II. SUBMISSIONS, continued

b) Craft and Critiques

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

I’ve read about as many synopses as I’ve eaten parsley garnishes. They’re always there, but they’re never why I’m there. I mean, if I only have five minutes to encourage someone to think about the entire scope of their novel, then it can be helpful to scratch at the synopsis, because the big problems usually reveal themselves in miniature form (“Wait, I have no idea who that character is. Where the hell did he come from?”). But if I’m providing a full-scale editorial reaction, then I’d rather experience the novel as it was meant to be experienced.

Our workshop enrollees critique peers’ full novels. However, many writers are experienced only in critiquing excerpts. What helps you keep track of everything in a novel—e.g., do you make notes after each chapter; if so, on what?

If I’m going to respond to a novel in its entirety, then I always stop to scribble notes whenever I’m substantially distracted by a concern or a curiosity… if I’m reading and I wish I could ask the author a question, then I write that question down. If I’m reading and I wish I could slap the author on the wrist, then I write that wrist-slap down. I have a little one-sided conversation with the author as I read, then once I’ve finished the book, I re-read my notes a few times… that’s when the larger issues of the novel start to reveal themselves, because similarly-themed scribbles keep popping up. Then I know what sort of revision is looming ahead.

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?

Voice is the Wizard of Oz. Behind every book is just someone at a desk scribbling or typing away… it’s a writer’s voice that explodes outwards from that modest set-up. If you handed the same sequence of events and character descriptions to one thousand writers and asked each of them to conjure up a book, it’s the voices that would (or could, at least) make for one thousand different stories. It’s honest personality… it reflects an acceptance of and curiosity about (and surrender to) a writer’s own idiosyncrasies, or a character’s idiosyncrasies, or a narrative’s idiosyncrasies.

[Voice] might be too big and fundamental and untraceable of an idea to say anything too practical or instructive about, but a consistent voice often translates into efficiency…if the voice generates meaning as often as the sequence of events generates meaning, then I’m absorbing much more as a reader per page, per sentence, per word.

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?

First, get brutal—imagine the scene being obliterated off the face of the book, and then ask if the story’s still headed exactly where it was heading. If it is, then what was the scene doing there? If it was there to reveal or add nuance to a crucial aspect of a character’s personality, then is that character active or passive in the scene? Does he or she make a decision, externally or internally?

After this scene, will your readers have a better sense of which way the wind is blowing? If it doesn’t include a major action—and not every scene can or should—does it help the reader predict how a character might react to a major action in the future? If a domino doesn’t fall, at least try to suggest to us which direction the domino’s going to fall.

What kinds of craft flaws do you commonly see in otherwise well-written manuscripts? In general, what self-editing tips do you suggest?

It’ll always take an author at least two or three or four revisions to snuff out most examples (because you can never catch them all!) of overexplaining character motivations, extended stretches of navel-gazing, resolving conflicts too quickly as the ending approaches, and so on.

When it comes to self-editing, my first ten pieces of advice are all the same—when you think you’re done, put the manuscript in a drawer, live without it for at least a month or so, maybe even flirt with other books, and only after it’s stopped being a ticker tape in your con­scious­ness, take it out of the drawer and find out if you’re really done. Which you probably aren’t! But after a month’s rest, that can be very exciting to realize.

You’re satisfied with a client’s revisions, and pitch the manuscript to editors who request a submission. How long should the author expect to wait until you (or any agent) sends the manuscript to these editors?

For me, about five minutes.

How would you describe your working relationship with your authors?

Director’s note: At the workshop, Stephen was congenial, insightful, thoughtful, witty, and wise!

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