Soapbox Series #9 (or Reading, 'Riting, Ranting) -- Till, Until, and 'Til

Grammar Girl says she regularly gets questions about the differences between till, until, and 'til, and how to use them.

I say: ????? And when exactly did this "'til" thing come about?

'Til is apparently in the process of becoming accepted (shudder), but it is a totally unnecessary word. I think I know what happened: somewhere along the line people began to assume that "till" (as they heard it pronounced, not necessarily as they spelled it) was an abbreviation for "until," and they couldn't figure out why you wouldn't spell that as 'til. But till and until are actually separate words that are synonymous. Yes, till is a noun meaning cash register and a verb meaning to work the ground (lesser known, it's also a noun meaning a glacial drift or a stiff clay), but its #1 function and definition in my dictionary is as a preposition meaning "up to the time of; before; until." Of the two words, till is actually older. Until came later. 'Til came, well, way, way later, and, I believe, under mistaken circumstances. We don't need it. We already have the one-syllable form till, which is not an abbreviation.

The Associated Press Stylebook recommends till or until, but not 'til. Bryan A. Garner, of LawProse calls 'til a "little virus," and his quotes of several other usage guides includes this: "'Til is a variant spelling used by those who think (incorrectly) that till is a clipped form."

I'm pretty open to changes in the English language. I'll go pretty far with verbing nouns, and I think "they" and "them" will become standard singular pronouns for a person of unknown gender within my lifetime. But 'til -- nah. It's going to be a long time till I can go there.

Soapbox Series #8 (or Reading, 'Riting, Ranting) -- Write What You Love, Even if it's a Vampire Werewolf Dystopian Love Triangle?

My goodness, I haven't ranted in a while. Let me rectify this oversight! :)

I have seen the following question asked in a couple of different places. It goes something like this: "I'm working on a novel, and (a) it's in a genre everybody  knows is overcrowded but I love this idea, or (b) I just found out that two books very much like it are coming out next year. Should I write it anyway, or should I shelve this book even though I love it?"

It probably comes as no surprise that the usual, very passionate, advice is "Write what you love!"

And I couldn't agree more! What troubles me, though, is the implied corollary: "If you love it, you must write it. If you love it, that's justification enough." I dunno. I wonder if it wouldn't be more accurate to say "Love what you write!" As in, yes, I will commit to a project only if I love it. Only if I think it's "mine" to write. Only if it really taps into my heart. But does it follow that if I feel this way about a project, I must write it, even if there are reasons to consider not doing so?

No. In the first place, most writers are already in a position where they will never write all the ideas they love: There are too many for one lifetime. So while love is necessary, it's not enough to assure that any particular idea moves from the "great ideas" file to the "finished manuscripts" file. To wax mathematical for a moment, love for an idea or story is a necessary but not sufficient condition.

Unless you know you are writing a practice novel, I don't see how "Never mind the market and just go for it!" is the best advice. In days of yore, after selling a MG series written in third person, I started a mystery series in first person. The MC decided she was going to speak for herself, thank you very much. "No," my editor on the first series said. "We don't do first person." Period. Even if I loved the project, or had done it well, it still wasn't marketable to that house. Fortunately, I was able to sell it elsewhere, but that doesn't change the fact that love doesn't conquer all. It's a necessary, but not sufficient, condition.

More recently, I caught "the last train out of the station" with a certain genre. I wasn't thinking about what was popular or unpopular in the market. I'd just found a great idea and dove into passionate work on it. I was about 3/4 done with the book when I started hearing that this genre was saturated. What's more, I found out that two other books on my specific subject within that genre were scheduled to come out within the following year to year-and-a-half. No, those agents were not going to take on what was essentially a competing book, nor were those publishers. My book's competition was too direct, and there wasn't room for another, especially since it was a latecomer. My love for the project could not change that.

Many would encourage the writer to stick with a project by saying, "Your book will be completely different from the other book because you are a different writer!" Well, maybe it will and maybe it won't. No one can blithely promise you that your book will be completely different. There can be uncanny resemblances between your work and somebody else's. And some topics in themselves are too specific to stand much competition.

I think "Write what you love/write what will sell" is a false dichotomy. I insist that the twain shall meet. I want to write salable work, and I'm willing to tweak both the love and the market aspects so that I'm writing something I love and that isn't market-handicapped. It just seems to me that since I love a lot of different books, there's always a new idea to love, and in the end I can have my story and (hopefully) sell it, too.

Soapbox Series #7 (Or Reading, 'Riting, Ranting) -- Fiction Writers Telling Lies

You've heard it, haven't you?

Albert Camus said: "Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth."

Stephen King said, "Fiction is the truth inside the lie."

William Faulkner said, "A writer is congenitally unable to tell the truth, and that is why we call what he writes fiction."

Neil Gaiman said, "Stories may well be lies, but they are good lies that say true things, and which can sometimes pay the rent."

Marcia said, "Balderdash."

Congenitally unable to tell the truth? Actually, the rest of the quotes come much closer to getting it right. They get that fiction is a vehicle for truth, in which novelists are highly interested or they wouldn't write novels.

Still, I have to quibble with that lie part. In fact, it drives me bananas, and this is why: It comes across as a shallow attempt to get a laugh or appear wise, when actually it's much too facile a comparison  for these intelligent thinkers to let themselves get away with.

Does knowledge equal wisdom? No. Do facts equal truth? No. Does invention equal lies? Of course not!

I have to say, though: there's a book for writers by Lawrence Block called Telling Lies for Fun and Profit. That's just plain witty and cute, and brings a smile. Probably because it doesn't take itself seriously.

So -- what do you think? Are fiction writers lying when they create a story that everyone knows from the start is not happening to real people, named those names, in exactly that way?

Soapbox Series #6 (or Reading, 'Riting, Ranting) -- "You Can Be Anything You Want to Be."

You know one thing that has always bugged me? Well, not always. It began bugging me when my kids were young and society started telling all kids, "You can be anything you want to be." Because---no, you can't.

It didn't bother me when I was a child myself, and my dad told me that. Yes, back in the day when girls were told they could be either teachers, nurses, or secretaries, provided they remained unmarried, my father actually told me I could be anything I wanted. At the time, I felt euphoric. But in the long run, bless Dad's well-meaning heart, it just wasn't helpful, and I say that as the holder of a business degree who has just about zero head for business.

It didn't matter that I entered college having never met the academic subject I couldn't master; in fact, that made it worse. I chose, and stuck to, a math major (my other degree), but otherwise I barreled around my school's academic offerings like the proverbial bull in a china shop. "Okay, should I maybe pair that with a biology minor? I like biology. Maybe I could teach... Hey, wait! Computer science. They say computers might be big someday... Naw, English! How obvious! But I'll have to read a string of boring classics... Hmm, okay, I'm at the end of my sophomore year, halfway done. Options are getting limited. Business. Huh, that should make me employable, and I've got time to add it as a major... What's that? They're starting an accounting major? That might be cool. But if I end up doing taxes the rest of my life I'll scream... My friend said, 'You can always work at a bank,' but I dunno... Maybe I could be a stockbroker!"

Nobody can be anything, because nobody is suited for anything, even if they like or want it for a time. More than being told we can be anything we want to be, we need to learn who we're meant to be and aim toward that. We need to figure out how to discern the good, the better, and the best. And to face that saying yes to the best may mean saying no to the good and the better, maybe just for now, or maybe forever. What we need to equip kids and ourselves with is a way to narrow down all the delights that beckon and decide which are for us and which are to be left to others. In short, we need to find our own particular calling and destiny.

If that's not writing (or science, or ministry, or stockbrokering), we either won't make it, or will feel unfulfilled when we do. If it is writing (or medicine, or fine arts, or mothering), we have no viable choice but to set aside the excuses and distractions, even the good ones, and do it.

Soapbox Series #5 (or Reading, 'Riting, Ranting) -- "Writing Can/Can't be Taught"

Many of us have heard the argument that you can't teach someone to write -- or that of course you CAN teach someone to write. One thing I've learned is that, no matter the subject, if there are extensive, reasoned arguments plus a lot of people on each side, it's usual (not universal, but usual) that each side has at least a piece of the truth and neither is completely wrong or right. Some kind of harmonizing of the views is in order to get the full picture.

I've long been on the side that says, "Of course you can teach writing. If you couldn't, why attempt to do so in schools? Writing may be art in a sense, but it is also craft, with specific skills in composition, grammar, and story, that can be learned and practiced. Raw talent, in any field, must be trained. If I didn't believe writing could be taught, why on Earth would I be teaching it?"

You know there's a "but" coming, right? BUT...when people say writing can't be taught, I do understand what they mean.

Editors and agents touch on it when they say, "I can help a writer with plot, but I can't help with voice." Teachers can help writers learn to plot, to use POV correctly, to show rather than tell, to use sensory detail, to flesh out characters, and to identify theme. We can teach grammar and sentence structure. But we can't teach a facility with language. Or a lyrical style. We can't help much with a constant tendency to choose almost the right word. There is such a thing as basically competent yet tone-deaf writers. That there comes a time when we can't bring them beyond their innate language talent level is what writers -- it's usually writers -- mean when they say writing can't be taught.

In this way, writing is like any of the arts. To teach any sort of artist, you take a person with a measure of inborn talent and set them a program in which they explore and practice different forms, media, and techniques, helping them improve weaknesses and identify strengths. You can teach writing, because having raw talent is no excuse for eschewing a proper course of training. But, you can't teach the talent, and no matter what we say about desire, hard work, and perseverance going a long way, and they do, the talent's got to be there.

Soapbox Series #4 (or Reading, 'Riting, Ranting) -- "Nonfiction is True, Fiction is False.""

In days of yore, I worked at the public library. One day, an odd young man came in (he had, on a previous visit, used the library phone [small town, long time ago] to cold-call a dude ranch and blurt, "Can I get a job there?" which had caused me to flee the circulation desk and hide in the stacks to laugh), pointed to the A-Z shelves and asked, "Um, fiction...that's fake, right?"

I don't remember exactly what I said. I do remember that laughter, unless maniacal, was not one of the responses I considered. I also remember that, being in my place of employment here, I kept my mouth shut for several beats. No Mount Vesuvius of righteous indignation. I suppose it's possible I said "WHAT?" although not that loudly. Eventually, I did manage to burble that yes, nonfiction was the factual stuff with the Dewey decimal numbers on the spines, and fiction was imaginative story, invented by the writer.

I don't really want to segue into discussing the worth of fiction, as suggested by questions and comments we've all probably heard: "How am I supposed to get anything out of stuff that isn't real?" "Fiction is all lies." (For the record, I can't stand when writers say fiction is lies.) "Fiction is just made up, it's indulgence, not worth my time." I want to stick to the definitions. IS fiction lies, fake, false, untrue? IS nonfiction anything that's 100% factual, or "happened just that way"?

It ain't that simple.

I've seen stories that use characters, conflict, plot, and dialogue, accompanied by a note saying the whole incident happened "just like this," so it's nonfiction. Nope. To any editor or reader seeing it, it's fiction based on a real event, and could probably use some changes (fictionalizing) to make it an even better story. Unless you have clearly signaled that this is a personal experience essay, say, or an anecdote meant to illustrate a point you're going to discuss, this "true story" material wants to be, and is, fiction.

I've seen articles that use characters, conflict, plot, and dialogue to teach history or nature lessons, in which kids ask questions like "So why is the sky blue, Mr. Jones?" and Mr. Jones answers, "Why, Billy, the sky is blue because of the way Earth's atmosphere scatters sunlight," accompanied by a note saying this is fiction. Nope. There's no dramatic or emotional arc. This is a presentation of factual material about how the Earth's atmosphere interacts with light. The goal is to inform. Though it's not written in a style likely to sell today, it's nonfiction.

Is fiction false? Never -- not so long as it puts its finger on the way life and relationships work, the way actions have consequences, the way emotional journeys and character growth come about. Is fiction "made up"? Not all of it. Plenty of events and places occur in fiction that were drawn from real life.

Is nonfiction true? Not if it contains errors. Not if it's simply the best understanding of the day, liable to be proved wrong 10 or 100 years from now. Not if it's solely the opinion of an op-ed writer. Like fiction, nonfiction is filtered through writers who have a particular world view, and that makes a difference. Is nonfiction factual? Yes -- to the best of our knowledge and belief. But if it's found not to be factual, does that make it fiction? No. It makes it bad nonfiction.

One of my favorite quotes on this subject goes like this: "Nonfiction is facts; fiction is truth." But fiction not only has truth in it; fiction has facts in it. Often lots of them. Historical fiction may spring first to mind. But plenty of contemporary fiction, from legal thrillers to police procedurals to books that delve heavily into any pursuit (horse racing, the space program, zookeeping, fashion, whatever) are filled with facts that make the story plausible. Just as you can learn a lot, often painlessly, by simply living and being exposed to this or that, you can learn a lot, often painlessly, by entering a good piece of fiction and being exposed to this or that.

Fiction presents a character with a weakness, a need, and a conflict, and takes him or her through struggles to a decisive battle and an outcome, saying something about life in the process. Nonfiction is (usually) direct writer-to-reader attempt to teach, inform, express, inspire, or persuade.

Good nonfiction, and good fiction, are both true.

Soapbox Series #3 (or Reading, 'Riting, Ranting) -- "I Don't Have Time to Write"

You know those pet topics? The ones people raise over and over again, the oft-voiced misconceptions, the FAQs, the "if I had a nickel..." comments, the remarks that make you want to wax eloquent? Most any human endeavor offers them, certainly every profession, and writing is no different. This irregular column covers such topics that I find commonly raised by aspiring writers, acquaintances, those closer than acquaintances, or people who are simply fascinated by what writers do, and allows me to rant -- er, expound -- on them. Today's "if I had a nickel" comment is: "I don't have time to write," its variation, "I'll write as soon as life settles down," and its question form: "How do you find time to write?"

I got this question once in the supermarket cereal aisle. I was a little surprised at the source. She'd been a high school classmate; extra-curricular list as long as your arm; took every college-prep class offered; played two musical instruments; and went on to become a teacher, wife, mom, and volunteer. I expected somebody this savvy, and with this much energy to burn, to know better, I guess. I opened my mouth, and this is what came out: "How do you find time to work?" I was gratified by the understanding that lit her face. She got it. She made time for her profession, and all the commitment and dedication that implies, and I made time for mine.

But she's rare, plus we were comparing career time-slots in each of our lives head-to-head. The question seems more of a quandary when you already have a day job, when a crisis hits, or when you're an at-home mom wondering how to fit in even a bathroom break. It's tempting, in these cases, to feel that the only difference between you and a writer is that the writer has hours of empty time to fill and you don't. Or, in a slightly less arrogant vein, the writer lives in a book-lined study with a cup of tea, a cat, a view, the scent of lilacs wafting in on the breeze, enchanting tales spilling from her tranquil  brain, and nothing but the soft clack of keys to punctuate the idyllic silence. While you live in kid-screaming, traffic-honking, clock-watching, boss-yelling, errand-running, TV-chattering, phone-ringing, head-pounding, meeting-cluttered, double-booked chaos.

Which uncovers one huge misconception: That writers live in a bubble, and until we can become Bubble Boy/Girl, we're stuck. You'll write when the kids get older, you say? What -- you think it gets easier then? When they need you to take them to the mall, help choose their high school classes, practice driving, talk late at night, apply to colleges, visit colleges, apply for financial aid, plan weddings -- and then it's "Hello Grandma" and there you are with little kids again? Now what -- do you wait for those kids to get older too? And the foregoing represents only the parental curriculum; what about the parental extra-curriculars? What if you can't say no to the barrage of requests to coach sports, chaperon field trips, teach Sunday School, direct the choir, be the team mom? What if (gasp) you homeschool? Why would the kids getting older magically uncover any writing time? Especially when your parents are now older, too? As are you.

Writers write, publish, and smile through their promo events with life in all its messy glory seething behind the scenes. They do it with cancer and other serious illnesses or conditions--their own or a family member's. They do it with crumbling marriages, wayward kids, threatened foreclosures, and ongoing legal hassles. I'll be honest: Some of them do it through situations that would knock the pegs out from under me. They do it through neutral or happy times, too: moves, weddings, births, remodeling projects, job changes. We can't predict whether or when many of these things will happen. Every time one of them occurs, will it be a roadblock that makes you say, "I'll write as soon as life settles down"? If so, you won't sustain enough forward momentum to really, in the end, be a writer.

We all find time for what we really want to do. Making time to write (or do anything else) is about choices, and it's about plugging time leaks. I've long believed in scheduling my time on a week-by-week basis, and I strongly recommend the book 168 Hours: You Have More Time than You Think by Laura Vanderkam. She advises this: Every time you say the words "I don't have time," substitute "It's not a priority." Then examine how you feel about that. If it's not a priority, then indeed, don't make time for it. But if it is a priority, there's no sensible next step but to do just that. Yes, if you are a writer, you do have time to work, nurture a family, exercise, eat right, sleep enough -- and write.

Soapbox Series #2 (Reading, 'Riting, Ranting) -- "I Can Write Except for the Grammar, Punctuation, and Spelling."

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Yep, and I could be a carpenter if it weren't for that pesky hammering and sawing.

Your tools matter. Your most basic tools really matter.

Because writing a book isn't just about getting a super, wonderful idea. Actually, many would-be writers do realize this, approach a published writer and say, "I've got this great idea. How about you write it and we split the take?" The published writer will *almost always say no, but it's too facile to say this is because he or she is too busy. It's really because the published writer already has the ideas and the writing. Until the would-be also has both, until the would-be is also the complete package, he or she will remain a would-be.

* Tim LaHaye, who is not a novelist, had the idea for the Left Behind series and asked Jerry Jenkins, who is a novelist, to write the books. But they are both writers, and LaHaye's particular expertise was foundational to the series.

Yes, a novelist is a storyteller. But the novelist conveys his or her stories in, well, prose (and occasionally verse). Which has rules. There are other ways to tell stories: orally, in movies, in song, in art, even in video games. If you want to employ those media, you have to gain whatever skills are required in order to do a quality job. If you want to write a story, you do need grammar, punctuation, and spelling to get that story across. Lacking these, your story will be different from, and less than, your vision for it. Lacking these, you won't get an agent's or editor's time of day. Because they can buy from people who are the complete package.

Doesn't an editor "fix all that"? No. An editor pitches to her employer's acquisitions committee the  most top-quality work she can possibly find, in both story and writing. The editor will write the author a revision letter, sometimes a long one, as the publication process begins, but those revisions won't be about mechanics. A copyeditor, whose job it is to fix light mechanical errors, will go over the manuscript too, but this is a far cry from fixing the work of writers who don't know how to use their tools.

As writers, we have many skills to learn, about storytelling, about writing, and about the particulars of conveying a story through writing. Writers and teachers argue over whether and which of these skills can be taught or learned. A sense of language and a "way with words," many say, must be innate. But grammar, punctuation and spelling are highly learnable, and they aren't something you either had to master in middle school or the chance is gone forever. Taking a class is always an option, but for self-study there are a number of funny, helpful grammar books. Funny? Yes!  Here's a sampling of titles:

Things That Make us (Sic), by Martha Brockenbrough
Lapsing into a Comma, by Bill Walsh
The Elephants of Style, by Bill Walsh
Grammar Girl's Quick and Dirty Tips for Better Writing, by Mignon Fogarty 
The Curious Case of the Misplaced Modifier, by Bonnie Trenga

This isn't an exhaustive list by far, and many of these authors have websites and blogs, too. And since, no matter our skill level, we all need to sharpen the tools in our box, I'm sure these enticing titles get plenty of workout from all sorts of writers. How about you -- do you have a favorite grammar/punctuation/spelling book? Do tell!

Soapbox Series #1 (or Reading, 'Riting, Ranting) -- "I Want to Quit My Job to Write"

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You know those pet topics? The ones people raise over and over again, the oft-voiced misconceptions, the FAQs, the "if I had a nickel..." comments, the remarks that make you want to wax eloquent? Most any human endeavor offers them, certainly every profession, and writing is no different. Here, then, commences a new, probably irregular column covering such topics that I find commonly raised by aspiring writers, acquaintances, those closer than acquaintances, or people who are simply fascinated by what writers do, and allowing me to rant -- er, expound -- on them. So without further ado, today's "if I had a nickel" comment is: "I want to quit my job to write."

Well, maybe you do, and maybe you don't.

Writing at home is a subset of working at home, which has wonderful perks and definite drawbacks. Most of these lie on a continuum. Yes, I can work in my jammies (I can also let my appearance go totally to pot). Yes, I don't care if the mother of all blizzards is blizzarding outside (but I can become a big fat weenie about driving in other than perfect weather). Yes, I can set my own hours (but I may end up working more hours than employed people do, or fewer, because people think I'm interruptible, or I may have trouble separating life and work). Yes, I don't have to cope with office politics or prickly co-workers (but I may go nuts all alone -- actually no I won't, but you might). Yes, I don't have to commute (hmm, still trying to come up with a downside to that one). I'll take the pluses -- don't get me wrong -- but we can't have them without risking, and sometimes getting, the minuses.

But that's any working from home, and it's possible someone wanting to ditch the job to write is talking about ditching a work-from-home job. What do we have to consider specifically about full-time writing? Well, it's not like telecommuting for an employer. No salary, no wage, no benefits, no guarantee you'll be adequately paid for the time you put in, and a pretty good chance you'll not be adequately paid, period. Jim Denney, in his breezily titled Quit Your Day Job: How to Sleep Late, Do What You Enjoy, and Make a Ton of Money as a Writer advises this (my words): Realize that you'll start out poor, sock away a year's salary before you make the leap, and plan to squeak by on that money for the first 1-2 years. Hmmm -- save up a year's salary? Let me know how that works out for you. Another point to take into account is that it's awfully hard to know if you can make a go of it after only 1-2 years of full-time effort. Depending on the project, it can take that long to get one submittable-quality book written, the same length of time to sell it, the same length of time to see it between two covers, and another few months to see if it'll succeed or bomb. This could easily add up to 3-6+ years. Even if the book succeeds, that's no predictor that you can sustain a full-time career. Also, Denney has written a number of celebrity autobiographies and memoirs. Celebrities=sales=money, and nonfiction is very often the backbone of a full-time writer's career. Don't misunderstand -- Denney's book gives a lot of good advice. But writing nonfiction book after nonfiction book to tight deadlines is the usual name of the game here, and I'm not at all sure "sleep late" ends up as part of the plan. Because such writing can become another 9-5er (or 9-midnight) in a big hurry.

With fiction writing, the need to rely on your creativity to pay the mortgage or buy food for your kids can put unexpected and unsustainable heavy pressure on something you once found purely enjoyable. Yes, they say do what you love and (1) the money will follow, and (2) you'll never work a day in your life, but there's also truth to the idea that once you have to do what you love, it's work. I know writers who, when given the chance to go full time, chose not to, even though it was what they'd always thought they wanted.They didn't want to think that covering their bills depended on whether their latest project would earn them a contract, and when that might happen. They didn't want to lose the joy.

One big surprise full-time writers often face is that they don't get much more done full-time than they did part-time. Despite all that's been said above about long hours, sometimes 4-5 hours of writing a day is the maximum one can mentally sustain, especially with fiction. Let's say you only manage 3 most days, either because you're not yet as disciplined as you need to be or that's really all you can do. If you previously wrote for three hours most evenings while holding a day job, you're not getting nearly enough extra writing done to justify having dumped the job and its salary and benefits. Another surprise is that "full-time writers" may earn some, or most, of their income from related activities such as teaching, speaking, editing, or writing material much different from their preferred focus. All this drains time and energy from what you really want to be doing.

Quitting your job to write can work well if:

• You're married to someone who has a regular paycheck, earns enough to support the family, agrees to be the sole breadwinner, carries the health insurance and 401k, and you consider your income gravy. 
• You're a stay-at-home parent who would be staying home in any case (there's no job to quit).
• You're responsible for only yourself and are willing to live on a shoestring.
• You have high risk tolerance.
• You're a pretty fast writer.
• You write mostly nonfiction, have a solid network of editor contacts, and have a track record of delivering quality work on time.
• You're pretty sure that if you ever go back to employment, you want a new job/career.
• You sold a book for an advance that wowed you (yeah, it can happen), and/or got a multi-book contract, and now you need to go all out to write the next book to meet your deadline. This may be your big break. Hey, if you can go for it, go for it!

Quitting your job to write isn't impossible. People do it. But the reality is that most writers just don't earn enough.

So -- what do you think? Did I leave anything out? Do you write for a living? How does it work in your case? Would you not want to quit your day job? Why not?