Category: Culture

A number of years ago I got a book called Revising Fiction. The book was about how to revise . . . well, fiction.

One of the author’s big points was that the revision process is very distinct from the writing process. (It had better be, or he’d have no reason to write his book.)

He therefore stressed to writers that they should not try to revise while they are writing. Write when you write; revise when you revise. Don’t mix the two or you’ll get into trouble.

And you will.

If you let your inner critic drive you to start editing what you’ve just written, you’ll fiddle with it forever. You’ll get bogged down–repeatedly–as you write, and you may never finish your manuscript.

Revision is incredibly important. It’s how you get all the bad stuff out of your writing. But it’s a separate process, and a very important one. This led the author to an interesting perspective: Why do writers write? Frequently, so they can have something to revise. That’s not true all the time (certainly, it’s not true of me when I’m writing an article or a special report on deadline), but at times in a writer’s experience–particularly in the beginning–it may well be true.

His overall point about keeping editing separate from writing is extremely important, however. When one writes, one frequently should get the words down as fast as one can, without worrying about how good they are. You can fix them later, but finishing that first draft is vitally important.

In my own writing, I try whenever possible to follow the advice, "Write in a fury!" Do whatever it takes to bang out that first draft. Fix it later.

One of the things that means is that I don’t stop to look up citations. If I stopped to look up every Bible verse I need to quote, or type in all the bibliographic info for a book I want to cite, it’d break the flow of my writing and I’d lose precious time by getting sidetracked to look stuff up. As a result, I don’t (when I can avoid it).

Instead, I drop unique strings into my writing at points I know I need to revisit. For example, if I know that I need to insert a Bible verse, I frequently will write "(xx)" for the citation. Then, after I’m done with the first draft and am in the revision stage, I’ll go back and do an electronic search for all the "xx"es and replace them with the missing citations.

If the needs of the manuscript are more complex and I need to mark different kinds of places to revisit in the revision process, I’ll use other unique strings. I don’t want a combination of letters that will likely appear in the text, though, so I’ll use something uncommon, like "jj" or "qq" or "xjxj." It’s then a snap to look these up electronically.

Using the word processor’s highlight feature also can help. I may put a yellow highlight on the whole first draft and then go through it, turning the yellow highlight off as I revise individual sections. (That way if I need to skip a section for some reason, it’ll still be yellow and thus obvious that I need to go back and finish fixing it.)

I understand that for some in the publishing industry, typing "00" has been an equivalent of my "xx." I don’t like that as much, though, because (a) "00" can look too much like "oo" or "OO" (making it hard if you’re visually scanning a secion) and (b) the zero keys require one to take one’s fingers off the letter-keys and hit the less-familiar number-keys. "xx" doesn’t require that.

So for me, any way, double-X marks the spot.

Guestblogger Travis Tea (alias Mary Catelli) writes:

Once upon a time there were — and there still are — some writers who helped new writers against scam tricks in the publishing industry.

You can read about them: at Writer Beware http://www.sfwa.org/beware/ or at Preditors & Editors http://www.anotherealm.com/prededitors/

The writers involved were SF and fantasy writers, and one publisher that was warned against was PublishAmerica, which described itself as a traditional publisher but had such untraditional practices as a one-dollar advance, and requiring you register your own copyright (leaving you $29 in the hole, because it costs $30.)

Apparently it hurt.  Or so we deduce from the comments here:

"As a rule of thumb, the quality bar for sci-fi and fantasy is a lot lower than for all other fiction."  So they warn to run away away from SF or fantasy writers, who are obviously without a clue.

http://www.authorsmarket.net/experts.htm

And indeed, this particular screed seemed to point quite clearly:
http://www.authorsmarket.net/youreyes.htm

Some SF and fantasy writers were discussing this posting online.  During the course of which, someone proposed that we should try to get published by PublishAmerica.

James Macdonald took this and ran with it.  He drew up an outline, asked for volunteers, and send out the chapter descriptions.  Indeed, one he sent out twice, to two different writers. 

I asked for, and got, one of them.  And so I sat down to channel my inner clueless newbie.  I went on for two paragraphs on describing the setting, neglecting any research, and ignoring what I already knew, down to forgetting that polo is played on polo ponies.  And I expanded those paragraphs for a page each — carefully ensuring the opening sentences of the first paragraph contradicted its last sentence.  And then I told, in a flat-footed style, the story he laid out for me.  I made up for the opening by chopping parts up into itsy-bitsy paragraphs, one sentence, or one word.  I introduced one character by cutting and pasting the description from the two paragraphs I had been sent.  I larded their conversations with said-bookisms — far-fetched substitutes for the word "said."  When it was coming in under the length he asked for, I reached for those handy chocolate, fattening parts of speech:  adverbs and adjectives.  Whenever my fingers slipped, I trusted the Microsoft spell checker, which hates all writers and tries to make you look like an idiot; if it could correctly work out the word, I twisted the misspelling until it suggested something else.  Most work of all, in one paragraph I switched tenses every sentence.  That I had gotten used to doing on autopilot.

And then I sent it off.

Meanwhile, other writers were also channeling their inner newbies.  James MacDonald collected them all, put them in the order received, left one chapter out when the writer was unable to make it, fed several into a text generator to produce another chapter. . . . my little efforts at inconsistency are but the smallest part.  People change race.  They die in one chapter and return in the next without a comment.  They wake up and it was all a dream — AND THE STORY GOES ON.

Online, the chatter went on, but when MacDonald said he would tell us the title it would go in under, I posted "NO!"  It was a private location, but never post anything to a private discussion that you don’t want to see on the front page of a New York Times — and once I posted it, the chorus arose.

The rest of the operation was carried out as Top Secret. 

Therefore the next I heard was of our happy acceptance.  They had, of course, had the contract vetted by a lawyer and though it would have been fun to carry the hoax all the way — have it published — the lawyer didn’t think it wise.  So the news was announced:

http://www.prweb.com/releases/2005/1/prweb202277.htm

From here you can see the acceptance letter and the contract:
http://critters.critique.org/sting/

Alas, a month after PublishAmerica accepted it, the day after the news was publicized, they read it.  "Upon further review it appears that your work is not ready to be published."

Fortunately, we were able to find a new publisher:  lulu.com, where we were not fed the same line as at PublishAmerica.

Also, you can download the electronic version for free from the "sting" link.

The story as told by James MacDonald:
http://www.sfwa.org/members/TravisTea/backstory.htm

The website in question has a great deal more information.  Read the blurbs:
http://sfwa.org/members/TravisTea/blurbs.htm

And then compare to the list of known authors:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atlanta_Nights

Before Travis Tea gives us the inside story on Atlanta Nights, I thought I’d introduce him.

To the left is his picture from his author’s page over at lulu.com.

And here’s his bio from his own web site:

It was a dark and stormy night the night Travis Tea was born in the small town of Sweethome, Alabama. Though ever proud of her only son, his mother Senilla continually mourned the loss of the little princess who never would be, Travis’ stillborn twin sister, Madge S. Senilla moved the family from their ranch-style house to a ramshackle shack on the outskirts of the cemetary where the baby was buried. After five years of such living, his father, Ben-Ali, took Travis, and they began a nomadic existence, travelling the highways and byways of America’s southlands, often staying with various of his father’s relatives, many of whom provided inspiration and impetus for his future ambitions.

Travis grew swiftly into a young man, but to a father grown hardened, burly and surly from hard labor, he was. . . not to put too fine a point on it. . . a disappointment. Always of a non-descript and introspective type, Travis made few friends, and buried himself away from his father’s scorn in the pages of magazines and cheap paperbacks purchased at any convenient drugstore. In those pages, he was transported away from his life of toil, and soon began to write for his own amusement. His dear maiden Aunt Vanna was the one who told him in the first place that he was as good as any writer out there. Only one piece from this period is still extant, though Travis holds that shred of napkin close, and will not deign to share it with the general public at this time.

For his 18th birthday, Travis gave himself the gift of a future, and signed up for a hitch in the National Guard. Not quite fitting in with the others, he kept company with his imaginary little brother, Insanna, who would whisper to him at night, and kept him going. While Travis served his country, his father capitulated to his loneliness, and returned to Senilla, who, though Travis had always sent letters home to her, barely realized the men had been gone. Upon his return from the service, Travis wrote a very special story for Senilla’s birthday, which he entitled "That’s All Right, Mama." After the story had been read to her, his mother miraculously recovered her sense of the importance of her living family members, and resumed her place as matriarch of the home.

Travis threw himself into his writing. He wrote at night; he wrote on weekends; at mealtimes; and between work shifts. He enrolled in several correspondence courses in writing, and though lessons were not always delivered in their entirety, and some may never have arrived at all, he perserveered. Though several applications to writers conferences were inexplicably rejected, he perserveered.

In June of 2004, following a particularly vivid dream that stretched over three long nights, Travis began work on his first full-length novel, Atlanta Nights, and by dint of his his dedication to his craft, and phone conversations with his cousin Atrossa helping to drive the plot, and cousin Vapidda helping fashion the words on the page, the novel was completed by July.

Currently, Travis’ family has quit the locality of the cemetary, and moved into a posh suite at the nearby Motel 6. Travis continues working on his next novel, travelling as need be to make personal appearances and perform dramatic and not-so-dramatic readings of Atlanta Nights. He designed, updates and maintains this website with the kind assistance of the Sweethome, Alabama Public Library and HTML for Dummies.

A number of years ago some sci-fi and fantasy authors wrote a book called Atlanta Nights. The book was not sci-fi or fantasy, because the prospective publisher (PublishAmerica) had publicly dissed sci-fi and fantasy authors.

PublishAmerica claimed to be a respectable publisher, though its critics claimed it was a vanity press.

After reading its diss of SF&F authors, several decided to exact revenge by writing a deliberately bad novel and getting PublishAmerica to agree to publish it, thus exposing the literary "standards" of the house for what they are.

The manuscript was not only filled with bad grammar and spelling, misused words, and internal contradictions. It also featured things like an "accidentally" duplicated chapter, an inexplicably missing chapter, and a chapter written by a computer program.

The manuscript was then submitted to PublishAmerica under the pen name Travis Tea (get it? say it fast).

The plan worked brilliantly. PublishAmerica offered to publish the book.

At least, it did until the authors publicly announced that the book was a hoax and then PublishAmerica did a "further review" that determined that the manuscript was "not ready to be published" after all.

Despite this setback, Atlanta Nights was eventually published and can be read online or ordered in hardcopy.

It also has some of the most remarkable blurbs in publishing industry history. For example, Jerry Pournelle raves:

"Don’t fail to miss it if you can!"

But best of all, it turns out that Travis Tea is a reader of this blog, and later today, Travis will give us the inside scoop on Atlanta Nights!

Yee-Haw!

You say you’re desperate not to be published but that your manuscript is insistent that it is ready to be unleashed on an unsuspecting world. How do you satisfy your manuscript’s ambition to make the rounds of literary agencies and publishing houses while still ensuring that you will fulfill your own dream to remain unpublished? Screwtape has some advice for you on how to make sure you are rejected:

"We’ve often imagined ourselves giving a talk that would have a title along the lines of ‘How to Get Yourself Rejected.’ The target audience would be new writers, though we think everyone could stand to learn something from these tried and true secrets for ensuring rejection. In fact, if everybody applied these lessons to their daily lives, they’d be able to avoid that first date with a person to whom they’re attracted, that lucrative and promising job, that bank loan essential to achieving a dream, or whatever it is they claim to want — in other words, all those forms of success that complicate lives unnecessarily.

"But we’ll confine ourselves to encouraging writers with ways to get themselves turned down by agents or publishers, and trust that you’ll understand how to apply these lessons in a broader context. Nor are we going to insult anybody’s intelligence by telling you about the really basic, simple ways that a writer can ensure that no one will read her query letter, let alone her manuscript. We’re sure you already know about obvious things like using unusual fonts and paper, though we will point out that a really fuzzy, beat-up printer for your letter and manuscript is certainly a plus. Extra points if you could dig up a dot-matrix, though of course the real prize goes to those who handwrite their letters. That takes a special person."

[…]

"Anyway, you get the idea: do your worst, think only of yourself and not of the person reading your letter (let alone the person who supposedly will read your book), and you’re bound to fail admirably!"

GET THE ADVICE.

For those who need a bit of tutoring in applying to the broader context, to which Screwtape alludes, take special note of that last paragraph. A sure-fire means of being rejected in any context is to not put yourself in the position of the person whom you want to accept you and think of those means by which you can make that person’s job or life easier. In the art of learning how to be rejected, selfishness and self-interest is a virtue.

You say you’re desperate not to be published but that your manuscript is insistent that it is ready to be unleashed on an unsuspecting world. How do you satisfy your manuscript’s ambition to make the rounds of literary agencies and publishing houses while still ensuring that you will fulfill your own dream to remain unpublished? Screwtape has some advice for you on how to make sure you are rejected:

"We’ve often imagined ourselves giving a talk that would have a title along the lines of ‘How to Get Yourself Rejected.’ The target audience would be new writers, though we think everyone could stand to learn something from these tried and true secrets for ensuring rejection. In fact, if everybody applied these lessons to their daily lives, they’d be able to avoid that first date with a person to whom they’re attracted, that lucrative and promising job, that bank loan essential to achieving a dream, or whatever it is they claim to want — in other words, all those forms of success that complicate lives unnecessarily.

"But we’ll confine ourselves to encouraging writers with ways to get themselves turned down by agents or publishers, and trust that you’ll understand how to apply these lessons in a broader context. Nor are we going to insult anybody’s intelligence by telling you about the really basic, simple ways that a writer can ensure that no one will read her query letter, let alone her manuscript. We’re sure you already know about obvious things like using unusual fonts and paper, though we will point out that a really fuzzy, beat-up printer for your letter and manuscript is certainly a plus. Extra points if you could dig up a dot-matrix, though of course the real prize goes to those who handwrite their letters. That takes a special person."

[…]

"Anyway, you get the idea: do your worst, think only of yourself and not of the person reading your letter (let alone the person who supposedly will read your book), and you’re bound to fail admirably!"

GET THE ADVICE.

For those who need a bit of tutoring in applying to the broader context, to which Screwtape alludes, take special note of that last paragraph. A sure-fire means of being rejected in any context is to not put yourself in the position of the person whom you want to accept you and think of those means by which you can make that person’s job or life easier. In the art of learning how to be rejected, selfishness and self-interest is a virtue.