But neither are endings. The last page is just as important as the first, because it has to bring together all the disparate pieces of the work into a satisfying conclusion, while referring back to the issues raised on that scary first page. It’s a full-circle kind of thing, like the snake of eternity that coils around and devours its own tail. (Even the visuals take courage to face!)  Click here for more…

In the SLO NIghtWriters Short Story Contest, two of my under-500-word stories attained finalist status: Figment, a sci-fi story that explores the limits of reality (which also won first place two years ago in a literary journal contest), and Ab Initio, a strange, dark story that had its origins in a writing workshop and underwent only a few tweaks and a tense change in the polishing process.

I was also notified that my mystery story, Beef Killington, written for the San Joaquin Valley Sisters in Crime Contest (2009 theme was Death Dines Out, with the only caveat that the story had to take place in or near the valley) garnered third place, as well as Best Use of Setting. I consciously set out to make the setting a character of the story, and I guess I accomplished that task! Lots of research combined with imagination, since I’ve only been to the valley once – last year, to receive a first place award. All I saw was the restaurant and a lot of flat land as we drove in.

So, now I have four more winning certificates for my wall of success. My advice to you? Persevere. Rewrite. Attend workshops and conferences. Join a good critique group. That’s what pays off in the writing world.

There are many ways to educate readers while still telling a fascinating and gripping story. One of the more overt is to make sure that your technical skills in the English language are, as the British would say, spot on. A so-so writer can tell a readable story even when unknowingly killing some of the basic rules of sentence structure and punctuation (though discerning readers might have some trouble getting all the way through the story). A good writer can do the same while adhering to all the rules, which makes it a better read. A great writer lifts the story to the next plateau by using some judicious and creative manipulation of the language; ie, still breaking a few rules, but at least knowing why they need to be broken. And inspired writers make their prose sing while still adhering to all the rules, actually using the rules to slingshot their work out into the stratosphere.

But one of my favorite ways to educate readers is to sprinkle a few “big words” into the body of my work, words that may not be familiar to most readers. I like to think I’m helping to stretch their vocabulary and add depth to their life experience. Maybe it’s my own little quirk—I am a self-professed word-monger with an extensive vocabulary of my own—but I love to come away from a wonderful story knowing I’ve gotten more than enjoyment from it, more even than a better understanding of people and life. I’ve learned a new word that someday I may be able to attach to an event or feeling in my own life. My experience of living has expanded. I feel broadened, more open. Heck, I feel smart! It’s absolutely exhilarating.

Often writers will be told not to use words readers don’t already know, but if a writer has a fairly comprehensive vocabulary why should he or she have to “dumb down” in order to write for the public? Huntington Beach, California, resident Elizabeth George, writes the very successful British Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley series. She has a vocabulary of awesome scope; I found thirteen words I didn’t know in Missing Joseph, that run the gamut from acclivity to tenebrous.

Part of the tingle I get when I read her well-crafted, expertly-written mystery novels comes from knowing I will need to have a dictionary at my side (and not an abridged one!). As I read I learn new ways of looking at people, places, things and events, because synonyms do not have identical meanings any more than all grapes taste the same. Each new synonym adds its own piquant nuance to the total essence of a description, a scene, a character’s outlook, the meaning of life itself. And Ms. George sprinkles these little iridescent nuggets into her narrative like priceless pearls, for the titillation and edification of the discerning reader. And, hopefully, to increase discernment in the average reader. To lift the reader a little higher.

Don’t ever be afraid to ask your reading audience to scale the mountain with you. Most of them will come along for the ride, as long as you tell a compelling, inspiring story that takes hold and won’t let go. And if they learn a few new words along the way, they’ll be all the better for it.

When I moved out here to California, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I’ve never been an especially brave person, but somehow packing up my possessions, hopping in the car and driving to an unknown destination had the feel of urgency about it. I called my mother and asked her if she’d like to venture across the country with me. We had a wonderful two weeks of following where our hearts led, stopping wherever the road widened, and re-establishing our relationship. We hit the Central Coast in late June, with nowhere for me to stay, no job and no prospects. An act of faith.

It occurs to me now that most of the things we do in life, whether we know it or not, are acts of faith. The big, really scary ones we recognize. But the little everyday risks we often don’t acknowledge as true acts of faith. They’re just something that we do because, for some reason or another, we must.

Think about writing, for example. The entire process, from inception to completion, is a series of small acts of faith that culminate in a product that is larger than its component parts. What else but an act of faith would convince anyone that a tiny seed of an idea could sprout and grow into an article, a story, a novel, a memoir or non-fiction volume? What other than acts of faith that build one upon another could sustain a writer through the torturous process of ideating, writing, revising, researching and rewriting again and again?

In my experience, the freshness and the wonder in any literary work is directly related to the amount of faith needed to underpin the writing. The newer the territory, the more unfamiliar the genre or subject matter, the more inspiring is the act of faith. It takes less faith to re-create the known past than to step out into the unknown future. That’s why the first in a series of anything, fiction or nonfiction, is often the most compelling to the reader. The joy of discovery, the awe of a newly unfolding process, the wonder of learning permeates every sentence, phrase and word, and carries the reader along on the journey.

So, I challenge you all. Make this your autumn of faith. Step out into the unknown; trust your insight, your skill and your talent to take you to a place you’ve never before visited. Seek the wonder and expand your horizons. Listen to your inner spirit, to the soft whisper urging new exploration. Dare to dream. Spread your wings and fly to new territory, see where the muse leads you. Then write it down. Listen to your inner spirit. It will be scary, and at first you may stumble and fall more often than you soar. But it’s worth it. You’ll be initiating an act of faith that will start a chain reaction within you. It could lift your writing to another level altogether. Or you might discover a talent for an area you’ve never before explored. At the very least you’ll go back to familiar territory with renewed confidence and a sense of pride for taking a risk.

All your dreams for the future begin here, now, with a writing act of faith. It’s the wellspring from which all literary miracles flow.

Step out and write.

Here I go again, talking about change. I guess that’s because it’s such a constant in my life right now. Everywhere I turn, I’m faced with change of some sort: the economy has cut my work hours drastically; my church is re-organizing its service groups, just when I’ve gotten comfortable with the status quo; and circumstances are forcing me into finding a new place to live.

ereHChange is never easy, especially when it’s thrust on us without warning or our consent. That can make us not only frustrated and angry, but also resistant. But change can also be the best – and at times the only – way to keep moving forward toward our goals, be they professional, spiritual or personal.

When I moved out here from the East Coast, I had to pare down. Let’s face it, I’m the quintessential pack rat. My unquenchable imagination allows me to see that yes, I may indeed someday soon – in the next 10 years or so – need that article I haven’t touched in last 10 years. And given the fact that I get bored easily, I do tend to rotate my hobbies ; a year or two on, a year or two off. And now I’m forced to do it again, pare down into a place a quarter the size of the one in which I presently reside.

But a funny thing happened (after I groused and anguished for a few days). I somehow found myself looking forward to solving the problem; how can I pare down and still retain what I need to fulfill myself? How much of me can I fit into that room I will soon call my own? What actually defines the real me? It’s a challenge that’s starting to feel doable, and even a bit exciting.

I’m finding it spilling over into my writing life, too – or perhaps it’s my writing life that’s spilling into my regular life. However it works, I’m finding myself “paring down” when it comes to words: How many words do I really need? How many can I cut and still say what I want to say? Still retain my unique voice? Still capture the reader’s attention, and imagination? Where does the border of “bare essentials” meet the expanse of “more than enough”? That’s where I want my writing to dwell, in the narrow space where I truly come alive.

Where are you in your own “paring down” process? Are your word closets still too cluttered to see exactly what hangs in there? Are your kitchen cabinets so crammed full that willy-nilly words leap out when you open them? Do phrases, similes, clauses and sentences liter the floors and trip you up on your journey to realizing your lettered vision? Perhaps it’s time to open your windows and let the fresh breeze of change blow away the chaff, winnow down your burgeoning supply of literate canned goods to the bare essentials that define you as a writer.

We can’t escape change. We can’t ignore it and continue to grow. The best we can do is help direct it, and enjoy what it reveals to us about ourselves.

Prepositional Endings

As in: She sidled past the group Joe was talking to.

I read a lot, at least two books a week, and I see this horror in almost every tome I open. What is with today’s writers? And our educators? Doesn’t anyone teach proper English usage anymore? The worst part of it – after the fact that the writer hasn’t actually learned his or her craft – is that we’ve become so used to seeing and hearing this egregious usage, it feels right. It sounds right. We no longer see it as a total grammatical snafu. And writing (or saying) it properly sounds awkward and wrong: She sidled past the group to whom Joe was talking. No one talks like that anymore; we’re way too indolent.

I think this whole thing started because people were too lazy to figure out the whole who-whom thing. So they simply did an end run around it by sticking the preposition at the end of the sentence. I ask you, how much intelligence does this show? How many English classes did someone have to skip before this brilliant epiphany struck? Let me state this clearly: Two wrongs do not make a right, no matter how many people take up the preposition-at-the-end chant.

Okay, I can hear you saying, “Yeah, but if we start writing it right, readers will say, ‘Huh?’ We’ll confuse the heck out of them. They’ll hate it. They’ll hate us and our writing.” Well, I could say, “So what?” But I won’t. As much as I hate to admit it, you would have a valid point – valid in our lazy-daisy, instant gratification, you-expect-me-to-actually-think? society. (Which doesn’t at all make it a truly valid point, but at least it’s worth a line or two of ink.)

But following the incredibly dumb madding crowd isn’t the answer. Trading your principles (I’m assuming we all have some, right?) for readership isn’t, either. But a little creativity is. Some judicious re-phrasing – She saw Joe talking to the group of investors. She sidled past them, hoping they wouldn’t see her. – and you have depth and interest and mystery instead of an addlepated, grammatically incorrect sentence.

So, no more laziness. No more bowing to dumber-than-a-doornail convention. You can write it right and still please your audience. Still be read. Still be lauded. And even maybe get paid for good writing! And I’m still waiting to hear your writing peeves. Email them to me: susantwriter@yahoo.com and spout off!

Under such circumstances, most people would go into high-stress resistance mode, which includes carping, complaining, pacing, sighing, grunting, and even yelling at the poor employees behind airline counters who have no more control over things than passengers do. But going postal isn’t a writer’s style. We’re above all that, right? Being a writer lifts us from mundane reactions, because everything that happens is grist for our story-mill. Every interruption, delay, time crunch or reversal of fortune is not a tragedy in the making, it’s simply an opportunity to add to our “stash” of ideas, another line or six added to the trusty-dusty notebook (traditional or electronic) in which we jot down our triggers for inspiration.

To wit: I am not a morning person. Still, obedient traveler that I am, I arrived at the airport at the airline-advised ungodly hour of 4:00 am, the requisite two hours in advance of flight time, only to discover the terminal hadn’t yet opened for the day! (No joke, this really happened.) Did I get upset? Of course not (not much, anyway). I just imagined what Janet Evanovich or Joan Hess would do with such a situation, and aha! Into my notebook it went, an idea sparker for that humorous story I’ve been contemplating attempting. The fact that the plane then developed mechanical problems and takeoff was delayed for almost two hours past the original 6:00 am departure time only added to the farce.

And so it went, for the entire trip. Every setback – missed connections, lost luggage, lack of email access, a minor car accident, my mother ending up in the hospital (she’s fine now) – it’s all fodder to feed my imagination. It’s all part of the “What if…” process: What if my protagonist missed the plane? What if the antagonist lost her luggage? What if the cops had an accident on the way to the 911 call? What if the meeting place hadn’t opened yet? What if, what if?

With the holidays – and the traveling it often entails – coming up, be sure you don’t miss out on opportunities to add to your idea stash. The everyday events of travel – by car, boat, bike, train or plane – that drive most people up the wall offer limitless opportunities to us as writers. Each missed alarm, wrong turn, person encountered, traffic jam, or late arrival can make its appearance – as is or disguised in some form – somewhere in your work, if you remember to jot them down. Each travel event, humorous or serious, can trigger an idea for a solution, a situation, a scene, a character, or even a complete article, story or novel. Fiction may be stranger (and possibly neater) than truth, but it’s life’s messy realities that trigger our story ideas. And if we remember to write it all down, we’ll never run out of ideas.

Notebooks ready? Happy traveling!

By: The Official Self-Appointed Pet Peeve Judge
(and no, you can’t have my job!)

My First Official Pet Peeve

TRY AND: as in, “He will try and make it to the meeting on time.”

Okay, this one tops my list. I see red whenever I encounter it. My blood pressure rises. I have trouble breathing. Smoke shoots out my ears.

An overreaction? I don’t think so. This is an egregious error. As writers, we have the responsibility to know our own language. And we should be smart enough to use it properly, especially if we can figure out how to use today’s technology to crank out our … opuses? Opi? Well, you get my drift. It’s not like the old days when anyone with a pencil sharpener could jot down a few hundred thousand words or so. I mean, if we can figure out not only how to open the box the computer comes in (let’s not even discuss the printer and other indispensable adjuncts!), but also to get the computer out of the maze in which it nestles, and then hook it up sans directions of any kind (except for maybe a confusing picture or two, or a bewildering sentence written by someone who’s never heard of English before), we should be able to write a grammatically correct sentence.

Let me make this clear: try and is not only ungrammatical, it’s illogical. By its very nature it’s impossible to try and do anything. You either try to do it (and thereby succeed or fail) or you simply go ahead and do it. No “try and” about it. I suppose, to be fair, if it’s used as part of dialog, I’d be willing to overlook it once or twice. People do have a tendency to be sloppy about grammar and verb conjugations, et al, when they talk. But within the body of the prose? No. Never. Those guilty of such trespass on erudite sensibilities will be sentenced to an eternity of nails-screeching-on-blackboard torture. Therefore, remember: it’s “try to” or “do” only, never “try and.”

So, now it’s your turn. What are your pet peeves? What, in the world of writing, makes you see red, raises your blood pressure, makes steam come out your ears? I may be self-appointed but I’m not greedy – I’ll share space with anyone whose peeve measures up. What, tell you the criteria that makes a peeve “official”? Oh, I’d never make it that easy for you.

So, unless you want to continue hearing my pet peeve rants (and I’ve got a thousand of them), email me your entries at: susantwriter@yahoo.com

This writer is very prolific. In the three years I have known her, she has POD published over thirty books. She hand-writes faster than I can type. She never seems to run out of ideas, whether it’s fiction or non-fiction. But it’s not all a bed of roses.

When I started typing for her, she wasn’t very good. Rank beginner, that’s where I placed her skill level. Therefore, I was looking forward to watching her grow as a writer. After all, if you spend most of your time writing, you have to improve, right?  That’s what I thought, anyway; the very act of constant writing would result in experimenting with different and better ways of putting words together. But that’s not the case. Her thirtieth book is no better than her first book. She expresses herself in the same, stilted way, uses the same favorite words and phrases constantly, holds onto the same awkward sentence structures, and makes the same mistakes over and over again. Rank beginner, still.

After I got over my astonishment, I began to wonder why there’s been no improvement in her work; no growth in word usage, no development in style, no freshness of expression, no advancement of theme, no depth of exploration. As I got to know her better on a personal level, the answer finally hit me: She doesn’t read. She’s a television watcher who eschews fiction. She watches travelogues, history programs and some science if it resembles travelogues. She has forgotten how words look on the printed page, seems ignorant of the interplay between story concept and dramatic tension. She is totally unaware of how other writers express ideas, how they play with sentence structure to lead a reader deeper and deeper into a story, how they use words to entice, entrance and captivate their reading audience.

I’m a natural-born reader. I read everything I can get my eyes on, even the fine print on cereal boxes. It’s a dry week for me if I haven’t finished at least two books. So I’ve never had any problem with the notion of reading being important for writers. But I don’t think I ever until now realized just why – beyond knowing what’s out there so I don’t duplicate it – reading is so inextricably woven into good writing. Each time we read, we absorb alternate ways of viewing our world. We discover new ways of putting words together and turning phrases to bewitch our readers. With every word, every sentence we read, we analyze – on a subconscious level – what works and what doesn’t, so that when we sit down in front of our piece of paper (computer) and pick up our pencil (keyboard) we don’t duplicate the mistakes any more than the successes of someone else. Reading is what turns the spotlight onto the path, so that we can see our way to developing our own unique vision and style.

Good writing doesn’t just happen in classes, critique groups or through solitary midnight angst. The ground is being prepared everytime we open a book, periodical or newspaper and start to read. Reading is the fertilizer we need to grow as writers. Without it, whatever seeds of talent we possess may sprout, but they will stagnate in the seedling stage. They will never reach, stretch or grow into the full maturity of vivid, exciting, compelling writing. And with that, I’m out of here. There’s a new J.D. Robb mystery calling to me. Gotta go fertilize!

While English has an amazing root diversity, most of our words come from two sources: the French and Latin used by the upper classes and nobles; and the coarser language of the Anglo-Saxon peasants. Whatever you write, either fiction or non-fiction, it’s important to keep in mind the roots of the words you choose. Those stemming from the French/Latin influence have a more sophisticated sentience; Anglo-Saxon root words own an earthy, everyday feel. A highly educated audience may feel talked down to if the piece is filled with Anglo-Saxon root words. They’ll feel it’s too juvenile and will stop reading partway through. A less educated audience may find French/Latin root words too hoity-toity for their taste, too high-brow or better-than-thou. They’ll get frustrated or even angry enough to close up the pages. And mixing the two often lends an inadvertent schizophrenic feel to the piece, causing everyone to put it down.

Try writing a short piece using French/Latin root words (see the partial list below). Then re-write it, substituting Anglo-Saxon root words. You’ll be amazed at the difference in feel of the two pieces, even though they say the same thing. And it’ll be easy to see why knowing your roots is as important as knowing your audience.

(Key: FL = French/Latin; AS = Anglo-Saxon)

AS = Woman; FL = Female                      AS = Happiness; FL = Felicity

AS = Hut; FL = Cottage                             AS = Bill; FL = Beak

AS = Friendship; FL = Amity                  AS = Dress; FL = Clothe

AS = Help; FL = Aid                                  AS = Folk; FL = People

AS = Hearty; FL = Cordial                      AS = Holy; FL = Saint

AS = Deep; FL = Profound                     AS = Lonely; FL = Solitary

AS = Love; FL = Charity                         AS = Begin; FL = Commence

AS = Hide; FL = Conceal                         AS = Feed; FL = Nourish

AS = Inner/Outer; FL = Interior/Exterior

AS = Leave ; FL = Abandon                 AS = Die; FL = Perish

AS = Mouth; FL = Oral                         AS = Nose; FL = Nasal

AS = Eye; FL = Ocular                         AS = House; FL = Domicile

AS = Book; FL = Literary                      AS = Moon; FL = Lunar

AS = Sun; FL = Solar                             As = Watery; FL = Aquatic

AS = Town; FL = Urban                        AS = Kingly; FL = Regal

AS = Youthful; FL = Juvenile              AS = Wretched; FL = Miserable

AS = Same; FL = Identical                   AS = Weighty; FL = Ponderous

AS = Share; FL = Portion                     AS = Murder/Killing; FL = Homicide

AS = Manly; FL = Virile                       AS = Up; FL = Ascend

AS = Tale; FL = Story                         AS = Come near; FL = Approach

AS = Cold; FL = Frigid                       AS = Freedom; FL = Liberty

AS = Heavenly; FL = Celestial         AS = Give/Hand; FL = Present/Deliver

AS = Darling; FL = Favorite            AS = Sleeplessness; FL = Insomnia

AS = Half; FL = Semi                         AS = Hinder; FL = Prevent

AS = Look for; FL = Search             AS = Put out; FL = Extinguish