After reading through
the previous posts this month I don’t have many resources to add to the already
valuable list. For books I like, Plot and Structure by James Scott Bell and
GMC
Goals, Motivation Conflict by Debra Dixon. Two software programs I love are ProWritingAid
and One Note. My online ‘go to’ are Inscribe, ACFW, and The Writer’s View.
That being said, I’m going totally off subject. To being a reader.
In the last few
years, I’ve noticed writing styles have changed. They are now like our society.
Life is mad dash from morning to night with little time in between. Less is
more, publishing houses insist. Tighten, tighten, tighten. As writers, we are
forced to adapt. But is this a good thing?
As a reader, I’m
not so sure. Perhaps it’s the countless books I’ve read, or had read to me, over
the past sixty-nine years, but I struggle with these new guidelines. My latest
peeve, the one that prompted me to write this post, was a book written by four of
the most popular writers in Christian fiction. I was excited when I saw the
book on Amazon and put it to the top of my reading list. The story had to rock.
These authors are as popular as snowflakes in winter.
But shortly into
the story, my snowball burst. Except for
the last section, written by an author who delighted me, it was one of the
hardest to “keep reading” books I’ve ever read. In the first three sections I
felt like I was dangling in that zone between sleep and awake. Nothing anchored
me anything or anyone. I remember the characters only because they were the
same as those in the final section. Which brings me to my pondering. Where does
lean end and anorexic begin?
The first
section, that should have anchored me into the story, read like an outline. Whoever’s
pov I was in felt like a pine box. Try as I would, I could not find a comfy
spot to curl up in and let the story take me to some far and distant land.
Instead, I was in a world that sped past me faster than my surroundings when
I’m riding the tilt-a-whirl at a local fair.
To be fair, some
of the old classics can describe a flower in a field in so much detail, I’ve
forgotten why I’m in the field by the time I see exactly what the author saw
and felt. And who really cares if it’s a coffee or a tea stain on the white
tablecloth, unless it’s a mystery you’re reading. But, fluff gives me an
option. Over the years, I’ve become very good at skimming. But in this day and
age, that’s not practical either.
What I need is
something in between. I want to know my protagonist, where she lives, what she
likes, what she doesn’t, and what she wants bad enough to write a book about. I
want a subtle description of her that allows me to fill in the blanks with my
own imagination. I don’t want a block of white houses described, but if one is
brown with a red horseshoe on the door, my interest is peaked.
I understand how
age and time can dictate writing styles, but for me, they have gone bi-polar.
Older stories tweak my skimming abilities, while many newer ones leave me
frustrated because I can’t find the link between the dots. When I find a story
that flows like a river, ripple after ripple, around and over obstacles and
finishes in a waterfall, my toes curl up in delight, right back to my heels.
