Writing Tip #1: Weeding out Adverbs

I read Stephen King's On Writing like every good aspiring author should. I remember the passage about adverbs: 

"They're like dandelions. If you have one on your lawn, it looks pretty and unique. If you fail to root it out, however, you have five the next day...fifty the day after that...and then, my brothers and sisters, your lawn is totally, completely, profligately, covered with dandelions. By then you see them for the weeds they really are."

When I took to the keyboard, eager to get my story out, an adverb popped up. "It looks pretty," I thought. It can stay. It's the only one.

I dropped another in.

And another.

And another.

There was a twinge of doubt every time. But it needs to be there! I convinced myself. How else will the reader know my character is anxious, willing, in a hurry, or that this is inevitable?

I typed on, comfortable with my rationalization.

Now the MS is complete and the revisions made. It's time to edit.

Microsoft Word has a tool in the upper right corner called, "Find." Click on the little binoculars and you can find any word, phrase, punctuation, or partial word. It will highlight it for you in dandelion yellow.

I nearly spit coffee on the screen when it showed me 764 uses of "ly" in my 65,500 word MS. Little yellow dots everywhere.

My beloved MS was totally, completely, profligately, covered with weeds.


How does a writer begin to tackle this?

Now that you know there's a problem, go to the experts before you try to fix anything. Pick up a classic, timeless piece of fiction you love. My go-to's right now are Les Miserables for the complexity, brilliance, and use of metaphors. And The Hobbit because it's delightful and conversational. I feel like I'm in Tolkien's home, and he's just pulled up a cushy chair, and begun to tell me a story. It's a good style to emulate.

Pick a page at random (you're not reading for the story) and take it in. Appreciate the work. Grow accustomed to the rhythm of the writing. Notice things about it. See any adverbs? Probably not. Figure out what you love about it. Take some time with this. Spend whole days away from the screen. Designate them as reading days. Sometimes just an hour is enough to give you a fresh perspective when you look at your own work again. Your taste in your own writing will have changed--like magic. You'll see problems you didn't before.

After you've done that, and you're ready to face the mountainous 764 words, don't be overwhelmed. Pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee, take a deep breath, and remind yourself that some of those words are "family" and "rely" and other non-"ly" adverbs.

Tackle the unnecessary words like "really" "only" and "nearly" first. You can eliminate them without much thought. Maybe a minor sentence adjustment. Get those things outta there. All of them.

The other ones, the ones you thought about and used intentionally are going to be a little tougher. You don't need to get rid of ALL of them. But I hope you'll begin to see that you don't need MOST of them. Don't automatically replace them with description. Sometimes a sentence or a paragraph needs to be tightened up. Maybe you need cut words to increase pacing, not slow it down by adding more words. You won't know that until you're reading whole passages and getting a feel for how fast it's moving.

When you come across the highlighted "ly" take some time to read the sentences around it. You'll find, probably....85% of the time, it's already preceded or followed by sufficient "showing" and you can just delete the adverb. For example, you may say she looked around nervously, and then describe her as fidgeting, and eyes darting. The reader "sees" that she's nervous! We don't need to be told. Get rid of that "ly."

Don't trust your gut. Your gut is the reason the adverb is there. Your subconscious wants to make sure the reader "gets" it. The reader is smarter than you're giving him/her credit for. Don't spoon feed the reader. That's lazy. Good, succinct writing is about subtraction.

For some omitted "ly"s, you may want to add description. You have to be judicious. That part is hard. You have to treat every one of them individually, and look at what's around it. No shortcuts. It's worth it. You used that "ly" because you were trying to convey something to the reader. Make sure you're doing it.

If deleting feels like ripping off a scab, you can copy the sentence and paste it in a file called "Deleted." That way, it's there, and if you find that you still don't like the sentence sans adverb, you can put it back. But at least *try* the sentence without it, and leave it that way for a while, and see if it doesn't grow on you, and strike you as better, stronger writing.

Secrecy of the Writer's Life

I have a secret. I write and think about writing more than anyone knows. I don't like that this is true. I don't like that I answer the unmistakable urge to click on the Pinterest tab I intentionally left open to cover up the Word document I've really been working on when I hear someone walk in the room.

I don't like that 90% of what goes on in my brain can not be shared with anyone I know in real life.

It's lonely.

It makes me feel like I'm hiding a part of who I am. It hinders my creativity by limiting the amount of time I can tap into it, and the amount of feedback I can get, and the potential encouragement I might receive from people who would believe in me and pray for me--if only they knew.

I've talked to God about this, lamented all these things, asked him for boldness to share what I do in my quiet hours. I worry this intense need for secrecy is a pride issue, that it's simply fear of people thinking my writing is bad, my knowledge of history is wrong, my ideas silly, my ambition vain, my dream stupid.

I have a picture of myself in my mind, holding up a book cover, beaming, announcing to my little world that it finally happened. Then, I imagine I won't feel the urge to keep my labor a secret anymore. What a relief this will be! A burden lifted. Payoff after years of hiding this enormous part of myself. This vision is more enticing to me than the thought of my first royalty check, or the thought of my first positive review.

I don't crave a publishing contract, or professional accolades. Only enough success to crawl forth out of this dark place of isolation I'm in and be honest, open, and transparent.

I don't know if this is right or wrong or spiritually in line with a person who is mature in her faith, loves God, and seeks to honor him with her work. It's what my heart dictates.

But I wonder if, maybe, there is something God-honoring in the secrecy. If it's okay to avoid proclaiming to my world, "Yes! God did surely call me to do this even though I have no evidence. Here, look. No, wait. Now, look. No, let me work on it some more. Forget that first thing I showed you. This one is better."

Truthfully, when I look back on my first drafts, I want to gag at the triteness, silliness, and blandness of it. It's boring and awful and I think God is not honored by that, he is honored by the process. The faithfulness of returning to the same document, day after day, improving it, sharpening it, like the blade Solomon speaks of in Ecclesiastes 10:10. "Using a dull ax requires great strength," he says. "So sharpen the blade. That's the value of wisdom. It helps you succeed."

When I think of using a dull ax, I think of the wasted effort, the witnesses who snicker and shake their heads at the fool who began his work before his tool was ready. It's not wrong to go into the shed and sharpen the blade in secrecy, in anticipation of the work to come. This does not indicate a lack of confidence in the work, or in the hand of God to bring the work to fruition.

Some people don't want an audience to watch while they drag the blade back and forth against the pumice, hold it up to their eyes, and return it to the stone for a little more refinement. They may not enjoy the darkness and secrecy of the shed, but they endure it, knowing it's not forever. They stay as long as necessary, knowing they are sparing themselves and the God they seek to honor the indignity of coming out too soon, before they are ready.

I pray, O God, this secretive time is not wasted time. That there will be a time for transparency, a time when you can look at what I've made and say, "The blade is sharp enough. Step out into the sunlight and put it to use. It's not a sin for you to be confident in this."

20 Things That Matter More Than the Almighty Book Deal

When you have a voice inside your head that whispers, "You should write a book," and won't shut up until you do what it says, it's hard to believe there is anything more revered, more longed for, more dreamed of, than the Almighty Book Deal.

Almost every writer who makes it to this point is still facing years--YEARS--of waiting. The journey looks different for everyone, but the waiting is universal. In time, you grow weary of worshiping at the alter of the Almighty Book Deal, and become discouraged that the sacrifice of your time, imagination, and sanity may not be enough to appease its voracious appetite.

Take heart, Aspiring Author. Here is a list of 20 things that matter more than the Almighty Book Deal (ABD).

1. Obedience. You were called to write this book, as crazy at it sounds to your family and friends. You obeyed the call when you typed, "Chapter One," and when you followed those words with 70,000 more. Stay obedient to it now.

2. Humility. I'm going to be honest with you. If you recently typed, "The End," and have only read it a second or third time all the way through, it still sucks. Even if your mom told you it was great. The sound of crickets coming from the literary agency isn't a sign that you should give up and close the file forever. It's just a timely dose of humility. Swallow it and get busy fixing what you did wrong in the first draft.

3. Relationship with other writers. You probably started writing, in part, because you're an introvert. Worry not. You don't have to go far to leave your cocoon. For writers, email and social media can be as valuable (sometimes more so) as a cup of coffee and a conversation across a real-life table. Seek out writer friends, unpublished ones for the mutual critique and camaraderie, and published ones for the mountains of knowledge, wisdom, and experience they bring. Don't count anyone out and give back as much as you know how to give.

4. Feedback. Yes, feedback matters more than the ABD. By the time you have the book deal, it's too late to fix the problems your readers will notice. Get as much feedback as possible. Accept it with grace. Even if you don't agree. Even if it makes you angry. Fix the problems and then get some more feedback.

5. Rejection. It stings, I know. Think of it as athletic conditioning. The first workout makes your muscles scream and burn, and you would rather die than go back for more. Go back anyway. The next time it hurts a little less. And the next time you notice you're stronger. Keep going back for more. The goal is to be lean and ripped, and you won't get there until you begin to look forward to the pain, because you understand the benefit of going through it. Let the rejections pile up. Take a little pride in each one, knowing how it has served to strengthen your spine and thicken your skin.

6. Perseverance. This one is no joke. My own engine has sputtered and died on occasion, and for a variety of reasons: a rejection, an illness, a negative critique, a season of busyness that kept my mind far from my stories. It leaves me drifting and listless and disinterested. It's a dangerous place to stay because this is when it seems logical to give up. After all, who would know? It's not like you have an editor beating your door down for the next chapter. But it can also be a time of clarity. When your drive to finish has stalled, and your craving for the ABD is diminished, you can see more clearly why you've been working at this for so long, how far you've come, and how messed up it would be to quit now. Don't quit. Call a friend to give you a jump and get that engine to turn over asap.

7. Time to make it better. There's no substitute for time. Use it well. An artist's work is never really finished anyway. These aren't Bob Ross paintings, a stroke here, and a happy little tree there, and in thirty minutes, you've got a complete masterpiece. Up close those things are a hot mess. Writing is 1% creating, and 99% editing. It's cutting away large chunks, tightening up sloppy dialogue, and cleaning the mess you left in the first draft. So, let the time pass, get busy, and trust me: It. Can. Always. Be. Better.

8. Growth. As a writer, yes, but also as a human being. People who achieve success too easily are stunted. It ruins them. Embrace growth.

9. Time away from the screen. After the ABD you will be a slave to deadlines, edits, social media, marketing, book tours, and blog tours. You're not there yet. So, step away from the screen. It's ok. No one has to know. Go for a walk. Mop the kitchen floor (if that's your thing). Journal about something no one will ever see. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts.

10. Maturity. It took a stint in federal prison for Prison Fellowship founder, Chuck Colson, to realize that nothing is more important than the maturing of the soul. Not wealth, not prosperity, not pleasure. Not even the ABD.

11. Prayer. Almost nothing is better for your prayer life than waiting, wondering, and striving toward something you think God has called you to. He will not grow tired of hearing your musings to him on the subject of the ABD. Write these prayers down and watch them change over time as you grow and mature in all ways.

12. Pleading. Like the deer that pants for the stream, plead with God to take from you this dream, and set your heart on another, if he desires that you do something else with your time and talents. When you find, day after day, that your heart is still tuned to it, plead with him to go with your on your journey, wherever it takes you. Plead with him to delay the ABD, slowing you down if your pride is likely to take you farther than he wants you to go. Plead with him to open doors of his choosing and to close others, and to help you in the fight to stay humble and obedient through every small victory.

13. Small victories. Celebrate every positive critique, every tough chapter you labor through to the end, and especially those long awaited words: "The End." Take note of the little gifts of divine inspiration that serve to reveal things in your writing you didn't see before. Let it encourage you to keep going, and fill you with hope that this labor is not all for nothing.

14. Acceptance. Another rejection, another contest lost, another year passed with nothing tangible to show for it. You're no closer than you were this time last year. The answer from God is, "Not yet." Accept it. Move on. There's no point arguing with him about the timing.

15. Contentment. Make your peace with what you've been forced to accept. This is how far as he's brought you, and this is where you'll stay for a little while longer. "Godliness with contentment is great gain." 1 Timothy 6:6

16. Self-sacrifice. It's so hard to pour so much of yourself into something no one else seems to care about. So many hours lost to dreaming, typing, staring out the window, perfecting a character's expression. The creative mind is a burden, churning constantly, leaving you in a fog while you perform daily responsibilities. It isn't normal to space off at Thanksgiving dinner, creating dialogue based on the bickering of your relatives, or to fantasize about visiting historical/exotic locales all by yourself. It's a lonely and secretive life. There's a cost to it. Give of yourself for something that will be much larger than you.

17. Introspection. Sometimes it feels like a punch in the throat to have to ask yourself, "Why am I even doing this?" after years of what feels an awful lot like wasted effort. But sometimes it's good to go back to the beginning, to remember why you started, to follow the thread of this thing you've been pursuing, and to look down and see your fist still firmly clenched around that thread.

18. God's presence. It's worth more than holding your work in your hands, seeing your name on the spine, more than royalties, more than winning a contest, or landing an agent, or the ABD. It just is.

19. God's sovereignty. Despite the Disney Channel's message that "if you work hard, your dreams will come true," it may not be God's will for you, or for me, to get the ABD. That has to be ok. No amount of waiting, or editing, or pleading for it will change God's already made up mind. How can you or I do anything but fall down before this holy, majestic, omnipotent God, who is so gracious to make our little lives matter?

20. God's glory. If I am focused solely on going after my own glory (which, let's face it, is what the ABD really is), I will not have eyes to see God's handiwork. Don't misunderstand. It is possible to balance excellence and ambition with godly humility. You can stay humble without staying hidden. Your talent can be valued and even celebrated without vainglorious self-promotion. You can strive toward excellence without being proud. You can work to hone and improve your skill without being self-obssessed. You do have to step back from yourself, your creation, your desires, your effort, your fear, your insecurity. Let your journey be interrupted. Let it go on longer than you expected. Let it sanctify you and glorify him. Let him worry about the ABD.

Hope to Keep Writing: Editing and Answered Prayers

I am in the editing stages of my second first WIP (that might actually become something worth reading). I've gone chapter by painstaking chapter, submitting them to my critique partners for the last seven months. That's probably twice as long as it took to write the first draft.

But first drafts are like this:

Not that it isn't hard. It is. But editing is sifting through all that sand. It's throwing out pieces of broken sea shell, scooping away big chunks of superfluous sand, and going in with a tiny brush to carve elaborate turrets, windows, brick facade, maybe even a moat to go around it that you didn't think to add before.

It's laborious, sometimes tedious. Some days I sit at the screen and stare at the same paragraph for three hours, and I don't know what to do with it until after I've left the computer in frustration and started doing the dishes, which have sat by the sink since breakfast because I was in a hurry to begin the day's editing.

But sometimes there are magical little moments, when I discover a gem I didn't know was there, and editing becomes exciting and energizing and I think maybe I'm on to something after all.

I was mulling over a chapter the other day, really struggling with it, knowing it wasn't where I wanted it to be. I read a line, maybe for the twentieth time since writing it. It wasn't an important line. It didn't stand out in any way. I stared at it until I saw the word, "her." Just a simple pronoun. It probably occurs 1000 times in the manuscript. But this one was different. It added a layer of meaning to the sentence I didn't fully understand when I wrote it, not even when I read it the first nineteen times. This day I saw it for what it meant. "Her," and no one else. Not the whole family.
Just her.
Plot twist.
New motive.
How exciting!
I added one more pithy line beneath it, a line of dialogue, which reveals a great deal about the character of the father, a characteristic the girl doesn't know yet, but the reader does. Now.

I've made maybe half a dozen little discoveries like this during the editing process. The light bulb goes on over a word or phrase, revealing a plot twist (usually a plot hole), and things come together in a beautiful new way.

I don't usually take any special note of these moments. I just squirm in my seat, rub my hands together, and smile wickedly as I type on.

I took note of this one because it felt distinctly like something outside myself, something smarter than myself, had a hand in that. I know there are lots of writers in the great big world who have these moments, but I am always praying over my writing, so when something like this happens, I wonder if God is answering my prayer to show me things I can't see. And then I wonder if God's hand is actually in my creative work, and if I'm being obedient to His calling, not mine, and if He's blessing me for it. I wonder if He's guiding me to the next step. I begin to think that this is not all for nothing.

It could all be my imagination, but it gives me hope. It makes me crave more time with my computer. It drives me to keep at it, even when I have normal things that normal people do that get in the way. I may have a day that's full with bible study, and picking up the dry cleaning, and stopping by the store to pick up ingredients for a meal for my friend who just had a baby. But all those normal things are punctuated by thoughts of my story. Dialogue streaming through my mind as I drive, feeling the sun on my character's skin when I feel it on mine, and using my one precious hour alone to unload it all in the Word document, and read it over four times to make sure I like it.

Whether or not God does anything with it, I think, for me, there will always be writing. It is a part of who I am. It is a part of how I function. The tap has been turned on and it flows constantly for me.

Lament of the Christian Artist

Overwhelmed today with the question--AGAIN--of what God has promised me. I'm studying the story of Balaam and his donkey, which I did not want to study this week. I put it off again and again. I even wrinkled my nose at it when I saw it sitting by my computer, and checked facebook instead. I finished it without putting forth too much effort and went to bible study not really understanding it, not sure what God was saying to Israel, or to me, with the exception of his steadfast promise: Blessed are you, my people; I am sovereign over every single thing. There was, I admit, a bit of a *yawn* response from me. It's the same word from God week after week, chapter after chapter.

But as I listened to my friends answer the same questions with such profound insight, I sat up a little straighter and reread some of those prophecies from Numbers

"The God who can predict outcomes is the God who is the author of history," my teaching leader said.

I believe this about my God. With all my heart, I believe this. But the old, persistent question came to me, like a dilapidated neon sign that blinks and splutters but never quite goes out.

What did you promise me? Am I to understand your words in light of eternal victory? Or in light of my small life, which only has purpose because you give me a job to fulfill? Do you promise to use me as a writer of stories that are worthy to be read? Do you promise that I will become a published author? Is that your promise to me?

When I got to the car with these questions in my mind, I groaned and asked God if he was tired of hearing me ask because, frankly, I was tired of asking. "If this is not your promise to me," I prayed, tearing up as I drove down Abercorn, "take from me this dream and set my heart on another task, another mission, another way I can be used." I am willing to do that. I trust him for that.

But if it is his promise...if it is his promise, I will strive toward that for a decade more. Two decades. A lifetime. But I cannot spend a lifetime chasing a fool's errand. I must know if my prayers are the prayers of a self-aggrandizing bag of hot air, or a (semi) talented writer who really may one day achieve publication.

It struck me on the drive home: what if I'm not the faithful donkey, with his eyes to see the Lord's angel, but I am really Balaam, who is so single-minded, so determined to go his own way that he will beat the gentle faithful one into submission? How do I know I am not a diviner, trying to create the path I want, and blind to the path God has actually set me on? How do I know the set backs and discouragements aren't the voice of the donkey, who sees more clearly than I, that God himself is blocking the way?

"The story of Balaam abounds in comic irony," my commentary says, and I suppose if I were a Jew, a recipient of the promise, on the other side of victory with Moab, I would see the humor in it. Though the promised Redeemer has come, and God's completed Word sits open in my lap, I don't know who I am in this story.

Have I kicked someone under me? Neglected them? Despised them for interrupting my course, for keeping me from my writing desk, and my pursuit of my own glory?

I want to say that I am not Balaam. Balaam sold his soul for riches from Moab and died by the sword because of it. Balaam was willing to take a bribe. Balaam exacted revenge through wicked means when he didn't get his way.

God knows my heart. He knows it beats for him. He doesn't really need me to tell him how desperate I am for a word from him, a hint of a promise, a glimmer that I have heretofore missed because I blinked.

In asking God for an answer, I am taking a risk. I did my best, most prolific writing when I was not concerned with agents and contests and contracts. For so long I have successfully pushed aside the fear that it would be wasted, that no one would ever read it. I have convinced myself to write something down, anything, even if it's terrible, knowing that I can go back and fix it later. It has been enough to keep my fingers on the keyboard through 4 1/2 manuscripts. All without knowing for certain if this was even God's plan for my life. Without the assurance that this is his promise to me.

I stubbornly hope despite the odds.

I look at books from the library sitting on my bedside table. I see their paper, their ink, their cardboard spine, covered in that awful plastic film. I see the cover art and the dedication and I think, "This is impossible." I'm just a housewife. A nobody. Every author was at one time, I suppose. Every author wrote a terrible first draft and stuck with it until it got better...and then the clouds parted, and the heavenly chorus sounded from above, and God set them on their path to the promised book deal.

I realize now that I am still on the pendulum that swings wildly from total narcissism to crushing self-doubt, only now it has become unhinged and swings in a new direction that is a combination of both. Narcissism and doubt.

I'm sick of thinking about it. I'm sick of thinking about myself.

I won't quit. It's not a question of my quitting. It's a habit now, to turn my brain to story mode in the car, or the shower, or on a walk, or lying in bed. There is a drive to finish that will keep me at the computer every available minute of the day, even if the answer is no.

Until I am sure the answer is no.

The things that have gotten me to this point, the ways God has worked things out for me, kept me encouraged, spared my crooked little flash drive, protected my time and my health, put inspiring things in front of me, kept my computer from crashing, built me up, torn me town, taken my hand as I rebuilt again, shown me things that made my work better, given me a husband who allows me to indulge in what I have always tried to pass off as a glorified hobby, plucked me out of my old life and set me down in one of calm, and peace, and ease, so that I have an over-abundance of time to develop my craft, which I have grown to love so much--I have not imagined these things. They are not the outworking of my over-confidence, or my ambition, or my own feeble attempts.

Can I say that being a writer--an actual, legitimate, recognized, (dare I say it?) published author--is his promise to me? A promise that I should fight and claw and scratch and sweat to obtain?

God has brought me to this point and until he tells me, "No," I am powerless to stop trying.