Call TMZ: I really am dating Glen Powell. (Don’t tell my husband.)

What’s exciting about this is that I’ve had a total crush on him this summer. I went to see Twisters, where he plays the hunky-villain turned love-interest, and walked away from the theater thinking, Wow, that man is hot-hot-HOT. And people, it’s really difficult not to crush on this man. Happily I still have Anyone But You to watch ahead of me. (Don’t worry, Glen, I’ll get there. I’m saving that one for a rainy day.) This crush is despite the fact that I really hated Glen as the villain in Top Gun: Maverick (though I loved seeing that movie in the theater so much.)

But much like Anne Helen Peterson in her amazing article about my current boyfriend, “A Unified Theory of Glen Powell,” I too am a Glen Powell convert. I used to hate him but now I love him.

And we’re going out!

. . . in the novel I’m currently playing around with when I wake up in the mornings.

Well, technically my new protagonist is dating him.

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But dear reader: Glen Powell is such a motivating love interest to write! I mean, truly irresistible. Enough that I look forward to writing my protagonist’s (i.e. my) romance with Glen when I get out of bed each day.

Glen Powell is such an excellent muse.

And lately, I’ve been in this writing rut. But then Glen swooped in, in his muddy, tornado-chasing jeep and saved the day. And now It’s a love story, baby just say yes!

All this to say: as a longtime writer, I highly recommend that you indulge your own crushes on the page. Especially if you’re stuck. I promise, it will keep you churning out words because you’ll want to get to those enticing scenes where there’s flirting, banter, smoldering glances, or very, very serious and meaningful love-making. YUM.

And please have no shame (I obviously have none on this front): the best part about dating a celebrity crush (or an old flame, or an old flame-that-never-flamed-yet-you-wish-it-had-burned-like-a-bonfire) via a protagonist, is that the only life consequences are as follows:

• Total fun.

• Lots of inspiration.

• Many (exciting!) words on the page.

And while I’m confessing about my fictional boyfriends, I’ll offer you another few celebrity (and non-celebrity) inspirations I have loved (and dated on the page):

My love interest inspiration for my recent rom-com STEFI AND THE SPANISH PRINCE (Xavi) is:

Uhtred from The Last Kingdom (Netflix). So swoony. You have to see the show to fall for him, I think. I didn’t think he was quite that hot at first. Then by the end of Season One I was calling out to Alexa asking if the actor, Alexander Dreymon had a girlfriend. (Sadly, he recently got married and had a baby. Don’t tell his wife I dated him (on the page via Stefi). I also may have watched that whole show through twice (all 5 seasons!). That’s how swoony he is. So motivating to make Stefi to go and kiss that man! Among other things!

Buy STEFI now!

A celebrity crush I’m saving up for a future novel:

Henry Cavill from The Witcher. I know. I’ve gone through a long-haired-man phase. Long, shaggy-haired, sweaty-dirty, sword-wielding men, apparently. I didn’t like Henry Cavill that much before The Witcher either. But people, then boy did I. Watching him grunt along in that hot manly-way of his, covered in monster guts, also had me hitting pause to ask Alexa if he had a girlfriend. (Sadly yes, at least when I last checked.) Luckily I can still date him on the page, all I want!

In a variety of my novels:

• I’ve also gone back and “re-dated” old boyfriends—from high school. From my twenties.

• I’ve dated the boys and men I never got to date from my past.

There is truly nothing more inspiring for writing a story about two people who fall in love (or in and out of love), than doing so by imagining that person is someone who makes you swoon in your real life. Writing romance and love stories are all about fantasy—fantasy for the reader sure, since we all love to watch two people fall in love (and have sex!). But even more so, it’s about the writer getting to indulge her own romantic fantasies too. That’s how (I believe) you can add that romantic spark to a meet cute, to a scene when the love interests first lay eyes on one another,

You need to want to date that love interest as much as your protagonist does!

So my advice:

Indulge all your own celebrity crushes on the page. Go back and re-date that hot high school boyfriend or girlfriend who was never going to be long-term but who was really totally swoony and reimagine those fond scenes and moments from your youth. Or date that person you always wanted to but never did. Create the romance you never lived each day when you go to your laptop or notebook or write your novel. Love vicariously via your protagonist.

You can make these sweet. You can make things steamy. You should always make things swoony regardless of the steam or lack thereof.

Let’s yourself have all the fun.

You too, can date Glen!

Once I’m done with him. 😊

(***Note: this was only going to be one article, but then it got soooo long I decided to break it into two, so stay tuned for next week’s Part 2 installment!)

As someone who has written a dozen-ish YA novels, and who has also taught YA writers for years at a range of MFA programs, I have often gotten the following questions:

• Why is one novel considered YA and not another?

• What makes a novel YA?

• And likewise, what makes a novel not YA?

My question to you, right now, is also this:

• Do you know for sure if the novel you are writing is for adults or not?

• Have any of your readers wondered whether you were writing YA, when you thought you were actually writing for adults?

• Have you gone on submission with agents and gotten this feedback?

• Have you believed you were writing YA, and then been told that actually no, you are not, you are actually writing an adult novel?

• Have you been confused by the whys in any of these instances?

• Or even as a reader, do you sometimes wonder why one novel is YA and another isn’t? Like, how do these classifications work anyway?

Plus there is also the related circumstance, which is this:

You want to write a YA novel, and want to make absolutely sure that you do this.

Or, you want to write a novel for adults, and you want to make absolutely sure there is no question that the novel you write is actually for adults.

Okay, readers: let’s discuss!

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***

I’ve been thinking about this distinction a lot lately, because a novel I’ve been working on over the last year, which spans five decades in my protagonists’ lives—but dwells for quite a while in their childhood and teenage years—sparked this question (was it really YA and not adult?) in certain readers (even the accusation that it might be YA, dare I say).

Each time this issue came up, I thought to myself: If you actually think this is YA, then clearly you’ve never read YA. I felt that anyone with any familiarity with YA, would know immediately, upon picking my novel up and reading, that it is decidedly a novel for adults.

Yet, it’s also true that—a lot of people haven’t read much (or any) YA and don’t really know what distinguishes the genre, or makes YA, well, YA. And some people see any part of a novel that’s from a child or teenager’s perspective (or even just includes one for a whilel) and just decide, Welp, this must be YA because this person is young!

So here is my personal criteria—and how I answer those questions above—when people ask.

What makes a novel YA (and not adult):

1.     The Age of the Protagonist. Of course—this is the simplest, most obvious criteria. One of the defining features of YA. The protagonist should be a teenager, generally at least 15, more likely 16, 17, even 18. If they are 14, or 13, you’d likely be in the Middle Grade category actually.

BUT, this age category is also a tricky one, and can deceive people unfamiliar with YA. Because, it’s not only their AGE that makes a novel YA.

2.     The THOUGHTS of that Protagonist must be the Thoughts of a TEENAGER. Let’s say you have a 16-year-old protagonist, but she’s got the experience—and the thinking that goes with this experience—of a 50 year old person. She thinks like a middle aged woman—with the hindsight of having been divorced, of a career, of motherhood.

If so: you are NOT writing YA. You are writing an adult novel that features a teenager, who’s describing her youth with the benefit of the hindsight a middle aged person has.

A YA protagonist has the thoughts of a teenager. Period. They need to think like a teenager. The only hindsight they have allows them to maybe talk about mistakes they made in middle school. Their experiences—and all the internal monologue that goes with these—are limited by this youth. They don’t know what it’s like to be a mother or father unless they are a teenaged parent, and then their motherly, fatherly thoughts would be those of a teenaged parent, not a 45-year-old one. Their only knowledge of divorce would come if they’ve lived their parents’ divorce, and their perspectives would match this accordingly.

3.     YA is Plotty, it’s Voice-y, and it MOVES. Now we’re getting into murkier territory, but: YA novels are often driven by plot and voice. They’re often “high concept.” (Think: THE HUNGER GAMES.) YA novels are often very voice-y (See: THE KNIFE OF NEVER LETTING GO, and FEED, two of my favorite voice-y novels. Also, especially, E. Lockhart’s Ruby Oliver books, God I love those. What a hilarious voice!)

But YA dumps you into the action—even if that action is: girl meet boy, girl meets girl, boy meets boy, two potential romantic partners bump into each other in the school hallway—but we know, it’s clear, something is afoot! (See anything Jenny Han for swoony romance. Morgan Matson. Sarah Dessen!) But if you think of THE HUNGER GAMES, the Reaping, where Katniss is conscripted into these horrible games, happens the moment the novel begins. It doesn’t happen in Chapter 20. It happens right away.

The idea in YA—and with all children’s books or that matter—is that it needs to move, we need to keep people turning pages, we are dealing with people with shorter attention spans, hence: plot, plot, plot! Action, action, action! High emotion! Intensity! Vividness! (Which can come from voice—and YA often, though not always, is first-person POV.)

On this note, I’d argue that adults also have short attention spans, especially these days, and it’s not a bad practice to take a nod from children’s book writers who work so hard on making their novels MOVE, and to keep you turning pages. We all need to be kept turning pages. We all love voices that are so vivid and immediate they just LEAP into our heads and we can hear them! We all love plot too, no matter what age, I think.

That’s why this one gets murky in terms of YA vs. Adult.

But adult novels will sometimes have, well, no plot whatsoever. They’ll even pride themselves on no plot! They’ll just be comprised of sentences. Or only have the loosest of plots, barely visible. Or they’ll take 100 pages to get off the ground, and spend that 100 pages ruminating on the characters’ pasts and not having anything much happen other than these ruminations.

This would not fly in YA people. No way.

4.     Mood / Emotion. This one is murkier still. But I’m taking it on anyway. (And see my thoughts on Sally Rooney as (pseudo) YA novelist coming soon in Part 2.) I’ll just say, that YA often has “all the feels.” It’s high emotion, the emotion is CLOSE. We are SWOONING. We are WEEPING. We are TERRIFIED. It’s like, well, walking through a high school hallway where HORMONES and ENERGY is zapping and zipping all over and if you’re not careful you’ll get swept up into it!

And again—this distinction is pretty murky but—novels for adults may have much greater emotional distance. They may be solemn all the way through. The characters might be (emotionally) held at arm’s length from the reader. You may be admiring the sentences on an individual basis, you may feel like an observer of the story even.

But YA grabs you by the shoulders, looks you in the face and says, “COME ON! WE ARE DOING THIS! And then yanks you alone.

Buy STEFI AND THE SPANISH PRINCE!

This brings me to one of my favorite YA teachings and topics which expands on the plot/pacing business above, which is:

BLOW JOBS on Page 2.

Um . . . I know, I know: WHAT??!! What in the world?

So, while in a novel for adults, nothing major may happen for quite a long time, in the YA version of that novel (or Middle Grade), something major happens, like, in Chapter 1. Like, really fast. Like within the first few pages. We get dropped in rather mercilessly, or wonderfully, and excitingly.

And my favorite example of this over the years when I’ve been teaching YA—and which I learned myself before I’d ever published a novel—came from the late, great, kindhearted and so very generous, Ellen Wittlinger. I had the fortune of meeting Ellen because for many years, I attended Kindling Words, which is a writing retreat for children’s book authors and editors (that’s also where I met so many of my writer friends, actually, that are still in my life today, going on two decades now).

And here comes the blow job . . .

In one of Ellen’s many, award-winning YA novels, SANDPIPER, by p. 2, her protagonist is (quite literally) giving this boy a blow job. Like, Ellen drops us right in to the action, and that action is: a blow job. Whew! Um . . . Obviously, this novel is dealing with sex, and also reputations girls get for having sex, how boys treat girls on this topic, among many other important, things.

But yeah, it’s pretty much: Hello, welcome to my novel, and CUE THE BLOW JOB!

Here are screenshots of the first two pages of SANDPIPER so you can see for yourself:

Yup, so there it is folks! In graphic detail on p. 2 of this novel. Ellen was never one to mince words in her novels.

The benefit of such a writerly decision? Well, I know I’m in after that. I’m going to keep turning pages. I mean, it’s difficult not to. I mean, well . . . right??!

To be clear: I am not advocating that everybody put sex on p. 2 (though it’s never a bad idea!). But what I am saying is: in YA (and Middle Grade too), the action happens fast. We are dropped right in. Which hooks us.

Because—to recap—YA is hooky. It’s plotty. It moves.

The example from the adult world I usually use to compare to Ellen’s novel, is actually THE GOLDFINCH by Donna Tartt (I love Donna Tartt, and not just because she and I share a name and she is very good at dropping us into action right away). So, THE GOLDFINCH has a big, plotty hook right at the beginning—a bomb goes off in a major art museum. I mean, HELLO, wow! You’ve got me. I’m in.

But: the bomb does not go off on p. 2. In YA, that bomb would be exploding, like, on p. 2, 3, definitely by p. 4, certainly very very soon. In THE GOLDFINCH, that bomb goes off on p. 31 (at least of the hardcover edition), and those are seriously long, dense, hefty pages. In YA time, that bomb going off, is like, taking forever.

All this to say: there are lots of things that distinguish YA from adult, but the difference between p. 2 and p. 31 as far as major plot points go, is one of those things to consider.

Action—where it happens, how, WHEN: these are all levels you can push and pull in the novel that you are writing. And sometimes, depending on how you push and pull them, it might steer your novel toward YA—or away from it.

***

Okay, even my Part 1 has gotten very long so I’ll stop here for now. Stay tuned for my next installment on the difference between YA and Adult, which will include the benefits of learning to write like a YA novelist even if you’re writing novels for adults, a confession about my own first adult novel, THE NINE LIVES OF ROSE NAPOLITANO, plus my secret beliefs about Sally Rooney’s popularity, and why some very literary people are so much like the academics of my Ph.D.’d past.

So bye for now!

xo Donna

(And, please consider pre-ordering STEFI AND THE SPANISH PRINCE my forthcoming rom-com, and/or WISHFUL THINKING, my very recent memoir!)

Pre-Order STEFI here!

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I wrote this novel a couple of years ago. I really cared about it. I got feedback that pulled me pretty far away from my original vision—which I resisted but then eventually submitted to. It felt like agony. The novel sold to an editor I really like and respect.

When I heard the editor’s suggestions for revision, my stomach bottomed out.

Without knowing where the book had begun, she essentially asked me if I’d be willing to revise it in such a way that it would take me back to my original vision—and push that original vision farther than even I had had the nerve to push it way back when.

I felt . . . so many things in this moment.

Anger, despair, resistance, frustration. A bit of, I KNEW IT! My gut way back in the day and early on was right! I chided myself for not hanging onto my original vision harder, so I wouldn’t be in the place I was now.

Then I agreed to go backwards.

Dear reader, it sucked. I have really struggled to go back and try to put myself back in that place where I began—for all sorts of emotional reasons. Including the fact that I had already done a million drafts (well, not a million but it felt like a million), that all now felt useless, like I had been going in the wrong direction the entire time AND going against my instincts to boot. Revising my novel in a way that didn’t feel right.

Then I handed in a revision (in January) that didn’t feel quite right either and that I knew didn’t go far enough toward what the editor wanted. But I have so much emotional baggage about this novel that I needed to get it off my desk.

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I got back her edits last week and boy was it rough. She is still pushing me to do the thing she asked for in the first place (and then some), and my initial response was:

I JUST CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE.

I went so far as to write to her and say that maybe this novel isn’t worth it, and maybe I should just throw in the towel. I am tired out, and I am heartbroken because I loved this novel, and I am mad at myself for not fighting harder for my original vision.

Time passed.

And now here I am, trying to climb out of this emotional hole so I can make this novel work, because if I’m totally honest, I still care about this novel very much. This is how I’m doing it:

1. I wrote a new chapter one, for one of the main protagonists. I decided to start her in a different place in her story—that would soon take me to the place where her narrative originally started.

Why did I do this?

Because I needed to renew my interest in my own characters. I’m using this new chapter like JUMPER CABLES. A fresh start for a fresh revision, but also because I’ve needed to renew my energy for the book to get through yet another revision.

I have found in the past that the best way to force myself to go back in yet again after going in so many times is to add something new and exciting to add to the book—almost like handing myself an unexpected, delicious dessert when I thought there would only be vegetables.

2. I am letting myself (and my characters) go where previously I didn’t dare go, and this feels kind of exciting.

Which again, is in the vein of letting myself have something via this novel that I previously felt that I wasn’t allowed to have. Dessert plus extra dessert.

3. I am letting myself slowly get back into things—and forgiving myself the slowness.

I am normally a “dive-in” kind of girl and swim, swim, swim really fast. But revising can feel like a slog, and I am trying to let myself plod along and not get frustrated about this. It will take the time it takes.

4. Even though I am letting myself take the time I need to get back into this revision, I have also given myself a strict deadline.

Because it’s also true that I don’t want this to take forever, and I’ve already been in this book for a very long time. At some point, I do need to let this thing go, come what may.

***

Is anyone out there struggling with revision right now? If so, I’d love to hear from you and how *you* get through going back in when the whole of you is really resisting doing so.

Pre-order WISHFUL THINKING here!

Over the course of the fall during my bi-weekly meetings for the 90 Day Novel/Memoir program, we ended up talking a lot about THE TIMER and its uses for getting writing done and helping yourself get unblocked if you are, as well as for keeping yourself offline while you work. As in, some kind of timer-device—it could be an old-school, plastic kitchen timer, or some sort of digital timer on your phone or laptop. Even an hourglass!

I mean, anybody can do anything for 5 minutes.

10 minutes?

20 minutes anyone?

I’d brought this up early during our zoom meetings because I’ve found that using a timer helps me to:

A)   Convince myself to write for whatever duration I’ve set the timer for.

B)   Convince myself to stay off email, etc., again for the duration of the timer setting.

C)   Psychologically, the timer gives me a beginning and end to how long I’m going to attempt to write and,

D)   It also gives me a sense of closure after the time period ends—like afterwards I’m allowed to stop trying to work. I can go out for a walk, or make more coffee, or eat breakfast.

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I discovered my affinity for the timer because of the Freedom App I started using a number of years ago to block the internet on my laptop while I write. The Freedom App is basically a timer. You set it for however many minutes you want the internet blocked, then click “start,” and it keeps time until the period you set is over. But when I first downloaded the app, I didn’t realize how transformative the timer aspect would be for my writing. (I use it when I’m working with writing client’s manuscripts as well).

I found myself using it more and more each day, to convince myself to just write forward a few more minutes each time. I’d coach myself through in small bits—Okay just 10 minutes! 10 more minutes! Then I’d set the timer for 10 minutes, which feels totally doable, and then, voila, I wrote for 10 more minutes! I know this might sound overly simple—but that’s the beauty of it. It *is* simple. And so effective!

So, for those of you struggling with sitting down to make yourself write, and/or keeping off social media/email/etc while you do, setting a timer—this age-old simple device we normally use for cooking—works magic. It gives us a fixed time period in which we promise ourselves to focus, to work, to get words on the page, and to stay offline. We can see exactly when we get to stop on the clock, so we know the end is near—that this is not forever that we’re working, just maybe 5, or 10, or 25 minutes. Then afterwards we can get up from wherever we are working, walking around, get a snack, check whatever we need to check if need be, then, rinse and repeat.

In my own writing life, my use of the timer is constant. I use one every single day to write and stay offline. (I’ve started using them for other things too, like sorting the mail, cleaning the house, etc. They really help convince myself to get something done.) I honestly don’t know what I’d do without a timer at this point in my writing life. Maybe most importantly, using the timer helps me with that constant battle against scrolling the internet, which is also the biggest creativity-killer in my life. (And probably yours too.)

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I’ve been feeling kind of stuck these days, and not so creative when it comes to my own work. Because of this, I’ve been turning toward a thing I often do in my free time to help me get back into my writing—which is list-making. I do love me a list, and I keep lists on my laptop in the form of the “Stickies” app that came with my computer.

Keeping a list as a writer is good for:

1. Coming up with new topics/situations for a book (be it a memoir or novel).

2. Figuring out the topics for each chapter you want to include in a book.

3. Ideas for how scenes can begin.

4. Possible main characters.

5. Possible minor characters.

6. A wish list for things you’d just love to happen in one of your writing projects (fun things, tragic things, things you wouldn’t dare do in real life.)

7. People (including celebrities) I’d like to one day date on the page.

I could keep going. But you get the idea.

For me, coming up with these lists is always a process of free association. I just give myself a topic, or a framework for the list, and then wait for whatever floats to the top of my brain. I don’t think too hard about it—not all the ideas or topics that rise to the surface will be usable or interesting enough to push forward. But some will be. And either way, a list is low stakes and it also gets you moving. It gets you writing, even if it’s not going to be included in whatever project you are currently working on. Plus lists in and of themselves are creative works in their own right.

In honor of the list and my love for them, I wanted to share my own favorite prompt for a list.

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The Flash Memory Life Moments List

We all have many flash memories, both big and small. Some small but important ones for me include:

1. The first time my eyes met with a boys’ that I liked—and realized he liked me back. (We were at the beach, it happened on the boardwalk, the sun was shining, I remember what he was wearing—a white t-shirt and light blue bathing suit shorts.)

2. My mother standing in the driveway in her bathrobe, waving at me as I drove away from the house I grew up in after a visit, the very last time I saw her “alive” (as opposed to later, when she was in a coma).

3. The day I arrived as a college student at Georgetown, and ran into Patrick Ewing in the lobby of the gym (the basketball player, who was visiting campus to work with the current team at he time), and I was so in awe—of him, but also because seeing him made me realize that I had really done it, I’d somehow become a student at Georgetown, which had been my dream. I remember how he smiled as he walked across the lobby, the legs of his pants so long.

I know—this list must seem so random, but that’s okay. When I make these lists, I’m allowed to include anything I want. For this exercise, I usually go for the flash memories that are full of potent emotion—the kind that can drive an entire story or definitely a scene. Turning point moments of my own that I can “give away” to the novel I’m writing, and the characters within it. That can mean literally giving it away (have that moment or something close happen to that character) or figuratively (allow the emotion of the moment to fill something the character experiences on the page).

This is how we write from experience! (Or how I do.)

In the short list above, there is excitement, there is loss and regret, there is surprise and pride. Sometimes there is humor in the memories I list, even embarrassment or silliness. Shame too. Because the moments are such potent memories (flash ones), the emotion is attached to the memory and I can feel it when I let myself remember.

Sometimes, I can get a chapter out of one of these moments, or even an idea for an entire book. Sometimes making these lists is just good to keep me engaged and reflecting on the creative resources I have within me and within my life for writing.

YOUR ASSIGNMENT (and whenever else you get stuck or need inspiration):

Make a list of five flash memories like the ones above from your own life. They can be anything. (A time you lied to someone’s face, opening a special gift, the moment you realized what you wanted to do with your life—or the opposite, what you didn’t want to do with it.) Don’t take more than 5 minutes on this list. Just jot down a few words about each thing. Then spend some time thinking about how to give those moments away to the project you are working on, currently, or the one you hope to.

And remember: this is low stakes. It’s just a list! Sometimes the most important thing I am doing when I am listing is lowering the stakes.

Happy listing!

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Every writer knows that feedback is central to revision.

But every writer with experience also knows that some feedback can devastate you, your confidence, the book you’re working on. Some feedback can cause you to give up your current project completely, or turn it into something other than what you wanted to write. Some feedback is, frankly, bad—for you and your book.

Last week I wrote at length about writer’s critique groups vs. support groups, and this week I’m honing in on what people call “beta readers” and also “workshopping” (which is a practice at the heart of an MFA program).

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What is a beta reader, anyway?

I remember the first time someone asked me to be a beta reader for their book. I was like, WTF? I’d never heard the term before, and I don’t actually ever use it myself (and am only using it in this article because it’s a common term now among writerly folk). A beta reader is simply a person you ask to read your manuscript for the purposes of feedback and revision. It’s just that people like fancy-sounding terms for this nowadays.

In my opinion, you always need readers. Period. Revision is crucial, and you need outside perspectives on your work to get a better sense of what your project needs to improve it.

Usually, I ask around 3 people, maybe 4, to read my current manuscript—often only *after* I’ve got a full draft. Sometimes when I’m halfway through, I’ll ask *one* person because I need help brainstorming something, or with getting unstuck. There are pro’s and con’s to asking too soon (like, you might get talked out of finishing, OR you might get talked into finishing, which can be great).

But not every reader is helpful.

How do you figure out who will be helpful and who won’t be? Well, experience will help with this—the more you get readers, the more you’ll figure out who is a helpful reader for you and who really isn’t. You’ll also figure out that some readers are good at something specific, and you learn to go to them for that specific thing. (How else do you think I became the “plot doctor”? I’ve long been the “fixer” for my writer friends for structure, and yes plot, and finding “the why” behind a particular book project.)

You’ll find that some readers are great for helping with character, others are amazing with line edits, some are fantastic at world-building, etc., etc., and some are simply great at being cheerleaders of your work, which we all need in this business.

Likewise, you’ll learn that some readers are rather destructive, don’t know what they’re talking about, and you won't go back to them again—which is fine.

Occasionally, I ask non-writer friends to read for me, especially if they are avid readers themselves. When I do this, I mainly have big picture questions like: Was there a part in the manuscript where you got bored or you thought was unnecessary or just to slow? Was there anything you loved that I just shouldn’t cut? Things like this.

What does it mean “to workshop” a manuscript?

Workshopping is just a formal term for the group critiquing of a manuscript, usually just a slice of that manuscript (anywhere from 5-50 pages, it’s rarely a full length book). It’s the kind of feedback-giving that happens constantly during an MFA program, it’s often at the heart of MFA writing seminars, and sometimes it can involve getting feedback from upwards of 15 people, depending on the class size.

The workshopping of a manuscript can involve a group of people you have carefully selected (like in a writer’s group), but more often than not, the people are random— whomever signed up for the class (this can be part of the problem with workshopping, fyi, especially if you are a new writer).

Workshopping at an MFA program is famously cruel, can be highly destructive, and devastating. Just as it can also be helpful and transformative. (See David Dowling’s, A Declicate Aggression: Savagery and Survival in the Iowa Writers’ Workshop for more on how devastating, problematic, and sexist it can be.)

I sometimes tell my MFA students:

Have a “burner” manuscript for workshopping purposes.

As in, don’t pass your baby around to ten random people you don’t know and expect them all to be equally careful with it.

Listen, the whole point of getting feedback is to improve on our writing in general, and to make this one specific project better in particular.

But one of the biggest problems (in my opinion) with workshopping at MFA programs is that every person (save the faculty) is a student, and you have no way of knowing who might offer helpful feedback and who has absolutely no idea what they’re talking about. Also, MFAs can be notoriously competitive (and occasionally malicious), which does not necessarily make for good feedback situations.

So, in a workshop, you will likely get some great feedback, and you will also likely get some terrible feedback. The feedback might be terrible because the person doesn’t know what they’re talking about or because they’re just not the right reader for you. For example: you may be writing fantasy and that person just doesn’t like, get, or understand how fantasy works, and what it needs to be improved. A lot of people don’t read fantasy. So this person may be a great writer, but not the right person to give you, specifically, a critique on your fantasy novel.

But you get all sorts of writers in a workshop (which can be a great thing, depending), and if you’re new at this, you may not know how to sort the very useful from the very very not-useful critique. Out of 8 people, you may only get 2 useful critiques. So you need to go into workshops with that knowledge, and listen hard/sort through everything you hear with your own critical ear. Also, you need to go in, prepared for your piece to get ripped to shreds, sometimes with glee.

This is why I almost never workshop anything—and if I do, I usually don’t pass around something important to me. I go in with a piece that I do not give a shit about, and think of it as an opportunity (maybe, if it goes well enough) to learn something helpful in my writing for the future. To learn a new skill or a new way into a project or a way to enhance a character, etc.

As a faculty person who oversees workshops quite often, I listen to every critique myself, of course, and try to chime in to reinforce what people have said that I believe is helpful, and to steer the writer away from critique I think is bullshit. But I am always just one, single voice, and a particular one at that, and so I am certainly not the write critique-partner for every student either. But I try my best to consider the specific project at hand, step out of my own literary presences, to give effective feedback. I don’t need to love every project, or be its audience, to give good advice on it (I think—hope?), because I’ve been doing this a long time and have gotten pretty good at stepping outside of myself to give feedback to my students.

But if you want my advice?

Aside from finding a writer support group, which I am growing to love myself, I’d find those 3-4 individuals who really get you and your writing, and develop those writerly relationships like your writing depends on them—because it does. This small group of individual readers will be the difference in your writing projects over the years. Finding these people is time well spent. And hang onto those readers with both hands!

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Hey everyone: the holidays are coming up, I’m hosting guests in Barcelona plus I’m teaching at a residency in Oxford in early January, so I’ll probably chime at some point in the next couple of weeks, but I may be taking a bit of a break. In case you don’t hear from me, happy holidays if you are celebrating!

TODAY’S INSTALLMENT: THE WRITING GROUP (check back next week for thoughts on Beta Readers)

I have complicated feelings about when and how to get feedback on a new manuscript or piece of writing that I’m drafting. Getting feedback too early, or from the wrong sources, or from too many sources, can be disastrous. I’ve learned this from experience.

The question becomes, of course: how to know when you’re ready for feedback, and then, how to know who to go to for that feedback?

I’ll start with a brief story from early in my writing career. I joined a writers’ group that met once a month to read people’s work. I joined it because I’d recently become a published writer, and I thought this was what all writers did. There were five people in the group. When it was my turn to share pages, I shared the first 40 pages of a new novel that I was really excited about.

My experience of getting feedback from that writers’ group nearly completely derailed that novel—a book that eventually became my third published novel by the way. Yet I almost decided not to finish it.

Let me be clear: the people in the group were all wonderful friends and fantastic writers themselves, and it’s not as though their feedback on my novel was mean and nasty or devastating. But it doesn’t take devastating feedback to derail you, either, and this is the thing I want to emphasize.

But the problem for me was several-fold:

1.     I was too early in the process of working on that novel to receive feedback.

2.     I received too much feedback at once—and it was ALL CONFLICTING.

3.     I wasn’t ready for critique on my characters/plot—even small critiques wrecked my confidence, and confidence is essential for getting through that first draft.

Luckily, after several weeks of wallowing, I pushed those well-intentioned voices aside, opened the doc for the novel again, and continued onward. And I did seek feedback again on it—of course I did! Because feedback is important. It’s crucial and helpful and essential, when the timing is right. And the timing is *not* always right.

But I learned a lot from that experience, which made me more careful with my next book. And this one learning experience has made all the difference in my writing career.

All this to say: just because it’s important to get feedback on your book or essay or short story before you send it off somewhere, doesn’t mean that at any and every point in your writing process you need to go looking for feedback.

Both YOU and YOUR PROJECT must be ready for that stage.

We all need to be careful WHEN and HOW and FROM WHOM we seek feedback, and from HOW MANY PEOPLE we seek feedback.

There is such a thing as too much feedback. (I will do a post on this soon, and also the pro’s and con’s of having your writing formally workshopped.)

There is also such a thing as too early feedback.

ALSO: Not all of us are cut out for being in a writing group. For some of us, it’s wonderful. But it’s not for everybody and I don’t think it’s for me, for all the reasons I mention above. And I’ve come to accept that this is totally fine. I don’t like to get feedback really early on because it can derail my desire to keep working on the book I’m drafting. I also kind of meltdown when I get too much feedback at once. And critique too early on can make me lose the plot so to speak—I lose confidence in what I had planned, and start wondering if I should just abandon ship.

What I learned?

I’m an INDIVIDUAL FEEDBACK kind of writer. I don’t want feedback from an entire group. I go to people one by one by one—usually 3-4 max. (More on Beta Readers and how to choose them next week.) I also have learned that I have different kinds of needs depending on where I am in drafting this project.

Here are some things I think about/try to assess when I ask people to read for me:

Do I just need cheerleading?

Sometimes I just need someone to read a quarter or half the draft and tell me: YES! Keep going! Do this, Donna! I need to know from another person that the project is worth finishing—that is it. And it’s fine to need this kind of feedback. It can help me get things done.

Am I stuck and need to brainstorm?

Sometimes I don’t know if something is working, or I can’t decide on this or that turn in the narrative, or if this should happen, or I can’t figure out what should happen next. This is always a great time for me to get feedback. It can get me unstuck and moving again.

Or am I ready for the real, true, substantive feedback?

Because my draft is finally done, and now I’m ready for the hard work of revision.

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One last note on groups, specifically: THE WRITERS’ SUPPORT GROUP

This entire fall, via this substack actually, I’ve been running a program called The 90 Day Novel/Memoir, but really, it’s become a writers’ support group. A kind of accountability group. Every two weeks we meet, check in on our projects and where we currently are, we discuss what we’re struggling with, and sometimes people bring a question or quandary to the group and we talk it through, trouble shoot it. Sometimes we talk about books we’re reading too, or just laugh about stuff. We also talk about tricks for getting unblocked, for getting words onto the page (the pro’s of using timers has been a favorite topic of discussion among us, for instance.)

We encourage each other, most of all.

I have to say, I really, really love it and everyone in it. I’ve found it to be productive and motivating, and it’s taught me that not all writer’s groups need to be critique groups. Which I think I’m going to ponder more in the future, since I have to say, this feels kind of revolutionary to me.

Because I love the community, and writerly community is truly the best.

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Do *YOU* love a writers’ critique group? Or as you like me and you’ve learned you’re not a good candidate? I’d love to hear people’s different experiences if you care to share.

Until recently, I’ve been resisting a revision of a novel that needs to happen. Like needs to happen by January 15^th. I’ve hemmed and hawed and avoided. And avoided some more.

But I’m doing it—I’m finally in the book again, and working. And I thought I’d take you through the steps of how I got there, how I moved the giant mountain required to get myself there because it wasn't easy, and because maybe the steps I took might help you, if you’re in a similar position, because I always take the same steps actually. And they (almost) always work.

Some background first, about me and the first draft, vs the subsequent revision(s):

For me, the FIRST DRAFT of a book, any book, is like a new romance. I’m like: new novel, you’re so adorable, and wonderful, and enticing, and intriguing! I can’t get enough of you! I can just, be with you all the time and still I want more! We can be anything together! The sky is the limit! Let’s get married!

BUT THEN, when it comes to a revision, especially if it’s the 3^rd, 4^th, even the 5^th, draft, for me, it’s like dealing with a marriage that’s about to end in divorce.

I’m like: PLEASE NO. Do we REALLY need to go here again? Do we truly have to talk through this one more time? Can’t we just call it quits, wash our hands of this, decide enough is enough? Come ON. I am no longer interested in you. This is already over. What more can I possibly say, or do, to try and make this better?

YET WHEN I FINALLY GO THERE: when I finally move the mountain required to get back into things again, more often than not I’m like:

You know what? Maybe there IS still something here to work on after all! Maybe all is not lost actually. Maybe I do still care about you! Maybe I’ve got more to say, to do, and there’s a path through this mess. Who would have thought? I’m so glad we gave things another shot! I think this is actually going to be great!

But getting to this place of WILLINGNESS again, for me, is heavy-lifting. I drag my feet like some kind of petulant child. I do just about anything to avoid revising, especially when it’s like, the 5^th revision (which for me, this book is.)

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Here is actually what I did this time, step by step, to get out avoidance-dread-resistance mode:

1.     I bought a book in the same genre as the book that needs revision. Reading in the same genre that I’m writing in is one of the keys to my writing process in general. I always read a book in the same genre to help me get in the mood to write each day, and to help me get in the mood of writing in that specific genre, and also to help me remember what writing looks like if I’m stuck. I am religious about *only* reading the same genre while I’m writing in that genre (to the point where I am often reading two books at once—my “morning book” for my writing time, and what I think of as my “afternoon book” which is what I’m reading just for fun). But when I am trying to force myself back into a revision, I specifically get a book that will jolt my mind back into that genre.

2.     I started reading that book finally. I know—first I had to get the book, that is its own step in this process. Then I need to get up one morning and decide that it’s time, I’m going to start reading that book that is in the genre of my revision to start doing the mind-shift necessary for me to get this thing going.

3.     I spend several days reading that book each morning. And not revising at all, just reading. And drinking my coffee. And remembering what this genre is like. And recalling that I have a book to work on in that genre. Yes this is its own discreet step.

4.     One morning, in the process of reading this same book, I open my laptop and then I open the document of the book I need to revise. And I plan to leave it open on my laptop. No, I don’t even read anything at all in the doc, and yes, this is yet another discreet step: this day that I finally reopen the document of the book I’m resisting revising. Hooray for me for this step! I am always proud of myself on this day. I think to myself, “There. I can see you now. Very soon I’m even going to read your first words and see what the hell they say.”

5.     I keep reading this same book, until I turn to the open doc on my laptop, and I reread the first page or two. I don’t even do any revising that day. I just kind of . . . see that there are words I’ve written. And usually I realize: you know what, I remember you! And you’re not so bad after all. I kind of even like you! Maybe.

6.     I keep reading (yup) and on this morning, I actually go through the first chapter and start the work of revising it. I don’t try to do any more than this—just chapter 1. Period. It’s a slow, rolling start. But once I do it, I realize that I can do this. Like, I can keep going, chapter by chapter. And if I do, sure there will be chapters that are harder than others, but eventually I’ll be in it again. And I’ll get through it. I will. I will and I can.

BABY STEPS. That’s how this will get done.

So, six (very basic) steps to get myself from the dread-avoidance-resistance stage into the actually-revising stage. Which is, incidentally, where I got myself to this very morning. I went through chapter one. Chapter one! Hooray for me! I know that tomorrow I’ll probably only do chapter 2 and nothing more. I ease myself in. I usually allocate about 4-8 weeks for each revision because I don’t want to live here forever. But little by little, day by day, chapter by chapter, I know that if I keep at it in small doses, then eventually this revision will finally get done.

Wish me luck. I have until January 15^th!

And if you have advice on how to get back into a revision when you’re avoiding, tricks or steps you take to do so, I’m all ears and I’m sure readers will want to hear.

Happy Sunday everyone!

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Barcelona Writing Retreat: Getting to the End, Feb. 7-13, 2024

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This is a quandary that some of the writers I work with face: they have an entire manuscript, the concept is great, but for some reason, the structure, the plot, something about the characters isn’t working. Maybe it’s really not working. They keep trying to fix it, they’ve even done a significant amount of rewriting, but they can’t quite get it to where they want to be.

Believe me, I’ve been there.

Revision is my least favorite thing about writing. I am a first draft girl all the way. I love a first draft. Anything goes, you can have extra words, extra chapters, extra characters, extra plot points, because you can always go back and unpick them, delete them, pull them back. You can indulge your every whim because it’s a first draft. Wee!

But sometimes you’ve done your first draft and you’ve got a sneaking suspicion you can’t simply unpick the parts that aren’t quite working. Someone else reads it for you and they tell you something isn’t quite right, but they can’t put their finger on it. SHIT.

You wonder: can this book possibly be salvaged?

The answer? YES!

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Show vs. Tell

I’ll start this tutorial by giving you an example. See the photo above?

Telling about it would look like this:

The place we saw was beautiful.

But Showing would look more like this:

Two mountains rose from the earth toward the sky, one a lush, impossible green, the other the blue of hydrangeas. Below them stretched a lake so calm it it reflected the landscape like a mirror, and clear enough that I could count the rocks underneath the surface of the water.

Are you getting the idea?

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Maybe some of you reading this have known the difference between showing and telling since you first picked up a pen to write. But I certainly didn’t. And in fact, I didn’t know the difference—not really—for many years and several books. It wasn’t until I flat out asked one of my editors what in the world she really meant when she kept commenting this in the margins of the manuscript I’d turned into her. I was a bit embarrassed to not really understand—but luckily she was happy to explain—and I finally, finally understood show and tell. I’m glad I asked her too, because this is one of the most fundamental skills a writer needs in her toolbox.

And I’ll be honest—I still have a hard time with showing not telling, because it’s simply a lot of work to show as opposed to tell.

Let me clarify even further about the difference between these—in case their are still questions.

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“I find sex scenes just so uplifting!”

Last night over dinner with a friend in Brooklyn, we were discussing sex scenes in books. I am currently writing a novel with quite a few of them and I was confessing this, which prompted both of us to laugh and my friend to make the comment about finding sex scenes in books uplifting. She went on to explain that she’d recently finished Beach Read by Emily Henry, which I’ve not read but apparently has a few good sex scenes in it.

This led to a technical discussion about the use of the word “nipple,” and how often this word (and body part) appears or doesn’t in a sex scene, and the various descriptors that accompany it—taught, stiff, erect, hard. I don’t think I’ve ever had a prolonged conversation over dinner about the word nipple before, but as with everything, there’s always a first time (especially with respect to things like sex).

I explained to my friend that in the sex scenes I’ve been writing of late, I’ve expressly challenged myself to avoid using this particular word, as well as certain other male body parts that just don’t strike me as very sexy or romantic, at least not for the purposes of the scenes between my characters. Also, I told her, I have a rule for myself about never using words like “core” or “molten” anywhere. Those words make me cringe, but I’m aware they are commonly used, and lots of people like them, so don’t throw darts. This is just my personal preference.

(Also, before I go any further, let me just give the caveat: I am just one writer among many doing her best to write a decent sex scene. Not a master or anything. Just somebody thinking about what works and doesn’t on this front, at least for herself.)

Our dinner conversation also made me think of another discussion I had once, with a writer friend who told me her own theory that the sex scenes women readers like best are the ones that include very explicit sex, but no explicit language. She theorized further that lots of women readers don’t love the word “ass” much, but they are totally fine, say, with the word “backside” or “bottom.” Of course, everyone has different preferences and it’s nice that we live in a time when there are sex scenes to accommodate a whole range of tastes and then some. And I think if I read a scene that referred to women as having “bottoms” it might ruin the scene for me (also, yes I recognize that “bottom” can be an important term in gay sex scenes), but I am perfectly good with backside, and it’s true that reading the word ass in a scene does make me wince a bit. I don’t love it or find it sexy. And while I’m all for sex on the page, I don’t love vulgar descriptions either. I’m not one for body parts being openly and graphically described as being shoved into other body parts for example. I’m there for the sex, but not for the explicit language, I suppose. But again, this is just me.

(It also seems timely to be talking about and celebrating sex scenes in novels of late, given that The Ripped Bodice, A Romantic Bookstore just opened in Brooklyn, which I am very excited about.)

Anyway, because of this novel I’m writing and all the sex within it, I’ve been thinking a lot about the different kinds of sex scenes a writer can write, and toward a specific goal—explicit, graphic, sexy (I know that may seem redundant but hear me out), romantic, perfunctory, depressing, even violent; how the age of a protagonist can affect all of this, like if they are teenagers or college students or single 30-somethings, married people, married people who are parents, middle aged folks. So many different factors to consider.

But I’ve also been thinking a lot about how I write sex scenes—and the fact that when I first started out as a writer, there’s no way I would have dared. It’s taken me well over a decade as a full time writer to have the guts to include them in my novels. It’s also the case that I’m still a bit daunted by what people will think of them once they are out in the world. But below is a bit of my own evolution of writing sex scenes, how I think about getting sex onto the page, and a list of some books with sex scenes that I’ve loved.

A little history.

I remember when I was nervous to even write a kissing scene. My first novel, The Possibilities of Sainthood, is YA (young adult), and its premise involves my protagonist trying to get that first kiss out of the way, so I knew that eventually I was going to actually need to write a kissing scene. I dreaded this task. When I finally got to the point where I had to go and do it—I needed to write the damn kissing scene—I remember how I went and sat on this couch in the living room, and faced the wall, like some kind of child hiding. I felt like covering my face with my hands, and if I hadn’t needed my hands to type I probably would have. I remember my cheeks burning and I also remember thinking:

There is no way I am EVER writing a sex scene. NO. WAY.

Writing makes us vulnerable indeed, and writing that kissing scene made me feel pretty vulnerable. When we write, we’re often exposing our deepest feelings, desires, beliefs, sharing past experiences on the page, which can make us nervous and embarrassed, even when we’re writing fiction. But the best writing empowers us to be vulnerable and open, and our writing ideally becomes a place where we can speak the truth, whatever our truth may be.

This is especially true when it comes to writing about sex. When we write a kissing scene, we are often exposing how we like to be kissed, or how we wish someone would finally kiss us. Some circumstances will call for us to write about how we don’t like to or want to be kissed, to describe a failed encounter, or even an awful one.

So writing even a kissing scene makes us vulnerable, for the way it exposes some our deepest desires, our best, most intimate moments, or the experiences that failed us. We draw from all of it—what we’ve lived and also what we haven’t lived, what we wish we could live and what we wish we could unlive too.

Now over the years and after a lot of practice at writing in general (and writing lots of kissing scenes specifically), I finally broke this promise I made to myself all those years before that I was NEVER writing a sex scene and, um, well, I wrote my first ever sex scenes (!!). And it turns out the world didn’t end and my laptop didn’t self-destruct. I also stopped blushing eventually.

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Analysis of my very first sex scenes (I can’t believe I’m going to do this but here goes, with annotations and everything).

My first sex scene appeared in my fifth novel (also YA), The Tenderness of Thieves. Before writing this substack piece, I literally had not looked at it since the book came out in print over 10 years ago. But in honor of this piece, and because I became curious what in the world I wrote for my first ever sex scene, I brought the manuscript up on my laptop to (GULP) see what, exactly, was there. It turns out there are two sex scenes in this novel: an almost-sex scene that’s pretty sexy I think, and then a sex scene where two, heterosexual characters actually do the deed.

I decided to share them below because apparently I’m a bit of a masochist, and we can all learn from my mistakes (Hooray!). I don’t think they are too bad. Though there are a few seriously cringe-y moments, which I’ve highlighted and marked for your reading enjoyment. (And I will mention here, because it still cracks me up, that a very handsome Argentine friend of mine once decided that, of all my books, he was going to read this particular novel, which he only told me after the fact, while giving me this wide-eyed look, that I interpreted to communicate in a single stare that he and I were both now aware that yes, he had read my sex scenes. BOTH of them.)

Scene #1: The Beach Sex Scene

One thing to note, before you take a look: my protagonist’s love interest is named Handel. Yup like the composer (cringe-cringe!!!) and there was a whole reason as to why. Just get the laughter out of your system before you start reading. And for context: my protagonists have just eaten dinner on the beach—he’s cooked for her in this little beach shack situation on the water. Yes, very romantic and cliche. (It’s pasted below in two parts, but the scene is continuous.)

When I go back and reread this, I am not completely horrified. I am probably most dismayed by the HEAVING OF CHESTS business. (Ugh, ugh.) But given that it’s truly my first attempt ever at writing a sex scene, and it does involve a bit of nudity and some teen girl-forward desiring which I’m glad to see, I feel mostly okay about it.

(You, however, are welcome to do additional critique below in the comments as you see fit!)

Sex Scene #2: The Bedroom Sex Scene

Here comes my attempt number two, from later on in the same book. This is where my protagonist is about to have sex—and does, for the first time. (The excerpt is also pasted below in two continuous images with my lovely annotations.)

So, I’m not totally hiding under the blankets right now or anything after reading this. I just have them slightly up over my face. I do think that with experience and practice (kind of like as with life), I’ve improved on the writing of the sex scenes in later books. Because it’s also true that since this first novel when I ventured into sex scene territory, I have also ventured there in virtually ever other novel I’ve written since

Okay now, IT’S YOUR TURN, DEAR READER. If you’ve never taken the plunge and tried writing one yourself, and much like life and sex . . .

In the end, you’ve just gotta dive in and experiment.

Because your novels and your stories may indeed benefit from one. And your reader may love you for it too.

And now that I’ve bared my own writerly sexual past, and after having written many subsequent sex scenes than the ones I’ve shared above—some playful, some very serious, many loving and hopefully transporting, in addition to what is apparently the “bleakest sex scene” my UK editor for The Nine Lives of Rose Napolitano said she’s ever edited (but also loved its bleakness), sex scenes have become a common feature in the novels I write. Even my rom-com that’s coming out from Harper next June, Stefi and the Spanish Prince (yup, it takes place in Barcelona and it’s got royalty in it, I couldn’t help myself), has sex in it (royal sex obviously).

It's gotten easier each time I’ve written one of these scenes, and it feels more obvious to include them in the stories I tell, since sex is just a part of living our lives. But my best advice if it’s your first time is to read lots of sex scenes that you’ve liked to figure out what you like about them. Like go back into those books and study those sex scenes. (Aren’t I giving excellent writerly homework today?)

Here’s a few questions to consider as you do your sex-scene homework:

• In what kind of context does the sex scene takes place? (Like, where are people? A beach, a public place, a bar, in someone else’s bed, etc? Is it one time thing, is it within a committed relationship, is it an affair?)

• What sort of emotion does it provoke in the characters? (Satisfaction, pleasure, regret, anxiety, laughter, happiness, etc..)

• Are people drunk/sober? Do they know each other well/not at all? Is it the first time or the hundredth? How do these factors affect the scene?

• Look at the terms the author uses. (Yup, the actual language and words used to describe body parts, various activities, the progression of things.)

• Does any moment or line or term make you cringe, and if so why?

• Do you wish that you could put yourself into this scene? Like, would you be very happy if you were having this particular sexual experience and if so, ask yourself why? (This is probably the biggest determining factor for what makes a sex scene good for you, specifically.)

• What led up to this moment? Have you been waiting ages for the characters to finally do it, so it’s particularly exciting? (Because good sex scenes have everything to do with character development, satisfying story and plot, anticipation, intrigue, desire fulfillment, the whole kit and keboodle.)

These are just a few of the things that I think about when I’m trying to decide what I think of a sex scene that I’ve just read (or that I’m writing in my own novel.)

And speaking of reading sex scenes and deciding which ones we like.

Here are a few books with sex scenes I’ve loved . . .

1. All books by Helen Hoang, but especially the THE KISS QUOTIENT. Um, I’ll just start by saying WOAH, I’m not worthy. Also, I could never pull off the kinds of sex scenes that Helen Hoang does, and masterfully so. As a writer, she’s got serious guts. I think she’s written maybe the best, most explicitly detailed sex scenes I’ve ever read, that didn’t also turn me off or make me cringe at any point. I am just admiring of her talents on this front. Go Helen Hoang.

2. GRACELING by Kristin Cashore. This is a YA novel where sex happens offstage (it’s implied, but not shown, at least not quite so explicitly). But I include it here because it has one of the hottest, most erotic romances I’ve ever read. All of Kristin’s books have amazing romances in them actually.

3. Also, pretty much anything books by Casey McQuiston have good sex scenes in them—lesbian, gay, and just in general. I did love (like everybody else) RED, WHITE, AND ROYAL BLUE though, which is now a really fun movie on Amazon.

4. Finally, I’ll mention ANNA K: A LOVE STORY by Jenny Lee, a YA retelling of Tolstoys’ Anna Karenina, which has one of my favorite romances ever, and some amazingly well-done, very steamy yet also very tasteful sex scenes, probably some of the best I’ve ever read in a YA novel.

There are so many more great examples in novels I’ve read over the years that I could write an entire piece just listing them out (and maybe I will do just this at some point.)

And one day soon I’ll write more on this topic, since I have sex scenes on the brain these days. Maybe I will try to answer one of my own burning questions, which is this: Is there such a thing as too much sex (in a novel at least)?

Okay, that’s more than plenty for now, people. I hope you have a great first September week! And please share any and all thoughts (just keep them respectful, thank you.)

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When I learned how to use section breaks, it transformed my writing.

Prior to this, my chapters were one long swath of ongoing text, dialogue, information. I remember being exasperated while on the phone with my first fiction editor at FSG (Farrar, Straus & Giroux), Frances Foster. Frances was one of the grande dames of publishing and the editor of my first three novels. So much of who I am as a writer today, I learned from working with Frances.

“Sometimes it just seems impossible to get somebody down the street,” I told her that day as we talked. “And how in the world do you get your character to the next day, or even worse, the next week?” I felt like I was going out of my mind, giving the reader a play-by-play of my protagonist’s every move, and having to account for every minute of her existence.

Frances laughed at my exaggerated despair. Then she talked to me of what I now think of as the powerfully magical Section Break, and the kind of transitional phrases that can help you (in memoir) or your characters (in fiction) get from one place to the next, one day to the next, or even from summer to winter and so on. All with a few keystrokes and maybe a decorative symbol to mark it, like an asterisk. Or perhaps a chapter break (which is technically also just another type of section break).

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Reasons for a Section Break

Section breaks can (and should) be used in any kind of writing—from academic nonfiction to fiction to memoir to short stories and essays. Once I learned to use them I never stopped. They are not only useful but integral to the pacing in my writing. Here are some of the things that section breaks allow a writer to do, along with some examples from my own books.

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I don’t know about you, but figuring out how to use section breaks in my novels and memoirs was a game-changer for me (look out for another Writing Tutorial: Ode to the Section Break in the near future). Section breaks allow for so many opportunities within our chapters, and one of them is, The Flashback.

First, to recap from my previous post (Writing Tutorial: THE FLASHBACK, Part 1):

Ideally, the flashback has structure. Perhaps it includes dialogue, and it tells a mini-story within the story. There is more show than tell, and it involves an effort to draw the reader in while also offering background about the characters and/or the world of the story. The flashback can be a scene within a scene, an entire story within a chapter, or even its own chapter. 

However, flashbacks often come dangerously close to becoming—or sometimes actually are—Information Dumps. An info dump is just what it sounds like—a whole bunch of background info about the characters or the world of the story and things that happened in the past just dumped onto the page in a big boring swath that is all tell, no show. They just dispense info the reader might need (or might not) and makes no attempt to be artful—aka, the dump of info.

Info Dumps are to be avoided at all costs.

Also, ideally, paragraphs that are dispensing Background Info Only should be kept short (2-3 paragraphs) and/or unspooled over the course of an in-the-moment-scene. I (Donna) am ruthless about cutting these background sections to only their essential words for the sake of pacing and momentum. But sometimes these short swaths of background info are the most useful and efficient way to get that info onto the page—and every writer uses them.

But the advantage of a well-done flashback is that it brings something of the characters’ pasts or world to life—hopefully without slowing down momentum. (At least not too much.)

And one of my simplest tricks for an effective flashback, is as follows:

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One of the things my writing clients and MFA students struggle with the most is the flashback. But I mean, don’t we all? Let’s be honest, no matter how long you’ve been doing this writing thing, flashbacks are tricky.

In every novel, in every memoir, in just about any story we write, we must offer background information so our readers can make sense of our characters’ present, via their pasts. Backstory gives readers essential pieces of the puzzle that make our characters who they are and help catch readers up to the present moment of whatever story we are telling.

As writers, flashbacks are the tool we often use to get this info onto the page.

However, as a reader, I often find flashbacks to be a huge drag—on momentum. You can have a story that’s zipping along wonderfully, and then BOOM! A flashback arrives and that momentum comes to a screeching halt. If not done artfully, you put down the book to get yourself more coffee, and perhaps don’t return to reading at all.

Especially when flashbacks often come dangerously close to becoming—or sometimes actually are—Information Dumps. An info dump is just what it sounds like—a whole bunch of background info about the characters or the world of the story and its history just dumped onto the page in a big, boring swath of unstructured information. Info dumps tend to be all tell, no show. They offer background that the reader might need (or might not), yet make no attempt to be artful—aka, the dump.

The flashback is (ideally) a useful storytelling tool, whereas the info dump is to be avoided at all costs.

The flashback has structure, perhaps it includes dialogue, and it tells a mini-story within the story. There is more show than tell, and involves an effort to draw the reader in while also offering background about the characters or world. The flashback can be a scene within a scene, an entire story within a chapter, or even its own chapter.

We writers must find strategies to include flashbacks in our work, yet without wrecking all our hard-earned momentum. Flashbacks are a particular art and writing them a skill we all must learn. Below is the first of my own strategies for getting out info without killing momentum.

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