An Outfit For Your Novel’s Voice

A Word of Advice from Stephen King

After searching, scanning, and surfing the web this week I have come to the conclusion that I must start to read Stephen King’s book, “On Writing: a Memoir of the Craft”. One thing I found that inspired me to do so was this great article from Literary Rejections, 10 Rules of Writing. One rule in particular really struck a cord with me.

Language does not always have to wear a tie and lace-up shoes. The object of fiction isn’t grammatical correctness but to make the reader welcome and then tell a story.

As I began to write my first draft, I didn’t know that much about grammar. (I admit it; I graduated college with a BS in science and therefore took practically zero courses regarding literature, writing, or anything of the sort.) I’m not completely oblivious to it, but I’m in no way an aficionado. This made me overly cautious on what rules I was breaking, and it ended up effecting how I told my story.

After re-reading the first few pages of my first draft I could tell that I tried (and most definitely failed) to be too “grammatically correct”, and on top of it, it caused my prose to carry a lackluster feel that would only be acceptable while waiting in line for a security check at an airport. It was stiff. I cringed.

So this is where Stephen King’s brilliant words on grammar come in to play. I decided I needed to take a long look at what my grammar would be wearing throughout my story; it’s “outfit”. After searching through fashion sites, watching hours of re-runs of “What Not To Wear” (okay, just kidding about those two), and visualizing the “look” of my voice, I came up with a collage for my voice’s.

Step Into My Voice’s Closet:

Note: I am writing in first person POV, so this influences my voice’s “outfit” to look like my main character. Also, this is an eclectic college of my voice from beginning to end. My voice changes from the very first word to the last, and so does its’ outfit. This is a working college, and very well may change dramatically by the time I hit “submit” on query letters.

After already writing my first draft, and knowing what it is I want out of it (for the most part) it was fun putting together this collage, and I know it will be helpful when I’m re-writing. If you want to create a collage for yourself, check out Pixlr.com/express. It’s real easy to use.

Feel free to share what you create as well! Leave a reply on this post or tweet me @marion_michele

Two Videos on Writing

New perspective comes in all shapes and sizes

Both John Truby and Donald Maass have helped form the writer I am, and have inspired me to become the writer I want to be. I’ve read their books like they’re the elixir to happiness, but sometimes you just need more. There isn’t one way to learn and there will never be only one way to learn. Case in point, these two videos.

I’m making this post short and sweet because these video’s are not (well, they’re pretty sweet, but they’re not short.). Enjoy!

Anatomy Of Story: The Complete Film Courage Series with John Tuby:

The Breakout Novelist Donald Maass

New Section: Resources for Writers!

What’s mine is yours…

As a budding novelist, learning is one of my top priorities! I’ve created this list to help me keep track of it all. If there is something that you think I should check out and add to the list, please let me know! Take a second to look at my full resources page for everything I have listed so far..

Here’s what I have so far.

Websites to Visit Regularly:

• Writer’s Digest (I’m guessing you already know about this one.)
• I Believe In Story
• Rocking Self Publishing
• Author Feast
• Gail Carson Levine
• Your Writer Platform
• Writing World
• Literary Rejections
• StoryFix
• Helping Writers Become Authors

Must-Read Articles or Posts 

• 101 Quick Actions You Can Take Today to Build the Writer Platform of Your Dreams
• Elmore Leonard’s 10 Rules of Writing
• Five Characteristics of a Great Book
• Part 1/5 of How I used John Truby to Outline Fiction : (Excited to read more on this! I love John Truby’s approach to storytelling, and it’s a major source of insight and inspiration for me!)
• What is the Zhong and How Can it Help You Write Better Novels

Books on My Shelf: 4 Books on my MUST READ List

Okay, as much as I love reading I sometimes have the hardest time doing it. Hmmm? But I'm a "writer" (aspiring, yes). And to write you've got to read--duh! I know this. But sometimes I find myself reading ABOUT writing too much (cough--I'm newly addicted to John Truby's “The Anatomy of Story.”, and I've re-read anything Donald Maas has published).

But I'm re-jumping on to my New Years Resolutions (have we all forgotten about them) and creating my list for my MUST READ LIST
(ps find me on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/7728777-marion)
1. Cress by Marissa Meyer 
I've been hearing about this book for a while, and I began following Marissa Meyer on Facebook even before that. I have a sample of the book in my iBooks and have even started reading it. But I just keep getting distracted. This one is my #1 on my MUST READ list.

2. Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins.

Please don't GASP in shock. I have read the first book of the trilogy...I just need to get to the second and third. And on top of that (deep breath) I haven't watched any of the movies. I really hope I'm not the only one with this problem. Both the books and the movies are HUGE ones on my list. 

3. Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell

 For everyone who can relate loves YA as much as I do and haven't read this one yet, this ones needs to be on both of our lists. I've read the description, reviews and a sample of the first few pages, and I can already tell it's going to be sweet---like "awww" sweet, that is. By Rainbow Rowell, a huge up and coming YA author, she is also author to Fangirl, which looks like another one we will all be able to connect to. 

4. The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman.
Okay, this one I am actually currently reading, but it is still on my list because I haven't been diligent enough to get through it as quickly as it deserves. I ended up getting a sample of this book and then immediately purchased the whole thing...where this angst has gone? I'm not sure, but I'm going to bring it back. This one will be done soon!

Dear Online Diary

I remember the days when I used to run up to my room, bury myself in my journal, and write about my day.

I had one rule, and one rule only. Write positive.

As a teenager, a million and one things could all be going wrong, but even in my youth I felt the importance of keeping positive. Then, writing about everything that happened that was BORING in my day was better than writing about things that bothered me over and over and over and over again. C'mon, who really cares if some dumb boy didn't say "hi" today, or so what if I wasn't wearing my hair down like I promised myself I would do. It all doesn't matter now. All that matters is the mentality achieved through the perseverance of writing, and writing positively.

Did I ever write negatively? Sure, I'm human. But I never dwelled, and I never let myself revisit something once it was out.

Now, I find myself 24 years old, a full time job, loving relationship, in a big city with everything at my fingertips. You might think that I have everything figured out. But I don't. I seem to have forgotten about one of the most fundamental things that made me, "me": writing in my journal.

I've been busy. I don't have enough time. Work takes too much time. I spend my free time working on my relationship. Cooking dinner. Walking the dog. Facebooking.

Hmmmm, seems like I've written out all my excuses and I can't revisit them anymore. I will make the time. Simple as that. For me, doing something so simple for yourself begins to carve the way for you to start doing the other things that you've kept promising yourself. Applying for that promotion. Going to that yoga class? Putting down the cookie and picking up the smoothie. One things leads to another, and sometimes the spark that started it all is as simple as taking ten minutes out of your day to reflect. Reflect on your life and continue to stay positive and keep moving forward.

It's a simple promise. And totally doable. No excuses.

Here's another look at Syrus. An every day inspiration not to judge anybody on stereotypes. As I continue to write and plan this next book, Syrus constantly teaches me new things about why it's so important to treat everybody, every dog without judgement. 

Meet the Dog Behind my Newest Adventure, "Don't Judge Me By My Pedigree": Syrus.

Meet Syrus.  Seriously the most peculiar pitbull you may ever encounter.

Some take one look, turn up their noses, huff and then puff, saying “That dog is nothing but trouble. I am more than appalled. I just do not like him. I don’t like him at all.” 

 But those people do not see that Syrus is much more than his pedigree.

Story in Creation:

My latest creative endeavor includes one that is full of fur, fun and characters. "Don't Judge Me By My Pedigree" will be a Children's Book series that will talk about the tough subject of stereotypes, and it will teach children to break through those stereotypes one bark at a time.

A dog’s love is never ending. A dog doesn’t care if you are short, tall, asian, white, black, nerdy, athletic, rich, poor, or just-plain-odd. All they care about is you, and they love you for you. But not all dogs are treated the same. Some dogs are stereotyped and abused based on their breed.

If we reciprocate back the unbiased love a dog gives, our world would be a better place. Teach our kids to love as a dog loves. Break all stereotypes.

When a child learns to take care of a dog they get more than they give. They learn about life. They learn about love.

....more to come. Marion Michele.

The Sea Shell. 

The air the wind throws around this morning is cool and crisp, the kind of wind that sneaks its way through cracked windows to fall on your face. With it this morning, the wind carries the dew the night had let down, making its temperature feel even cooler. For Mary, these types of mornings are her favorite. They’re so much Mary’s favorite that she tosses herself out of bed at the first feel of it, throwing on her jacket and forgetting her shoes as she heads down to the shoreline.

The sun hovers above the horizon like a bee hovers over a flower right before it takes off through the air.  As Mary walks up to the ocean she kneels down, floating her fingers over the oncoming waves, wondering what the day will bring.

Ocean, you always know what to do. How come I have so much trouble figuring it out? She says to herself. Lately things have gotten quiet, making Mary’s question seem louder. For weeks classes have ended and summer has come. Mary spends most her days helping her father attend to their grove of orange trees, but now the season’s almost over and there’s little work to be done. Too much free time Mary has, and she spends it pondering such things a little girl of nine shouldn’t be so worried about. 

Lost in her thought, Mary does not notice the oncoming wave. This wave is four times the size of all the other waves, and crashes over her like a baseball cracks into a bat, knocking her flat on her back. Spitting salty water from her mouth, Mary sits soaking wet on the sandy shore, her nose wrinkled with frustration as she looks straight up into the blue morning sky.

Mary rolls over onto her side, and that’s when she sees it. The biggest and most beautiful seashell she had ever seen laying yards away on the edge of the shore. The sun bounces off the shell, showing Mary spikes of red and flashes of gold.  I must have it. She thinks to herself, and quickly gets up to grab it. But, alas! Another wave comes crashing in, and when it leaves the shell is nowhere to be seen.

Confused, Mary runs out into the ocean, skimming the floor in search of it. It mustn’t have gone too far. She says as she dips her hands into the water. Mary dances her fingers along the bed of the ocean, but she is unable to find the giant red and gold shell; instead her fingertips only feel sharp rocks and strings of seaweed.

As the sun rises above her, Mary stays in the ocean searching up and down for the shell. Breakfast and lunch soon have gone and passed, but Mary has not eaten. She’s too focused on finding that shell. With soggy fingers, Mary wipes stuck strands of hair from her forehead and goes to sit down on the grassy knoll beyond the sand, a defeated look pinched between her eyes.

I’ll never find it. She says to herself. It’s gone! Mary has searched and searched, but found no trace of where the shell could now be. Mary crosses her arms tightly across her chest, her eyebrows furrowing from frustration at her foiled attempt to find that beautiful shell. Her chin falls slightly to her chest, letting out a forceful breath and a harsh hmmmph.

A light breeze blows across Mary’s face, as if coaxing her to move away with it. But she is too determined to find the shell. Mary waits and watches the sun drift across the sky as it dries her in the grass. The shell found its way to shore once, and it will find its way back. I must be patient. Mary thinks. And so she sits, staying still as she waits for the shell to find her.

Seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into dusk. Soon the sun drops, falling behind a layer of clouds before ducking behind the horizon. And when the stars come out Mary is still sitting shell-less in the grass. Dizzy from hunger, Mary finally gets up and makes her way down to the shore to look once more before retiring back home.

Her toes dip into the water, sending a cold chill up through her legs and into her shoulders. A gentle wave crashes below her ankles, with it lands what looks and feels like a small, smooth rock. Mary picks up the rock and flips it over in her hand. But once Mary sees the other side she realizes it is no rock at all. The other side is red, just like the shell she had seen this morning. This must be a piece of that shell. She thinks to herself, and just before she finishes her thought another wave washes pass her ankles; with it comes another piece of the shell, this one a soft gold.

A piece of the shell rests in each of Mary’s hands. Another wave crosses over her feet, but this one brings only itself. Mary looks up to the moon before turning her sights on the wave, watching with hopeful eyes as it drifts back into the sea. Before the wave can crash again she turns to leave, ready to go back home.

Mary has found what it is she was looking for.