jd_armstrong

Hi, I am new to this forum. I have been writing for a number of years... and I finally completed my first compilation of short stories. I know they are good (I have been told by people I know and complete strangers) They are very Stephen Kingish as I have been told. Figures, he has been a major influence and inspiration over the 20 years of my dreams/nightmares/writing. Along with Dean R Koontz and Richard Laymon.
However now comes the hard part. I am a writer by imagination, not by technique. I past english in school, but to this day I still very vaguely know what nouns/adjectives/pronouns/verbs etc etc are. So I am not an editor. I approached one person here in Western Australia who is an editor. She offered to edit a few pages to give her and myself a feel of my work her work. (Quoted me $200aud, which I was more than happy to pay, $20 for each short story, I thought a bargain) after she received a few pages she said that it was too much work. For her to edit it I would have to rewrite them. "it needs a lot of editing. I have done as much as I can without re-writing".
Does anyone know where I go from here? What do I do? I could re-write them I suppose, they are only first draft, but it has taken me so long to get to here....

Nazareth

I hope you got some of your money back from that editor?

Anyways- probably your best bet is to go in with someone who will take your stories and co-write them with you- They will be your stories only in their style- If that doesn't appeal to you then I'm afraid you're going to have to bite the bullet and learn better grammar- there just isn't any other way that I know of. Writing is hard work

jd_armstrong

It's cool, I actually didn't pay anything up front. Thanx for that. Guess I just wanted to hear it from someone else....

The writing isn't the hard work, that part is easy, I love it . The technical side is the hard work....

Nazareth

Yuo know, maybe it isn't the grammar, maybe it's the technique you use- perhaps post a small section or write another couple of paragraphs about something else & let us see how ya write- maybe just some minor tweaks could be made to improve your writing enough to get it to an edditor-

Also- when you write- use MS Word- it'll check many gramatical errors on the fly for you.

jd_armstrong

Well, here is two pages of one of the first short stories I wrote. I wrote this one about 10 years ago... geez, that long ago!

MIRROR MIRROR

David stepped off the bus into the howling wind, swinging his bag over his shoulder as he watched the bus turn the corner and disappear from sight. He stared up at the moon as it slid behind a dark storm cloud. Shivering, he drove his hands deep into his pockets, drawing his jacket around him in an effort to keep warm. Then, glancing around he crossed the road to the dirt track that would lead home.
Every night of the week he would commence this journey home after work, a Fifteen minute walk from the bus stop, and every night his imagination would play tricks on his mind. Tonight was no different. He hated the late shift.
With his head down, he trudged along and tried to keep his mind occupied with thoughts on work or anything besides his surroundings. Then it started: the feeling of being followed, at first he ignored it, but it only got stronger, impressing upon the edge of his mind and eating away at his efforts to keep it at bay, until it exploded into his mind with such force that he spun around, searching the foreboding darkness behind him. His eyes darted about, probing the night, trying to see whatever it was he could feel. His heart pounded explosively in his ears, making it impossible to hear a thing.
He realized he was holding onto his breath, he forced himself to exhale slowly, and then he drew in a deep shaky breath, the cold air burning his lungs. He started to feel foolish. Turning around, he continued his journey home. He tried whistling, then stopped, for it sounded eerie in the darkness around him. Deliberately he turned his thoughts inward, attempting once again to block out his surroundings. He thought of Lynn, who was at home in their bed, and quickened his pace, eager to lie down by her side and feel her warm body against his. He would feel safe when he was home.
His thoughts were disrupted by footsteps behind him, just out of time with his. He quickened his pace, not daring to look behind him, scared of what he might see. Or perhaps more frightening was what he might not see. The footsteps quickened also, still just out of time with his. He could imagine the figure behind him, its claws reaching out to him gripping around his neck and ripping his head clean off. Finally, he could take it no more. He spun around and walked backwards, knowing what he would see: nothing. He could hear nothing either. He stopped, listening harder for the footsteps that had also stopped when he had turned around, if they had ever been behind him in the first place. He stood there and listened in the dark, the wind howling between the trees, waiting for the other to make the first move.
"Who's there?" he asked finally. Good one, he thought, who is going to answer, and as if I want them to.
No one did answer him, besides the howling wind. Cautiously he turned around and started to walk home again, realizing he was already halfway there. Drawing his coat tighter about him in an effort to ward off the cold, he quickened his pace once more. His eyes darting from side to side, searching the trees as paranoia set in.
Suddenly the wind died. He stopped, glancing frantically about. Not even a slight breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, and as he listened, he realised that something else was wrong, dead wrong. He could not hear anything, not a single night noise came forth. He knew he was not deaf, as he could still hear his heavy breathing and his heart pounding frantically.
His imagination began to run wild, he backed away from the edge of the track, turning around to see if anyone was coming at him from behind. There was no body there. More importantly there was no thing there, only a large bush, staring back at him. He stared at the bush, half expecting it to come alive and make a move to grab him. He forced himself to calm down, nervously, he took a step forward, then decided against checking behind the bush and quickly headed off home again. He had gone only a few feet when he heard a rustling behind him. Jerking around, he stared back at the bush, his eyes felt like they were going to pop right out of his head. It was shaking violently, then out of the depths of it a shadow darted across the track and into another bush on the other side. He stood there dumbstruck, mouth wide-open as his mind tried to comprehend what he had just seen, all this time thinking it had been his imagination.
He was still trying to convince himself that it had just been his imagination when the bush beside him started to shake violently, breaking his paralysis. He ran, glancing back to see a shadowy figure standing in the middle of the track. He could feel its red eyes on him, could feel the hatred emitting from those eyes. Snapping his head back around, he ran as fast as he could. He could clearly hear the footsteps behind him now. For some reason he knew that if he could make it home he would be safe. If only he could make it, hoping he was right.
The footsteps seemed to be getting closer. Whatever it was, it ran faster than he was. David could hear something else now along with the footsteps; it was a deep guttural growling, similar to that made by a dog. It was growing louder and more frantic, and he knew the beast was gaining in momentum. He demanded extra speed, speed he never knew he had. His lungs were burning, crying out for more oxygen as his legs furiously pounded the ground. He could still hear the footsteps behind him and the low guttural growl growing louder and louder. He tossed his bag behind him, hoping to slow it down, not daring to look to see if he had. Then he could see it: home. Frantically he groped for his keys as he darted up the path towards his house, thanking god that he never kept his keys in his bag. He was breathing with difficulty now, his breath rasping in his throat, he pushed on though, noticing that his bag must have slowed the beast down, for he could not hear it behind him anymore.
He slowed down a little, glancing down the path behind him. He could see that nothing was there. He came to a complete stop, muscles tensed as he anticipated the need to start running for his life again. He stood there, staring down the path. His breathing had slowed down to an almost normal pace, and he was just beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, he had imagined it all along when a figure appeared at the bottom of the path. He held his breath and stared at the beast. It was vaguely man-shaped with broad shoulders and oversized strong arms. Its head looked like that of a wolf, with a long snout. The beast stood there holding his bag, sniffing it. Then it looked directly at David, tossed the bag aside, and came bounding up the path straight at him.
David stood there for a second, frozen stiff with fear, taking the monstrosity in as it bore down upon him, moving faster than he had thought possible of anything. He heard the growl as it came closer, felt the vibration from it in his chest. That was all he needed. Turning, he fled back up the path, reaching the front door of his house in seconds. He fumbled with the lock, trying too hard to get the key in. Finally he had it and darted inside. David locked the door behind him, leaning against it he slid down to the floor, listening intently for the beast, over his beating heart.
After a few moments David decided to get up. Then he heard it growling softly just beyond the door. He froze, fear pulsing through every fibre in his body. He prayed it would go away. Then the growling stopped, being replaced by another noise. It took a while before he realized it was sniffing, trying to smell him out. David knew that if it
was anything like a dog it would be able to smell the stench of fear rising from his pores. He sat there, waiting, not daring to move a muscle. Then he heard the footsteps of it moving away from the door.
David decided to stay where he was until daylight, knowing there was no way he would be able to sleep anyway. That was when he thought of Lynn, lying, vulnerable in their bed. He slowly crawled along the floor, listening for any sound coming from outside as he made his way to the bedroom. He reached up for the light switch and was about to turn the light on, when he froze.
"It will be able to see me if I turn the light on." He thought.
Leaving the light off he crawled over to the bed reaching for Lynn's warm body. Confusion set in when he realized she was not there. Panicking, he searched the entire bed, unable to comprehend why it was empty and cold. It was as if she had not been home all night. He stood up and walked out of the bedroom, frantically but quietly searching the whole house for her but not daring to call out in case he alerted the beast outside. He could not find her anywhere.

Talia_Brie

I'm also located in Perth, and I'm afraid to say I don't believe there are any good editors or literary agents in this city. If you've gone to Christine Nagel or The Book Doctor, you should ignore their response to you completely.

A good editor I would recommend is Kirsty Brooks, at Driftwood Manuscripts in SA. PM me if you want her contact details, or do a Google search on Driftwood Manuscripts.

Another option to improve your writing is to join a writing group or forum (Oh my god, like this one!) and start getting independant feedback. I'd be reluctant to rely too heavily on the opinions of friends, because its the strangers you need to impress. You say some strangers have read your stories. That's a good start.

I'd be willing to help you if you need. Let me know.

Cameron.

__________________

ymmatrysk

Greetings,
I just had a very good experience with an on-line editing company called My Editor is a Saint. They did a red-line edit in Microsoft Word, which was perfect for me since I could just go through and 'accept changes' or 'reject changes'. My grammar and spelling are beyond stinky but I really wanted to general integrity of my story left intact, and I feel like they did that. I'm not that well versed in what fair pricing is, this company charged me about $600 for the whole job (a 200 page novel), it was something of a hardship but I stuck it on my plastic and tried to consider it an investment for when I hit the big time (hee hee). You can find them on www.myeditorisasaint.com. Hope that's helpful!

__________________
Jen

Nazareth

After skimming that- either the edittor you went to was lazy, or they were lazy- the grammar is ok and not too many problems- I do think though that your writing involves too much telling and not nearly enough showing- One thing you do is use 'ing' words too much instead of the more immediate 'ed' words

You wrote:

Something like the following is a form of 'telling' Don't tell us what he did, but rather show us by showing his actions instead of explaining what his actions are- Say "He drove his hands deep into his pockets, drew his jacket around him, and started to walk."

Try:

David stepped off the bus and snapped his face sideways. He bent his head into the fierce wind and slung his napsack over his shoulder. The full moon slid behind a sheet of ominous black clouds. He drove his hands deep into his pockets, drew his jacket around him, and blew into his hands. He glanced around and crossed the road to the dirt track that would lead home.

You write:

There's an aweful lot of 'telling' in that paragraph- Yuo need to make it more immediate- Don't tell us "He hated the late shift"- Show us that he hated it by showing his inner dialogue or later in the novel through dialogue with another character

Try something like so:

I swear ... one of the days I'm going to tell Fred he can take the late shift and cram it, he thought.

He tucked his chin beneath the sheepskin collar of his parka, and slogged ahead through the slush and debri. His head snapped to the left. A trashlid rattled on the pavement. Nothing but a cat, he thought. Another sound behind him. He spun around, peered into the shadows of the alley, and stifled a scream. A figured moved in the darkness. His eyes strained to make out what he saw. He glanced at the streetlamp and noticed the elm tree behind it. Geez man, get it together, he thought. Nothing but shadows, you fool.

He moved on, conscious of his elevated breathing. For the next block, he kept vigil and tried not to think about fact that he was alone on a deserted street that should have been crawling with people. Twenty more steps and he would be on the corner of 5'th and Main. Twenty more steps and he would be on a well lit, well populated street. He saw the light from the Halogen streetlamps ahead and breathed a sigh of relief. He calmed himself and took another step. Something screamed to his left. His knees buckled. He scanned the inky blackness, probing the night. His heart pounded explosively in his ears.

Try not to tell us he was nervous- but rather show us- Don't tell us he 'felt something' behind him- show us how he felt it by showing us how nervous he is- We get the picture that he thought somethign was lurking in the shadows- Your readers are smart and will figure this out without having to be told what is going through the characters mind.

Put youself in the shoes of the character- think about how he would be feeling- You hear a noise- what do you do? You spin around, your napsack drops off your shoulder, your attention is split between the noise and the napsack. You think you see something in the shadows, yuour heart beats wildly in your chest- you start to panick

Write the story as if you are going through what the character is going through

Ozmandius

Yikes! I just finished reading over your example and I have to agree with your editor. In fact, they clearly did you a favor by not taking more of your money when they knew they couldn't help you.

My advice. Don't waste more money on less scrupulous editors. Find some writing books and start studying. Then rewrite it. And then rewrite it again. And again. And again. And again. Anything else is a waste of time and money.

Oz

Nazareth

JD, as Mia said, this forum is to help others get an idea of where their work needs help- Thanks for posting whts you did- it gives us an idea of where to go- I'll try to identify some other areas for you- generally, with just some minor changes to your writing style, and learning soem basic things, you can improve a great deal in a short amount of time if the comments are directed at the problem areas- Books are fine- but you generally have to wade through tons of information to get to the parts that adress your problem areas (Provided you know where the problems lie)

Online groups like this can more specifically target and help you improve

jd_armstrong

Well first off... thanx for the constructive criticism...

Secondly... ouch...

thirdly... ouch...

ummm.....

ouch....

The hurt is fading....

logic sets in...

Okay...

Well, I am going to have to digest all of this information...

thanx guys.

Nazareth

Nah man- don't say 'ouch' like I said- little things can really improve writing- it doesn't take much- You already have the stories written which is 1/3 of the work- now it just takes some rewriting once ya get the basics of how to turn Telling into Showing.