II. SUBMISSIONS, continued

b) Craft and Critiques

Voice is often touted as a desirable element in fiction, yet it’s difficult to pinpoint (“I know it when I see it”). What does voice mean to you? How can it help create and define a character?

I read a wonderful mystery not long ago that was set in Victorian London. It was pacey and well-plotted, the turns of phrase were all there, and the historical details had clearly been well researched. But something about it just felt off to me; it seemed too “American,” ultimately, for what the story claimed to be.

I think voice is difficult to define because it’s composed of many things. It’s the author’s ability to craft a confident, authentic point of view—one that reflects the author but that also manages to inhabit the character and story naturally. It’s the uniqueness of the narrator’s relationship to his or her circumstances, and an energy and personality that comes through on the page. Similar stories are told over and over again, but voice is what separates a familiar or derivative story from one that seems utterly fresh.

Sarah Dessen says, "I never start a book until I have the first scene, last scene, climactic scene and first line all in my head." Cheryl Klein’s Second Sight references arcs (such as climax) within each scene. What tip or exercise do you suggest for making scenes emotionally satisfying?

I definitely watch for the internal arc of a scene—a sense that I’ll get from point A to point B, or that something new has been revealed about a character or situation. A scene doesn’t have to be action packed or emotionally charged to be successful, but it should add to the trail of clues you’re leaving for a reader about the character or story.

I sometimes find that writers try too hard to force tension or emotion into a scene. A well rendered scene will leave me with a sense of completion, as well as a hunger to keep going. Authors are often asked to read an excerpt from their books at events. So ask yourself: would your scene hold up to a reading at a bookstore or school visit? What does it communicate about the character or story? Why will it tease a listener into wanting to learn more?

Do you read the synopsis before or after reading a manuscript—or do you bypass the synopsis? (Why?) How and when might a synopsis prove useful to you?

I might glance at a synopsis, but I generally set it aside and assess the merits of a manuscript on its own. Synopses are helpful for partial submissions, since they spell out the direction the story is going to take. If there is a sequel planned, a brief synopsis of the next book can give me a sense of how the author intends to extend the plot lines and characters.

What kinds of craft flaws do you see in otherwise well-written manuscripts? What self-editing tips do you suggest?

Flaws differ with every manuscript, but the dreaded show-don’t-tell is one that pops up regularly. A writer can go on for paragraphs describing someone’s personality, but I don’t want to be told how someone is, I want to see it—in their actions and their words, or from the reactions of other people around them. I have been known to write “Prove it!” in the margins when I grow tired of being told about something. If I meet a girlfriend for coffee and she wants to tell me about a recent date she went on, and all she says is “He’s really nice, he’s really funny, he’s so sweet,” it doesn’t satisfy my question, “Tell me about him.”

Give me examples of why he’s nice, I’ll tell her. What did he say or do that was funny? How did you feel at the end of the date? If your all-seeing narrator is doing all the talking on the page, it might be time to jot “Prove it” in the margins and push yourself to re-examine a scene for other ways you can convey what’s going on.

Tell us about your approach to revisions in an accepted manuscript—one for which you’ve provided an editorial letter and/or invitation to re-submit.

Frankly, I always take a really deep breath and hope for the best, but you just never know. Revision is the scariest part of the writing process because while the goal is to improve on the spots that aren’t working, you don’t want to dismantle the elements that are sound. I once suggested that an author consider rewriting a story in first person because I felt the third person narration lacked emotion, and I thought changing the point of view might bring more immediacy into the story. But the revision was horrible—and in this case, it wasn’t even the writer’s fault since I was the one who proposed the change.

Revisions end up being a leap of faith on both the editor and author’s behalf, and ideally a revision will help bring the story to another level and potentially lead to a publishing contract. But the reality is that inviting a revision doesn’t guarantee that the manuscript will get to a place that the editor may have in mind for it.

How would you describe your working relationships with your authors?

It’s definitely a partnership, and it absolutely requires trust. Which when you think about it, is a bold arrangement since authors are being asked to trust somebody they probably don’t know very well with something that’s very personal to them. My job is to figure out what the author needs from me, and how to provide it, while still keeping in mind the needs of the reader.

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