This post is dedicated to a couple of winning bumper stickers I’ve seen whilst scurrying about town in the old mobile. In the midst of a ranting rage instigated by terrible driving skills (other people’s, of course), it’s good to lay eyes on words such as these, as my angst is deflated either in laughing appreciation or simple diversion.

Watch out for the idiot behind me

and

Your stupid!

So what do these have to do with CARPRACS? A couple of things, actually.

First, there’s the skill in delivering a pithy statement. By which I mean, being able to snag the reader’s attention with a strong, meaningful comment delivered in a limited amount of words. A skill I don’t often display in my blog posts.

Second, the clarity they provide. There’s no mistaking the meanings of these words. Not only do they inform the reader what is thought of he/she, they speak volumes about their deliverer. There is nothing ambiguous about them.

Third, their humour. These are excellent examples of how comedic content does not have to be forced, does not have to bludgeon the reader, does not have to be crude, slapstick, or staged. They are also strong examples of how good comedy is personal – to the reader and to their source.

Fourth, and best of all, they’re dialogue. All the exposition in the world couldn’t make either of those points any more clearly or emphatically then these bumper stickers. Dialogue – besides being at its best when pithy, clear, and humorous – is emotional and easy to read. Writers and readers all know how addictive bonding with (or uniting against) a character is. Every writer should strive to make that connection with his/her readers. Every reader knows at a glance through its pages how difficult a book will be to consume – the more quotation marks there are, the quicker and more active the story.

CARPRACS: practical writing advice as derived from the cars about us.

I’ve been invited to speak about writing at a local public library. The library had recently held a very successful session on becoming published, and wished to follow that up with another writing-related topic. A friend - highly-regarded in the Milwaukee-area literary community – provided my name when contacted by the librarian searching for a presenter to discuss the art of writing and becoming a writer. A few emailed discussions later, the gig was mine.

I’ll be speaking over three sessions, once a month beginning in January. I’ve decided to tie into my CarPracs articles (if you’ll recall those few pieces of writing advice I started offering last year and have not returned to even though there are another dozen of them piled upon my desk here) and take a shot at turning them into something more beneficial for all, myself included. Having a little ‘trademark’ speaking topic particular to me is one of those marketing tactics that countless promotional and marketing people suggest for writers. Not only will this be good for me to clearly define and articulate many of the writing-related thoughts running rampant in my mind, best of all, it could actually open a writing door or prompt a would-be author to brave the narrow alleys and wide boulevards of writing.

So, in addition to continually reworking the RBE website, reading and editing RBE material, and trying to occassionally pen a word or two of my own, I’ll be drafting up some more CarPracs and a simple lesson plan to incorporate at these sessions. My thanks to all of you who have contributed to my knowledge base over the past few years – I can honestly say that without several of my readers I wouldn’t know half what I know now.

This could be a very long post.  Just forewarning you.

Today’s inspiration comes from the number of ‘4×4′ descriptors plastered on the vehicles daily surrounding me on the roadways.  I see them and am reminded that we writers should have ‘4×4′ appearing behind all of our works, our words, our writings. Not necessarily full-time 4×4; we should definitely know when to engage it though.

Just as there are times those dual-enabled vehicles do not want all 4 wheels propelling them forward, there are certain times writers don’t either. Sometimes we choose not use all 4 wheels to drive our stories (or parts of them) forward; other times we may, ah, forget to engage all 4 of our personal drives.  Then there are those times that don’t require 4×4 drive and just need some good old four on the floor to get things up and moving.

If the majority of drivers would admit it, though, most often having 4-wheel drive capabilities is a luxury; having the option to switch it on or off at will a blessing. You can’t seriously believe all those SUVs and pickup trucks racing the highways and city byways have to have 4×4, let alone full-time 4×4, to negotiate the terrain, can you? I hope not. You can believe, however, that writers do.

‘Tis true. While much of the driving world normally operates in 2-wheel drive, writers should regularly be in 4-wheel drive and only in specific moments, with precise reasons, disengage. But that’s a future article. This one’s about engaging 4×4 and four on the floor, too, for that matter.

So what are the 4 drives that make the 4 wheels go round and the 4 gears on the floor that writers must shift through?  Hop in and hang on, I’m going to try to make this a quick ride.

What propels a writer to get on paper the dreams and songs that torment his/her sleep? Any artist for that matter. We’re really no different than the rest of the population; they have nightmares and dreams and hear songs of drama and escape too. One small thing separates us: we create. They but live experiences; we deliver them.

The 4 drives of a writer aren’t too complicated. It’s the doing of them that’s the rub.

• Write – What’s that you say? You’re a writer? Show me something. Cameramen at the NABBA Mr. Universe competitions don’t hold their cameras on the pasty, emaciated nerd in the parking lot who claims he’s in contention to be the next champ. Need I say more? 
• Read – Learn. Anything and everything. Topics such as history, geometry, tactics, psychology, languages; skills like basket-weaving, horseback riding, deli-sandwich making; to appreciate music, art, mime. Learn what to do and definitely what not to do. Reading demonstrates the writing; analyzing whether it works and why or why not are tremendous drives.
• Edit – Not! Rather, know when to edit. Premature editing kills writing just as much as premature ej–, er, kills, ah . . . right! Offenders ain’t getting lucky, if you know what I mean. Need I say more?
• Tell – Writers create because we have something to say. Something that needs to be said, that’s burning us up inside, digging its way out of our minds, scratching itself to freedom from deep within us. Remember: we create experiences. Else we can go back to living someone else’s creations. So speak up; tell someone our tales.

Remember the old commercial Got Milk? Have you got the Writer’s Drives? You’ll need them to power the 4 wheels of your writing vehicle.  In this instance, we’re in my vehicle of choice: fiction writing.

• Scenes – If you ain’t got scenes, you might as well pack up the keyboards and snap the pencils now. Scenes are the building-blocks of your stories (We are, of course, skipping right over all the grammar necessities and niceties in this conversation, for I’m figuring you’ve got the words, sentences, paragraphs concepts down. If not, I’d suggest adding a few other things to your must-do list if you plan on tackling everything you read here today). Now spur-of-the-moment allegories between such disparate things often aren’t infallible, so while every tire on a car is equally important, not every tire of my writing vehicle is – scenes consist of my remaining three. I still ain’t getting anywhere without all of them. If my scenes are flat, or missing, or balding, or squealing, or under-inflated, or uneven, or missing parts . . . well, I hope you get my drift.  Because that’s what’ll happen – my story will drift off track and readers will toss my book aside faster than they will tires on their own cars suffering any of those problems.
• Characters – Can’t have much of a scene without at least one character to populate it. Book neither, for that matter. This is another important tire the writer must tend to, must push forward. This is the tire readers care about the most. The reason they hiss and boo or cheer and tear up. Our characters make our scenes just as much as our scenes shape our characters. While tires are necessities on every vehicle, there is no difference between one scene tire and the next. There is, however, extreme differences between character tires, even character tires that have no business ever being seen on certain vehicles. So we must carefully match our characters to our vehicles, we must carefully tend them, we must carefully, purposefully drive them forward. (I’ll discuss the 5 Lug Nuts of Character another day).
• Action – Love makes the world go ’round, eh? Action makes the stories go ’round! (Love was an action, last time I checked ) Making our characters do something in those scenes is so very, very important. Doing things is way more fun than talking about doing things; it stands to reason reading about doing things is way more fun than reading about talking about doing things. It cannot be stressed enough. Wasn’t it Patrick Henry who said, “Give me action or give me death!”?
• Dialogue – Now this is the one tire of my 4 Wheels of Writing that isn’t always necessary in every scene. Though it definitely can contribute to how powerful a scene is, sometimes actions are sufficient. Sometimes actions do speak louder than words. Dialogue speeds up the stories; reveals much of our characters; and amidst all the action tells the readers much of the nuances of our stories.

We’ve the 4 Writer’s Drives powering our 4 Wheels of Writing over the roads and trails of storyland. Let’s put 4 on the floor now, and wind this baby up.

Writing vehicles have always been manual and their shifters have remained floor mounted and 4-speed. These are the gears we cycle through when we stomp our foot on the pedal and accelerate into our stories. Each of our tires must perform through every shift, and our drive had better be intact and firing on all cylinders. Every story we write must address these 4 gears.

• POV – Point of view. Whose perspective is this story from? Answer that question, we have POV. Hopefully, we answer it correctly; nothing like letting the wrong driver get behind the wheel, the wrong mechanic put the tires on. The POV character is the one, odds on, that our readers will best connect with. The one that will keep them reading. Looked at under that trouble light, do we have the right POV?
• Tense – Writing about something that’s been done, is being done, has yet to be done? Recalling our Wheel of Action (not Time - though inactionleads to lots of time ) when shifting through this gear helps us accomplish both: current, present tense, is almost always better. Today, I climb that mountain! Today, my boot slipped, my carabiner snapped, a mountain cat lunged at me, I fell. Feel the excitement? Today I drive my story forward!
• Structure – There is, regrettably, the necessity of structure in our storytelling. Regrettable because writing is not off-roading. No matter how much we may want it to be; no matter how much we may push the boundaries in as many ways as possible; no matter how ‘novel’ we may strive to be. Every reader of mysteries knows the structure of a mystery. Take that away from them, you’ll lose your readers. Really. They will destroy you by word-of-mouth. Ever hear of a quiet disgruntled reader? Me neither. When they buy your mystery book, you’ve promised to deliver them a mystery. When Robert Ludlum’s name appears on a spine, the reader expects, nay, anticipates subterfuge and spies and secrets. Oh, wind those tales as tightly as we can, toss in as many subplots and diversions as we can get away with, even do things out of order (occasionally), but never, ever remove the structure.  In this fairytale of a season, the Green Bay Packers cannot win the Super Bowl and then play the preseason. And then hire Mike McCarthy. There is a structure and an order to things – always! Beware messing with that.
• Conflict – The last of the gears identifies what we’re writing about. Every story is about conflict; there’s something like 3 base conflicts from which all else originate. In order to know how to write, why we write, our given tale, we need to know which conflict we’re writing about: man versus self, man versus man, man versus environment (There are others often mentioned, like man vs the gods, but as most gods are given human characteristics and are basically glorified humans, to me it’s simply an extrapolated version of a combination of the man vs man & man vs environment themes). Identifying the conflict when we outline or before we free-write will contribute greatly to the ease with which we shift through our scenes.

Whew. I hope you hung with me through all that. Though a wild ride, I feel pretty content with this post. If nothing else, it’s cleaned things up in my own mind, helped me identify things I must work on. Whether it means anything to any of my 5 rider-readers (couldn’t even continue the 4 theme ) I’m eager to find out.

The last thing every 4-wheel driver must know: recognizing when it’s time to take a breather. Now, for instance, it’s time to watch the Packers make it to the Super Bowl.

I do not drive to stop.

So many of the people behind the wheels of the vehicles in front of me, between me and my destination, do. They do not even remotely live up to the name of the activity which they do: drive. I hate them.

Well, okay, that is a bit harsh. I don’t ‘hate’ anybody or anything (That is a whole ‘nother topic, but suffice it to say, I believe the word is far too flippantly utilized by far too many people who haven’t the faintest idea of what they speak). Let’s just say I cannot stand being behind such drivers. Not only is it not enjoyable, it contributes negatively to my state of health by initiating angst and umbrage – two things that directly influence the activities of my stomach and my mind.

As do writers who write to stop.

There is nothing like opening the covers of a new book or beginning the first short story in the magazine I’ve been dying to receiving and anticipating great things – great excitement, activity, exploration, adventure, wonder . . . and slowly dying under the deluge of stopping the writer does en route to tale’s end. Nothing is more disappointing than limping to the conclusion. In fact, many readers never limp all the way, choosing rather to toss the book at the first buzzing insect to conveniently disturb their disquieted reading time and so rid themselves of two pests at once.

Drivers who anticipate the approaching traffic light will soon be yellow begin slowing and braking two intersections back. Writers who info dump, over-describe, or over-expound do the same. Rather than let the momentum – that impetus which they’ve so carefully and probably even nicely built upon till now – of their vehicle (their tale) carry them forward at this crucial time (passengers wondering which way they’ll be taken at the impending crossroads), our well-meaning writer attempts to retake a control that was never lost and assumes efforts to direct the actions of the vehicle are needed so far in advance. And  then   t h e y   s  l  o  w   t h i n g s   w a y   d o w n   a n d   e x p e c t   t h e i r   r e a d e r – p a s s e n g e r s   t o   e n j o y   t h e   r i d e .

The surprise is no more. The anticipation is removed. They have telegraphed the new direction of the tale, the secret is out, the dilemma is no more – and those reader-passengers haven’t even taken the turn yet. And they know they can go to sleep now, safe in the plodding progression of the tale, confident the driver-writer has nothing up his sleeve, no tricks they need to watch for. So even if he does, they miss them all, for their attention is divided, leaving, gone.

Writing to stop can be done in several fashions. Info dumps are the most obvious. These are those moments when the author thinks the reader won’t understand what needs to be understood at this crucial moment and so packs every bit of information thinkable into the moment beforethe big event/revelation/scene/decision – thereby effectively destroying its momentous impact. Info dumps are almost always delivered via exposition by the author or the omniscient narrator, occasionally via dialogue, never via action. So here it comes: Show, don’t tell. You knew it was coming, didn’t you?

Info dumps can be regarding world building (physical, social, religious, ethnic, languages, ad nauseam), character description (physical, personality, background, et al), or, heaven forfend, author agenda (political, religious, social, even personal – see any Steven Segal movie after 1992’s Under Siege). I’m sure there are a few minor others, but those are the three that stand out the most and are most seen.

Other drive stoppers aren’t so readily observable. There are the writers who seek to dot every i and cross every t they deem integral to the genre they write in:

• the mystery writers who have the trench-coat-clad private investigator, the misunderstood loner who’s really sweet at heart, the dame in distress, the foggy San Francisco wharves, and . . .
• the romance author who has long-haired, golden tanned studs wooing golden-haired, long-legged lonely women in double-, triple-, quadruple-affairs, and . . .
• the science fiction author with robots, and warp speed, and time travel and . . .
• the fantasy author who must use D&D elves, medieval settings, quests, Tolkien’s trolls . . . and on and on and on.

Then there are the authors who, even if they escape the cliches of their genres, can’t escape the cliches of their scenes. Everyone knows

• an elf wears green and fights better with a bow than a sword so he shoots his arrows from hidden vantage points within the woods
• the arrival of a time- or space- traveling machine is always conveniently disguised and the alien life form blends in without mishap
• the white hat gunman will always outdraw the black hatted one, even if the bad guy’s the sheriff and the good guy’s only a farmer
• the girl – even if comely or plain or homely – is swept off her feet by the stunningly gorgeous, athletic playboy scion of a wealthy family and he just happens to be the only kind, good member of his family and together they will save the helpless
• an argument in a tavern – no matter what genre – must end in a fight of some sort and someone there (or not there) turns out to be integral to the whole story
• the murder scene – in any genre – must hold a clue that will solve the case sooner rather than later and it will be mysteriously ignored by everyone but the protagonist

- right? Must I continue? My posts ramble on and on as it is, so I’d rather not. Basically, if you write anything that diverts my attention from the core of your tale, anything that slows my ride on the vehicle of your invention, anything that tosses my attention back out of your story – you’re driving me away from where we both should be headed. To your stunning, jaw-dropping conclusion.

The last method of driving to stop emulated by writers? Driving all the way to the destination and simply stopping. Almost nothing is more aggravating. At the very least, take me somewhere – don’t leave me stranded, befuddled as to why I’m even there, confused as to why I just spent hours of my life traveling this road trip you designed for me.

My advice? Don’t ever write to stop. At least not while I’m behind you.

So says a license plate I saw tonight. While stopped in rush hour traffic.

And so it really is. But are my communication skills? As demonstrated, spelling isn’t always important for communication to occur – sometimes it is not integral to the transfer of concepts or exchanges of awareness. Atop the alternator aide, sum times its the own lee weigh too make cents of things.

The wrong word, used in the wrong place or at the wrong time, can often destroy all of the best placed most appropriate words belaying it. Or bracketing it. Or is it buttering it? See, spelling isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be. Word choice, however, is.

The person in that car in front of me could have said LFSOCKS / LFSUX / LIFSCKS. Yet – while perhaps appropriate for that place, that moment, that situation – life doesn’t really suck. Despite the stop-and-go traffic. The driver equally could have claimed SXSGOOD / JASGOOD / IMGOOD – all of which communicate quite different concepts and emotions with only the middle choice being of any real value.

It’s about now you’re wondering what my point is, about now you’re considering skipping the remainder of this post and moving on to the next blog or site you have to catch up on.  Go ahead.  You have my permission.  Why?  Well, for one thing, you don’t need to read what I’m saying.  Either you already have the skill to choose the correct word at the correct moment, or you’ve learned through trial and error that choosing the correct word is always the correct thing to do.  Or could it be that choosing the correct thing to do is always the correct word?  I’m not sure now.

Regardless, either you already know who important word choice is and don’t need me to remind you, or you don’t think it warrants all this attention, instead insisting hat whatever word you choose is the correct word where and when and how you use it.  Something like ‘So I have spoken, so it shall be.’

Those of you still reading at this point are the one who haven’t learned but probably also haven’t thought much of it.  Either that, or you’re the readers who’ve enjoyed my humor thus far and can’t bear to leave without finding the rest of it.  To you I say ‘LFSGOOD, ain’t it!?’

Simple words, multiple words, complex words; multiple complex words.  Terse, direct, active are all much better choices.  Strong, clear – crisply clear – emphatic, ‘doing’ words.  When Christ on the cross yelled/screamed/roared/stated/howled out at the cusp/apex/summit/acme of his sacrifice/replacement/offering/yielding and declared himself a worthy substitute to bear/sustain/handle/tolerate the punishment for all mankind’s sins/evils/transgressions/violations/wrongs he didn’t say, “It is over.”

He said, “It is finished.”

Teddy Roosevelt did not say, “Stride/strut/amble/march quietly/secretly/smoothly/tentatively and shoulder/bring/take/pack a significant/monstrous/ample/heavy rod/staff/pole/branch.”

He said, “Walk softly and carry a big stick.”

Clear, concise, concrete communication.  My writing needs it just as much as my speech does.  Confusing someone I’m speaking to is one thing, for I am there to dig myself out of the hole I put myself in; confusing my reader is quite another, for who will be there to rescue him/her?

Speak/write exactly what you want to say.  One of the quickest ways to distance and disinterest someone to whom you’re speaking (verbally or in writing matters not) is to not be clear, to not be active, to not be personal, to not be exact.  If I can convey an understanding of all these ingredients of language be it in my story’s dialogue, narrative, expositions, description, or action . . . it matters not if I say, “Wow! Right now is great!” or if I say LFSGOOD!