The Revision Dairies: Episode 5

Hello Funny People.

As of this post, I still have 13 (yeah, I know), pending submissions for which I'm awaiting responses. Whether these submissions bear any fruit is totally out of my control; the point is the attempt.

Right now, I'd like to talk about my latest workshopping effort with my colleague, Sam Weller.

Those of you who read this blog regularly (I love you 3), will know of my admiration of Ray Bradbury. I've written about him and his work so many times, it's amazing I still find things to say. Recently, however, I had the opportunity to work with one individual who's said more about Ray's life and work than I probably ever will: his authorized biographer and professor of creative writing at Columbia College in Chicago, Sam Weller.

Sam and I first became acquainted a few years ago, after I'd written my two reviews for his books The Bradbury Chronciles and Listen to the Echoes: The Ray Bradbury Interviews for Tor.com. Our mutual admiration for Ray’s work bonded us that we struck up a friendly correspondence. However, earlier this year, Sam reached out to me to let me know he'd be doing one-on-one workshops with anyone who signed up. Did I take the opportunity? You're goddamn right I did.

Since about last September, I've been steadily working to revise my novel, A Sword Named Sylph, so as to get it ready for querying come the new year. However, until four weeks ago, only one person had seen anything of it—my friend and colleague, Diane Callahan, the Quotidian Writer—but Sam wanted to see several chapters for the workshop. Thankfully, I'd gone over the opening chapters several times by that point and thought they were in pretty good shape, or at least shape enough that I wouldn't be embarrassed if anyone were to read them.

After arranging things in June and taking July to prep (and deal with family stuff), we met for the first time, via Google Hangout, the first Friday in August. I'd sent Sam some of the materials he requested, namely the first 2 chapters of the novel.

Let me paused here to explain a few things. 

When it comes to workshopping, I've experienced both the good and the bad. My undergraduate workshops were a mixed bag in terms of results, while my experiences with the (now) Ad Astra Center Short Fiction Writing Workshop were so fruitful, I honestly wished I'd attended years previous. However, both used a "Milford Method" in-person style of workshopping, where the author remains silent and receives feedback from their group. Since 2020 hit, however, I've gained experience—mainly from working with Diane, but others as well—with the more common "Interview" style of workshop, where you get feedback from just one person. I've grown comfortable with this model, and find I like it more than the in-person form. It's less intimidating to take criticism long-distance than to do it in-person, as I'm not a confrontational individual (know thyself).

So, even though I had great respect for Sam, I will admit to being anxious about working with him.

I discovered, however, that my worries were unnecessary.

That first week, and each following session, were amazing. Sam's insights into my work were precise, meticulous, and extremely helpful. Aside from an occasional moment where he desired future clarity, the main thing he emphasize was greater sensory description.

One of the many hangups I have in writing is that I don't put a lot of description in my stuff. Partly, that's the result of all my years training as a short story writer. With precious exceptions, such as in Bradbury's short stories, most tales of 7500 words and less don't contain much description. (Besides the milky blue eye of his aged victim, what else does the narrator of Poe's "Tell-Tale Heart" describe?) 

Thus, when us shortwrights transition to longer works, we tend to suffer from "white room syndrome," a term I once heard Eric James Stone use. We lead our readers into the strange blank voids, where our tales take place, without properly grounding them. It's a fault in my technique, but I know why I do it.

Description, if excessive, bores the reader and bogs down the story's pace. Additionally, in one of my early negative workshop experiences (I did say my experience had been a mixed bag), my fellow workshoppers so thoroughly and harshly condemned one of my stories as such that it put me off description almost all together. To this day, I still hesitate to slow down and describe when writing because of it.

But I'm working on it. It's something I try to fill in while rewriting.

Sam also helped a great deal with my confidence, a talent not every teacher possesses. He thought my characrers were compelling, individual, and even occasionally funny, and as someone who thinks of himself as a "character focused writer," I found that praise encouraging.

Further still, he found that, when I did occasionally deploy description, that I could do it in a way he found slyly poetic. During one of our meetings, he read the opening of one passage aloud and made it sound better than I thought it sounded. I'll admit to being a littls embarrassed by that, but I'm easily embarrassed as is. I did explain that my trick for doing that came from having my computer read the text back to me—partly to find typos, partly to play with the text until it sounded good to my ear.

That said, Sam also wanted to make sure that, besides adding more description to my novel here and there, he wanted me not to neglect, what he thought, of as my voice. 

Some of you reading this may recall that I have a Podcast, 4 Cents a Podcast. I haven't made much content for it this, save an announcement for the double-release of Fall Into Fantasy 2022 and In All Our Forms. Sam, however, noted that my natural voice in some of the pieces I read/extemporized on that show had a very pointed jocular tone. It's not a tone that suits everyone's taste, but some people seem to like it.

As an exercise, he wanted me to try writing the opening of a story in that voice. Just an opening scene, nothing more. So I did. The story was titled "Take Your Prop List and Shove It". It's a science fiction tale about a robot who's worked in film media, but as a "prop" not an actor, which he feels he is; tired of his work being denigrated, he storms out of the producer's offices and starts plotting his revenge. Perhaps, one day I'll finish it, but even just that opening scene was fun to write.

Sam thought the story opener perfectly captured what he was hearing in my voice. Maybe one day, I'll find a way to bring it more to the foreground in my work. But for now, it's always there, lurking and waiting.

On top of everything, based on the first section of my novel (about 8 chapters total), Sam believed my book could see print. That faith in my work has bolstered me since, and I only hope that, come the new year, I prove it justified.

Until next time, Funny People, stay safe, stay healthy, and take care.

P.S.

December 8th, 2022: I officially finished the second draft A Sword Named Sylph. Here's hoping all this work will pay off come the new year. 🤞