, like me, genuinely do possess both. (You’ll be able to tell by the solid feedback that can be easily verified against known writing rules.)  But it’s not as common as you would think.

Usually, these critiques will try to rewrite your work. They’ll be couched in personal preferences and will try to get your writing style to conform to theirs, citing made-up rules and questionable storytelling approaches. A good editor will preserve an author’s voice, offering suggestions that strengthen it rather than try to replace it with their own. Take these critiques with a grain of salt. Likely there will be some beneficial morsels regarding areas that need work, but find your own path. Don’t necessarily take theirs.

The Grammar Nazi

Who doesn’t love a good Grammar Nazi? These people go through your work and pick it apart punctuation by punctuation. Their review will consist entirely of technical suggestions and pretentious gloating over every mistake you made. It will feel like you’ve suddenly been sent back to your least favorite English class, with dangling participles, evil adverbs and misplaced commas haunting your every move. But as horrible as it can feel to be schooled by a Grammar Nazi, these critiques are actually helpful. They did just flag all the really technical stuff that needs fixing, after all. So, as painful as it is, listen to these people. Someone has to be the Grammar Nazi, and thankfully, now it doesn’t have to be you.

The Beta Reader 

Next to the Critique Partner, the Beta Reader is probably the most hailed tool writers turn to. However, they are not the same as a professional editor. Don’t be fooled by their lengthy reports and the marked-up manuscript they hand you. These critiques fall under a wide range of possibilities on the helpfulness scale. A conglomeration of every category I’ve listed above, their feedback can range from exceedingly helpful, to downright missing the mark. So your best strategy is not to rely on any single one.

The beauty of Beta Readers is that they’re most valuable in groups, like a pack of wolves or a pride of lions. (Yes, those are meant to be slightly ironic choices. Though Beta Readers are best in large numbers, they’re also more likely to corroborate the things you didn’t want to hear when in a group, tearing your book apart limb by limb.) Take the feedback provided by one and compare it with that from others in the group, looking for the recurring things that consistently pop up. Those are the problems you might want to consider addressing. The rest? Well, that could be anything from personal preference to Grammar Nazi, Fanboy/Fangirl to the Editing Writer, or even, God forbid, the Aspiring Writer Knock-down, Drag-out. In other words, take it with a grain of salt.

The Structural Editor

Now we start to get to the really meaty types of reviews. The ones you’ll receive from the professionals if you’re lucky. And from the freelance professionals if you’ve got money. 😉

Structural editing focuses on the actual elements of storytelling, the underlying framework of your story. Critiques of this type will talk about things like character/world development, pacing, dramatic tension and suspense, to name a few. They won’t go into detail on the mechanics of writing, but will go into heavy detail about what’s working and what isn’t, and most importantly, why. This is one of the most valuable critiques you’ll receive during the pre-publication phase. Often, your book won’t go to press until the issues found by a Structural Editor are taken care of. So they’re definitely good people to pay attention to.

The Copy/Line Editor

Right up there with the Structural Editor is the Copy/Line Editor. Where the Structural Editor’s domain is everything storytelling, the Copy/Line Editor lords over all things technical. Similar to the Grammar Nazi, but with a bit less pretension, the Copy/Line Editor will go over your manuscript with a fine-toothed comb (and this handy little thing called a Style Guide — an editing bible, so to speak), providing valuable suggestions on everything from word choice to sentence phrasing to punctuation usage. These people are masters of the English language and will help you refine your work into it’s most clarified form. Also similar to the Structural Editor, they tend to stand between you and your final goal of publication, so it’s wise to listen to their advice.

The Reader Review

This is the holy grail of critiques. Ideally, the Reader Review is a coveted blend of Fanboy/Fangirl, Your Mom, and the Structural Editor. The best ones will go into detail about what they loved and why, convincing other readers of your awesomeness without you having to lift a finger and providing insight into what you should include in your next book. But, though these are the reviews that matter most, they can vary widely in quality. Readers are just that, readers. They won’t have the expertise that some of the other critique categories do, nor will they try to sugarcoat their thoughts. You can get everything from a Fanboy/Fangirl reaction, to the complete opposite — the Hateboy/Hategirl (Yes, I totally made that up, but it could be a thing, right?) — to everything in between.

A lot of writers recommend not even reading these reviews, as the negative ones will undermine every shred of self-confidence you have. But if you don’t know why your book is bombing, how will you know what not to do in the next one? I think you should periodically check up on what people have to say, just don’t obsess over it. (Again, easier said than done, right?) Negative reviews happen, and the internet allows people to be far less civil than necessary, but regardless of whether it’s good or bad, the Reader Review trumps everything else. So it’s smart to pay attention to it.

The important lesson here is that feedback of any kind is good. Even the worst review can be helpful, once you learn how to see past the negativity. (There’s that darned thick-skin requirement again.) No matter what, thank the person for giving their time to your work, and for bothering to review it. Receiving a bad review hurts, but I can imagine nothing worse than receiving absolutely no feedback at all. I’d rather hear that someone felt passionately enough about my work to voice their thoughts, even the nasty, hurtful ones, than fade away into obscurity to a symphony of crickets. Wouldn’t you?