I scratched the words across the yellow page of my legal pad in red: Too much magic. Underlined it. Then I looked at my manuscript, sat back, and realized I had a problem.

But, let’s come back to that in a minute. First I want to talk about how I got to that point.

Lately, I’ve been reading books on screenwriting. Not because I want to be a screenwriter (I don’t, at least not yet), but because those brave men and women who write for the small and big screens understand storytelling better than 99% of the world. They certainly understand it better than I do, so I’m learning a lot along the way.

Why do they understand it better? Well, it’s because they have to. Their job is to distill all of the elements of a good story–the dialogue, characters, narrative, plot, all of it–into a thick reduction sauce that goes down smooth. It’s got to taste slow cooked, but has to be done in microwave time. They don’t have 400 pages to tell their story. They have 110 if they’re writing for movies. Less if they’re writing for TV. That means they must force the story down to its essence, which is ultimately what the audience cares about and will invest themselves in. If they do it right. Continue Reading

World building. It’s what creators are about. So much of the creative process is about ordering chaos, organizing a universe of outlaw ideas and imaginations that naturally want to drift off into space. That’s what ideas do, they drift. It’s all they know how to do. They’re ideas after all. But, as artists, our job is to capture, organize, and anchor them in substance so they can speak to us. So they can speak to others.

As writers, a starting place for this exercise in organization should usually be the synopsis. Now, I know there’s  an ongoing discussion out there about whether writers should outline their stories or simply let the characters write the story for them as the action unfolds. I’m not interested in that discussion right now, though we’ll probably talk about that in another post. I’m talking about the broad brush ideas and progression of your story, a sort of Google maps for your fiction that lays out the story dots on the page and attempts to connect them.

There are lots of ways to write a synopsis. I mean, Google “how to write a book synopsis” and you’ll get 28 million results. I doubt there are that many ways to write a synopsis, but there are a lot. But the truth is there is no right way, though really good synopses have a few key elements that you do not want to leave out. Here’s what I think makes a good synopsis: Continue Reading

Yesterday I posted a short vlog on the importance of writing stories that we’re passionate about, because passion will carry us farther than a gimmick or fad will. Today I want to drill down to what that means and how to figure out what kinds of stories excite you and why. If you’ve already done that, feel free to get back to writing. If not, read on. What I have to say is pretty elementary, but there’s something powerful about really looking at something you like and saying, “This moves me because…”

The best place to start is right in your house. All the clues to what stories make you come alive are probably sitting on your shelf. Go look at it right now. I’ll wait. When you do, take note of what stories “pop” from the shelf. Glancing at my own shelf, I see titles like  Odd Thomas (Dean Koontz), Book of Lies (Brad Meltzer), The Good Guy (again, Dean Koontz), House of Wolves (Matt Bronleewe). Now, if I stop and drill down to why I like those authors and the stories, here’s what I come up with: Continue Reading

There’s a fork in the road that every serious writer eventually comes to: do I write for myself or for the market, for passion or paycheck? You may not have to ask that question now, but you eventually will if you’re set on being a career writer. My opinion is that passion is the staying power and, because it is, you have to write the kinds of stories that you love.

At the moment I hate running. The only redeeming value I see in it is that I’m learning some lessons about writer’s block that maybe will help someone. I hope.

Now, understand, I’m not a natural runner. I’ve never really liked it or understood why people are fascinated with endlessly pounding asphalt for mile upon mile upon mile. The only time I used to kind of like running was when I lived in Colorado and could do it in the mountains on winding trails. That was at least a little engaging because I had tree roots and mountain bikers to dodge, and endless views. Not so in Nashville.

But despite my disdain for running I’ve begun hitting the road in the morning with my neighbor, Kevin. (Yes, he’s really my neighbor and his name really is Kevin. He’s one of three Kevin’s on our block. It’s a cosmic anomaly, I know.). And thanks to my newfound hobby, I’ve learned a few painful lessons that apply to the writer’s life. Learn from my pain, dear friends, because something good has to come from my early mornings. Continue Reading