Willamette Writers Conference and being crafty

One on One Screenplay Consultations at Willamette Writers Conference

It is the Willamette Writers Conference again.  After spending the morning volunteering in the film agents consultation area, I was ready to attend some classes in the afternoon.  I chose a class taught by Lois Leveen called "Crafting Compelling Opening Lines."

She made us write an opening line for a book which included a nurse, and a homeless man in a hospital setting.  The opening line I came up with was so lame I wouldn't even want to read it to my critique group.

The scraggly man lurched into the scrub room, blood gushing from his arm, and grabbed the nurse's shoulder.

Lois then went on to give us several examples of opening lines from popular books and we dissected them to discover what made them good.  She said an opening line should contain some or all of the following:

1. Sense of character
2. Establishes relationships
3. Sense of place
4. Adventure
5. Place
6. Time/retrospection
7. What has already happened
8. What is about to occur

At the end of the class she had us write our opening line again.  Mine still doesn't accomplish all of the above, but I think it is a little stronger than the first example.

 A bloody hand, filthy fingers splayed, reached from the darkness of the empty ward and swiped the nurse's shoulder.

Lois Leveen

Please feel free to write your own opening line dealing with a homeless man, and nurse in a hospital setting in the comments section.

Lois Leveen is the author a Portland based author of The Secrets of Mary Bowser

Falling for a Smile

It is a flaw in writers that we like to eavesdrop. Jocelyn Lindsay can attest to this, since she is the one I tried desperately to ignore, but couldn't help overhearing at the Willamette Writers Conference, with scintillating results. It is now one of my most popular blog posts.

In listening to other's conversations, we can study human behavior, glimpse real-time dialog, log nuances in speech. It is research.

But today something else happened. I fell in love. With a smile.

I'd like to knock some sense into the young girl who is doing her best to ignore him. Her long, dark hair is touching the top of her short, short denim cutoffs, from which her long, tanned legs run into sockless hightops. A computer sits in front of her, silently maintaining an impregnable force field between them.

He's across from her, trying to talk her into joining him in some sort of fund-raising walk/run for charity. He tells her about it, his hands folded under his chin as he sends her a disarming smile over the top of her computer screen. She mumbles something and he leans forward, until his chin is nearly resting on the top of the computer. "Except, I wouldn't outrun you. I'd stop any time you needed to stop." His voice is smooth, like a polished mahogany table top. His dark eyes crinkle, focused on her, and the smile widens.

She runs her fingers over her mousepad, bringing up a set of images on her computer screen. She studies them. "I don't know," she maintains.

He is bewitched, his smile encouraging, indulgent. He shifts in the chair, shuffling his sneakered feet, careful not to cross over to hers, his legs covered in khaki trousers much the same color as the coffee he ignores. His gaze never falters. "You'd be fine. Give yourself a chance."

She mumbles something else, shrugging a shoulder, her fingers punching keys. He is undeterred, his wide smile showing a glimpse of sparkling teeth. "But it isn't a competition. I'd stay with you, beside you," he says.

A blender whirs and the smell of brewing coffee fills the air. She watches her screen and misses his gaze roam over her features, memorizing each one; misses the yearning; misses the delight in glint of his eyes, and the bright smile. There is no pleading in his voice, only a soft, gentle confidence in his straight back, his polite adherence to her undrawn line of demarcation.

She mumbles something else. He tips his head to the side. "You aren't giving yourself a chance. You could do this. No one would make fun of you. I'd be there with you."

She brings up another website, not even glancing up. She clicks the mouse pointer and a photo of football players appears. She shakes her head, hunches a shoulder. People get up from the table behind them, and clatter over the tiled floor to the door.

His gaze remains on her downcast eyes, and, although he still smiles, a sadness plays across his face. He gets up, straightens his navy blue polo shirt, runs a hand through his short brown hair and waits. She stands and he dips his chin. "Call me if you change your mind." She moves her body toward him, stiffly offering herself for a hug without lifting her arms from her sides. He reaches out and his arms surround her in a quick, gentlemanly hug. His eyes darken and he takes a long breath and lets it out slowly.

"Think about it. I'd be glad if you changed your mind."

He turns and ambles out.

I want to follow.

He may be in my next book.

Know your Genre

One of the things I learned at the Willamette Writers Conference is that agents are not kidding when they want to know the genre of your book, both when you pitch to them in person, and when you query.

They want to know on what shelf it will be in Barnes & Noble.

One of the reasons, I suspect, is because if you've written a erotic thriller and they only represent children's picture books, they won't have to waste much time. So, you may think, maybe I should do a broad spectrum of genres, so I might hit on one or two they represent.

Not a good thing. First, if you are serious about querying agents, you need to do your homework and find out if the agent represents your genre. There are plenty of websites that have already done this for you, but when you put the estamp on the email and send it on its e-way, you'd better have double checked the agent's website.

Second, if you say, "Well, it is kind of an action/adventure, sci-fi, multicultural, romantic thriller, western, detective book," the agent may think, "Is there one section at Barnes & Noble for all that?" Why give the agent a reason to reject your query just for that? They get hundreds of queries. Don't give them a reason to discard your hopes before reading a sample of your writing.

You wouldn't go up to the Jack-in-the-Box and say, "I'd like a bacon sandwich, a lettuce sandwich, with a slab of ground beef, and some tomatoes, and I'd like to have some onions, and dill pickles would be good, and I'd also like some cheese with mayo and toss in some mushrooms with catsup," would you? If you did, you'd better hope Jack is open 24 hours, because it will be a while before he knows what you really want.

If you say, "I'd like a cheeseburger, with bacon and mushrooms," Jack immediately knows what you want.

Have you written a book like the ones you like to read? Go to your local bookstore and ask what section those books are in. That's your genre.

Give the agent the same respect you'd give Jack.

There can be drawbacks to that. I went to B&N once when I was thinking of writing a book similar to the type of writing Janet Evanovich does. I asked what section I could find the newest Janet Evanovich book.

The clerk pointed to the front of the store. "On the best-seller table."

Oh yeah, my genre is Best Seller.

Editor's Note: Melanie Sherman is not suggesting you treat an agent like they are a fast-food, drive-up window.

Grunting at the Willamette Writers Conference

Before words, there was just a series of grunting.

C. C. Humphreys

This year's Sunday lunchtime guest speaker at the Willamette Writers Conference was C. C. Humphreys, actor and author of historical fiction and young adult books. He spoke about not just words, but words. Words that can move, incite, comfort. Words sharper than swords, softer than velvet. He mentioned that he was disappointed at how he read the lines when he played Hamlet,

years ago, at the part when Polonius asks the prince what he is reading, and he replies, "Words. Words. Words." Like, what do you expect I'm reading? But he feels he should have delivered the lines differently, like 1.) I'm reading words. 2.) Words, which are so amazing they evoke scenes in our heads. 3.)Words that may not have completely described an allusive feeling.

I thought of it today when I turned onto the gravel road leading up to my house and had to stop for a great blue heron in the middle of the road.

But that is not how I should write it.

Perhaps it would be:

A Great Blue Heron, his long neck stretched high, and the enormous gray wings spread, blocked the gravel road, forcing me to crunch to a stop. Until then I'd been anxious to get home, but now I smiled and watched as he flapped enough air under his wings to lift, gliding down the bank to the shady creek bubbling twenty feet below.

So, I can see C. C. Humphrey's point. Words...conveying meanings. Words...conveying a picture. Words...which fail to completely capture the joy.

Curing Love at the Willamette Writers Conference

Day Two of the Willamette Writers Conference in Portland, OR

Robert Dugoni

New York Times Best-Selling Author

Today I took a workshop given by Robert Dugoni, in which he explained the crucial concept of the implicit promise. What I think he was saying is that if you are writing a murder mystery, there is an implicit expectation that the murder will be solved.

"In a thriller novel, there is the promise that the bad guy will be stopped. And in a romance novel, that the yearning of the woman will be...what is the word I want...cured...something like cured." He snapped his fingers a couple of times and glanced around the room helplessly.

"Fulfilled?" someone offered.

"Yes, that is it, fulfilled," he said on a sigh of relief.

"Cured," I snorted, "tsk tsk"

Unfortunately I sat in the very front of the room and Mr. Dugoni heard me. Being the best selling author that he is, he didn't take it as heckling. No, he took it as a writing prompt.

His mouth curved into a heart-stopping smile. "Yes, love is a disease," he quipped. "It is sick. You romance writers are writing about sickness. Sickness, I tell you, that must be cured by the end of the book."

The workshop was excellent, I learned a lot, and Robert Dugoni managed to hold us all spellbound for an hour and a half. And perhaps he is right. Perhaps love is a disease. But is there a cure? Or can we only treat the symptoms?

Willamette Writers Conference and Computer Sex

Welcome to the Willamette Writers Conference in Portland, Oregon

Group Consult Room

This morning I cursed my alarm at 5:45am, groped my way into the shower, pulled on the clothes I'd picked out the night before, and shuffled out to the car. The 6:45 traffic was light and I arrived at the Airport Convention Center in no time. I clumped down the hall to the PDX room and checked out my "Staff" vest, searched for a stop-watch, and signed in at the volunteer desk, all before that morning cup of Starbucks.

It was fun meeting agents when I didn't have to pitch to them. I was stationed in the Group Consult area and all I had to do is smile and use my outside voice to say, "Attention: five minute warning, five minutes," and "Time is up, time is up." It amazed me that all the people who came in to give their pitch to the agents looked calm. No one clutched their chests and crumpled to the floor (although we had been trained on the procedure to follow, should that happen. My feeling was it was more likely to happen in the one-on-one consult area.)

Author Hallie Ephron gives advice to attendee

In the afternoon, I attended two workshops, both given by Hallie Ephron, author of Come and Find Me and Never Tell a Lie. She is a fabulous speaker. Between sessions, I opened my notebook and attempted to jot down some notes before I forgot them. It was not my intention to overhear Sara Mikulic and Jocelyn Lindsay. It just happened. I didn't know the subject because I'd actually been trying to tune them out, but there are times a word or two will jump out at you. In this case, I heard Jocelyn say several words, as though she were making a list, and one of the items was "computer sex."

I thought she was deliberating on possible plot points for her book. My pen dropped and I glanced over at them. "Computer sex? Is that in your current work-in-progress?"

They both stared at me.

"I heard you say computer sex."

They eyed each other before swinging their gazes back to me. Several seconds ticked by.

Heat traveled up my neck. "Sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted," I said. "I just couldn't help but hear you say it."

I picked up my pen just as Jocelyn said, "Computer science. Science."

"Computer science?'"

She nodded and they both burst out in fits of chuckles.

Hummm.

I don't know. I'll bet Jocelyn is, right now, mapping out a book about a computer science instructor falling in love with his computer.

Um, it was very nice to meet you, Sara and Jocelyn.

Vancouver Library on Sunday

It is Sunday. The sun is shining and it is a scorching 75 degrees. Yesterday morning I went to the orientation for the Willamette Writers members who will be volunteering at next weekend's writer's conference. I'm very excited about it. I'm volunteering all three days, which I hadn't planned to do, having only signed up for two days, but Carol Doane's and Don Weston's silver tongues had me scratching out my name on that last spot on Sunday before I knew what was happening.

Right now I'm at the new Vancouver Library with my computer whirring on a table in the corner. It is quiet and peaceful and I have a view of downtown Vancouver. I deliberately chose a table on the side of the library without the river view, hoping I'd buckle down and do some writing.

I'll let you know how that goes.