Why Use Multiple POVs?

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So not too long ago I wrote a post on how to choose a POV character and once again, one of you fantabulous commenters asked a question that inspired a post—this time, on using multiple POVs. 

Adding a second or third POV into your story isn’t a decision to be taken lightly—it’s much more challenging to write two or three (or more) distinctive voices than it is to write one, and creating effective transitions between the POV shifts is tricky. On top of the technical challenges behind crafting multiple POVs into a novel, there’s the added obstacle that some readers just don’t like multiple POVs because they find the head-hopping jarring and difficult to follow. When you write multiple POVs, you run the risk that a reader may put your book down simply because they didn’t like the way you handled having more than one POV character.

However, when done correctly, multiple POVs can add an interesting dimension to your story.

Multiple POVs allow your reader to see your story from many angles—they don’t necessarily have to take one character’s word for granted, and the ability to hop between many characters’ heads can be especially interesting when the characters don’t necessarily see eye to eye. As an added bonus, it also allows you to give the reader more information than either one character has—not only do they know what Character A knows, but they have access to Character B’s mind as well.

In Across the Universe (Beth Revis), for example, the readers have access to both Amy and Elder’s thoughts, who see the events that unfold in the story from completely different perspectives as Amy is a passenger on the spaceship Godspeed who was cryogenically frozen and accidentally awakened many decades before she was supposed to be woken up, while Elder is a ship-born teenager who is being raised to become the next leader of Godspeed. Readers very quickly learn the customs, beliefs and shifts in language (i.e.: “frex” instead of another four-letter word) from Elder’s thoughts, while we sympathize with Amy who is, in essence, one of us—an Earth born girl trying to understand the new world she was thrust into.

Unlike Across the Universe, however, The Iron Fey series (Julie Kagawa) used multiple POVs in an entirely different way—while the first three books were told from Meghan Chase’s POV, the final book of the series, The Iron Knight gave readers a glimpse into winter fey Ash’s mind. Without spoiling anything, this shift in POV was necessary due to events that happened in the third book that led to Meghan and Ash’s separation, and The Iron Knight is largely about Ash trying to return to her. While the POV shift was a little more jarring as readers were already accustomed to hearing from Meghan (not Ash), I personally found the extra insight into Ash’s mind to be a fascinating experience.

There are many different ways of handling multiple POVs, but the key to writing it is to make sure that both POVs are absolutely necessary to the story. If so, it can be a great way to add an extra layer of complexity to your plot, but if not, you run the risk of losing readers who will wonder why the extra POV was necessary to begin with.

What do you think of multiple POVs in books? Do you enjoy reading or writing them? Why or why not?

Do You Really Want Overnight Success?

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J.K. Rowling. Stephanie Meyer. Suzanne Collins. Amanda Hocking. These are the names of authors who have often been described as overnight successes. Writers who leaped from the depths of the unknown to making a fortune with their words. 

Now while I largely don't believe that the overnight success as we like to imagine it exists (Nathan Bransford wrote a fantastic post about it here), the idea of sudden, massive success with an author's debut novel is one that many writers dream about while pounding away at their books. The idea of achieving celebrity-like author status with your first book is a tempting one, even if you're probably more likely to win the lottery and get struck by lightning at the same time. 

But all that talk about so-called overnight success has got me thinking—is it really something that we should strive for?

I'm not going to pretend that there aren't any pros to achieving massive success with your first published book: I imagine the financial security alone is a pretty fantastic plus, and it certainly can't feel too terrible to walk into a bookstore and see your book highlighted on the shelves. Depending on your personality, the hoards of raving fans that can't get enough of your books is also a pretty nice side effect of being a highly successful author. 

Yet there's a dark side that people don't often like to talk about, namely, pressure and expectations.

I imagine achieving massive success with your first book feels pretty great—more likely than not it way outdid your expectations for the kind of success you'd achieve with your first novel, and it can't feel too horrible to see just how many people really enjoy your words. 

The thing is, however, no author wants to be a one-hit wonder. And if you're writing a series, you now have hundreds of thousands of people waiting for the incredible new book that you might not have written yet. Suddenly you have an audience—a publisher expecting your work to give them another boost in sales—who have probably already paid you a nice sum of money for the next book, and readers clinging to every update on the sequel. You have people counting on you, who fully expect books two to be as wildly successful as the first one was. 

And chances are, once you've made it that big, it will be pretty successful, but it's still a lot to handle while you're trying to write, and it's a pressure that will follow you for the rest of your career as an author. 

Look, I'm not saying it isn't nice to make millions with your writing, and I'm not saying it's absolutely impossible to do so (we all know it isn't impossible). All I'm saying is working your way up to a successful career with an accumulation of mid-listing, then more successful novels with the experience of publishing book after book behind you and a slowly growing, but loyal fan base supporting you isn't a bad way to do it. All I'm saying is overnight success might not be the dream without a single downside we like to imagine it to be. 

All I'm saying is be careful what you wish for and don't sweat it if you don't get it. There's more than one way to the top.

What do you think? If you could choose, would you pick overnight success or a gradual accumulation of success? Why?

Discussion: Are First Drafts Always Awful?

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So a couple weeks ago I wrote this post on why writers need to act like professionals and how to do so, and part of the list mentioned editing until you’ve ripped your first draft apart and made it unrecognizable. Because of that, one of you fabulous commenters asked a question that really got me thinking, namely, whether or not most writers really look at their first drafts as something so rough that it requires complete draft-altering surgery.

Naturally, this is the part where I say every writer is different. We all write at different speeds with different techniques. Some of us prefer to pump out a first draft in a couple of weeks while knowing it’s going to need massive revisions later, while other prefer to write their first drafts more carefully. Everyone works differently and there isn’t a right or wrong way to do it—there is only whatever works best for you.

Personally, I’m a fast-drafter. I finish my first drafts in an average time of one to two months, depending on the WIP. But I also spend a ridiculously long time revising and rewriting, because yes, my first drafts are pretty terrible, but that’s just how I work best. However, I know it doesn’t necessarily work that way for everyone else, and that’s ok.

For example, the endlessly brilliant Tahereh Mafi (author of Shatter Me) says she writes very coherent and careful first drafts despite being a pantser. I don’t know how she does it, but that’s what works for her. Other writers, especially careful plotters, tend to write very lean and detailed first drafts because they have a firm grasp on where they’re going with their story. That’s what works for them.

In the end, there isn’t a rule that says first drafts have to be awful. The key is that writers must be willing to accept that sometimes the first draft will be awful and sometimes they have to rip it apart before they can get to the real story, and if that’s you, it’s ok. You’re not alone, because many writers work this way. It doesn’t matter if the writing in your first draft is horrendous—what matters is that you finish drafting so that you can make it better later.

And if your first draft isn’t horrible? Congratulations! You have less revision work to do than the rest of us. And that’s ok, too.

Discussion time! What is your first draft process like? Do you write quickly then revise heavily later, or are you more careful with your first drafts?

Short Story or Novel Idea: How Do You Tell?

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Every so often one of you amazing readers will suggest a blog post topic I haven’t covered yet (which is fantastic, by the way) and I’ll ramble on about how awesome you guys are for being such interactive and invested readers and then get to the point of the post. 

As you might have guessed, this is one of those posts.

This time, however, I’d like to hear from you guys. Because while I have some ideas on the topic, I don’t really write all that many short stories, and truth be told, it’s been a couple of years since I’ve written one (which, come to think of it, should be remedied), but I suspect some of you lovely readers are more recently acquainted with the short story writing experience. So. Here we go.

The proposed question, as many of you astute readers probably inferred from the title, was how to tell the difference between an idea better suited for a short story than a novel.

I find this question to be particularly interesting because it’s been a long while since I’ve really even allowed myself to consider whether or not an idea would be appropriate for a short story—to me, it’s been more of a question of whether or not I could write an entire novel based on whatever premise rose from the depths of my mind, and those that failed the idea worthiness test of time were labeled unworthy and discarded and ignored. I kind of imagine Odin’s booming voice as he screams, “YOU ARE NOT WORTHY,” at Thor, but that’s beside the point. 

Getting back to the question, though, once you’ve determined whether your idea is worth writing about at all (again, the test of time is a good indicator), a large part of the difference between short story ideas and novel ideas is the scope. 

You see, novel ideas have to be big—and I don’t mean that they have to have explosions and ridiculously awesome action scenes—I just mean that while you’re working with your new idea, you have to be able to develop enough nuances, subplots and layers to sustain 80,000 (or however many) words. And sometimes, especially if you’re a pantser, it’s a little hard to tell if your idea is going to survive three hundred-some-odd pages or if you’re going to hit page fifteen and say, “You know what? Maybe this idea isn’t worth a novel after all.” But the first step in answering the question of whether or not your idea is enough to sustain a novel, lies, I believe, in determining the scope of your idea.

Let’s take a look at an example.

The Hunger Games is big. There’s no way Suzanne Collins would have been able to as effectively fit all the setup, relationships, celebrity status of the tributes, horror of the games, rebellion against the Capitol and repercussions thereof in fifteen pages (and I don’t mean written in summary-like synopsis form, I mean written as an actual story).

However, way before The Hunger Games was the short story The Lottery written by Shirley Jackson in 1948, which certainly has many similarities to the beginning of The Hunger Games (you can read it for free online, if you’re interested). The difference between the two? You guessed it—the scope of the idea.

While The Hunger Games included various subplots (i.e.: the Katniss-Peeta-Gale love triangle, among others) as well as an in-depth look at the glamorization of the hunger games in the Capitol that only made the brutality of the games (in my opinion) that much more powerful in its effect on the reader, The Lottery included set-up, foreshadowing, some characterization and, erm, the results of the lottery (you’ll have to read it if you haven’t already to know what I mean). The former was way too big to be shoved into a short story format, while the latter fit very comfortable in a little over 3000 words.

So, in short, the main difference to me between a short story and novel idea lies in the scope of the idea. If you think you can fit it in fifteen pages, then it’s probably not worth dragging out into three hundred; but on the other hand if you think it might be difficult to condense into a shorter story without losing anything, you might want to consider writing a novel (or at least a novella) instead. 

Those are my thoughts, but how do you tell between a short story and novel idea? Have you ever had a short story turn into a novel, or a novel idea become a short story, instead? 

Writers: Do You Keep a Journal?

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I've always been slightly envious of writers who could maintain a journal. Journal-writing just seemed like a very writerly thing to do (to me, at least)—as natural as, say, a cook keeping a running cookbook.

So when my feeble attempts at maintaining a journal (and there have been many) fell flat, I felt a little silly. I was a writer, for crying out loud. Why was it so difficult to think up of a couple entries a week to document my life?

I think the conclusion I eventually came to was that while I had no problem spending hours a day in made-up worlds, torturing my characters or writing blog posts, for that matter, I just didn't find writing about my day, or week, or whatever span of time, nearly as interesting. I'd write a couple journal entries over the course of a few days, then get distracted, and, ultimately, bored.

As much as I wanted it to be, journal-writing just didn't come naturally to me. It was something I had to force, something that I didn't want to force. I conceded to trying to write just a couple entries a year (and sometimes less...oh well).

Maybe in the future I'll be able to maintain a journal or maybe I'll forever be one of those writers who just...doesn't. But while writing a journal isn't something that works particularly well for me, I know there are many writers out there who swear by it, who find writing the entries cathartic, or who just enjoy having something to look back on later in life (which I completely understand—it's one of the main reasons I still hope to one day pick up the habit of writing journal entries).

There is a lesson in all this, I think, namely that even the most basic of writing habits doesn't work for everyone. You see, that's the great thing about writers (well, the great thing about everyone, really)—we're all so diverse and interesting and what works for one writer doesn't necessarily work for another and that's ok. It's something to be celebrated, even, because how boring would it be if everyone worked exactly the same way?

We all think, speak and process the world in different ways, which is what makes our writing so unique. And I wouldn't want it to be any different.

Do you keep a journal? Why or why not?

Would You Write If You Were Never Getting Published?

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It's no secret that most writers write with the goal of eventually getting published. Regardless of whether the goal is traditional or self publishing, many writers toil away for years all the while reaching for the title of published author.

And it's a fair dream—an exciting, if not slightly nerve-wracking one, to think of hundreds or thousands of people reading the story that you wrote. The story that you spent years of your life writing. The story that would not exist if you hadn't written it.

But I've seen this question asked before, and truth be told, at the beginning of my journey as a writer, I didn't want to answer it. I saw writers ask, "Would you keep writing if you knew you were never going to be published?" and I thought, well I'm not going to answer that because I am going to get published.

Well it's been years since I've first seen that question and I'm still not published, but the question has never really left my mind. And I think the reason I didn't want to answer it at first was because I wasn't sure I would keep writing. Without the dream, I thought, what was the point?

Years and many archived manuscripts later, I think I've come to terms with the question. Because no, there isn't any guarantee that I'm ever going to get published (traditionally, anyway) and I've come to realize that I'm ok with that. Sure, it's still a dream I hold on to and I truly believe that with enough patience and hard work, any writer can see their dream realized, but there isn't ever a 100% guarantee unless you self-publish (and even then, there's no guarantee that it'll sell).

So now when I see the question "would you keep writing if you knew you were never going to be published?" I think I can answer with a yes. Because no, I probably wouldn't put as much work and time into each story as I do now, but I truly don't believe I would stop writing altogether.

Because writing is more than just chasing the dream: writers write to discover the story, to create new characters and worlds and turn our experiences into words on the page that we can read over and over again and share with others (even if, in the case of the never-published writer, "others" is just a handful of friends and family).

Because yes, every writer hopes to one day get published but that's not the only reason we write (or at least, it shouldn't be)—we write because we love it. Because there's something truly special about translating experiences into words, about using just the right combination of letters to create pictures and emotions in our readers.

Because a writer without words is like a bird without wings. Because published or not, writing is what we writers do.

Now it's your turn: Would you keep writing if you somehow knew you would never get published? 

Do You Listen to Music While Writing?

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So, even though I have over 600 songs in my iTunes library (an amateur collection compared to some, I know), when writing, Pandora is my best friend. Usually.

I’ve heard some writers say that they need absolute silence while writing, while others swear by writing to music. Some have writing playlists and others like myself prefer a more eclectic mix, depending on what’s being written.

For any of you who’ve read my blog for more than a couple of weeks, it probably comes as no surprise to you that my music-listening habits depend largely on the writing session. While first-drafting and trying to spit out as many words as my fingers will allow in a crazy, half-hour writing sprint, I usually turn Pandora on and listen to my Shinee radio. 

Shinee is a Korean band, so the station is filled with mostly Korean pop, which is helpful for two reasons: firstly I don’t understand most of the words, so it doesn’t interfere with my thought process (most, because I’ve discovered many Korean bands like to sing parts of their songs in English or throw random English words into their songs…go figure), and secondly the upbeat music helps me to keep a quick writing pace.   

Naturally there are downsides to using Pandora while writing, namely when a particularly distracting song comes on and I have to pause my writing to skip the song (or worse—when I run out of skips and have to listen to it anyway or else switch to an English-speaking station), and I’ve come to realize that if you listen to a song enough times, regardless of the language, your brain will start to learn the lyrics (or at least mine does), so I do occasionally find myself singing random Korean-sounding words while I’m supposed to be writing. Oops.

However, as you might imagine, when first-drafting a particularly emotional or intense scene, it can be a little difficult to focus in the right mood with happy Pop music in the background, and that’s when I either switch to a rock station or write in silence.

When I’m not first-drafting, and I really need to focus on choosing the right words, I tend to prefer silence (although there are exceptions). In those instances, any type of noise can be distracting, especially if I’m already struggling to put words down. This also applies to editing—listening to music while editing is very near impossible for me, regardless of the language of the music. Silence (or near-silence) is a must while editing.

So those are my music-writing-editing habits. But I’m curious: do you listen to music while writing or editing, or do you write in silence? Why?

Writing Discussion: The Good, The Bad and The Tortuous

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Not too long ago I turned the tables over to you lovely readers and asked whether or not you would publish traditionally if you had the chance. As the discussion there was absolutely fantastic, I’d like to extend another invitation for discussion.

This time, it’s about writing.

As a writer, it goes without saying that I (usually) enjoy writing.  Turning a wisp of an idea into a fully plotted, tangible novel is an incredible experience and I love so many things about it—from discovering new characters and worlds to surprising yourself with an unexpected plot twist, to watching a skeletal first draft develop into a complex, nuanced novel—writing can be truly amazing. This is the good.

But writing can also be an excruciatingly difficult experience. There are days—weeks, even—where it’d be easier and more enjoyable to sit through 48 hours of Teletubbies re-runs in the desert while attempting to find a particular grain of sand (don’t ask why there’s a television in this desert. There just is.) than to write a single paragraph. Or sentence. Or word. This is the bad.

There are moments when you look at the WIPs you’ve been slaving over for the last x years and wonder if you’ve wasted your time, if you’ll ever get published, if it’s worth spending another minute trying to do this writing thing. There are times when you’ve rewritten a manuscript three times and you think you’re finally finished, only to receive an edit letter or critique that requires you to rewrite it again. Then there’s rejection. Form “thanks but no thanks” letters. Manuscripts piling up in your drawers. Amazon e-books that don’t sell.

This is the tortuous.

No, writing isn’t all mounds of sugar, rainbows and bunnies, but to me, the good far outweighs the bad. I’d happily slog through a couple more decades of doubts, rejections and shelved manuscripts just to experience the joy of discovering a new story and meeting new characters and knowing those words marking the page are mine.

There’s something special about that. Something I won’t ever give up.

What do you think? What are the good, bad and tortuous parts of writing that you’ve experienced?

Writers: Would You Publish Traditionally if You Could?

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Imagine for a second that you've been offered representation for your novel. Although you know having a literary agent doesn't 100% guarantee that you'll be published, let's say this particular agent is very confident that your book will sell to one of the Big Six and your odds of being published are pretty good. Your initial reaction, I imagine, is pretty darn happy, but now you're faced with a choice.

You see, you have a good manuscript in your hands; one that you're pretty certain will sell. If you accept the agent's offer of representation, you will enter the ranks with other traditionally published writers. If not, you can take the title of self- published writer.

So let me ask you, my fellow readers: would you publish traditionally if given the chance?

It's a bit of a weird question, I know, and five years ago if you asked any writer, the answer would be a resounding: well, DUH. But nowadays the answer of how to publish isn't so cut and dry. More stories surface every day about writers who, when faced with the decision, choose self- publishing rather than going traditional. There are the Amanda Hockings and J.R. Konraths of the world who have made bundles through independent publishing and more than a handful of writers who have been able to make a living off self- publishing.

And yet, traditional publishing is still a very viable option, because while to some writers the how of getting published doesn't matter, to others it does. Then there's also the matter of all the work that goes into publishing that writers have to tackle largely by themselves when they choose to self- publish, that others would rather let a traditional publishing house take care of.

Some believe that there's more money to be made through self- publishing and others through traditional publishing—and still others don't care about the money either way: they want to see their book on the shelves (or in the case of self- publishing, they just want to be published one way or another).

When it comes to how to publish, I truthfully don't believe there's a blanket right or wrong answer— it most certainly depends on your goals as a writer (more about that in this post).

So I'm curious. If the aforementioned hypothetical situation happened to you, what would you choose? Would you accept representation or choose to brave the waters of self- publishing?

Should Writers Delay Their Gratification?

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Not too long ago, we lived in a time where writers were forced into a scheme of delayed gratification. We would hole up in our writing spaces for hours, weeks, months, even years slaving over a novel while giving up time with our families/ friends/ video games/ television shows/ extra-curriculars in order to finish the darned book. We would then submit to agents and maybe, if it was the right time, months later we’d have representation. After that—editing, then submission to publishers, more editing, until the glorious book contract sat on our kitchen countertops, waiting to be signed.

After that, eventual publication. You know, in a year or two.

Now things are a little different. Although the delayed gratification traditional publishing scheme is certainly still an option, it is now just that—an option.

With the advent of upload-now-insta-publish indie publishing upon us, suddenly it is up to us—the writers—whether or not to delay the gratification of being published. The power, my friends, is in your hands.

Now that’s not to say that indie authors are avoiding delayed gratification altogether—there’s still the matter of writing the book which is anything but instant, but from there writers have a choice: do you publish now? Spend a couple months (or years) editing? Go the traditional route?

Why delay our gratification at all?

I don’t need to tell you that the temptation for instant gratification is there—most of us know by now how to prepare and upload a book onto Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords and even if you don’t, it’s not difficult to find out how. But should you?

Friday’s post will cover my thoughts on delayed gratification, but first I want to hear from you.

What do you think? Should writers choose to delay the gratification of publishing? What are the benefits? The consequences? Share your thoughts in the comments below. 

Will Print Books Become Obsolete?

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After reading a particularly interesting NPR article on why we should stop having e-book vs. print book arguments, and a post from agent Rachelle Gardner on what will happen to book signings in the age of e-books, it has occurred to me that it's not so far-fetched to think that one day, print books may indeed become obsolete. That's not to say that it's particularly likely that it'll happen any time soon or that we should all brace for the book apocalypse, but it's something, I think, that we need to increasingly consider a possibility.

Now, imagining a world without print books is, for some people, not far removed from imagining some sort of horrific dystopia. A world without print books is a world without bookstores—a world without a new book smell, or the crinkle of turning pages, or the subtle yellow tint of an aged book.

A world without print books is a world without real, physical bookshelves—except in the homes of those old-fashioned book collectors who scour the web for a limited-edition print copy of their favorite novels.

A world without print books is a world where everyone must charge their e-readers at night or else risk not being able to read the next day due to a low battery. It's a world where no one can know what you're reading just by glancing at the spine in your lap, a world where book signings, indeed, become a tad more complicated.

Note that I did not say a world without print books is a world without reading or a world without authors.

You see, because a world without print books is something else, too—it's a world where children don't have to lug twenty-pound book bags to school or must use textbooks that are falling apart because it's too expensive to replace them or even must hide what they read because what would their classmates think if boys were caught reading girly books or vice versa?

A world without print books still has, ironically enough, print books on the market—they're just harder to come by and a tad more expensive. Owning a print copy of your favorite novel isn't commonplace—it's special. It means you took the time to get your hands on a limited-edition print copy, it means you are one of those slightly eccentric and mostly archaic book collectors (which is a title, I'm sure, that you wear proudly).

Yes, it's painful to imagine the closing of bookstores or the diminishing of book signing events and it's hard to look at our bookshelves and think that those paper things we took for granted all those years may one day be much more difficult to come by.

But just as people continued to listen to music long after the digital revolution in the music industry, people will continue to read and authors will continue to write. The written word will still be out there, and those stories we've learned to fall in love with will continue to be created and published—and really, isn't that the point?

Let me get this straight: I love print books just as much as any other book collector—I love adding books to my shelf and seeing those beautiful, colorful spines line up neatly next to each other as much as the next person. I love the new book smell, I love the feeling of turning the pages and looking at the texture of the page and how the text was laid out and even how the font that the publisher chose fits with the tone of the novel.

I love all of those things, and it's sad to think of a world where those nuances will no longer be appreciated.

But a world without print books is not the end of the world. There will always be something to read, new stories to immerse ourselves into and new characters to fall in love with.

I hope not to live to see a print-book-free world, but if I do, I guess I'll be one of those crazy book-collector types who hunt down those special limited-edition print copies like it's nobody's business. And I guess I'll proudly add it to my bookshelf while the younger members of my family roll their eyes at me.

Because although print books may one day become obsolete, they will never lose their place in our hearts. 

Yet Another Reason You Should Blog

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I read a little while ago on Michael Hyatt's blog that he found he sometimes didn't know how he felt about a particular topic until he blogged about it (unfortunately I can't find the specific post...sorry!). I thought that was interesting and it raised some questions in my mind.

Questions like: do we blog because we know about something or do we blog because we want to know about something?

Questions like: do we blog to teach others or do we blog to teach ourselves?

After some thought, I like to think that I came up with an answer because for me at least, the answer is both.

Truth is, I've learned just as much from blogging as I hope you have from reading my posts. Writing blog posts—from creating better villains to the usefulness of tumblr for writers—forces me to sit down and think about the topic until I can think about it clearly enough to share with you—my amazing readers.

In essence, I've come to realize that blogging is just as educational for the blogger as it is for the reader.

But I have a feeling I'm not the only one who's come to this conclusion, and I want to hear from you guys.

DISCUSSION: For those of you who blog, would you say that you’ve learned from your blogging experience? For those of you who don’t, would you say you’ve learned from reading blogs?