Gentle Audience, Tough Topic Given how hard it’s been to write this column, I’m not surprised that literary agents have taken to sending form-letter
Gentle Audience, Tough Topic
Given how hard it’s been to write this column, I’m not surprised that literary agents have taken to sending form-letter rejections or letting a silent inbox stand in as a negative reply. Yes, Unboxeders, you interpreted the headline correctly; this is a goodbye-for-now note from the newsletter team, precipitated by you and your high standards. Said with love and appreciation, in case that isn’t apparent
Allow me to explain.
A few months ago, we put out a survey asking for feedback on the Writer Inboxed and many of you took the time to reply. You let us know that you enjoyed the newsletter (we were gratified!), but wanted it delivered more frequently with as much content as before. To say we were shocked is an understatement. We understand that your time is at a premium.
You also let us know that what you most valued—what you looked forward to reading in each edition—was the type of content you were already receiving on the blog, or could be receiving via the blog with a little tweaking. So as we began to tee up our schedule for 2014, we asked ourselves one question: Was it wise and necessary to divide our resources into serving two separate vehicles? After heartfelt discussion and deliberation, we landed on “no.”
To that end, we’ve decided to put our efforts back into our core mission. We’ll continue to strive for excellent content on the WU blog, to build community on the Facebook page, to keep you informed about writing news through the Twitter account , and to finalize details for an in-person meeting in 2014. (The Writer Unboxed conference promises to be groundbreaking, spectacular and another ten superlatives that a good editor would only delete.)
Simply put, we’ve decided to focus.
Please let me say, on behalf of the Mamas (Therese Walsh and Kathleen Bolton) , the editorial staff (Kathleen, Liz Michalski and me), and ALL our columnists, that it has been our privilege to serve you in the past two years. You allowed us to learn a great deal, such as how to develop scheduling skills, work with deadlines, and edit a variety of voices and content. Further, we’d heartily recommend newsletter construction as a way to develop and nourish relationships with colleagues and within a writing community. We have no regrets.
Well, I have a small personal one in that I didn’t take advantage of the venue to tease Keith Cronin in a format where he couldn’t respond. (Ah, that sentence was the one which finally caused a tear to slip from my eye. Please forgive me a moment of naked sentimentality.)
So…to paraphrase Mary Oliver, now that you will no longer have a bimonthly Writer Inboxed to tickle your neurons, what will you do with your one wild and precious life?
We hope you’ll spend more of it on writing your own fiction. That would be time well-spent. But before you go, in memory of the last two years, can we join together one last time? Let’s listen to beloved storymeister, Donald Maass, as he sings us off into silence with a writing lesson on endings.
With warmest wishes,
Jan O'Hara, WU Newsletter Editor
When not contributing to Writer Unboxed, former family physician, Jan O'Hara, can be found at her citrusy blog, Tartitude.
21st Century Tips
by Donald Maass
Pretty much all novels have a HEA: Happily Ever After. That’s nice, huh? But let’s be honest, how many of them do you remember in detail? You may recall a general feeling of resolution, yet is there an event, line of dialogue or image that sticks with you as the very best-ever perfect ending?
If you can think of one, that’s great. If you can think of a dozen, I’d be surprised. Don’t believe me? Go ahead, pull a dozen keeper novels off your shelves. Read their last pages. How many do you remember exactly that way?
Endings often are written with a sigh of relief. Thank GOD! I finally made it. What they do not always do is wring readers’ hearts and sear into their memories unforgettable final words or events. Writers miss that effect because they perhaps haven’t realized that what makes an ending an ending is also what makes a story a story: change.
Here are some ways to find, and exploit, your novel’s true ending:
▪ When it’s all over, what can your protagonist see or understand that he or she could not before? Add that. ▪ When it’s all over, what or who must be left behind? Work backwards in the manuscript. Build that so that it matters greatly before you take it away. ▪ What is one change your protagonist did not expect to undergo? What demonstrates that this change has happened nevertheless? Add. ▪ What is an outcome beyond happy? What turn of events would, at the end, be a miracle from above? Too cheesy? Try it anyway. ▪ When does your protagonist know that a new world has begun? How? A new beginning is often the true ending.
Most endings in manuscripts walk quietly off, or try to lift readers with a lofty image. The real ending is not outside in the air; rather, it’s inside your main character—where, after all, the whole story began.
