When (2 + 2) is less than 4

 by James M. Jackson

I am starting the writing year facing two tasks I thoroughly enjoy and two I absolutely despise.

What I am looking forward to

I have been working on and off (actually, more off than on) creating a new series featuring Ashley Pendergast Prescott, who is initially an FBI undercover agent. My plan is to develop a three-book series (and if those do well, then more). In researching this blog, I was shocked to discover I had begun writing the first book, currently titled Niki Undercover, in early 2019. Just before Christmas this year, Jan finished her read through of that WIP, found a few typos and misplaced commas and pronounced it the best novel I have yet written. My next task is to listen to Niki Undercover one last time because when I listen, I always catch a problem or two that my eyes and Jan’s never found. It’s a fun task. I get to lie on the couch and listen to an AI voice tell me a story and giggle at its mispronunciations. Plus, when I am done, I can call the story complete. Well, almost—see below for the tasks I am not looking forward to.

I wrote the first draft of the second book in the Niki Undercover series (tentatively titled Niki Unleashed) in the spring of 2021 and completed the second draft in January 2022. Jan read it then, made some suggestions. The manuscript sat just shy of three years before I picked it up this past December and gave it a read through. It needs work, but between Jan’s comments and my recent notes, I am cranked to write the third draft—my second enjoyable task. Yes, it will be a formidable task, ripping away the parts that don’t work and creating a tighter, edgier plot. But I know what I want that story to do, and that is exciting.

What I am not looking forward to

After Jan’s read through of Niki Undercover, she said, “You really should try to get an agent for this. It’s the best thing I’ve read recently.” I tend to think whatever book I just finished is my best (even though during its creation, I was sure it sucked, and I should abandon it). Jan has never made a statement like that about anything I’ve written.

I had planned to self-publish the new series. I figured I would wait until later this year when I had the second novel in decent shape and a draft of the third novel complete. That way, I could start pre-orders for the second book at the same time I published the first.

And then Jan damned me with that great praise. As a result, the first dismal task I need to complete is to craft a synopsis for Niki Undercover. Even though I have created synopses that won publishing contracts, I claim zero expertise and one-hundred-percent dread. I’ll get it done; I know I will. But until I do, it’s like rolling Sisyphus’ rock up the hill while the Sword of Damocles dangles by that single thread over my head.

And then, when I get that sucker done as well as I can, I must accomplish my second dread-laden task: researching literary agents to find ones who might be interested in my novels. Sending out the actual emails (or filling in online forms) is drudgery, but I have no fear of rejection. If they all say no, I am back to my original plan of self-publishing. If one signs me on, I know I have another round or two of revisions ahead of me.

To keep sane, each day I will work on both enjoyable and apprehensible tasks. I’ll start with the stuff I abhor and then reward myself with work I want to do.

I hear there is an open betting line in Vegas about whether I can pull this off. What odds do you give me?

* * * * *

James M. Jackson authors the Seamus McCree series. Full of mystery and suspense, these thrillers explore financial crimes, family relationships, and what happens when they mix. To learn more information about Jim and his books, check out his website, https://jamesmjackson.com. You can sign up for his newsletter (and get to read a free Seamus McCree short story).

On Subjectivity and Writing

In my last post, I discussed how I went about combing through submissions for Pitch Wars, a writing contest for which I’m a mentor to an unagented writer of my choosing. As I explained, I was trying to be as logical as possible, but that I couldn’t ignore my gut. And my gut is subjective.

Now, two weeks later, I find myself attempting and failing at writing rejections.

I know the 76 rejections I have to write (I ended up with two fabulous mentees, if you’re wondering why I’m not writing 77 for my 78 submissions) are only truly useful to those who submitted if I give them specific feedback. These people already know they weren’t chosen. I’m not even sure they’ll open the email when I send it because, really, writers are subjected to enough rejection, why actually read one you knew was coming?

But also, all 76 of those rejections are for reasons that are completely subjective.

Completely. Even if I give each entrant the specific reason my gut veered away.

And how does one truly explain subjectivity?

As Keanu says above, what if what I see is completely different from how others see it? Subjectivity is a stew of so many factors—preferences, education, background, mood, interests, etc.—what can a writer gain except information that can be used with someone who is similarly subjective?

So, if we constantly tell each other that “writing is subjective” what are we truly supposed to learn from that? What do you think?

The Art of Writing a Pitch

One of the most difficult things for most writers to do after writing a novel is to distill those thousands of words enough to be able to have a reasonable answer to the question, “So, what’s your book about?”

Usually, when people ask that question of a writer, it’s to be nice, unless that person is an industry professional (read: agent or editor), in which case whatever spills out of your mouth could make or break a fledgling career.

Yes, seriously.

There’s a reason they call these elevator pitches: You could wind up in an elevator—or on a plane, or at a restaurant, or just plain old conference—with an agent or editor perfect for your manuscript.

So, though it’s extremely difficult, it’s really important to come up with a short pitch for your manuscript. Even if you never use it, it’s important to have it in your back pocket. Moreover, if you plan on querying, having an even shorter description of your novel can help get your query on the right track.

Writing a fabulous pitch—both short and long (query-style)—was the focus of this month’s meeting of the Kansas Writers Group. Organized and run by the lovely Natalie C. Parker, this group gets together every other month and aims to allow writers of all levels to share information. Natalie asked my super smart PitchWars mentor, Rebecca A. Weston, and me to help unagented writers with their pitches at the session.

Mostly, I just sat there and smiled and nodded along as Natalie and Becca said genius things because they are waaaaay smarter than me, though I did contribute a bit in talking about very short pitches and how I go about writing them. Then, afterward, the three of us looked at individual pitches and query letters of all genres—I had a YA, sci-fi, playwright and adult general fiction in short order—and gave feedback.

It was a great learning session, and even though I was one of the leaders, I learned quite a bit, too, about how to explain the art of writing a good pitch. Because, honestly, I’m not very good at explaining why things aren’t working in a pitch or query. I was a newspaper copy editor for a long time and that job involved taking someone else’s work and summarizing it into a headline, subhead, captions, etc. Because of that experience, I’m pretty good at taking both my own stuff and other people’s and summarizing it into a pitch. I kind of do it on autopilot. But having to talk to a group about it, plus hearing Natalie and Becca explain their thoughts, made everything much more clear in how to convey the mechanics of a pitch.

And, lucky you, I’m going to share exactly what we told the group of querying writers.

Make your pitch specific but not too specific: Here’s the thing with pitches, large (query) or small (Twitter pitch), they have to have a hook. Something that sets it apart from everything else an agent or editor will be reading or hearing. So, be specific. It isn’t just “A boy and girl fall in love” it’s “The homecoming king falls for the ghost tormenting his little sister”—just a little something to give us an idea of what’s going on here.

But, don’t be too specific. Example: If your book takes place on another planet, that’s great. Say something like, “The homecoming king falls for the ghost tormenting his little sister on a scorched cousin of earth” but not “The homecoming king falls for the ghost tormenting his family home on Nietchzeland, the penultimate planet in the solar system Huron.” When you get that specific, it’s just as confusing and off-putting as being far too vague.

Don’t forget voice: While you’re working on that pitch, try to think of words that show off the voice in your manuscript. Remember that post I did about scoring my agent in PitchWars? You’ll notice there are a ton of food-related words in that tiny pitch (butchering, ice-cold, stew). The manuscript is a “foodie thriller”—something those words help to drive home. Your little winks at voice and subject don’t have to be that obvious, but it helps to choose words that represent your manuscript when you have so few words to work with.

Stuck? Start with a “Movie Voiceover Pitch”: Think of all the movie trailers you’ve seen in your lifetime. You know, “In a world where …” blah, blah, blah. Now, use that to summarize your story, in the fashion of “When XXX happens, (Character Name) must XXXX or/while/before XXXXX.” Example: “When a big bad wolf devours and then impersonates her grandma, Red must avenge her grandmother’s death while avoiding the same horrible fate.”

Create a parallel: Another tactic is to show both sides of an equation central to your manuscript. Using the pitch from above as an example, you could write: “Red lost her grandma, her woods and her feeling of security to the big bad wolf. But she’s got her wits, an axe and a will to live.”

Get opinions: Before using your pitch (or query) for real, show it to a few writer friends—both those who’ve read the manuscript and those who haven’t. The combined opinion of your readers should give you an idea if you’ve hit the nail on the head in explaining yourself and if your pitch is confusing in any way.

How do you write a pitch? What’s the most difficult part of it for you?

Lessons Learned from Pitch Madness Slush

I’m a firm believer that contests are very, very good for writers.

And I’m not just saying that because I snagged my agent thanks to one. (Though, that does help!)

You see, as a querying writer, you know you have competition. Lots and lots of it. And that competition is faceless, nameless and possessing of talent and ideas of a completely unknown quantity.

Which is annoying.

Because, unless an agent gives specific examples of your competition over Twitter or on his/her blog, or you get a chance to read a friend’s query and first 10 pages, it’s really, really hard to gauge what’s hitting an agent’s inbox at the very same time your query makes its appearance.

Now, first, let me be clear: Getting an agent is about your writing. It’s not about whose query is shiniest or who you met at such-and-such conference. Those things help, but ultimately, it’s about the writing.

That said, agents get hundreds of query letters each week. And chances are, they’ll read a good fifty in one giant gulp of yeses (“Please send more.”) and nos (“Not right for me, thanks.”).

So, it helps to stand out in a crowd.

And contests help you do this in a couple of ways:

1. Most have an exclusive window where, if you advance, a number of agents have committed to giving their time to looking at contest entries and making requests.

2. Even agents who weren’t originally committed might hop on and join in on a request-a-thon (my agent was one of those).

But there’s an even larger reason these contests can help you stand out, no matter if you make the agent round: You get a chance to see what everyone is else doing.

And learn from it.

I learned quite a bit from the contest I competed in — not only about what genres were big and better ways to word a pitch, but I ended up with some great critique partners, and my marvelous agent (something I’ll talk about in my next post Sept. 15).

And, you know what? Even though I have an agent, I’m still learning from contests.

This week, I got to work as a slush reader for one of Brenda Drake’s fabulous Twitter/blogcontests: Pitch Madness. I’ve done this once before for Brenda, but I didn’t get to read as much slush as I wanted because I happened to be stuck at a three-day stage trail race in backwoods Arkansas with no Internet. Horrible scheduling on my part.

But this time, I got to read the majority of the 470-something entries in Pitch Madness. Yes, nearly 500 entries, all of which consisted of a 35-word pitch and the first 250 words (about one page) of the actual text.

Now, I know we writers would like to believe this isn’t enough on which to judge a manuscript — especially when you write 100,000-word behemoths like me. But here’s the thing: There’s no guarantee that an agent will read any more than that. Just because you sent a query, synopsis and three chapters does not mean that will get read. In fact, he or she might take one look at your opening paragraph or outrageous word length and send a form rejection.

I know I sound like a jerk when I say this, but in some cases it’s true. And it stinks.

And here’s what you can do about it: Make yourself stick out.

As I mentioned, I read nearly 500 pitches and excerpts over the past few days. And probably 99 percent of them were really good in one way or another.

This is your competition.

So, I want to share a bit about what I learned from reading entry after entry. Now, none of these “rules” really account for subjectivity, which is something impossible to control, but I want you to take a look at your query and sample pages and make sure you’ve taken care of every one of them. Because the competition is fierce and I truly don’t want you to be left behind.

1. Show, don’t tell. This is the first cardinal rule of writing. We’ve all heard it a hundred times. Yet, I saw quite a bit of telling in both the pitch and the actual copy. Yes, it’s beneficial to have both showing and telling in your writing. A mix is great. But in a story’s opening, telling can come off as heavy-handed and un-earned. And in a pitch or a query, you do yourself a disservice by telling. A query or pitch should give your reader a hint your writing’s flavor and if you’re too direct, you kill any benefit.

2. If you start with dialogue, it better be fantastic. Dialogue can be a fine way to begin a manuscript — it puts a reader right in the middle of a scene, giving them a chance to “hear” your characters. But it also can be very tricky in that if it’s basic or too out there, it’s not going to mean a lick to your reader. And they’re going to stop reading. Go back and make sure your dialogue crackles, especially if you’re opening with a conversation.

3. Names, names, names. I absolutely love unusual names for main characters. This sets them apart, gives them personality and, if done well, is a perfect part of them. That said, if you’re going to use an unusual name, make sure a reader can pronounce it in his or her head without much help. If someone stumbles on your main character’s name in the very first instance, that’s a stumble you may not recover from depending on how well the reader/agent likes your premise and writing. Believe me: You can’t afford this. Ask your friends and family to read the name aloud to you to see if they get it right. Seriously. On the flip side, if you use a “basic” name, you might want to make sure it hasn’t been overdone or check other query contests and writer groups to see how many times it’s been used by others. I saw several Jakes, Devs (yes, Dev), Jane/Jaynes and Hopes.

4. Sentence structure and paragraph starters. In the heat of writing and editing, you might be looking for just the right word or phrase or bit of dialogue. But when you’ve got the copy to where you need it to be, take one final pass and look at how your paragraphs appear on the page. If you find more than two paragraphs in a row that start with the same word (usually I, He, She, They, etc.), change it up. I can’t tell you how many little 250-word excerpts I read that over-used the same sentence structure several times in a row. Sometimes, this can be done purposefully to create a certain rhythm. But most of the time? It’s just a go-to way of describing the action that needs to be changed up. The same goes for sentence length. Vary it. Once you start looking, page-by-page, at your manuscript, these things will appear if you’re overdoing them. I swear.

5. A 35-word pitch isn’t a query, but it’s dang close. When you tell someone you’re a writer, they probably ask about what you’re writing. How do you describe it without regurgitating your query? Even if you never use it, you need to perfect how to tell someone what you’re writing in as short of a space as possible. Not only will this help them understand what your book is about, but it’ll help you learn what your book is about. Seriously. Before I start writing any book, I write myself a short pitch and basically the meat of a query. I learned this trick from one of my writer buds and I think it’s genius. It really helped me zero in and go from this nebulous idea to something that has great shape, detail and direction.

I hope you’ve learned a bit from what I saw in those nearly 500 entries. I know some of it sounds like stuff we all know, and we probably do, but knowing it and implementing it is something different altogether.

And if you’re a Pitch Madness person reading this and freaking out because you have an unpronounceable character name, a page full of dialogue and a boatload of “telling” shoe-horned into sentences that exclusively start with I?

Don’t worry.

Seriously. Because, in the end, it all comes down to the writing. You can break every rule in the book and still be successful.

Just make sure you stick out.

What do you learn from reading the work of others?