The "How Could I Not See That Coming" Moment

Subtlety is a difficult thing to accomplish in writing. How do you convey something important about a character by showing/not telling and be sure that the reader will catch on? How do you hint at a disturbed past without going into detail?

A use of subtlety that I'm most interested in is foreshadowing, a common technique in mystery fiction. I was reading the short story "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" by J.D. Salinger last night and was struck by the simple, but impacting construction of it. He made it clear early on that something bad would happen. Then mid-way he stilled my fears by a delightful, heartwarming scene. But the third part happened quickly and made me feel foolish for forgetting about the first scene. It was a "how could I not see that coming" moment. While this is hardly the best or most complex example, it still worked.

The key is to not trick the reader. This should not be a deus ex machina. There should be an element of shock to the reader, but also an "Ah HA" aspect as well. They should then remember past elements of the book/story and realize that you planned this. "Bananafish" would not have worked had the first scene not been there. There would have been no reason for the end to happen the way it did. (I'm trying not to give away too much, but everyone should find this story and read it.)

That kind of foreshadowing is what I'd like to be able to produce in "Red Truck." Actually, I'm trying for two types of the subtlety. In parts, I want the reader to be aware of things that Margie, my tragedy, is not and later her feel foolishly for not seeing it. In other ways, I want the traditional type of foreshadowing, where I leave hints here and there to lead up to the end. I'm going to try to keep my eyes open for this kind of subtlety in my reading here on out.

I'm so close to finishing the first draft. I'm quite a slow writer. I think I'm thinking too much about revision to finish. There is just too much going on: job applications, working, magazine reading, other reading. Hopefully, the next post will be about the finishing of the first draft and the beginning of revision. Oh, how I love revision!

Journalism: Real story telling

I am a journalist. Or at least trying to be one. I graduated from the University of Missouri School of Journalism with an emphasis in magazine editing. I am trying desperately to find a job in the changing world of news media. The Internet has changed everything. The current economic slump is keeping advertisers from advertising and readers from paying for news. Having not come across any freelance jobs in the area, I'm keeping my writing brain fresh with this blog and the fiction that I write.

Allow me to rant for a minute: A friend pointed out the irony of the title of my blog with the nature of my degree, as he implied that journalism is often fabricated. If only people knew the lengths to which reporters and editors go to ensure the accuracy of the story. Of course there are those who abuse their power of information sharing. There will always be bad seeds. Just don't throw out the baby with the bathwater. And people complain about the media constantly, but do you know anyone that actually stops paying attention to news and current events because they say it's all made up or slanted? No. Journalism will always exist. There is in an inherent need for it.

Sure, without a doubt, the media has somewhat of a liberal slant (in some mediums and outlets more than others). But, as a professor once said addressing this statement, it's in the nature of the business. The profession is that of watchdog and activist work, and therefore those practicing share the liberal, social mindset.

And now I make a connection between the blog and journalism. I believe, hope, that my training in journalism will help me to see what fiction needs to be written. The best fiction relates truths, thereby becoming a form of journalism. I hope that my knowledge of what goes into a good story, the details that need to be looked for, will inform and aid my journalism profession once it starts.

I came across a story in the LA Times through Newspaperproject.org. It shows that while journalism is in a slump, there is still hope. Now, I just need someone to put their trust in my abilities and hire me.

Truckin' on...

I apologize for long absence. There has just been a lot to do around the apartment, lots of little things like re-registering the car and other such headaches.

I just received my eighth rejection yesterday for "Gullible Jack." I am now down to half of submissions remaining out, four of which I might be hearing from soon (my guess from their estimated response time). This latest rejection came from Fifth Wednesday Journal. They, out of all the rejections thus far, have been the only one to provide feedback. I can't tell you how appreciative I was. This gave me hope for several reasons. 1. They took the time to evaluate my work and didn't just read it and toss it. They care for their writers. 2. And I quote: "I admire the story’s risk-taking." That's always nice to hear. 3. The majority of their suggestions and comments were things I had struggled and fought over, and now I have a better idea of where to take the story should it not get picked up be any of the other eight submissions still out.

I think I'm realizing one of my weaknesses as a writer, not including my A.D.D. I have a hard time providing enough background and, for lack of a better term, psychological evidence for what is taking place in the story. Apparently, I tend to focus too much on the here and now of the piece. I will keep this in mind as I wrap up the first draft of "The Red Truck" and go through the editing process.

A question for you writers out there: How do you write a first-person narrative without using "I" in almost every sentence? Right now that's what it feels like is happening to me.

Margie, the Poetic Tragedy

I've made significant progress on "The Red Truck" today (I've decided to add the article to the title). I'm becoming deeply connected to Margie, my protagonist. If this were Stranger Than Fiction I'd be spinning quite the painful life for this woman. I feel sorry for her, but I can't help but destroy her. The feeling of omnipotence of writing can be a tough experience for the writer as well. This poor woman, she just doesn't get it.

I find that when I write it helps me to listen to music that corresponds to the mood of the scene. When she's angry I listen to foreboding metal. Creepy soundscapes help me shape the scary moments. At Margie's moment of romantic downfall The Used helped out with the song, "Poetic Tragedy." I get excited about what I'm writing. Hopefully I'm connecting more emotionally with the words than the music playing in the background.

I suggest you try the same. It's like adding a sound track to your work. It helps me. Maybe it will help you, unless you're the type that needs silence when you write.

Here's a sample:

The next week followed a similar pattern. I played the zombie at work. Cathy hardly spoke to me, and I definitely didn’t spark any conversations. Jay never came in. At home I hardly read anything more than my email. Food was uninspiring. The snow continued to fall meanderingly.
And the red truck remained.
I did nothing about it. I did my best to ignore its existence and began parking on the side of the building almost out of instinct. The truck, well, the truck haunted me. While I tried to forget about it, it didn’t forget about me. It was my nightmare to my dreams of Jay.
All I really did think about, though, was Jay. In a way, the thought of him possibly coming into the store is what got me out of bed each morning. I loved his perfectly manicured blond locks and his exquisite posture. I constantly daydreamed about him holding me tight, close enough that I could smell the source of his cologne. When the coffee woke me in the mornings, I imagined that it was he pouring my cup. My lax reading fueled this growing crush; in the past the books I read kept my mind busy during the day as I looked forward to going deeper into the mystery.
Sometimes, my daydreaming went further than morning coffee. My thoughts became physical, lustful. Hands on thighs. Lips on necks. Bodies on bodies. Like a scene from a romance novel, I wanted him, needed his touch more than ever.
A week and a day after my tantrum, my priorities changed.

In Search of Motivation

Things are beginning to fall back into normalcy. I am now a happily married man. The wife and I honeymooned in the Florida Keys, spending time kayaking in the Everglades and beach hopping. We spent one full day exploring Key West. The highlight that day happened to be visiting the Hemingway Home. The Pulitzer winning author lived there and wrote many of his classics right there in that home, including For Whom the Bell Tolls and A Farewell to Arms.

Seeing his studio was inspiring to say the least. I wonder how much they would charge me to let me sit at his table, in his chair, and write just for a day. I imagine that I would be very productive to write in his huge, beautiful home on Key West. Coming home, found me getting back to my part-time job, unpacking and road noise. It feels like there are too many distractions. The grass is always greener, isn't it?

I've tried working on a schedule for my writing, get so many words done each day, each week. But I'm having trouble disciplining myself. I want to write, I enjoy writing, but some days I'm just incredibly A.D.D., getting distracted by blogs, news and crappy television.

All that said, I have made some progress this week on "Red Truck." I also had an interesting experience a couple days ago that needs make its way onto a Word document for use later in some unforeseen capacity.

It'll be a while...

I'm getting married on Saturday. Yippee!

That's all.

Therefore, I won't be around for a week or so with the honeymoon and all.

Consider This the Bumper

Here is a piece of "Red Truck." Again, not married to the title. Consider this the bumper. With my wedding coming up quickly (just over a week now) writing has taken a bit of a back seat. Enjoy and let me know what you thought of the ride.

The day the red truck arrived I was too tired to care. I had been at work, unloading new reams of fabric since 8 a.m. Two customers forced me to waste a total of thirty feet of cloth because they couldn’t make up their minds. The blonde girl said she was student at the nearby design school. I know more about fabric than she ever will. All in all it wasn’t too bad; Jay came in.

...

The next morning I awoke to the smell of coffee wafting into my bedroom. Sometimes I imagine waking to find a man, shirtless and in pajama pants, in the kitchen pouring a hot cup and saying, “I was just about to bring this to you.” But really I had set the pot’s timer for 6:30 a.m. I poured a cup for myself, topped it off with heavy cream and sat in front of the television for my morning dose of news. The weatherman promised snow for my area starting that night; it could total ten inches over the next couple of days, he said.

HELP!

What do women think when they are excited about someone? What does a crush (unspoken) feel like in a female mind? I'm trying to write from a female perspective and it isn't easy. Any suggestions or insights would be helpful. Thanks.

Busy

Sorry that it's been a while since I've written on here. I am getting married to a wonderful woman in less than three weeks and the planning is keeping me quite busy. On top of that I'm moving into her place with her.

Last Thursday I met author Benjamin Percy. He is a tremendous modern, young writer and I recommend his short stories to anyone looking for a good read. I went to a reading he did. I had never been to a reading before. Definitely an experience, one that you should not pass up.

I'm taking a step back from "Unreasonable Seizure" and am starting a piece tentatively called "Red Truck." A squirrely bookish woman has a red truck with an enclosed bed park in her spot at her small apartment complex. It doesn't leave and she makes it her goal to find out whose it is and why it is there. Strange events ensue. Once I have something substantial started I'll post it.

Getting there

Things are falling into place it seems. Still no job, or anything published, but I feel better. The first full draft of "Unreasonable Seizure" is finished. I'm still not sold on the title yet, that will come through revisions. There are bits that need to be tweeked or added. I think it's missing a few things.

I'm trying to sell my short story "Gullible Jack" to various journals. Out of 12 submissions I have received three rejections so far. It's a tale of a very confused small child. Jack believes that if he eats a roadkill squirrel, he can become one. It's sad, gruesome and downright weird. I like to consider it an homage to Kafka. Due to it's odd and disturbing nature I'm not surprised it's being turned down. I just need to find the right journal or magazine for this type of story.

Hopefully I'll have some new material to post here soon. Thanks to those of you following me early on in my blogging life.