The Writing Process: Lee Child

I am quite a big fan of Lee Child's Jack Reacher series of novels. They have got nothing to do with SFF (they are more action adventure crossed with police procedural). But as they are genre fiction of a different sort, and as Child is a wildly successful author, a recent article in the New York Times entitled The Professor on Lee Child’s Shoulder that describes Child's writing process should be of interest to fans of any genre.

The genesis for the article is that Andy Martin, a fan and academic critic of Child, approached Child about following him as he wrote his 20th novel in the series, Make Me. Martin then wrote about the experience in Reacher Said Nothing: Lee Child and the Making of Make Me. The Times article reports on a conversation between Martin and Child.

According to the interview, Child approached this as a form of real time literary criticism. As Child says:

Here is the fundamental reality about the writing business. It’s lonely. You spend all your time writing and then wondering whether what you just wrote is any good. You gave me instant feedback. If I write a nicely balanced four-word sentence with good rhythm and cadence, most critics will skip right over it. You not only notice it, you go and write a couple of chapters about it. I liked the chance to discuss stuff that most people never think about. It’s weird and picayune, but obviously of burning interest to me.

Martin says he was struck by how much of Child's surroundings made it into the book:

I tried to be a kind of white-coated detached observer. But every observer impinges on the thing he is observing. Which would be you in this case. And I noticed that everything around you gets into your texts. You are an opportunistic writer. For example, one day the maid was bumping around in the kitchen and in the next line you used the word “bucket.” Another time there was some construction work going on nearby and the next verb you used was “nail.” We go to a bookstore and suddenly there is Reacher, in a bookstore.

Child appears to be a "seat of the pants" writer. As Martin says:

That was the thing that drew me in: You never knew in advance what you were going to be writing about. It was a real tabula rasa. You really were making it up as you went along. I can certify that. I remember what you said when we started off down this road. “I have no plot and no title.” No plan, no notes, no synopsis.

while Child describes the change in his process, necessitated by having an observer, as being his primary interest:

Normally I operate in a fog of instinct. I wondered if being required to explain as I went along might actually be more illuminating for me than you.

Indeed, Child seems to have gotten used to bouncing ideas off Martin. The reported conversation begins with Child telling Martin the first sentence of his next novel, apparently titled Night School:

“In the morning they gave Reacher a medal, in the afternoon they sent him back to school.” The first sentence of “Night School.”

In response:

MARTIN Eleven syllables, each side of the caesura. Diminished alexandrine. Nicely symmetrical. And that rhythm. Like a limerick. Did you know you were doing that? 

CHILD See, I’ll miss all that.

Overall, a fascinating insight into the mind and process of a very successful writer.

More on Tolkien Criticism

Following up on Norbert Schürer’s “Tolkien Criticism Today” article that we previously discussed, Robin Ann Reid, herself a Tolkien scholar, has posted a rebuttal.

Schürer’s argument was essentially that Tolkien criticism had to navigate a difficult path between the difficulty of the material, and the popularity of the material; at once being scholarly and critical, yet still appealing to the fans which requires being not too critical. In his view, most criticism fails to navigate this path correctly.

Reid disagrees. Strongly.  In her view, all literary criticism is at risk of descending into cheerleading for the fans (and frequently does so), while the field of Tolkien studies is filled with excellent scholarly works that do not pander to fans.

Her first point is that to evaluate a work of Tolkien criticism one must be aware of the author's intended audience. Whereas some works are written with other academics in mind, others are surveys aimed at students, and still others are aimed at a wider general audience. Schürer, she argues, often evaluates works intended for a general audience according to standards that should be applied to academic criticism.

Second, Reid argues that, if anything, Tolkien scholars have typically mocked fans rather than pandered to them:

One major Tolkienist, who is one of the experts on Tolkien scholarship ... Michael D. C. Drout and his co-author Hilary Wynne call out Tolkien critics for *mocking* fans.

In their bibliographic essay, they argue that academics need to stop making fun of fans in their Tolkien scholarship: Endnote 36: "Among the many critics who go in for fan-mocking, the most distinguished are Rosebury (1–3) and Humphrey Carpenter in his January 20, 1997 interview in The Independent (cited by Pearce, 3)") (in: "Tom Shippey's J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century and a Look Back at Tolkien Criticism since 1982," (2000), Michael D. C. Drout and Hilary Wynne). 

Third, Reid gives examples of the many self described (non academic) fans who are themselves are quite critical of Tolkien.

I am not well enough read in the area of Tolkien scholarship to weigh in on this debate.  But if I ever choose to become better read in this area, I could do worse than start with Reid's long bibliography of works of Tolkien criticism.

 

On Getting and Giving Critiques

The blog Book View Café has a post about the role of criticism in the writing process by Mindy Klasky entitled C is for Critique. The focus is on criticism an author receives from a "critique partner" defined as:

trusted individuals who read and evaluate a book it’s in a final state. These people go by many other names—you might call them your beta readers, or your critique group, or your writers group. Most authors have more than one critique partner, and they learn different things from different critics. One partner might excel at catching plot mistakes, gaps in storytelling or oversights in timeline that destroy the credibility of a story. Another partner might be best at noting character inconsistencies, those times when an author makes a character do something completely unexpected, solely to advance a plot. Yet another partner might point out factual mistakes or grammar errors or any of a million other details that keep a book from being its best.

Ideally, an author assembles a team of critique partners who address all these areas, along with any other known weaknesses.

Much of the post is bout how an author can shape the critique process to be most beneficial:

There are multiple methods for receiving criticism (most of which are designed to minimize the sting.) Some authors conduct all critique work online—they submit their files electronically, and they receive comments electronically. That computerized distance translates to an emotional distance. The author can temporarily stop reading criticism if it becomes difficult to process. She can rant and rave in the privacy of her own home, without building permanent barriers to communication with her critique partners. This method, though, can lead to a lack of understanding; without direct time-synced communication, the critic and the author might inadvertently be at cross-purposes.

Other authors conduct critique work in person, at weekly or monthly meetings. Many of these sessions follow a workshop model, where each member of the critique group presents his comments within a limited time period (for example, three minutes.) During that presentation time, the author must remain silent (except, in some cases, to ask for a clarification of a specific point.) The author then has a limited time period to respond to all the issues raised. This method allows each critic and the author to present points in a planned, methodic fashion. It also reduces purely emotional responses. This method, though, requires real-time communication, either in person or through an electronic tool such as Skype. It also requires restraint on all parties, who must stick with time limitations and speaking restrictions.

Yet another model involves direct, ongoing exchanges between the author and his critics, without limitations on time or subject matter, either in person or by a Skype-like tool. Critics and the author make statements and ask questions without restraints on time or subject matter. This method allows everyone to flesh out ideas more completely—critics can state their problems with a work, and authors can delve more deeply, pinpointing specific issues. This method, though, has the potential to dissolve into debates. Aggressive critics and defensive authors can quickly derail the effectiveness of direct, unlimited communication.

There is also advice on how to give critiques:

• Begin with a general introduction. This is the place to state that you’ve never liked farmboy-saves-the-world epic fantasy novels so your comments should be taken with a grain of salt, or you had a bad experience at a high school pep rally so you have trouble finding a gym teacher a sympathetic heroine. Put your own biases on the table to allow the author to better understand your critique.
• Move on to positive statements. What works in this book? Why? Always find something positive about a work, even if it’s the formatting or enthusiasm of the author.
• Follow up with critical statements. What needs work in this book? Why? Start with larger topics (“this romance novel has no conflict between the hero and heroine”) and end with smaller topics (“the White House is on Pennsylvania Avenue, not Connecticut Avenue.”) Consider grouping smaller topics into catch-all paragraphs (“Geography: review a map of Washington DC to double-check locations for the White House, the Capitol, and the Convention Center.”)
• Present potential fixes as suggestions, rather than as mandatory statements. (“Consider making the heroine a blind orphan to heighten the tension with her fellow boarding school students” instead of “Make Sally blind.”) If you don’t have a potential solution to a problem, admit as much.

Critique partners offer authors valuable insight into what works and what does not work in a book. Sometimes, that criticism is directly on point—the mere statement of the problem is enough to help an author see what needs to be fixed. Other times, an author concludes that a critic is mistaken—she doesn’t understand the book, or she isn’t familiar with a particular sub-genre, or she was having a bad day as she wrote her criticism. Even in those cases, the rational writer considers the criticism as a warning that the reader was pulled off track at that particular point. Often, a critic finds fault with a particular aspect of a book (e.g., “your heroine sounds whiny when she talks to her best friend”) but an author discovers a completely different fix (e.g., the heroine shouldn’t be talking to her best friend in that scene; instead, she should be taking steps to solve her problem more directly.) Critics aren’t omniscient, but they can be good barometers of when a story succeeds.

I thought this was pretty interesting, especially as it compares and contrasts with what I do editing and reviewing academic papers, as well as to preparing book reviews on this blog.

When reviewing an academic paper, it is typical to prepare a letter to the editor (not seen by the author) that discusses in a frank (and occasionally brutal) way the strengths and weaknesses of the article, as well as a report to both the editor and author. I typically write my reports along the lines advocated above. I start by briefly summarizing the work and placing it into context (for the benefit of the editor, who is usually not a specialist in the precise subfield). I follow it up with some comments about what the paper did well, and then describe any problems I found on a macro level. I then delve deeper into any of those problems, suggesting remedies when I know them, and then follow that up with some miscellaneous smaller criticisms.

Just like with any other form of writing, it is important to know your audience. As an editor, I want a no-nonsense and frank evaluation of a paper's strengths and weaknesses. If the recommendation is to publish the paper after revisions, then I want to report to be constructive and as specific as possible as to what type of revision is required. As an author, I want criticism to be constructive.

When reviewing fiction for this blog, my audience is other readers and fans of SFF. I would not mind if an author read something I wrote and it influenced them, but that is not why I write (I don't even write reviews in the expectation that they will be read). And so I do not write my reviews in the same way that I would offer a critique to an author desiring feedback. Rather, I write them more along the lines of an editors letter.