Writing Tips

Some wisdom from the trenches.

My meeting the other day with a wannabe writer made me realize that there are a lot of people out there who want to write but simply don’t have a clue about many of the basics. So I thought I’d start a new series of articles here. The idea is to share some of my insight with the folks who understand that they don’t know everything and that they can learn from other writers.

I realize that this sounds sarcastic, but I think it’s pretty close to the mark. So many wannabe writers simply don’t understand the basics of writing — or writing for a living. They have this glamorized idea of what it’s like to be a writer. They think it’s easy. And while it may be easy for them to write, it isn’t easy for most folks to make a living as a writer.

And that’s what it all comes down to. As a commenter here said, writers write. But if you can’t get paid for your writing, you’ll probably have to work a “real” job to earn a living. And that might not have enough time to write. So the goal of anyone who wants to be a writer should be to get paid for writing. Then they’ll have plenty of time to write.

My goal in this series is to not only provide tips to help you be a better writer, but to help wannabe writers or new writers understand how they can make a living as a writer and what that living might be like.

I’ve already written a number of posts that you might find helpful if you’re interested in learning more about being a writer. I’ve listed the ones that I think are best here:

I learned two things in the hour it took me to compile this list:

  • The list is a lot longer than I expected it to be. I wrote a lot about writing since I began blogging nearly 5 years ago. This list doesn’t include all the posts in the Writing category, either.
  • Before writing Saturday’s post, I hadn’t written anything worthwhile about writing since February 2008.

I urge you to read any of the posts listed above that you think you might find interesting. Comment on them, too. Your comments will help me develop ideas for new posts about related topics.

In the meantime, I’ll use the “Writing Tips” title for a bunch of short new posts that cover some of the basics. I promise not to be too chatty.

Pro Writing Fundamentals: Editors

Who are these people and what do they do?

Posts in the Pro Writing Fundamentals Series:
Editors
Contract Negotiation

Since writing my multi-part series about copy editors, I’ve been thinking about taking a step backwards, for the benefit of new writers, to discuss the various types of editors a writer may work with on a book project. Copy editors are just one type, but there can be quite a few others.

So here’s that discussion, along with a summary of how they all work together in the book production process.

Acquisitions Editor

The first kind of editor you’re likely to work with is an acquisitions editor. This is an editor whose job is to acquire new books.

When you write a book proposal and send it to a publisher, this should be the person you contact. After all, this is the person who knows what the publisher is looking for. It’s also the person who is able to make you an offer and get the contract process going.

Keep in mind that not all publishers have acquisitions editors. These days, as many publisher trim the fat, they’re combining multiple jobs to make them one person’s responsibility. Also remember that although “acquisitions editor” is a standard title, not all publishers use standard titles. When I talk about an acquisitions editor, I mean the person acting in that capacity, no matter what her title is.

(I use feminine pronouns to refer to editors throughout this article. That’s not because I’m a feminist. It’s because the vast majority of my editors over the past 15 years have been women.)

Here’s how it works. You approach an acquisitions editor with a book proposal. If she likes it, she starts talking dates and money. If things continue to move smoothly, she’ll make an offer. You’ll make a counter offer. You’ll meet somewhere in the middle, likely closer to her number than yours.

Then she’ll get the legal department involved. They’ll draw up a standard contract with your money terms and dates. You’ll go over the contract and either ask for certain points to be changed or sign it. Throughout this whole time, you’ll be working with an acquisitions editor.

Of course, if you have an agent, your agent will do this stuff. Heck, he should. After all, he’ll be taking 10% to 15% off the top on your advance and royalty checks. This is how he earns his keep.

(And no, I don’t have, and never have had, an agent.)

Project Editor

Next, you’ll work with a project editor. Her job is to keep you on track, review your work as it comes in, and guide you in terms of content and style. She’s also responsible for making sure you meet your deadlines. Later in the process, she’ll coordinate all phases of the book’s pre-production work, including your interaction with other editors.

Your project editor may also act as the impartial judge if disagreements between you and your other editors arise. So it’s very important to treat your project editor with all the respect she deserves and to not be a pain in the ass. Remember, you’re not the only one she’s dealing with. She may have half a dozen or more other books and authors and production teams to deal with at the same time.

These days, I work primarily with two publishers. At both publishers, my project editor is also the acquisition editor. So I work with her for the entire project. I like it that way. I feel that the publisher has someone with a vested interest in the project from start to finish.

Technical Editor

If you write technical books, like I do, you might have a technical editor. Your technical editor’s job is to make sure your text is technically correct.

A good technical editor will repeat every instruction you wrote in the manuscript to make sure it works as you said it should. She’ll check all your screenshots to make sure they reflect what she’s also seen on her screen.

Some technical editors go a step further by suggesting topics they think are important that you may have omitted. For example, if you’re discussing the use of a software program’s dialog box and there’s a check box in there that you haven’t mentioned but she thinks is important, she’ll query you in the manuscript, asking if you want to mention it.

As the author, you get to review all of the technical editor’s comments. You should make changes as needed to correct errors. You can also make changes per the editors suggestions — or blow them off. But if you blow off a suggestion, you should have a relatively good reason for doing so.

If your technical editor makes a lot of suggestions that you don’t think are worth dealing with, you might want to mention it gently to her or to your project editor. Make sure you have a good excuse. Page count always works: “If I covered every option in ever dialog box, the book would need an extra 50 pages.” (Some publishers are very sensitive to page count and want to avoid adding extra pages at all costs.)

Copy Editor

The copy editor is the person who goes through the manuscript, checking for grammar, spelling, and punctuation errors. She’ll also look for sentences that don’t make sense or aren’t as clear as they could be. I discuss copy editing in a lot of detail in my Copy editing article, so I don’t want to repeat it here. Read that. You might want to read the other parts of that series, which include my thoughts on copy editors in general.

When the copy editor is finished reviewing your manuscript and making changes, you’ll get a chance to review it. Keep your temper. Your job is to make sure she didn’t change the meaning of anything. (Believe me, it does happen.) If there’s a change you can’t live with, make a note in the manuscript to indicate why it’s objectionable. Your project editor will make the final call.

Production Editor

The production editor is the person responsible for turning the files you submitted into files that can be sent to a printer. Sometimes, the production editor does the layout herself. Sometimes she’s in charge of a production pool, of sorts, where your book is laid out by a team of layout people using a template.

Hope for the first kind of production editor. This person will ensure consistency in the appearance of pages. (I’ve had instances where I could tell which chapters of a book were laid out by each of its three production people, just by the way small images were placed on pages. Not good.)

The production editor should not — I repeat, not — make any editorial changes. By the time the manuscript gets to the production editor, the content is engraved in stone (so to speak). A production editor that changes content — for whatever reason — is not doing her job. (I once had one who changed the content to make it easier for him to lay out. You’d better believe I wigged out when I saw the proofs.)

When the production editor finishes her work, she’ll print out proofs for review. These are sometimes referred to as “galleys” or “galley proofs.” For my books, they’re usually printed by chapter and I get a bunch of chapters at a time. For other kinds of books that aren’t so time sensitive, they’re probably printed out as entire books so they can be reviewed as a whole.

The proofs will go out to a bunch of people, including you, the project editor, a proofreader, and an indexer.

Proofreader

A proofreader isn’t exactly an editor, but she does have an editing responsibility. She goes through the proofs and reads every single word and looks at every single image and caption. Her job is to identify typos and other errors that slipped by the editing process.

A good proofreader will find problems. There are always problems in the proofs. I usually find them when I revise the book for the next edition. (Do you think I actually read my books once they’re printed and bound as books?)

My role as a proofreader is usually to make sure that the figures and illustrations are in the right place and are called out properly in the text. (I hate seeing “as shown next:” at the end of a paragraph when a small screenshot is placed beside the paragraph instead of after it.) I’ve also occasionally caught incorrect screenshot placement.

The problems found are marked up and sent back to the production editor, who fixes them. She then turns the book into files and either uploads them to the printer’s FTP site or sends them to the printer on a CD-R disc.

Indexer

The indexer is also not really an editor. But she is, in a way, because she also reads the proofs and occasionally finds problems. In fact, I fired a proofreader I’d hired for a book when the indexer found more problems than the proofreader did!

The indexer usually uses indexing software to create the book’s index. She submits it to the project editor, who has it edited by the copy editor. It then goes to the production editor to be laid out with the rest of the book.

You probably won’t see the index until the book is printed and bound. That’s ironic, since many book contracts require the author to pay the cost of indexing the book.

How Long?

How long this takes varies from publisher to publisher. It also varies depending on the kind of book. Computer how-to books are extremely time-sensitive, so the process seldom takes more than a month from the time you submit the last chapter’s original manuscript to the time the production editor sends it to the printer. For other topics and books and publishers, the process can take months or even years — which is something I simply can’t imagine.

That’s It in a Nutshell

That’s the editorial process for publishing a book — at least as I’ve experienced it. Has it been different for you? If so, share your experiences in the Comments for this post.

And if all this is new to you, don’t be afraid to use the Comments to ask questions.

RedBubble

Another online community.

RedBubbleI recently discovered RedBubble, an online community for creative people. RedBubble offers members and visitors three things:

  • A community of photographers, artists, and writers. This is a place where you can meet other creative people, view and comment on their work, and get feedback on your own work. For me, seeing the work done by other members has re-energized me, giving me a real desire to get back into photography, which has been one of my hobbies since my college days.
  • A place to sell your artwork. One of RedBubble’s draws is that once you have uploaded artwork to their server, you can make that artwork available for sale in a number of formats, including cards, laminated prints, canvas prints, and framed prints. You can take that idea a step farther (as I did) and use it as a place to get quality prints of your own photos for your own use.
  • A place to buy quality artwork by amateur and professional photographers and artists. Just about all the images online are available for sale as cards and prints. On my first visit, I found about a dozen photos I liked enough to order as cards. But not all artwork online is photos. There are also drawings/paintings and t-shirt designs. So if you’re looking for interesting artwork, I recommend giving RedBubble a try.

The community is small and its members are mature and relatively friendly. (Or the ones that aren’t are keeping to themselves.) That alone is a good reason to get onboard.

Selling Your Own Artwork

Here’s how artwork sales works:

You start by uploading your artwork and providing information about it, including a name, description, and keywords. You want to upload the highest resolution images you have; the higher the resolution, the more formats it can be made available in. For example, if you upload a 5 megapixel photo, it’ll only be available as a card or as a small (approximately 8 x 12) print. There just isn’t enough data for the larger sized formats.

As part of the upload process, you specify a markup percentage. All products have a minimum price, which is how RedBubble covers its costs and makes money. The base prices are reasonable (in my opinion, anyway) with cards starting at $2.50 each and small laminated prints starting at $15 each. The markup percentage is the profit you can make on the sale of one of your images. For example, the default 20% markup will earn you 50¢ on a card and $3 on a small print. If you want to make more money, just up the percentage. But keep in mind that if you make your products too costly, you could price yourself out of the market.

My RedBubble PortfolioOnce you’ve saved all this information, the artwork appears in your portfolio. If you’re lucky, it might also appear in the Gallery of featured work, which is how many people find work to comment on or buy. Members and site visitors can look at your work and buy it. Members can also comment on it. In general, members are very polite and complementary. I think that if they see something they don’t like, they just don’t comment. (Isn’t that refreshing in an online community!)

RedBubble’s shipping rates are incredibly reasonable. For example, I ordered 10 cards last week and the total shipping was only $2.73. Shipping is also reasonable on framed prints, which are notoriously expensive to ship. So the cost of buying artwork can be very reasonable.

As for quality, most users seem happy with what they’ve been ordering. I’m waiting for my cards to arrive. If the quality is good, I’ll take the next step and order a print or two. Since I’m extremely quality conscious, I won’t hesitate to let you know if I think RedBubble doesn’t make the grade.

For Writers

As for the writing side of RedBubble, it’s not as obvious, but it’s there. You can find writing exercises and challenges in the public forums. Each member also has a journal — like a personal, RedBubble blog — to share thoughts and ideas. Some folks are using both features to share poetry and very short stories. I wrote my first haiku in years based on a challenge in the forums. (That’s about the limit of my poetry capabilities these days.)

Give it a Try!

If you’d like to check out my RedBubble portfolio, you can find it at http://www.redbubble.com/people/mlanger. You’ll see some of the photos I’ve shown off here on my site, as well as a few that haven’t found their way online yet. I’d be tickled pink (yes, I did say that) if I got some comments or sold a card or two.

Are you an artist, photographer, or writer? If so, I highly recommend checking out RedBubble. I don’t think it’ll disappoint you.

Message to Twitter Users: Use a Lint Screen

A plea to those who [should] care.

I write about Twitter too much. I know that. But Twitter has become part of my life and, like other things that are part of my life, it has given me plenty to write about.

lint screenToday’s topic is Twitter fluff. That’s my term for the kinds of tweets that are downright boring and childish, written by people who should know better. The sole purpose of these tweets seems to be to fill the Twitter world with content. Trouble is, the quality of that content is about equal to the quality of the stuff that accumulates in a clothes dryer’s lint screen.

While you expect that kind of behavior from people who really don’t have anything to tweet about or people too immature to realize the significance of their everyday experiences, you don’t expect it from people with experiences worth sharing.

I’m not naming names here. Or Twiter IDs, for that matter. But I recently added a professional journalist to my list of Twitter friends. This is a person who works for a media organization and typically follows stories relating to the Iraq war and politics — stories that matter. An adult. A professional. Someone who should have interesting tweets.

What I found, however, is that more than half of this person’s tweets are messages to his new Twitter friends to greet them. For example, “Hi new Twitterfriends, @AlexTheBird, @JackTheDog, and @mlanger!” While it’s very friendly of this person to greet all his new friends, reading dozens of tweets like this throughout the day — between the daily “Good morning, Twitter!” and nightly “Good night, Twitter!” posts — is pretty much a waste of my time. I’m interested in what this guy is doing. Who is he interviewing? What has he learned? What insight can he share about his professional journalism world? How can what he’s doing make me think about the world around me?

I need to mention here that I don’t expect every tweet I read to contain some kind of deep revelation for me. (If that were possible, I’d spend all of my time reading Twitter tweets.) This morning, one of my Twitter friends posted a tweet in which the text was all upside-down. How the heck did she do that? She followed up with a link that showed us how. Useless? Yes. Trivial? Sure. But fun? You bet! And a heck of a lot more interesting than “Hello new Twitterfriends @joe, @jim, and @jake!”

And, for those of you ready to go on the offensive, I’m also not saying that my tweets are anything special. I just tweet about the things I’m doing. Some of them are pretty dull. (Who cares that I’m reading my e-mail?) Some of them are pretty interesting. (How many people land their helicopters in a new friend’s backyard?) But I’m not filling the Twitter world with fluff, either.

Anyway, I’m kind of hoping this journalist friend reads this and recognizes himself and thinks about what he’s typing to the world — especially to all of those new friends he keeps greeting. No offense guy, but you can do much better than that. I know you can.

Flying with Cars, Take 2

Another gig at the Proving Grounds.

I spent yesterday afternoon sweating my brains out, flying in formation with cars.

I’d been hired once again to take a film crew around a proving ground tracks to get some footage for a internal marketing video. Last time, there had been one car. This time there were two. Last time it had been in September. This time, it was July.

The Flight Down

Mike came with me from Wickenburg. We topped off the tanks at the local airport here and took all four doors off. We’d filled a cooler with ice and bottled water and Gatorade to bring along. I also had a hand-held radio for Mike so he could listen in while we were flying. The flight from Wickenburg took about 50 minutes. It was hot — about 110°F/42°C — and even the wind through the open doorways did nothing to cool us. I had a small spray bottle and would douse my loose-fitting cotton shirt down with water as I flew. 2 minutes later, it would be completely dry again.

It was also bumpy. The desert, baked throughout the day by the broiling sun was sending waves of thermals straight up. But a 10 to 20 knot wind from the southwest was breaking all that up. As a result, the flight was like riding on a poorly maintained road with big, fat, soft tires. Bumpy but seldom jarringly so. Someone prone to motion sickness probably would have puked.

There were also dust devils: towering updrafts of swirling dust blown laterally across the desert floor. At any one time, looking out at the open desert, we could see at least two dozen of the damn things, some of them at least 500 feet tall. We were flying at about 500 feet above the ground, so dodging them became part of our flight path. If it looked like we’d hit one, I’d alter course to pass to the west behind it. This probably added a few minutes to the flight, but I wasn’t the least bit interested in getting very close to any of them.

By the time we got to the proving ground and landed on a piece of road where everyone waited, I was tired and red hot — literally! — my face was completely flushed — and partially dehydrated. It was a good thing we had an hour to kill before the film crew would be ready. I spent it drinking water and Gatorade in the air conditioned comfort of the facility’s lunch room.

The Film Crew

The film crew consisted of the same director and photographer as last time. The photographer had a big, professional video camera that he sat on his shoulder as he taped the action. The camera was attached by a cable to a small monitor that the director could hold in his hands during the flight.

The photographer was strapped in not only with a seat belt by with a rope that tied the harness he wore to the bar between the two front seats in the helicopter. In addition, they rigged up a come-along strap on the helicopter’s frame between the left and right side of the helicopter and had the camera attached to that by two separate straps. We clearly would not be dropping either the photographer or camera out of the helicopter.

Everyone on the film crew wore black shirts. These are obviously people unaccustomed to life in the desert. It doesn’t take long for a desert dweller to realize that black might look cool but it doesn’t feel cool with the sun shining down on you and a UV index of 10. They also drank a lot of Pepsi. No matter how many of us “locals” recommended water, they’d guzzle Pepsi and some weak tea looking concoction they kept in one-gallon plastic water jugs. I didn’t ask what it was.

Throughout the flight, the director would yell commands to me and the photographer through the helicopter’s intercom system. He had to yell because the photographer was hanging out of the helicopter to get his shots and his microphone was out in the 20 to 80 knot wind (depending on our speed, of course). The director also yelled into a handheld radio that the driver was tuned into, giving him directions.

Of course, the most challenging thing about communication was not the wind noise but the language. They didn’t speak good English.

The Flying

The kind of flying this time around was mostly chasing the car around the speed track (a large paved oval with sharply banked curves) and the dirt track (a smaller oval with a dusty dirt surface). I’d fly alongside, anywhere from 10 to 100 feet off the ground, but usually around 30. Speed ranged from a hover to as fast as 80 knots.

If you’re a helicopter pilot, you know that this kind of operation puts me in the shaded area of the height-velocity diagram or so-called “dead man’s curve.” I’m full aware of the dangers of this kind of flying and communicated them to my passengers.

But frankly, my willingness to do this kind of flying is what got me the job two years ago. They’d asked two other local operators to do it and they both said no. I think that the fact that they were flight schools played heavily into the decision. Wouldn’t be a good example to set for newly minted CFIs. Besides, I really think that this kind of “extreme” flying is best done by experienced pilots. Although I only have about 1,800 hours right now, that’s a heck of a lot more than the typical 400-hour flight school CFI.

The challenging parts:

  • Going from a near hover to highway speed in a very short time.
  • Keeping an eye on the car and the obstacles around the track, including poles with wires, antenna towers, tents used to hide cars from passing aircraft (believe it or not), and road signs.
  • Flying alongside the car at 20 feet above the ground, making smooth “hops” over lower obstructions (signs, tents, etc.) as necessary,
  • Swooping past the front of the car and turning so the camera didn’t lose sight of the car until it was past us.
  • Getting back into shooting position quickly after a technical shot so the photographer could maximize his video time.
  • Understanding what my passengers wanted me to do, especially on those occasions when they couldn’t agree and gave conflicting commands.

The best shots probably came close to sunset, when we were working with one of the cars on the dirt track. The clear sky, low sun, and dust combine to make magical scenes. Most of the shots used in the video from last time were ones from the dirt track. My job was to keep the setting sun, car, and helicopter in a line so the photographer could get sunset footage.

The Machine

I really enjoy this kind of work. Flying a helicopter from point A to point B is mildly interesting, but doing the kind of flying needed to photograph moving cars (or boats, for that matter), is extremely challenging. It takes all of my concentration to deliver what the photographer and director want.

But what’s probably best about it is the way my arms and legs go into a certain autopilot mode. I think of what I want and my body reacts to make the helicopter do what needs to be done. There’s very little thought involved. I’m just part of the machine — the brain, so to speak. And when flying — or doing anything with a piece of equipment, I imagine — becomes so automatic and thought-free, that’s magic.

The Trip Home

We finished up just after sunset. Rather than shut down and go inside for some refreshments, I decided to keep it running and head home. I wanted to get home before it was too dark. I was exhausted — I’d flown over 4 hours that day, including a flight from Howard Mesa and the ferry flight to the track — and was depending on the last vestiges of adrenaline to power me home. So the film crew got all their straps and cables out, Mike got in, and we took off.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that the Low Fuel light was flickering 2 miles from the nearest airport. Another plane was on final when I came in for my approach. I meekly asked him if I could land first because of my fuel situation. He gracefully pulled his twin engine airplane into a 360 turn to the right to give me additional room. By the time I set down at the self-serve pump, the fuel light was shining brightly. I thanked the pilot of the plane again after he rolled out from his landing.

It was still 104°F/40°C most of the way home — an hour-long flight in growing darkness. I’m accustomed to flying at night — I think every pilot should be comfortable with that skill — so it wasn’t a big deal. It was also very smooth; hardly any wind until we neared Wickenburg.

The only problem was the dust that had evidently gotten into my eyes during the last bit of shooting. It really messed up my contact lenses.