Spike: You pissed in the Big Man's Chair? That's fantastic! Gunn: Spike, can you please turn off that warm fuzzy? Spike: What, the Lorne thing? Worn off. I just think that's bloody fabulous.

'Life of the Party'


The Great Write Way, Chapter Two: Twice upon a time...  

A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.


Beverly - Mar 09, 2005 6:46:37 pm PST #466 of 10001
Days shrink and grow cold, sunlight through leaves is my song. Winter is long.

erika, you're channeling Han Solo. And that's a good thing.

Ginger, I loved your pieces, and I left comments in your LJ. Kristin, off to read yours.

And thanks for the kind words about the poem.


Ginger - Mar 09, 2005 7:39:48 pm PST #467 of 10001
"It didn't taste good. It tasted soooo horrible. It tasted like....a vodka martini." - Matilda

Holding Drabble

Tom and Janet were my parents' friends, but not like their other friends. They had no children. They lived in an apartment downtown. Janet was the only woman I knew who worked, and her perfect nails seemed the height of sophistication. They took Russian lessons and went to Russia. They served wine and chicken Kiev. Their presents were always exotic. One year, I got a tiny Russian nesting doll. They are only names on Christmas cards now, but I still hold onto a wooden doll with flaking paint that holds a smaller doll that holds the love of unrelated relatives.


Gus - Mar 09, 2005 8:32:01 pm PST #468 of 10001
Bag the crypto. Say what is on your mind.

They are only names on Christmas cards now, but I still hold onto a wooden doll with flaking paint that holds a smaller doll that holds the love of unrelated relatives.

I hereby swear to bear Ginger's babies.


deborah grabien - Mar 09, 2005 9:31:37 pm PST #469 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.

I hereby swear to bear Ginger's babies.

I want the movie rights.

Seriously - I very rarely pull the writer card out of my sleeve and wave it in the air. But I'm fierce on the subject of voice, and if you don't believe me, would my editor - literally, a living legend - convince you?

I'll dig out my copy tomorrow, but she basically said, in her ongoing essay in "Writing Mysteries", Sue Grafton's compendium, that the one thing every editor prays to walk through their door is an author with a voice. Anything else can be fixed, kluged, reworked - but you can't fake a voice.

And I know this because, in the 1993 edition, she used me as an example of voice. And that's why she fought for both Eyes and Plainsong, despite neither of them being mysteries.

Voice is the Holy Grail for an editor. Embrace your voice.


Beverly - Mar 09, 2005 10:42:05 pm PST #470 of 10001
Days shrink and grow cold, sunlight through leaves is my song. Winter is long.

Voice is why we read certain authors. For writers, voice is what keeps 'em coming back.

Ginger, that was lovely. I very much envy your concise clarity.


Topic!Cindy - Mar 10, 2005 2:33:38 am PST #471 of 10001
What is even happening?

Yeah, voice is a good thing. Think of it in terms of music for a moment, rather than writing, connie. I don't even mean singing voice, but the whole of the song. I know Springsteen, the Stones, U2, etc., when I hear them, and not just because of the singer's voice, but because of the entity's voice as a whole--what their songs say, how they say them (the orchestration) and I like them--I like how they do their stuff.

The same is true for writers. What's that old saw about there only being so many stories in the world? If it's true (and I at least think it contains truth), then the difference lies in the telling, which comes from the teller. That's voice, or voice is at least a part of it. It's like a family knowing (and preferring) their own mother's spaghetti sauce or apple pie, or whatever. If you achieve voice, there is something about the way you're telling your stories that makes them especially yours.


SailAweigh - Mar 10, 2005 2:44:19 am PST #472 of 10001
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb

Ginger, that was lovely. Can I adopt you, too?


erikaj - Mar 10, 2005 3:20:10 am PST #473 of 10001
I'm a fucking amazing catch!--Fiona Gallagher, Shameless(US)

I have a "Writing Mysteries"...should I stroke your vanity, Deb?ETA: Ironically, the real mystery is why I can't find that paragraph.


deborah grabien - Mar 10, 2005 6:18:29 am PST #474 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.

erika, which edition do you have? Mine's the 1993. Sue Grafton puts out a new one every year or so; haven't checked to see if Ruth has her usual essay on "how to capture an editor" in the recent one.

And Cindy is so right, about thinking of it musically. As is Bev. Voice? It's what keeps them coming back for more.


deborah grabien - Mar 10, 2005 6:27:33 am PST #475 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.

And, found it, or at least the photocopied section. It's from the 1993 edition. The chapter is called "The Mystery Novel From the Editor's Point of View". Ruth talks about various ways to make it effective, to set a scene, how much readers love it if you really know your subject. She ends with this, including two examples, the best part of a full page - I'm going to not type in the second one since it isn't mine and there's the whole copyright thing:

Finally, I have to go all psychic on you. An editor will leap for joy to find a writer with what we call "voice." It's what we always hope for in a manuscript; it's what we find, to a greater or lesser degree, in the better ones; occasionally, it will be present in such force as to knock us back on our heels. It's a quality in the writing that's hard to define, but when you come across it, you know. It is clear and unequivocal and unique to that writer, setting him or her apart from all others. From two different authors:

"The morning sun has ever been a provider of comfort; one of its nicest attributes is that there is always enough to go around. The same morning sun that had highlighted the bat's blood on Gad's feet, that had touched Max as he sat down to a morning meal near a British Rail station just west of London, spread itself effortlessly and settled its mantle across Sparrow House.

Julia, lying on her back...opened her eyes to it. She lay awhile with tears on her lashes, following the movement of ray and mote across the painted ceiling, registering the warmth without noticing, her mind reading back into the lost hours, trying with the futile desperation of waking to recapture the night."

The first vivid panorama is from Deborah Grabien's Plainsong.

So, there you go. An editor, on voice.