Learning about Scrivener: Compiling, Bullets, and Tables

I am in the middle of trying to prepare a manuscript for self-publication right now, and I want to preserve some of my learning for myself so that I won’t have to relearn it in the future.

Learning the compile function on Scrivener has been a stop-and-go process for me.  When I first looked into it, I was very excited about its potential, but as I read through books on it and tried things, I got overwhelmed at all the different choices. I also was worried about how it would deal with my footnotes, tables, and bullets.  I couldn’t find clear answers online to address my concerns, so I got frustrated and gave up for a while.  

Happily, I recently went back to it recently and suddenly it seemed perfectly clear, to the point that I wondered what had bothered me before. I wish I could have told my past self to take a chill pill and just try it out. 

Now for the learning:

1)   If you’ve already prepared a print-ready Word doc, putting it in Scrivener will be a step backward.  Scrivener does content creation really well, but when it comes to preparing formatting, they don’t give too much flexibility. If you're doing this for the first time, don’t even try to use more than one font through out your project.  To get the final formatting you need, you’re much better off compiling it to a doc and then messing around with the formatting there instead.  However, you can get all your front matter and back matter ready for that and export that too. It will save time. 

2)   You will not find out how many pages your project will be until you compile it for, say, a Word doc.  Number of pages is important info to give your cover designer if you are doing a paperback book.  Once you have set the number of pages, try really hard not to change that. (For instance, don’t do what I did and have your paperback cover design done before editing. Editing will probably shave some pages off your count.)

3)   Importing tables from Word into Scrivener will give you really wonky results.  Yes, you will get your tables, but they will have strange phantom empty cells in weird places. You may also find text outside the tables has a weird box around sections of it as if it were part of a table.    The way to get around this is A) Make all your tables into images and import them into Scrivener, or B) use Scrivener’s table-creation tool and redo all your tables inside Scrivener.  Both are extra work.  Pick your poison.  I do know that Tables generated in Scrivener turn out looking okay on the Kindle.

4)   When bulleted text is imported into Scrivener from Word and then compiled for Kindle, for some reason the bullets are doubled, which looks wrong. This is fixed by recreating the bulleted lists in Scrivener (much like with tables, as described in 2 above).

5)   Scrivener’s compile feature can make it very quick to make .epubs and .mobis and a number of different formats.  IF you know what you’re doing.  I look forward to that day.

An ideal work flow would be:

1)   Create document in Scrivener.

2)   For print: Compile document for print into Word doc. Tweak formatting and upload to POD vendor of choice.

3)   For e-book: Compile document for print into .epub and .mobi.  Test on previewing software.

Obviously, I haven’t done the ideal on my current project. But, eh, live and learn, right?

Writing Tool: Reverse Outlining

Just about everyone is familiar with the process of creating an outline and writing from that; it’s something taught in just about every English class at school.  However, the reverse outline is another writing tool that is just as useful as the pre-writing outline, although it has a different purpose.

What is a reverse outline?  Do you take your pre-writing outline and hold it up to the mirror?  (eye roll) No. 

A reverse outline is when you read through what you have written and summarize it in outline form in a separate document.  Happily, it doesn’t have to have Roman numerals and indenting.  (Who wants to fight with Microsoft word over that stuff? Not me!) The reverse outline can be as simple as a list.  In fact, the simpler, the better.

If you’re writing non-fiction, a reverse outline summarizes the main points you make and the way you try to make them.  Example:

Prairie dogs are good eating.

Story about eating prairie dogs when starving. They were filling.

Health benefits observed when eating prairie dogs. Lustrous hair and energy.

Story about imported prairie dogs saving the lives of malnourished Chinese children.

If you’re writing fiction, a reverse outline summarizes the events that happened in a chapter that are most important to your plot.

            Frank chases down heart-broken Wanda

            Wanda explains why she can’t trust Frank; she saw him kissing Charlene

            Frank explains kissing is part of normal Hispanic greetings.

            Wanda is skeptical because of the length of the kiss and storms off.

            Frank realizes he may lose the love of his life if he doesn’t get act together.

So how does a reverse outline really help?

Cognitively, we can only keep so much in our memory at a time, so making a reverse outline gives us a visual way to evaluate a lot of text easily.

While pre-writing outlines show us where our writing should go before we actually write it, a reverse outline shows us what is actually there once we’ve written.  Often the pre and post outlines don’t match. 

By studying your reverse outline, you can see if there are holes in your logic or missing pieces in your plot.

Not only that, but reverse outlines can become a tool for manipulating our long texts.  I can look at my reverse outline and see where I got off track.  I can see where the progression of my logic or story is out of order.  If I can move a few lines around in my reverse outline, that shows me where I can move much larger chunks in my long-form writing.

Story time!

I had to discover reverse outlining for myself. I was working on a religious book about applying the Book of Isaiah to modern teenage problems, and I noticed that as my chapters got longer and longer, I had a hard time making sure things flowed in a logical manner. 

I could keep about three pages of ideas in my head at a time, and keep those flowing, but beyond that, I just felt like I wasted too much time reminding myself what I’d written before moving anything around.  And if I wanted to insert new stuff it would break my beautiful linearity and then I had to wrestle with the whole thing again.

So I had to invent reverse outlining. (Yes, I know I didn’t really invent it; it’s been around a long time, but I had to discover-invent it for myself.)

I said to myself, “Self, you need a list of all the main points you’re trying to make in the order that you’re making them.”  So I made that list, and that was my very first reverse outline ever. 

Once I had it, I could see exactly where I needed to move things. I could see what arguments were duplicated. I could see where the holes were. I could see where I’d gotten distracted and gone off topic.  By using a reverse outline, my book became much more of a cohesive whole.

I remember I felt absolutely brilliant for having invented reverse outlining. It was like a shiny new toy that I played with.

More points about reverse outlines in fiction

“But Michaela,” you cry, “What about when writing fiction? I already have an outline I create from! Why do I need to do a reverse outline too?”

Again, reverse outlines tell you what you actually have in your story instead of what you want or plan to have.  They tell you the cold hard facts in the light of day.  And if a scene contains events but nothing that actually pushes the plot forward, then you know it’s unimportant and can be removed.

Reverse outlines for fiction can actually include much more than just a list of important plot events.  I use them to evaluate my scenes as I go. 

After I list events in the scene, I will then make a list of the conflicts that occur in the scene.  If you can’t figure out what the conflict is, then of course you’ll need to put some in.  I use a sign of >< to show what the conflicts are.  (Ideally these are conflicts directly related to the plot.) Examples:

>< The dragon wants Jessary to learn to read, but Jessary doesn’t want to.

>< Jessary wants food, but the dragon is unsympathetic.

You can also evaluate sources of tension in the scene, and naturally if you can’t find where tension is coming from, then you have to insert some ASAP.

            T Darkness in the cave and scary noises.

            T Fear of being eaten by the dragon.

            T Uncertainty of where to go from here and what life will be like.

Occasionally I will also evaluate the emotional direction of the scene, whether it goes from positive to negative or the other direction.  This helps me see where I am leaving my readers emotionally at the end of a scene, whether it is in a place of rising hopes or a situation of gathering darkness and trouble.   Emotional direction can be represented with +/-  or -/+. 

            -/+ Jessary escapes the dragon and is free.

            +/- The dragon realizes Jessary—his only hope to break the spell—is missing.

All these tools can help you evaluate the strength of your story as you write it and help you identify areas of improvement. That way, when you finish the whole darn thing, you know where you need to start revising.

 Bonus: If another author ever asks you to read their work and give them feedback, making a reverse outline can help you evaluate better. 

Why I have to occasionally skip ahead in books

DeAnna Pierce did a blog post on the Ten Commandments of Reading, and I enjoyed it, but I took issue with number 9 in which she said “No skipping to the end of the book.”  (When I say “take issue,” I don’t mean an outpouring of rabid, hand-waving anger. I simply mean calm, rational disagreement with a smile.)

Because I am one of those people who occasionally skips ahead in books.  I do it for particular reasons, and I think it is worth it to delve into those reasons, for the benefit of those who can’t imagine why anyone would do this. 

I know there are probably people who can’t fathom it. There are also authors who work very hard to ration out bread crumbs of information all along in their books until they can hit the reader with a gigantic reveal at the end that twists perceptions and turns everything upside down.   To these people, the notion that someone (like me) would skip to the end is tantamount to literary blasphemy, since reading the book out of order would disrupt the careful emotional experience they have worked so hard to evoke in the reader.

So let me tell you about the thought process I go through that leads to me deciding to skip to the end of a book.

There are some books out there that are very well written, and they suck me in like a tornado plowing through a mobile home community.  But I have a hard time dealing with books that pile mystery upon mystery upon mystery.  If everything happening is a mystery, if terms that are used are mysterious and not explained by context pretty quickly, if too many characters’ motives are mysterious, I start getting impatient.  I start to feel like the author is rubbing my face in all the mystery.  I start to doubt whether the author can pull off telling a good enough story that can engage me more than all the mystery irritates me. 

I know the author is setting things up. But the question rises of whether he/she can give a pay-off that really satisfies.  It has to be a really awesome pay-off to string me along, otherwise I’m going to be mad.  If the author is continually adding more story questions without answering any of them, I start to suspect that they won’t answer them, or that the pay-off won’t be enough to make all the set-up worth it.

So, how do I satisfy myself in this regard?  I skip to the end and read the last 50 pages or so. 

I can hear all the thriller and mystery writers shouting, “But that ruins the story if you know what happens at the end!” 

Let me ask you this—does it ruin the water slide ride to know that the ending is a dunk in a big pool of water?   No, it doesn’t. It’s a relief.  It’s something to look forward to.

Would you be comfortable getting on an inner-tube and riding into a dark tunnel after a water slide architect tells you, “This is my first ride I’ve ever had built and you’re not allowed to know how it ends except by going through it. Did you know that there are some exciting things like waterfalls and whirlpools involved?” You might want some reassurances.You might want a little more information before you let yourself go on that.

Or maybe a waterslide isn’t the best analogy. What about a roller coaster? Would you be comfortable going on one if you couldn’t see the end of it?  Especially if you knew there were roller coasters that hadn’t ended in happy places? 

When I read the last 50 pages, I am looking for awesome. I’m looking for drama and interest. If I can find it, that tells me the book’s middle is also going to be interesting, I will go back and read the whole book. And I will enjoy the ending even more because I know it will be awesome. And all the little things that didn’t make sense in the ending will then have new significance for me to appreciate because I have finally read the build-up.

But if the last 50 pages don’t have anything that I can tell is dramatic and amazing all by itself, that shows me that the author depended on all the little mysteries and reveals to create the climax and carry the ending.  And that seems pretty one-note to me.

Skipping to the ending is actually a good way of testing the writing skills of the author.  If the ending draws you in when you don’t know the middle of the story, then the author did an even better job than simply designing a linear experience. They made each part engaging.    Or, suppose you start at the end and read a few pages then, skip progressively closer to the beginning.  If each part is interesting regardless of the order it is read, then the writer’s skill is bigger than just creating a particular plot sequence.  If a book pulls you in even if you’ve read it before, then enjoyment of the book is not dependent on whether you’re ignorant of what happens.  That means the book is re-readable. 

Other cases where I might skip to the end are when the book seems really slow and boring (a subjective term, but still necessary). I'd like to know whether it gets any better. If it does, then I'll go back to where I left off and read to the end. But if not, why bother? Life is too short to read bad books.

I’m not the only person who has noted that spoilers can enhance enjoyment.  Check out this article:

http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2011/aug/17/spoilers-enhance-enjoyment-psychologists

The truth about hiring a line editor

Some writers think they should write from the gut, and then when once they have been accepted for publication, an editor will correct spelling and punctuation and grammar.  Among those who intend to go the self-publishing route, the corresponding notion is that one can hire an editor who will correct all that.

This is usually attached to the assumption that a writer doesn’t need to know the rules of grammar, punctuation, and spelling, and that can be delegated to hirelings.

Here’s the reality: Unless you know enough of the rules to polish your writing the best that you know how, submissions editors will not be able to get into your lovely story because they will be so distracted by mechanical errors in your writing. Your masterpiece will go straight to rejection pile.

And if you hire an editor yourself, they will not correct your writing. They will merely make suggestions and the only way you’re going to be able to keep from blowing a gasket when you see all the red ink (or comment bubbles in your document file) is if you know enough about the rules of writing to see that they are right.  But if you know the rules, why not just use them from the beginning?

Also, the rules of grammar and punctuation are there for a reason; they help eliminate ambiguity.  And if you don’t follow the rules, then your editor may think you mean one thing when you mean another, and then time is wasted figuring out what you really intended to say.  

When I worked as a writing tutor at ASU, I found that usually when grammar was off, the student wasn’t sure what they meant to say yet. I’d ask them, “Did you mean to say this, or did you mean this other thing?” and they’d scratch their head and say, “Uhhhh, I don’t know!”  They had written something they hoped would sound good to the teacher, without making sure it was exactly what they intended to say.

So what does an editor really do for a writer? The writer comes to the editor when they’ve gotten their work good enough that they can no longer see anything wrong with it. Then the editor helps clean up the mistakes the writer missed.  They will trim out unnecessary words, add those missing commas (because there are apparently 20 different ways to use commas and even good writers forget a few), demand a re-wording occasionally when a sentence or paragraph is garbled, move good sentences where they would work better, etc. 

To use a carpentry metaphor, the writer builds the desk and sands it down. The editor polishes it with 200-grit sandpaper and applies the paint and the clear coat.  Don’t expect your editor to do the sawing and hammering for you.

Killer book blurbs

My observation so far about blurbs is that they are really hard to write well in only one draft.   

Even worse, they are really hard to write cold after finishing a book. (Heck, I haven't even finished a novel yet, and I know it's hard!)

Because how to do you choose what to emphasize when you have a pirate kidnapping, and romance between the gargoyle and the gamine heroine, and intrigue over the miniaturized secret nuclear submarine plans hidden in the plug of the crock-pot lost at the church social?  (No, those aren't in my novel, but they should be in somebody's!) So many conflicts, what do you choose?  What’s most important?

I think the best way to approach blurb-writing is to begin drafting them at the beginning of the novel-writing process, then revisit and redraft as each third of the book is completed.  (Need a way to procrastinate while still being productive on your story?  Just go hone your blurb.  You’re welcome.)

Plot bunnies appear, and by heaven, sometimes we must chase them!  And sometimes… the plot bunny develops into such a six-foot pooka of awesomeness that you must bow to it and change your book accordingly. 

In those cases, it helps to revisit and change the blurb immediately before too many more distractions are added. I'm halfway through my current work in progress and I've already drafted my blurb eleven times.

I ran across somewhere that Pixar has some kind of formula for writing awesome movie premises, which can be used for writing story blurbs.  I may not remember it perfectly, but it goes something like this:

Character is in [starting situation].  Then [change] happens and now character has lost [something valuable]. But [external threat] looms, forcing character to [do something very uncomfortable and nasty] in order to reach [her goal].  [Allies] help or [advantages] develop, but they also cause [more trouble].  Finally character is forced to make a choice. Will character choose [Option A] and have [awful consequence A], or choose [Option B] and have [awful consequence B]? 

 Alternatively, for romances, if you have two POVs between your heroine and hero, you can have two paragraphs to examine their internal and external conflicts. Something like this:

Heroine is in [starting internal and external situation]. Then [change] happens and now [hero] stands in the way of heroine achieving her [goal].  But he’s attractive in a [list of devastating ways, skills, power to help her].  Can she overcome internal and external obstacles or will she get horrible consequences and lose love forever?

Hero is in [starting internal and external situation]. Then [change] happens and now [heroine] stands in the way of the heroe’s [goals].  But he’s captivated by her [devastating attractions].  Can he overcome his [internal obstacles] or will he lose her forever? 

 

(Extra points if the hero and heroine are each other’s external obstacles and overcoming those obstacles will cause them to lose in love.)

Yes, the above is formulaic, but it at least gives you a good place to start.

It helps to read other blurbs in the same genre to get a sense of the marketing hooks that are used and other creative blurb structures.  And reading blurbs in other genres can broaden your horizons further.

Another thing that helps is reading other author's blurbs, critiquing them, and trying to make them better.  Nothing's more fun than playing with a bad blurb. Or even a good blurb.

A good way to analyze a blurb is to highlight all the marketing hooks in it.  What kinds of verbs do they use? What language excites you and why?  Do you get a sense of who the character is and what kinds of conflicts and dilemmas they will face?  Is it all in language that screams "exciting"?

Good dialogue

One of the dangers of writing dialogue is that it can be too on-the-nose.  I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the term on-the-nose, so I want to unpack it and offer some alternative ways of defining it.

Here is an example of dialogue taken from The Writer’s Digest article “7 Tools ofDialogue”:  

“Hello, Mary.”
“Hi, Sylvia.”
“My, that’s a wonderful outfit you’re wearing.”
“Outfit? You mean this old thing?”
“Old thing! It looks practically new.”
“It’s not new, but thank you for saying so.”

The article says there are no surprises here, and that is true.  But what is really happening is the characters are being completely forthright and open with each other.  Questions are answered completely and happily.  Also, the stakes of this dialogue are low to non-existent.  After all, why should we care about the wonderful outfit Mary is wearing? 

So one way to make the dialogue more interesting is to make one of the characters evasive.  They may not want to answer questions, or they may not want to do what they are asked to do.  But they want to be polite about it, so they come of with different ways to avoid answering questions fully or at all.  Or they may find a way to answer directly while shocking the interrogator so that the interrogator changes what they want. 

Another way is to make the stakes of the conversation high.  What if Mary’s dress was stolen goods, and she doesn’t want to reveal where she got it?  

Another way is to make the topic an unexpected hot-button issue for one of the characters.  What if Mary hates the dress she’s wearing, but she was forced to wear it for family photos?  What if Mary is not someone who is comfortable wearing dresses and would much rather wear pants?  How would she react to someone commenting she looks lovely? 

Another way is to give the interrogator hidden motives for asking the questions.   What if Sylvia (the girl who is complimenting Mary’s dress) knows that Mary hates wearing dresses, and she compliments Mary on her dress just so she can rub Mary’s face in the fact that Mary is wearing a dress?

Yet another way is to put the dialogue in a story context that makes it more interesting.  For instance, what if the above dialogue happened near the end of a story in which Mary's conflict was a very stormy relationship with Sylvia?  In this case, the above dialogue might be part of a payoff the story was building toward, showing that Mary has accomplished her goal of bringing them into a peaceful coexistence.  It would need more internal dialogue to heighten that effect, but it could fit fairly well.

I think you get the picture. 

I think we’ve shown here that on-the-nose dialogue needs doses of tension, evasion, emotion, and motive.  Lots of this can be done in the internal dialogue of the characters to spice it up.  We’ll imagine them circling each other (mentally), calculating how to meet their goals, measuring and rationing the information they give each other as they battle for ascendency, parsing each other’s words for hidden meeting, reeling under the hidden blows of the other’s words, regrouping and recalculating for the next round, etc.    This is words as a battle.  Conversation as conflict.