Don’t Cut Your Own Throat

Hi, Gang.

It seems to me that the question of having an agent before you get a publishing contract is weighing on many of our minds lately. Let’s face it, some of us have become so enamored of the battle cry, “You must have an agent to get published!” that it is bordering on becoming one of the Ten Commandments.

I’m afraid I’ll have to call BS on that one. Yes, it is a good idea to have an agent, but if we honestly believe that we have to have one before we can even think of getting published; then how did all those other folks get published without one?

Steven King worked without an agent for three years after Carrie was published, and J.K. Rowling didn’t get an agent until after the first Harry Potter story―which she self-published―began to sell big. So, where did having an agent first factor into the two biggest names in writing getting published? That’s right… it didn’t.

I’m not certain exactly when, “Publish, or perish,” turned into, “Agent, or perish.” But, I do know that it is one of the biggest lies in this crazy business of ours. If either The King, or Ms. Rowling had bought into that lie, Steve would still be teaching High School English class, and Ms. Rowling would still be waiting tables.

Now, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing to have an agent. Having an agent is one of the best things a writer can do. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that if you don’t have an agent―well, let’s just say you’ll deserve the screwing you’ll eventually get.

My problem lies with the fact that so many of us have bought into the lie. I have actually noticed aspiring authors ready to commit literary suicide over the fact that they couldn’t get an agent first. They honestly believe that if they can’t land an agent, their dream of being a writer is over. They believe that they must be a horrible writer if an agent isn’t willing to take them on as a client, and they should just quit.

I’ll admit that it is a very good thing to have an agent first, but with more an more agents ‘cherry picking’, this is just not as practical an option as it used to be. When added to the increasing number of writers who ‘found an agent’ after they had a publishing contract in hand, it should be pretty obvious that the old agent first fallacy is falling down like a house of cards in an earthquake.

Plain and simple, brothers and sisters, this is a t-o-u-g-h business. And if you are pinning all your hopes on acquiring an agent first, you are cutting your chances of ever getting published to the proverbial bone.

Yes, submitting to a publisher who accepts unsolicited/unagented material is a slower, and sometimes more ego crushing process. In short, you better bring your A-game. However, if you’re not getting any interest from an agent in the first place―Whaddya got to lose? And I’m not even going to go into the self-publishing/e-publishing arena. But it seems to me that if any of us are really serious about making it in this business, the last thing we would want to do is slam the door in the face of any opportunity to become a successful author.

One thing I can guarantee, gang: If you go into a fight with one hand tied behind your back, the odds are you’re going to get your tail whipped.

The other thing I can guarantee is: If you happen to take any legitimate opportunity to get published, and start making a name for yourself among the only people who really matter―the readers―both agents and publishers will be beating on your door with both fists.

How you got there isn’t nearly as important as actually getting there. No one will care how you snuck into the spotlight, so why cut off possible lifelines when you’re drowning anyway? Doesn’t make much sense, does it?

Later, Gang. 😉

Action Sequences As Seen By T.J.

Please welcome our guest blogger for this week, speculative fiction writer and Queen of the Huggy Jackets, T.J.

T.J. is a knowledgeable writer who generally writes in the paranormal genre, and can be found blogging at Queen of the Padded Room. Com. Check out her wit, humor and general words of wisdom there every time you get a chance.

So without further adieu… Here’s T.J.

********************************

Action sequences.  As writers in Speculative Fiction this is almost a given to be in the book. Small ones, big ones, over-the-top-melees keeping our readers on the edge of their seats wondering what is going to happen next.

The issues I’ve found in many action scenes is the unbelievability.

Most writers, not all of them, have never worked in a profession requiring this type of real life.  A few have some seriously kick ass ability in a dojo and frankly, I wouldn’t want to meet them in a back alley.  Many did have a few school yard dust ups.

Very, very few have ever had their life on the line.  Yet their imaginations run rampant with wonderful ideas and scenes, the emotions possibly involved and they write those action scenes beautifully as inner TV screens play it for them.

When I read this type of scene, I can automatically tell if the writer has been in situations with their life on the line and those which are following the Hollywood style – choreographed action.

There is nothing wrong with a well-choreographed scene.  This type is the lifeblood of many a book. One of my favorite authors uses this type and does a bloody good job of it.  What is getting tiresome is reading the same type of scene over and over and…well…over.  As a reader I am disappointed because I am able to tell you the outcome with relative ease after the first sentence of the sequence.

I’ve heard through various outlets, and friends after reading, in which many are looking for a more realistic action sequence.  Meaning, instead of the practiced moves, falls and fly overs, something they can identify with.  Tripping, losing the weapon, a true “Oh, shit” moment.

I’ll be an example.  I worked as a CO3 in a Men’s Max Unit for four years.  One hundred seventy nine, uh, physical disagreements.  Most of which my arse was handed to me on a silver platter.  The size of the inmate rarely mattered.  Big, small, average, every size and shape.  Weapons involved in more than a few.  The reason I survived can be attributed to biology, a good amount of luck and just plain how things really happen.

If you put two equally trained combatants in a ring, think UFC, in an all out fight, it rarely lasts more than five minutes.  I’ve watched on occasion, and the winner is usually decided because the opponent missed, tripped, slipped, misjudged distance, underestimated his opponent, didn’t look for the winner’s weak spot.

One rotation early in my CO career I’d been assigned administrative segregation.  These males were dangerous, manipulative and couldn’t pretend to work well with others.  They required high amount of security. An inmate decided to target me.  His hatred of women ran fairly deep and fully resented when a female was in charge.  I didn’t notice he’d blocked the locking mechanism of his full steel door.  I turned after shutting it, didn’t wait for the “clunk” of the lock and walked away.  The door slammed open and a burning pain started in my side, spreading through every nerve.  I turned, grabbed his groin, twisted and pulled.  He screamed, falling to his knees with a strangled sound and I grabbed the radio off my belt and hit him in the side of the head, shattering his cheekbone.  I, on the other hand, landed in the hospital for four days because of the two inch shank in my left side.

I didn’t win because of superior fighting skills, training, or moves thought about ahead of time.  I won because he underestimated me and my need to go home to the kids.  Truly expected me to fight using the Queen’s Rules of Pugilism.

Of course, two months later I lost in a fist fight that landed me in the hospital yet again with a broken nose, broken jaw and a broken arm. Not because the little guy had better fighting skills, but because I’d underestimated him, slipped on  recently mopped concrete flooring and fell flat on my face.

It wasn’t the last time. I’ve misjudged distances, didn’t get my arm up in time to ward off a blow, couldn’t get up after landing on a table or sliding into a concrete wall.

And my Lieutenant, with his black belts and constant training, lost to a little street fighter because of misjudged distances.

When writing action sequences, think first. What is in the area? No floor is perfectly clean. Nobody truly thinks of where they are going to put an arm, a leg, land a weapon.  Instincts, when in a fire fight, rule the day. Nobody is infallible.

Tight clothing hinders reach and breathing. Weather plays a large part. The very air a combatant breathes plays a part. Other characters in the scene always play part – good or bad.  Nobody can twist into a pretzel wearing clubbing outfits or move perfectly on stilettos.

Make the scenes real.  By thinking of the little things, the reader will be hooked, holding their breath because they can’t predict moves and outcomes. Use the unpredictable and imperfections of your world.

The reader will thank you for it.

Don’t Show, Don’t Tell

Writers are exhorted to show, not tell. Don’t describe what’s happening, put the reader INTO it. Naturally, there are exceptions to that “rule.” One being that there ARE NO rules. Sometimes, however, it’s what you DON’T show that keeps dear reader turning pages and makes those short hairs stand on end.

This can apply in many cases. Often what leads up to a torrid scene, the foreplay if you will, is by far more titillating than going with the characters into the details of the consummating act. Too often, the overused euphemisms for body parts and what’s done with/to them take away from the scene. Why?

The reader’s imagination is often far more vivid, given room to draw its own picture, than any you could draw for them.

Trust your readers.

Yes, you want to give them plenty of details, carefully chosen, to lead them where you want them. Perhaps you show what Mr. Bad Guy is capable of doing. Maybe we see him do it to a minor character. Maybe someone finds what he’s left behind. A madman is on the loose.

But say Cyndi knows something is wrong when she gets home (or to Grandma’s house.) The dog isn’t barking. It always barks. She feels it. She tries the door and it’s unlocked. She calls out. No answer. She pushes open the kitchen door and a scream freezes in her throat…

Cut to another scene.

Would the reader keep reading? You betcha. They hope to find out what Cyndi saw. Maybe it’s the madman gnawing on Grandma’s (fill in the body part.) Maybe it’s the dog, or what’s left of him. You can bet they’re going to want to know, and meanwhile, they will have filled in the blank with the worst they can imagine, based on what you’ve foreshadowed, teased with.

Or, say…

There are rumors of an alien presence. Most don’t believe it, of course. But it’s night (or maybe a sunny, spring afternoon), and Kyle is walking down the street (or across the meadow) when he hears a strange, high-pitched whine. He turns. He doesn’t see anything. He walks more quickly, though, and the air around him becomes electric, and he turns again, and before he can scream at what he sees…

What did he see? What happened to him?

Okay, those are cliff-hangers, staple of suspense from the beginning of fiction. But here we’re dealing with speculative fiction, and this writer finds the best element, across all the sub-genres within that broad family, is the one the genre is named for.

Speculative.

Let ’em wonder. Let the reader fill in the picture. Lead her to the well, but let her drink whatever is in there. Wait. Are you sure you want to draw up that bucket? To look down there?

When the story begins to show too much, it becomes like a movie that gets too graphic or too overloaded with special effects.

In my novel, a friendly, benign ally diverts a minor player while others carry out a plan that she, the minor player, musn’t see. But unseen to the others, a dark force takes him over. We cut to the others, and later, we come back to the discovery of a pair of legs akimbo in the supply closet. We don’t see what the discoverers see, but we know it’s horrifying. And the next time we see the “friend,” he has scratches on his face. What happened in that closet? What did they see? From earlier scenes, we have an idea, and it isn’t pretty. The reader can paint the picture as we move on, knowing what the nice guy’s friends don’t.

And what else can that invisible power do? Where is it from? How did it “turn” a nice guy?

The details we choose must give enough specific information to allow readers to fill in the details we choose to leave to them to imagine. And isn’t sparking the imagination the essence of Speculative Fiction? Different worlds, invisible forces. Things shown and things not seen.

Except in the mind of the reader.

Our job is to lead the reader to that well. To that room.

Do you trust your readers to use the colors you’ve given them to paint the picture, to make up their own minds about a question you’ve left for them?

It’s not enough that we speculate. That’s the nature of our fiction. But don’t we want to make the reader speculate as well?

I’ll leave you to think about that.