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BY MERILYN OBLAD

Music and writing have already been compared to one another on this blog (see Kristina’s lovely entry from last month), but I thought I’d contribute to the analogy in my own way. I’m a vocalist; some might say “singer” instead, but we vocalists can be a little touchy about that because singers don’t always know what they’re doing musically (or vocally, for that matter) but vocalists are musicians in the way that instrumentalists are. Our voices and bodies are our instruments and a great deal of effort, knowledge, and skill, as well as talent, goes into producing beautiful music.

Two of the things a vocalist learns to pay close attention to are phrasing and punctuation. The words of a song need to make sense to the audience and not come across as interrupted ideas. A deftly phrased song, with proper attention to dynamics and diction help create a truly awe-inspiring experience for an audience. Likewise, a deftly phrased book with proper attention paid to climax and tension creates an enchanting experience for the reader. For both songs and books, punctuation is a vital tool in enhancing the experience for the audience.

Phrasing in song basically has to do with when the vocalist breathes. A breath in the wrong place may put undue emphasis on the wrong lyrics or fail to connect ideas in the song. Carefully timed breathing fixes this potential hazard as a vocalist places importance on key phrases. Punctuation is a vocalist’s time to take a breath. Commas in particular are important, especially when one is running out of air.

In spite of learning how and when to use commas in elementary school, it is how and when to use commas in singing that most influences my writing. I look at commas as mental pauses or time to breathe. If a phrase needs to be emphasized with a pause but is not yet a complete sentence, then I put in a comma. Sometimes I get a little comma happy and toss them in a little too liberally, so when I go back and review what I’ve written I make sure I breathe at each comma. If I’m coming close to hyperventilating because I’m breathing so often, then I pull a few of my commas. Reading aloud will help you find the natural breaks or breaths in your writing.

I own several grammar books, and I tend to check up on myself about how and when I’m using my punctuation. Even with all the technical definitions and rules running through my head, I still come back to my singing rule. A comma is a chance to snatch a breath before plowing onward. It’s a moment to regroup before changing the dynamics of the phrase, building tension, or eliciting emotion. Similarly, commas in writing are pauses meant to intensify certain ideas by setting them apart.

Sometimes it helps to have a new perspective on an old issue, which is why I’ve addressed commas this way. A comma is such a small thing, but can be tricky to figure out even when you know what you’re doing. Fortunately, punctuation doesn’t have to be difficult. It can be as natural as, well, breathing.

A lover of all things historical, MeriLyn Oblad (pronounced Mary Lynn) has both a BA and MA in History, the former from the University of Nevada, Reno and the latter from Brigham Young University. She brings more than a decade of document analysis, an eye for fine detail, and seven years of writing local histories to the Xchyler table.

MeriLyn currently proofs our 2014 paranormal anthology, slated for release in October, and is plowing through fantasy short story submissions. Hurry! Contest ends August 31st!

BY TERRI WAGNER tweet this!

Writing advice from the College of William and Mary.

I once had the opportunity to take a writing course at the College of William and Mary, located in Williamsburg, Virginia. Our professor was a very successful niche nonfiction writer. He spent most of the class harping on our observational skills. Yes, you read that right, observation skills. I would add analytical skills as well.

As first-time writers, we often make minor mistakes with our grammar and/or spelling. We might mix up our metaphors, change voice, or drag out a scene. There’s where our editors prove to be our best friends IF we let them. I call these minor mostly because they are fixable, if an author is willing.

So what would I consider a major mistake? Not using our powers of observation. First, do not consider writing in an unfamiliar genre. Not without taking time to learn the genre’s rules—when to break them and when to adhere to them. (An aside advice: as a newbie, don’t break them.) Let that come later. Know the market for that genre. Are you writing to teenage girls? Young adults? Preteen boys? Whodunits?

Second, observe the successful books of your chosen genre. Do they use active voice? Are they generally fast paced? Do the characters count—is the story character-driven? Or do the action-packed scenes bear more weight? Is there a mixture of both? Analyze the books. What do reviews say about them?

Third, stay true to the genre. Don’t mix them up. Don’t write half fantasy, half fiction. Is there a difference? Yes! Check if out if you don’t believe me.

Fourth, try writing a chapter or two. Then ask the target group to beta read for you. Preferably not friends. Choose your beta readers wisely. You need honest feedback. Rework until those chapters become well-liked by your beta readers.

Fifth, arc your story. End with the beginning in mind, and visa versa. Nothing is more irritating to a reader than a book that doesn’t follow itself properly. Oh, the typical beta readers probably will not be able to say why it doesn’t work, but they will say it doesn’t really work that way. Listen to them.

Sixth, having crossed all those thresholds, continue with analyzing your market. Is it saturated? How will your work fit in? Will it get lost in the crowd? Will it round out the current market? Will readers want to read it?

Seventh, pitch your piece to the right publisher. Does it have an indie appeal? Traditional publisher appeal? Local appeal? Take the time to pick the right one.

While a highly acclaimed professor, and an academic whiz, this professor made a nice comfortable nest egg out of his writing. And what did he write? Guides for the smaller resorts in several national locations. He updated them as needed. Pulled in a good bit of money.

I may have forgotten the grammar, the pieces he had us write, the ideas I had, but I never forgot to first observe. And don’t just take his advice. George Lucas said Power of the Myth is what led him to write Star Wars.

Terri Wagner lives, writes, and edits from her home in Alabama. Her most recent project, Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology, was released in May 2014.

Other works to Ms. Wagner’s credit include Shades and Shadows: A Paranormal Anthology, Mr. Gunn and Dr. Bohemia by Pete Ford, and Conjectrix (Vivatera Book 2) by Candace J. Thomas.

BY RIE SHERIDAN ROSE tweet this

Write What You WANT to Know 

I was trying to decide what wisdom I wanted to impart in this blog post. I finally decided to tackle a subject that more experienced writers often give to budding authors trying to break into the business. No, not the first rule of writing, “Show, don’t tell.” Plenty of discussion on that one. Including this PowerPoint presentation on the subject .

I want to talk about the second rule of writing, “Write what you know.” Of course, plenty of words have been generated about this rule too—but in these enlightened days when the information of the entire world is at your fingers, quite literally, as long as you have decent Internet access—I believe in the camp that says this rule needs revision. I think the advice should now be “Write what you want to know”—particularly if you write in the speculative genres.

To me, there’s always been a problem with “Write what you know.” It’s so limiting. I have always considered myself fairly educated, but if I stuck to only the things that I have direct knowledge of, I would never have written any of the novels I’ve had published.

I’ve never seen a dragon, met an elf, traveled to fairyland, or played a lute. I’ve never been lab assistant to an absentminded professor with access to an airship either . . . but I can imagine these things. I can, in other words, “speculate” about what would happen if I were to do any of them. And I have the resources to find contemporary, real-world analogs to them and translate that knowledge into the appropriate language.

For example, I am planning on including a trip to the 1876 Centennial Exhibition in a future adventure in my Conn-Mann series. I have collected resources through the Internet and Amazon that show me in great detail the interiors of the buildings, who exhibited, what a ticket cost, what lodgings were available—none of which I “knew” going into the project.

I wanted to know it, and I went out and learned it. Now it is part of what I know. However, the key here is that it wasn’t part of what I knew before I started the book.

Don’t be limited by current knowledge. It is too easy to research these days and expand your knowledge base to be held captive by the rules. Of course, remember the caveat—don’t base your entire book on one source/website—for example, a user-maintained forum, as they can be fluid and sometimes inaccurate. After you find the initial information you want, use it as a springboard to find corroborating sources.

When I was writing Sidhe Moved Through the Faire, I had some definite ideas going in, but I didn’t know all the information about Celtic mythology I would need to fully flesh out the entire story. But I didn’t need to. I could find the details I didn’t know through research. Research can make you an expert in areas that you don’t “know”. And the next time you need the same or similar information, it will be part of your knowledge base—or at least where to find it will be.

Hand in hand with the notion that you can’t know everything there is to know about your subject, in our world of speculative genres—science fiction, fantasy, horror and their offshoots—many of the subjects that we choose to write about literally cannot be known firsthand.

Despite the desires of multitudes of teenagers, there are no “real” vampires, for example. At least, not any who can turn into mist or bats and live entirely on human blood. There are no dragons breathing fire to be studied through binoculars. No werewolves baying at the full moon. No elves riding shields down staircases while shooting double arrows.

So how can we write about such things if we can’t “know” them? Because we can speculate on them, and from those two magic words “what if . . .” create our own realities.

We can take the tropes and twist them to our own devices. We can have worlds where elves wield magic or fairies fall in love with humans. We can have wizards battle dragons and dragonflies talk. We can have a nine-foot-tall automaton hold conversations with our leading ladies.

Don’t be afraid to explore realities of which you have no direct knowledge. Don’t let “Write what you know” stop you from writing what you want.

Rie writes, edits, and proofs for The X from her home in Austin, Texas. A prolific writer, her short story, “Seven-year Itch,” is featured in Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology. Her first project for The X, Relative Evil by Debra Erfert, was released in July, 2014.