Why I Write By Hand

Posted on October 13, 2022October 3, 2022 by Valerie Lute

Earlier this year, I talked to Bair Hurley at the Writerly Bites podcast about writing by hand. I write all my first drafts by hand, sometimes my second drafts too. I often recommend writing by hand to my beginner writing students who are afraid of the blank page. When we’re writing on a computer, it seems very formal immediately. Because that Times New Roman looks so neat and perfect in the Word Processor, we want the writing to be perfect too. We start typing, that red squiggly line shows up. Now we’re going back.

When we’re writing by hand, it’s much easier to think of our draft as something impermanent, like a grocery list. It’s notes.

I often teach “Shitty First Drafts” by Anne Lamott, which is a very funny chapter from her book Bird by Bird. It’s all about turning off your inner critic and freeing yourself to write your first draft.

She says, “The first draft is the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later. You just let this childlike part of you channel whatever voices and visions come through and onto the page. If one of the characters wants to say, “Well, so what, Mr. Poopy Pants?,” you let her. No one is going to see it. If the kid wants to get into really sentimental, weepy, emotional territory, you let him. Just get it all down on paper because there may be something great in those six crazy pages that you would never have gotten to by more rational, grown-up means.”

In my experience, writing by hand can help us free that inner child. We can return to an earlier stage in our lives when we scrawled all over the page with abandon.

For me, the biggest benefit to writing by hand is avoiding the internet. The computer just has too many distractions. I’m one of those people who has all kinds of browser add-ons to limit my ability to use distracting websites. I have one that eliminates the feed of social media sites, and another that sets a time limit. Still, I keep finding new ways to waste time online.

What I have to do is go into a room with no devices, just a pencil and paper. Then I can only think about the words on the page.

I always dread finishing a draft, because then I have to go to my computer and face all those temptations again. Still, there are benefits to having to completely rewrite the story when I type it up. When you have a typed first draft, it’s easy to accept the major choices you’ve already made. Instead of thinking about if that scene is really necessary, you just fiddle around with the word choices. But if you have to type up the whole thing, why spend the time typing up a scene that’s not working at all? Plus you’ll find that you’ll make improvements to the word choice too, without even thinking about it.

Don’t take it from me. A lot of successful writers still write by hand: Joyce Carol Oats, Quentin Tarantino, and Neil Gaiman to name a few.

I’ll leave you with the words of Stephen King, who switched to writing by hand after years of typing. He said writing by hand “makes you think about each word as you write it[…]the sentences compose themselves in your head. It’s like hearing music, only its words. But you see more ahead because you can’t go as fast.”

Point of View, Uncategorized

The Difference Between Point-of-View in Books and Movies

Posted on October 6, 2022October 3, 2022 by Valerie Lute

We spend a lot of time consuming film-based entertainment. The average American watches nearly three hours of television a day. This influences how writers, especially beginner writers, imagine the scenes of their novel, memoir, or short story. Without even realizing it, they see the lens of their story like a camera panning across space. The characters become like actors, primarily expressing emotions through their facial expressions.

However, these techniques don’t work as well in books as they do in film. Books instead rely on different idioms, ones that don’t translate well into film.

Interior Monologue

Some movies do have a voice-over. You’ve all seen one. Here are the opening lines of the movie A Christmas Story (1983):

Ah, there it is. My house. And good old Cleveland Street. How could I ever forget it? And there I am, with that dumb round face and…that stupid stocking cap.

When a movie has a narrator, the narrator is usually commenting on what is happening on screen. In this case, the adult Ralphie is commenting on the image of his house and his appearance when he was nine years old. Narrators in movies wouldn’t start jumping around in time or talking about something unrelated to the current scene.

But how often are your thoughts perfectly linear? How long can you think about one topic without a random idea popping up? This is one part of the human experience that can be better captured in writing.

Here’s an example from As I Lay Dying, a novel told through the stream of consciousness of several characters. In this chapter the son Jewel overhears his brother making their mother’s coffin from the room where the mother lies, still very much alive, for the moment.

It’s because he stays out there, right under the window, hammering and sawing on that goddamn box. Where she’s got to see him. Where every breath she draws is full of his knocking and sawing where she can see him saying See. See what a good one I am making for you. I told him to go somewhere else. I said Good God do you want to see her in it. It’s like when he was a little boy and she says if she had some fertilizer she would try to raise some flowers and he taken the bread pan and brought it back from the barn full of dung.

While the narrator starts describing where his brother is and what he’s doing, he immediately starts making assumptions about his brother’s thoughts: “See what a good [coffin] I’m making for you.” Then the narrator jumps back in time. He’s comparing his brother’s actions to something he did as a young child. The mother had asked for fertilizer and the little boy unthinkingly used the bread pan to bring in some dung. The narrator doesn’t explain how these two scenes are alike, it is just where his mind went.

This isn’t the only way a narrator in a book can express more than the narrator in a movie. The narrator in a book can give lengthy judgements, express complex philosophical ideas, or give extensive historical background that would be too cumbersome to work on screen.

Unreliable Narrators

Movies and TV shows tell stories with cameras, and cameras don’t lie. If the camera shows Bud stealing a car, we know that Bud stole a car. However, if a first-person narrator in a short story tells us Bud stole a car, we don’t necessarily know that Bud stole a car, especially if the narrator is mad at Bud for winning over the girl the narrator loved.

This is what happens in the T.C. Boyle story “Termination Dust.” I went along with the narrator at first, taking his word for everything. I believed him about how bad this guy Bud was and the negative consequences in store for the woman after she follows Bud to his remote Alaskan cabin. I believed the narrator until he bursts into the cabin where Bud and the woman are making love and gives this lame excuse when the dog attacks him:

And I should say here that I like dogs and that I’ve never lifted a finger to hurt any dog that I’ve ever owned, but I had to put this one down. I caught him as he left the floor and slammed him into the wall behind me until he collapsed in a heap.

When I got to this point in the story, I started to question everything the narrator had told me thus far. A person who would treat an animal like that is not to be trusted.

Word Choice and Syntax

In a film, the camera determines our impression of the setting. Whether or now we feel a setting is threatening or friendly depends primarily on the visual techniques of the filmmaker. However in books, the word choice and sentence structure can change how you feel about a location, and it may be in contrast to how the setting physically looks. Here is a bright, sunny day in suburban California, as described by Tom Wolfe in “The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby.”

…endless scorched boulevards lined with one-story stores, shops, bowling alleys, skating rinks, taco drive-ins, all of them shaped not like rectangles but like trapezoids, from the way the roofs slant up from the back and the plate-glass fronts slant out as if they’re going to pitch forward on the sidewalk and throw up.

The long list of nouns in this sentence has a dizzying effect. The length of the sentence makes it hard to catch one’s breath, which is also reflected in the choice of adjective, “endless.” All these techniques, along with the simile about the building throwing up, make it clear that this is a hostile alien environment, despite being a normal Southern California suburb.

Internal Sensations

A film can show you a character’s face and body language better than a book can. A great actor can make even a sparsely written character come to life. However, books have an advantage when it comes to revealing the internal sensations of a character.

The Ben Lerner short story “Cafe Loup” takes place in the brief moments while the narrator is choking to death. A film could show a person choking—his face turning colors, his rigid hands coming toward his neck—but it would be impossible to convey in the visual medium what choking feels like. As the narrator’s friend begins the Heimlich maneuver, this is what he experiences:

Aaron was behind me, his breath on my neck, trying to figure out where to put his hands. Instead of my life “flashing before my eyes,” a series of odors were doing whatever the olfactory equivalent of flashing is, all of them intensified by the fact that I couldn’t inhale. Childhood cut grass (nothing is a cliché when you’re dying), the sulfur of strike-anywhere matches, asphalt after rain, fresh paint in a room whose windows are open in the spring, movie-theatre popcorn, the sexual smell (that is, the vaginal smell) of a woman who broke my heart in my late twenties, hyacinth, watermelon candy (in the throat of Mrs. Sackett’s student?), my first cat (Felix), grilled peaches at my brother’s in Seattle […] as Aaron performed his first ineffectual thrust, tears finally in my eyes, haloing all the tabletop candles, my little aleph, little star, my asterisk, and even as my peripheral vision began to contract and my ears started to ring and I was begging my daughter to forgive me in my mind, I was surprised—and surprised that I was surprised, that in my last moments on earth, as I was flooded with terror and love, I had the mental space to note how the world failed to conform to my expectations of it…

Conclusion

Sometimes I see beginner writers use techniques from film in their stories—montages that slice a bunch of scenes together, or dialogue that is said to be inaudible to the reader. In literature, these techniques don’t make sense and only create confusion. But when an author uses techniques that are especially for the written form, they can create a unique artistic experience that no movie can imitate. The best way to learn these techniques is to read—read widely and frequently.

If you’re looking for more techniques for bringing your story to life, subscribe to the blog or follow us on Facebook or Twitter.

career, Uncategorized

Should You Get an MFA in Creative Writing?

Posted on August 31, 2021August 31, 2021 by Valerie Lute

I used to tell everyone not to get an MFA. My personal experience gave me a negative view of the whole academic field. But in the years since grad school, my attitude has softened. I learned skills in my MFA that I use now that I teach writing classes, and for that I’m very appreciative. The biggest mistake I made was choosing a program that wasn’t a good fit for me.

Now, when my students or other writers ask me about MFA programs, I give more targeted advice. You need to look at your life and your needs to figure out if an MFA program makes sense. Here are the five most important criteria to consider.

1. Why do you want an MFA?

This question may sound obvious, but it should not be overlooked. You shouldn’t get an MFA just because your friends are doing it or you are bored with your job (or, as McSweeney’s puts it, you need a snack).

An MFA in creative writing won’t automatically get your book published or get you a tenure-track teaching job. But it can give you time to write and provide feedback that can improve your writing. What’s said less often, MFA programs are finishing schools for the literary set. There are a lot of subtle rules about cover letters and proper reading etiquette. Knowing how to play the game can give you a leg up when submitting, querying or networking.

But please don’t get an MFA if you lack the discipline to write and think that getting an MFA will change that. I had too many classmates, some of them brilliant writers, who never wrote a word after graduation.

2. Can you get funding?

Full funding is rare for MFA programs. In 2016, only 7% of MFA graduates were fully funded, meaning the student paid nothing for the degree. Yet in many other fields, funding is much more common.

Fine arts degrees have a poor return on investment in terms of income after graduation. This means that you really want to reduce the price of getting your degree as much as possible. Look for programs that offer fellowships and other opportunities to reduce your tuition. Even partial funding can help reduce your final bill.

3. What are your other priorities?

Are you going to be working full-time while you’re in school? Do you have children or aging parents to take care of? Make sure you find programs that can accommodate your needs.

Many MFA programs offer multiple formats. A hi-res (high residential) program provides a traditional on-campus experience, which in some cases may offer more opportunities for teaching fellowships or networking. However, a low-res option, which will be primarily online, may be more flexible for juggling multiple priorities. Some low-res options provide more one-on-one mentoring, which may make up for fewer opportunities in other areas.

4. What programs provide the opportunities you need?

You may be considering a specific emphasis, like teaching or publishing. Make sure the programs you are applying to not only offer the emphasis you want, but provide opportunities for hands-on experience as well. You may learn a lot from a pedagogy class, but if you don’t have actual teaching experience, you’ll have a hard time finding a job.

5. What can you learn about the faculty?

When looking at programs, make sure you learn as much about the faculty as you can. Ideally, you want to look for professors who write in a similar genre and have work that excites you. However, it’s also true that not all good writers are good teachers. I like the writing of Joyce Carol Oates, but I’ve heard she hardly shows up to her classes. You want to investigate both the faculty’s writing, and also reviews of their teaching.

Getting an MFA has helped some writers make connections and gain experience that they wouldn’t otherwise have gotten. But many more MFA graduates end up in debt for a degree they never use again, and there may be cheaper ways to learn the same material. By reading this blog post, you’ve already done more research than I did when applying to grad programs, so I trust that you can make the right choice for yourself.