How Being a Writer Changes You

By Pamela

Cats at the vet

My girl asked me the other day, when I was a kid, what did I want to be. I remember my little self wanting to be a vet. I loved animals and still do, but when I learned about euthanasia, I changed my mind. Then, a fascination with the show Quincy, M.E. (starring Jack Klugman) gave me a brief aspiration to become a medical examiner. Then the thought of having to autopsy a child hit me, and that dream vanished, too. I still had a love of science, so I started college as a pre-pharmacy major. During my sophomore year, I decided spending my life behind a counter didn't sound too thrilling (and I was struggling with my anatomy class), so I changed majors to marketing. I didn't really plan to be a writer; rather the career found me. And now that I am, I realize how much my work affects my daily life; maybe yours too.

You no longer 'read for pleasure'

Sure, you can pick up a book and enjoy it, but every story is a lesson. You either marvel at the prose or become frustrated at the overuse of adverbs or cliched dialog. You no longer think 'this is a great story' but 'how did the writer pull this off?' You rarely read a book as a complete work but rather sit in awe at the pacing, the POV, the plot. Or maybe you reread books you once loved and think, 'Really? This isn't any good at all!' You also can't quiet your inner editor while reading (or on social media and someone types 'your so pretty' or any number of errors that makes you want to reach out and slap someone). Or maybe that's just me ...

The news becomes fodder for a story

You can't pick up the paper, watch TV or prowl the Web without deeming an interesting piece of news a potential story. Man burns down house while trying to kill a spider? Yep. Happens and wouldn't he make a great character in a novel? Woman discovers her husband was also her father? Ew, but yet it happened and, when you're in need of a good 'twist' in your novel, there you go. Jodi Picoult has made a career out of taking headline news items and crafting them into best-selling novels--Nineteen Minutes (school shooting), My Sister's Keeper (sibling marrow/organ donor), The Pact (teen suicide) and a dozen more. You might not write 'ripped from the headlines' stories, but you do keep an eye and an ear trained for news you can use--even if it's a juicy piece of gossip you hear from a neighbor. (Names changed, of course.)

You become more observant

A baby's velvet ear. 

You might not be the most poetic person in the room but you can't help staring at the burning sunset or watching two ambitious lizards wrangle a moth. You marvel at a baby's velvet ear or prefer a midsummer thunderstorm over a fireworks display. While the rest of the world stares at their phone screens, you prefer to watch the awkward college student attempt to talk to the pretty girl at the ballgame. If you're not working, you choose the table at the coffee shop nearest to the most eccentric-looking customers in hopes of overhearing some conversation.

Coffee shop patrons

You are constantly learning craft

My girl has recently taken to heart the phrase: You learn something new every day. And so she'll often ask me at night, "What did you learn today?" I nearly always have something to contribute. I know I'll never learn all there is to know about writing and have marveled at times that anything I wrote 10 years ago was even fit for public consumption. Part of your writing style is intuitive. You can't deny a certain giftedness you must possess. But I know I depend on my AP Stylebook to help me with an issue at least once every other week. I learn new words all the time--and then forget half of them, so they're 'new' again the next time we cross paths. I still can't explain to you what 'close third' is in POV even though it's been explained to me a few times. If you're reading, you're learning about writing. If you're writing, you're also learning by trial and error. Never stop learning ... that would mean you've either given up on writing or died. Either would make me sad.

You meet amazing people

When I moved to Texas nine years ago, I knew four people in my town ... and I'm related to all of them. It didn't take long before my homebodied-self ventured out to the library to take a class on writing taught by two authors--Britta Coleman and Candace Havens. At that class, I met a couple writers (who I still connect with via Facebook). From there I drove across uncharted freeways to Richardson Library for another gathering of writers and met Joan and Kim. (Best move EVER!!) It's amazing the number of people you meet while writing if you get out and explore. Visit writing groups, find a critique group, attend author signings, go to writing conferences. Sure you can discover a wealth of resources online, but making yourself reach out to like-minded individuals can keep you from giving up when the going gets rough. And who hasn't felt the urge to find a creative outlet that's less taxing on the ego?

These are just a few ways writing has changed me. How about you?

Flickr images of: 'cats at the vet' by Kami Jo; 'baby ear' by Tilman Zitzmann; 'coffee shop patrons' by Neo_II. 

Revising Your Novel

By Susan

This morning, for the first day of summer 2013, I enjoyed my coffee on my Texas patio before diving back in to my day's work of revising my manuscript. I called my father to wish him a happy birthday and we exchanged news. And at the end of our conversation he said—as he has ended every conversation with me for the past few months—"Turn in the manuscript."

I suppose it appears to him that I am sitting on this draft. He read an early version in March, and—because he is my father—loved it. Yet just because a draft is complete doesn't mean that it is the best possible draft you can submit, whether to agents with a query letter, to your agent, or to your editor. Editing as you go ensures that you have fewer errors—that's true. But revisions are not line edits. To revise is to step back and see your work differently. Revision is to go deeper.

In the course of the past few months, I've learned some tips about my own process that might be helpful to any writer while tackling revisions. Of course, each writer has his or her own way of working, but I've found that by gathering every tool possible from other writers, I've been able to fine-tune what works for me and for this manuscript. I've learned that even though the first draft may take months or years, you're not doing yourself any favors by letting it loose in the world without taking the time to revise. Here are some tips:

1.     Take things apart—and don't go easy. Break down chapters by sentence, paragraph and scene. Take out weak verbs and flimsy metaphors. Watch for overused phrases and words. Find and hone your theme. Writer Don Roof says, "I've found the best way to revise your own work is to pretend that somebody else wrote it and then to rip the living shit out of it." I couldn't agree more. Grade each chapter as though your are your own writing professor. Sometimes this is the only way not to hurt your own feelings.

2.     Ask yourself: Is this scene my very best work? Treat every scene in your manuscript as the most important one. Would you read this scene aloud at a book signing? Submit it to a contest? Seek publication as a short story? I found myself saying to myself, "Well, this one's not so great, but look at the next scene!" The problem with that logic is that agents, editors and readers aren't going to get past the weak scenes to find the 'good ones.' Make every scene the best it can be. I've completely rewritten several chapters—adding richness and detail, cleaning up dialog, creating symbolism—just because I asked myself that question and answered it honestly.

3.     Take as much time as you need. Sometimes, time is your best editor. Think through the order of your action: Is the tension building? Are you ending each chapter with a reason for the reader to turn the page? Do you need to raise the stakes for your protagonist and push him to risk more? Answer these bigger questions with long walks and yoga. Maybe yard work or preparing a meal. Maybe you need to sit in the sand and stare at the ocean. Whatever works for you, just be sure that you take the thinking time that you need to figure out your best solutions. Then don't be afraid to make the improvements you need to make.

4.     Rediscover your characters. Make sure they find their way through your manuscript. What is each character's goal, purpose, role and challenge? Are they interesting enough, compelling enough? I'm not of the school that they have to be "likeable" enough, but they must drive the action. Do they need more backstory, or less? Are they real and rich, or thin and stock? Give them quirks. Allow them to get angry and make mistakes. Above all—make sure they grow because of their choices and develop as the plot unfolds. No character should arrive at the end of a novel the same person they were going in; they've either gotten better or worse. Push them to become who you've created them to be.

5.     Embrace change. Read your manuscript from start to finish. I suggest print it on paper and not read it from the screen. Make notes in the margins. Then allow your revisions to take you somewhere you don't expect. If the plot changes, don't suppress it—allow it to flow. Sometimes, you'll have to reign it back in, but sometimes it will take you somewhere glorious. Don't be afraid or too stubborn. Think of yourself as a storyteller—not just a writer. And allow that story to be the best one you can possibly tell.

6.     If you can't trust yourself, work with a partner you trust instead. Critique partners need to be a unique combination of cheerleader and coach. Do they know how to push you to bring your best work to the forefront? If they are constantly full of praise, they're not the right reader for you. At the same time, if their criticism is vague, you won't know where to start. A good critique partner doesn't rewrite every sentence for you, but they can see holes in your plot, weaknesses in characters, and can provide ideas for pacing and tension. And be careful: don't overuse a critique partner to the degree that they are too close to your work to advise, too tired of it to help, or no longer able to take as much time as you feel you need. Remember: sometimes the only cook you need in your kitchen is yourself.

7.     Give yourself deadlines, but also the permission to break them. Don't rush your own creative process. Keep it beautiful and remember that it is your art—no one else's. If you are under an editor's deadline, be fair and gracious if you need extensions, but also work to have realistic goals to begin with. Setting goals will keep you from abandoning your draft when it gets difficult. And it will get difficult.

8.     Infuse it with love. If you're not writing something because you love it, perhaps you should rethink why you write. Do you love the process, the characters, the setting, the story? Make each sentence feel like a poem. Use beautiful language, but don't overdo it. Vary your sentence length to give it rhythm. And love it as though it's your favorite song—even though you might get sick of it, you can't help but sing it over and over.

Setting the stage

by Joan

When we moved from Maryland to Texas almost eight years ago, we purged fifteen years of accumulated “stuff,” gave mountains of action figures and clothes to younger neighborhood boys, and sold or donated most of our furniture. Texas would be a new start with a new style. In Dallas, we found a few go-to furniture stores, ogled in others for ideas, installed window treatments, hung art and accessorized with vases and pillows. We made space for trinkets we'd picked up in our travels, a salmon-eating wooden bear from Alaska, an ancient Greek urn, a Turkish clay bottle and lots of pictures. Within a year we sat back and admired our eclectic choices.

Now as empty nesters we find it’s time to move again. "Rightsizing" the realtor called it. She sent a complimentary interior designer to stage our house for showing. For years I thought our house was well decorated, stylish even, but soon it became apparent I was a hack wannabe.

I heard, “This fabric doesn’t go with that painting,” and “No, these must go,” about my attempt at a silk flower design. Even my husband chimed in. “Yeah, she has many talents, but decorating isn’t one of them.” When we got to the guest sink, separate from the Jack-n-Jill, the designer picked up a small bowl of fake lemons and limes. “Oh, no no no. No fruit in the bathroom.” I felt crushed. Embarrassed. I had no style. Worse, I didn’t know I had no style.

She went on to point out the things we’d done right. “Let a buyer see the lovely floor plan, the potential for what they could do with it." We made a list of furniture to remove or relocate, accessories to pack away to make the rooms look as inviting as possible. I didn’t see the house as cluttered because I liked every trinket and knick-knack in it. They were my darlings.

After several agents rejected my full manuscript over the past year, I began to think I had no writing style. Maybe I was just a hack wannabe and nobody had the nerve to tell me. Since my partials were turning into full requests, I knew that couldn’t be exactly true. But I also knew there was something wrong. Why weren’t the fulls turning into offers of representation?

I needed professional help. I hired Stephanie Cowell, author of the beautiful Claude & Camille, as an advisory editor. Like my house stager, Stephanie pointed out plot clutter, sidetrack plotlines or details that got in the way of the main story. Just as I hadn’t seen my house clutter, I couldn’t see clutter in my manuscript because I liked everything in it.

Stephanie's detailed notes delivered exactly what I needed to hear. She captured the essence of my manuscript, pointed out not only what was working or not, but also the "why" of it. She gave me specific examples of chapters or scenes that needed clarification or grounding. She validated my characters, not by offering vague praise, but by pointing out what captured her heart. I will be forever grateful!

I would highly recommend her editing skills to writers seeking an objective, insightful look at their work. Thanks to her keen eye and close review, several agents are now reading my manuscript.

Next weekend I will deliver my house to another type of agent. And hope the offers pour in. 

Plate-Spinning

By Susan

Remember the old vaudeville act? Where the entertainer tosses plates upon sticks and gets them spinning? All of a sudden, he's got five or six plates balancing and whirling at electric speed. His wrists flick and twitch, touching the rim of each platter, keeping plates balanced and in motion as they sit atop delicate sticks. And he moves frantically, never allowing a sphere to slow its spin, and the plates merely whirl away while our actor races from plate to plate, keeping the objects in motion.

Moments before, our entertainer had been standing silently, calmly, simply smiling at the audience. Now he's a frantic hot mess trying to make it look effortless. The plates simply spin.

Yeah. That’s me. I've been standing around smiling for a while, now. Months, actually. Since I stopped working full-time and committed myself to The Novel, sure—I've signed with my agent and endured pain-staking and critical edits. But it's nothing like my life before, when I juggled children and a commute and full-time work and a spouse and everything else that comes with being a working mom. For six months, things have been cool. I've stood on the stage and looked out over the audience benevolently. Mrs.-Peaceful-Stay-At-Home-Writer-Mom.

In a very short period of time, everything has changed. The show has begun, and all of my plates started spinning. Now I'm the one racing back and forth across the stage.

A month ago yesterday, our home was hit by a tornado. Thirteen days after the storm Brilliant Agent suggested a new story line, one to weave through my existing story, one that could change the trajectory of my tome and launch my story to a different level. And then two weeks ago, I received an answered prayer in the form of a magical text from across the sea, followed by a gift of reconciliation for a friendship I thought long gone.

Next, a new seed began to sprout in my brain regarding a dream of mine—one that hinges on the sale of The Novel and involves a trip back to Ghana, and in my agitated super-busy state I decided that now was the time to make that dream a reality. Phone calls, emails and meetings ensued. Realizing my over-worked state, I decided that now was the time to begin a fasting-diet, where I attempt to replace food with walking, quiet time, prayer and meditation (wish me luck!) This week, I completed applications for summer writing workshops—thinking that might make me take myself seriously as a writer. All the while, contractors have come and gone in the name of the tornado, replacing my roof and joists and windows and gutters and siding and fence and gates…. Well, you get the picture.

My plates, once resting in the cupboard, are now spinning furiously, all while I seek a sacred place to do one thing: write.

The new storyline in The Novel keeps tugging at my heart. Brilliant Agent was right in her suggestion. In stolen moments I hunkered down to write, feeling like it wasn't enough. Yet I kicked out almost twenty pages of new words last week in the midst of my plate-spinning. New words on white paper! I've looked around my new-ish home and it is good. I see the new sub plot and I am pleased. Things are falling together, like the Big Bang of creation where order comes from chaos. In one big cruel April, all my plate-spinning actually paid off.

I realized that in these frantic bursts of busy-ness, I got things done—including my writing. The days of the smiling Mrs.-Peaceful-Stay-at-Home-Writer-Mom are over. I do better when I'm at my busiest. I write more, I think faster, and it all comes together. I don't need another plate to introduce itself into my act, but somehow I know those additional plates are coming. What can I say? Bring it on.

Who are you, really?

By Julie

Recently, my best friend and I were discussing (by text, no less) the merits of a new hair product we both tried, me at her suggestion. At one point in our conversation, I chuckled over her routine of various and sundry products while I sighed at mine: Shampoo. Conditioner. Hairspray.

It also made me remember a scene from a slice-of-life 2006 movie I really liked called Friends with Money. Kind of a spoiler, but at one point near the end, the character Jane, played by Frances McDormand (LOVE! Also of Fargo fame …), admits she stopped washing, combing and styling her hair because none of the products lived up to their hype. None of them made her young and beautiful. So she just decided to be who she was without them. (Hmm. Plain Jane? I just realized that!) The indication, obviously, is that she will come back to the balance of using what works for her to be true to herself—neither going overboard buying a new product every week, or completely giving up on her own plain, unique beauty.

And, of course, this conversation and movie memory brought a metaphor for writing to my mind. Because those metaphors, they’re always jumping me. (Thanks again, David Wilcox, for this line.)

Sometimes we try so hard to find the perfect course to show us how to write. The perfect article to show us how to prettify a passage. The perfect advice to make our writing …

Perfect.

When sometimes what we really need to do is just get out of the way.

Sometimes that “product” we squirt on our fingers and work through a paragraph or chapter or entire novel is the thing that makes it stand out as forced. The “product” we spray on liberally can be the thing that detracts from the natural shininess of words that were quite lovely on their own. Looking for the perfect “product,” we sometimes spend so much time and money, our own unique voice is submerged in the hunt.

Now, I’m not saying it’s always a bad idea to search for and use things that can improve our writing (or our hair!). But ultimately, we have to get out of the way. We have to find what makes us really and truly ourselves on the page.

Uncombed. Uncoated. Uncamouflauged.

That’s when the real story comes out.

photo credit: from simon_redwood's Flickr photo stream, used by Creative Commons license

Because I write ...

By Pamela

Because I write, you might notice something different about me. Okay, maybe in your head ‘different’ is ‘strange’ and I’m really fine with that.

Because I write, friends have admitted to being reluctant to send me: emails, text messages and Christmas cards—fearing they might not spell something correctly. I assure them that I have the same worries too—regardless of who is reading it.

Because I write, my boys tend to think twice about asking me to proof read their homework. The request is usually tempered with: Don’t go crazy or anything …

Because I write, at times the temptation to correct others is nearly overwhelming. Lay/lie, who/that, was/were—it all makes me a bit crazy. While I’ve yet to actually do it, I did avoid Walgreens for over a month after the guy at the register told me ‘no problem’ when I said ‘thank you’ and then proceeded to say ‘have a good one’ as I left. Grrr … not poor grammar, really, but just two peeves of mine. (Two peeves of a snob.) I also looked around for the manager—again, same Walgreens—when I noticed their ‘stationery’ area was labeled as ‘stationary.’ Sure, it wasn’t moving, but I don’t think that’s what they meant.

Because I write, reading for pleasure isn’t as pleasurable as it was ten years ago. I used to read anything and everything, but now—knowing what I do about the craft—I find I’m less tolerant of so-so writing.

Because I write, I notice what makes you unique—the inflection in your voice, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're nervous, how you kneel down to talk to a toddler, the wrinkles around your mouth that give away your smoking habit, the stains on your shoes, the way you talk to sales clerks and waitresses. Everything about you is fodder for one of my characters. I notice.

Because I write, I scribble notes on everything. Please don't touch them, add to them or, for your own safety, throw them away.

Because I write, I’m also insecure about what I’ve written. So, if you ever read an article, blog post or story by me, your telling me that you liked it means a lot. Really, I’ve only met a few writers with egos, so if you enjoy something an author has written, he or she would likely love to hear your nice comments. Find them on Facebook, write a nice review on Amazon, pass along a recommendation to a friend, or find some other way to pat them on their insecure backs.

Because I write, I—and Julie and Susan and Joan and Kim and Elizabeth—support other writers by: attending author events, buying their books new and not used (so they’ll get royalties) and promoting their efforts here on the blog.

Because I write, the world probably doesn’t look the same to me as it does to you. And if you’re an engineer (or a professional organizer or an artist or a nurse), I’m sure you see my world from a totally different perspective, and I think that’s pretty cool. Because, when I write, some days I am a professional organizer, an artist, a nurse—or at least I attempt to bring those characters to life in my stories.

And that is way cool.

Clutter

By Susan
 
It takes all kinds, I know, when it comes to decorating. I have friends who ooze style: deep, luscious fabrics and layers of pillows, intricate and intimate arrangements of family photos and mementos, and heavily carved furniture weighted in history. I also have friends who are minimalists: retro thrift store chic, clean lines, echos and open spaces. Whiteness and air rest in their freedom, pleased with the sparseness of it all, and each item shines as a focal point in it's own simplistic beauty.

And then I have my house: my 'temporary house' we purchased almost ten years ago. We are still here and it is full of the messy-ness and busy-ness of our life. I realize, of course, as I write this that my temporary house has become my permanent home.

Like the ship of Theseus, we replaced every working part of this vessel, from the plumbing to the hulking units that keep us cool. We ripped out carpet and replaced it with hardwood. We gutted the kitchen and tiled until we developed carpal tunnel syndrome. We have roofed. I have painted. He has cursed, and I have prayed (and vice-versa.) I have yanked off baseboards and nail-gunned bright new two-point-five-inch replacements. In all my renewal and renovating, I have yet to find a style that I can name. I am not lush, yet I am not Spartan. But my house is full of myself. It's everywhere I look. 

As I write this post, I turn to my right and snap a photo with my iPhone: it is a simple chair I purchased at Target. Yet the blanket is one I carried home from Mexico in 1995 from my honeymoon. I snagged the leather ottoman in Ghana. The beads dangling from the lamp's light switch are Greek, carried back from the island of Santorini. The books? My Bible and a book of poetry by Mary Oliver.

I turn to my left. A tired tumbler of iced tea, my printed manuscript, reading glasses. Stacks of books about Kentucky, and bourbon, and the contemplative life of Thomas Merton. One candid photo of me from 2006. Little pieces of self. A new red shade adorns a marble lamp base that is over one hundred and twenty years old (I could tell you many stories about the things this lamp has seen.) More me. I can't escape it.

I think about my friends and your homes. Are you filled with the same wonder at the imprint you are making on your surroundings? Does the book purchased in Hemingway's house in Key West rest on your shelf, full of its self-importance because you bought it and brought it home? What about that shell you pulled from the deep white sand of a North Carolina beach, is it blessed by being in your house? Are you?

Now. Look at your manuscript. Are you able to clear out the clutter and have a yard sale? Or are you holding on to each word, and each scene, because they mean something to you? Look at it again, lest you become a hoarder. There are things that tell the story, and then there are just things. Determine what is the story. Cut what is not.

I'm in full-on edit mode right now with my completed manuscript, and I'm also hosting a yard sale Friday and Saturday to purge my temporary house of temporary things, leaving only what will last. It's as though they are the same exercise with different muscles. I am purging my house of the excess, and I am purging my manuscript of the extraneous bulk. We are thinning down. We are getting cleaner, and stronger, and better.

What is the mark you are leaving with your manuscript? Is it full of the extra details of your mental clutter, or can you slash it-- making it the best possible work it can be? Do you write the way you decorate? Are you frilly and detailed and rich? Or do you keep your words simple and clean? Or worst of all, are you a hoarder?

Or, are you like me: Lots of reds and blacks and browns, with pebbles and shells?
Here is one thing true: your writing, like your home, carries your DNA. Your heart. Yet you must learn to separate what is holding you back from what will propel you forward. My cluttered house? I'm ready to purge. My cluttered manuscript? Let's bring on the knife.

The Non-Writing Part of Writing

By Susan

I used to brag that I could write anywhere. On lunch hours, I would scribble in a small black notebook, as I sat parked in my car under a tree at a park near my office. I could find a diner and write for an hour without noticing the time at all (like I did in this photo, to the left). Sometimes, I would take my laptop to my nearby coffee shop, and I could peck away at the keys, oblivious to the hustle around me. Usually, I’m typing fast in my favorite chair, children playing around me and my husband cooking dinner in the kitchen as I hurry to complete the next scene before somebody hollers “Mom!”

Yet lately, I’ve wanted (no, maybe needed) more perfect conditions. I’ve sequestered myself to my bedroom and locked the door, hoping no one (i.e. children) will notice that I’m hiding with my manuscript. I’ve waited until the house was empty to even open my working document, sure that nothing will get done unless I have Complete. Total. Silence. I make excuses for why I can’t work, for why nothing is getting done. And nothing is getting done-- at least on this manuscript-- that’s for sure.

What’s changed? It’s not me. It’s the nature of my project, and my project has changed. I am now no longer writing when I crack open the antiquated laptop that has housed my baby for the past few years. I’ve actually finished it, all 100,871 words-- at least the writing part of it. The thing that has changed? I’m now an editor- no longer a writer. And I’ve realized that as much as I know nothing about writing, I know even less about where to place a comma, how to spell, or when to edit out a scene or add a new one. An editor? I am not.

I’m out of my league, once again.

And stuck.

Last night, I went back to one thing I do know: management. I decided to tackle my editing as I did my writing, as I do my work, and my life. I make lists, prioritize them, shuffle them, and give myself deadlines. I set short-term and long-term goals and I rank the elements of the project by size and scope.

I won’t bore you with the list. It ranges from everything from scenes to add, to words to cut, to character development and consistancy of voice. But for me, it’s pure gold. I’ve found a starting place on my new phase of writing this novel- the non-writing part.

What about you? How do you make it through the post-writing let down and through the editing phase? Please share. I'll take any advice I can get!

Editing With Ghosts

by Joan

I didn’t start out thinking I’d write ghost stories. But one day a ghost showed up in a manuscript I was writing and helped my protagonist deal with some buried family secrets. She was based on my Aunt Florence who died when I was twelve, a rotund redhead who loved to float in the pool, inhale coffee and cigarettes, and belly laugh. I like the idea of spirits and souls so connected to people or places that they just can’t leave. Of ancestors who stay with us long after they die. (Kim agrees)

Last year I wrote a blog post about a mysterious ghost writer who communicated with me via my computer. Turned out it wasn’t a ghost at all, just my son’s runaway Bluetooth mouse, making itself at home on my screen. Technology.

I imagine Aunt Florence, a product of the Depression, wouldn’t quite know what to make of our technological advances. I’ve been accused of being a Luddite, despite using Word and Excel for over twenty years, regularly posting to two blog sites, not so regularly posting on Facebook, and writing three manuscripts and the bones of two others on my laptop. To be honest, though, I stick to the functions I know and don’t go searching for new tools.

But I do keep an eye out for new ghosts. And I’ve just encountered another one, though this one’s no Luddite. In fact, this one does make herself at home in my computer. She's Rachel, a British ghost I downloaded to my Mac.

I had no idea my computer had a function for text-to-voice, probably has had for many years. Julie turned me on to this amazing concept, after reading about it on QueryTracker. But I didn’t really like the robotic voice my Mac offered and found a program called GhostReader. (I’m sure there are others, but I’m partial to this one’s name.) There are many languages to choose from, not just British English. Just open your document in GhostReader and it will READ YOUR NOVEL ALOUD TO YOU.

Aside from the thrill of hearing your manuscript read aloud, this is a great self-editing tool. After many revisions, it’s easy to find yourself skimming sentences, paragraphs, even whole pages after a while. Sentences you’ve read over and over sound good because they are familiar. But are they really good? Are they clean, tightly written? Do they convey your intent? The program has a pause/play/rewind function so when you hear odd phrasing or a misplaced word, you can stop and jot down the problem. You can make changes and copy it over to Word, even download it to your iPod, I’m told, though I haven’t tried yet. GhostReader is an amazing tool for any writer!

I’ve had a number critiquers and beta readers on the ghost story I’m shopping to agents. Last month, I put it on hold while I did some brutal revisions, added some new twists, changed my working title and now I'm getting it ready for a new beta reader. Rachel just read the first five chapters to me. I felt as though I was listening to an audio book I’d purchased. I’m excited about it all over again.

Little by little, I’m leaving my Luddite ways behind. And meeting new ghosts.

(If anyone knows of a similar program for PC users, I'm sure our readers would be interested.)