100% on a psychology essay

I scored 75 out of 75 possible points on an essay in my psychology class today. I wrote it in about a half hour, and e-mailed it to my teacher to see if it was what he was looking for. He wrote back, gave it full marks, and said to consider it turned in.

I'd feel damn good if it wasn't an entry level class. (I just feel regular-good instead.)

Two papers down, four to go. Now I sleep.

Freelance Copy Editor

Hey, blogger.

Need a copy editor? Sending an e-mail to bklick [at] jccc [dot] edu letting me know that you found this ad on my blog is worth a discount rate on my services.

That's a slash from $25 per hour to $15 per hour. If that still sounds steep, remember that you can always use me to fix the grammar and style issues in a shorter segment, and then use that edited portion to fix the rest yourself. Either way, it's a bargain price.

No longer a critique board.

I'd hoped to transform this into a forum for open exchange about the art of English composition in various genres, but I found that I don't actually have the time to write novels, tutor, major in communications, AND offer free advice. So this will once again become a place where I occasionally put down my thoughts on various subjects.

When I find time, I still intend to run the occasional critique, but more as an advertisement of my editing service, rather than a place where people could talk freely about their writing. The types of conversations I hoped to stimulate just weren't occurring, and I did not have the means to make my service widely known.

Here's to writing, the most wonderful art form I know!

The Young Writer's Dilemma

I'm not sure if this problem exists in other arts, but in writing, people are generally expected to write around their real job.

There's a pair of crappy words. They exist for the sole reason of forcing writers to answer their calling in a few hours of free time. Believe it or not, writing (and learning to write) is work. So a successful writer is expected to have no life outside of work, period.

One can't go to college to learn writing, specifically - at least not in my corner of the US -, which means that young writers must dice their writing time even smaller, between absurd amounts of homework, a job to keep them alive, and the job they actually want.

Society needs writers, and yet does nothing to foster them. Our services are expected to be done well, for a cheap price, and around the obligations that make us normal citizens.

Christ, but I wonder if there isn't something easier out there--like digging ditches, or swimming to the moon.

Critique: Night of the Demons

This is an excerpt from a piece I found at writingforums.org, used with permission.

###

Danath hoisted the elk that was draped over his shoulders, [Comma error] in a futile attempt to spread the kill’s weight out over his back a bit more evenly. [You’re using a lot of extra words here. How many of these words are pushing you closer to the start of your story, and how many of them are just sitting there? “Danath struggled beneath the weight of the dead elk” expresses the same idea quicker and clearer. Beware of adverbs, especially ones that end in the –ly suffix, and forms of “to be.” They’re both stylistically weak. Compare my example sentence to your own. Mine may not cram as many ideas into the sentence as yours – but it expresses them all the same, and with fewer words. Also, try to avoid using phrases like “a bit.” Where they work well for certain narrative voices, they are disastrous for others. Notice how, in your original sentence, “a bit more evenly” can be sliced off the back without changing the meaning. Spreading the kill’s weight over his back implies a need for evenness. “A bit” literally serves no function for you. Treat it like any bad employee and fire it.] It was no good; he knew they would hail him as a conquering hero back in the little town, for bringing in a bit of meat in these trying times, but that certainly didn’t make the actual act of bringing the stag in any easier. [You’re trying to pack too many ideas into one sentence. In this single sentence we have several ideas: {1} His efforts aren’t helping (“It was no good”) – {2} The villagers will praise him for the meat he brings – {3} He lives in trying times, and – {4} their praise won’t make bringing the stag in easier. Relate ideas in complex sentences to one another more closely. Idea three really doesn’t connect well with the other ideas, so put it somewhere else. Also, consider that “the little town” and “they” do not tell me anything about your world. In fact, they make it seem somewhat generic. If Danath lives in this town, he’ll know what it is called. He might even have a cynical or endearing pet name for it. He won’t be thinking about the townsfolk as a faceless pronoun, he’ll be thinking about specific people.] Nor did the thick blanket of fresh snow; he desperately wished he hadn’t stayed that last day in the forest. But then, through the thicket of trees he would not have been able to tell if it was snowing, [How could a thicket impede one’s ability to detect snow? Spend a night out in the woods; believe you me, you’ll be aware of every single iota of horrible weather. If the trees are so thick at their tops that snow can’t fall through, you need to point this out.] and this new carpet might have been days old yet. He was nearing the tall, timber walls that protected the town from attackers, [Everyone knows what a town wall is for. You don’t need to specifically point out that it protects the town from attackers. Be aware, though, that Danath would be coming across houses and farmsteads long before he got to the wall. The walls would protect a central portion of the town, and people would flee to them for protection.] thinking that he might, after all, need to lay down his burden and rest, when an arrow whizzed past his head, whistling in his ear and making him whip around in search of its source. [Try to express this action sequence with fewer words, and disconnect it from the idea that he needs to lay the elk down. I would start a new paragraph and then go into the attack. EG, “An arrow sliced through the air by Danath’s head. He whirled around, his eyes moving in zigs and zags as he scanned the trees.] The force of his turn was carried mostly in the body upon his shoulders, and the weight swinging around him knocked him, unbalanced, into the snow. Furious, and fearful, Danath fumbled his sword and his footing as he tried to stand, wallowing in the white annoyance, and then his fear deepened; he heard the indistinguishable [Indistinguishable or unmistakable?] sound of laughter ringing towards him.

I have two pieces of advice for you.

1. Misusing a word (or using it strangely) will cause any editor worth his pen to send you a rejection letter, stat. You might consider buying the Merriam-Webster Vocabulary Builder. It is packed with information, and if you actually do the activities inside it, you’ll be a walking word expert inside of two weeks.

2. Use fewer complex sentences. A smattering of simple sentences will lend your prose readability. People reading fiction are generally doing so to relax. A paragraph full of 50 word sentences won’t let them do so. Many will stop reading for no reason besides, “I just didn’t like it.” Simple sentences, and even an occasional well-placed sentence fragment, add a pleasing rhythm to fiction.

But don’t abandon the complex sentence! Instead, pick up a few books by authors you enjoy and diagram a few of their paragraphs at random. Compare the number of simple sentences to the number of complex ones. Compare the rhythms of different ratios.

A human was walking towards him, her step light and graceful, the type of person who could move through thick undergrowth and beds of autumn leaves without leaving a trace of sound or step. In fact, he looked behind her, and noticed the tracks she left in the snow were neither as deep nor as pronounced as his own. She wore a tabard; the crest of the kingdom’s guard was upon her chest. Danath had to smile, now. Only one woman could wear those colors and send an arrow flying so tantalizingly [Tantalizingly?] close to his ear. [What does her ability to wear the town guards’ tabard have to do with her ability to fire a bow?] Jenna stopped laughing as she approached him, her expression turning to one of amazement as she saw the carcass he had dropped.

“Good hunting, Danath! And successful, I see!” She was still too far away to speak in normal tones, and Danath’s hand tightened on his sword. Jenna noticed, of course, [Of course is a lot like a bit. Kill the phrase and your sentence works better.] and although her tone was mocking, she did indeed lower her voice.

This is a point of view error. You’ve been inside Danath’s head right up until you introduced Jenna. Now you’re in her head. Danath won’t notice her noticing. He might noticing where her eyes are, but he’ll never be 100% sure what she notices. Also, I’m not sure how the beginning of this paragraph relates to the end of it. She indeed lowered her voice… because his sword hand was tightening… because she fired an arrow? I don’t see the logic. More logical would be his sword hand loosening because he recognized a friend… and her voice lowering as she approached.

“No one is around, you worrywart. I would have seen them from my tree… you were the only soul for miles.” She smiled, and he was warmed by the expression. Jenna wasn’t his; and in any case, it was a look of friendship in her eyes. She was not the sort he could harbor affection for. Even if she was not married, and a mother, Danath fell for the more ladylike; a woman who needed help climbing a tree was far more attractive to him than this, he had a hard time thinking woman, but forced himself to, who spent her days climbing trees to do the man’s job of guarding the town. [This sentence has 57 words. Remember your audience! They’re reading for fun, not to work.] Indeed, [Indeed either means “in fact” or else is used as a surprised exclamation. Would you have written “in fact” here? This word is over-used, especially in unpublished fantasy. Consider that, when you revise.] even though her children had often sat upon his knees, Danath had a hard time looking at Jenna and considering her a mother. He knew her to be a soldier, and a good one at that.

“Jenna.” He smiled back at her, meeting her look of kinship, and then looked to the animal on the ground. She followed his gaze.

“I see you made a kill on your hunt.” She repeated her earlier sentiment, but without the cheer she held last time.

“I did. A stag… I know. But there’s precious little else to hunt. Would you have preferred a bear?” He couldn’t meet her eyes when he said it. He tried not to kill elk for no other reason than her affection for them, and had probably known in his heart that she wouldn’t be able to join in the feast his kill would bring. She didn’t reply directly to him, nor did she continue to look at the animal. With effort, Danath pulled it back onto his shoulders. Jenna no longer looked at him, training her eyes on the town gates. He knew she would have preferred a bear.

What part of Jenna’s upbringing caused her to be fond of elk? Why does she hang around in trees? Why is she different? These aren’t necessarily questions you’ve got to answer here, immediately, but they’re factors you must think about if you do not want Jenna to seem like a stereotype.

“We’ve missed you ‘round here, Shea will be happy to see you back.” She paused, the abrupt change of subject was something she had never been particularly good at. “I think it’s because her house is snowed in to the windows. But that’s what you signed up for, isn’t it?”

[…] Jenna’s home looked like a frosted brown cake, with snow piling high on the roof and a candle glowing in every window. […][I love this sentence.]

And cut.

Every paragraph, you need to consider how your opening connects to your ending. Even in fantasy, the beginning sentence of your paragraph needs to be the leader of the rest of the paragraph.

If you open up a paragraph with an arrow flying past someone’s head, then the rest of the paragraph needs to support that idea. It needs to contain character reactions or events that directly unfold because of the arrow. The same is true of dialogue. A new topic will almost always equal a new paragraph.

Later in the segment you sent me, demons attack while Jenna and Danath are eating. You need to start your story there, instead of with Danath killing an elk.

Why?

Because the death of the elk does not appear to be central to your plot. You introduce your characters there, but you don’t give me any special information about them – nothing that you’ll be able to specifically draw upon later in your story. The demon attack, however, is an important event that appears to set your entire story in motion.

I hope some of this helps.

Over and out.

Critique: Hidden Canyon

Another excerpt from Absolute Write's Share Your Work forum, used with permission.

###

George awoke to the feel of a rough gloved hand across his mouth. In the dim glow from the bedside clock, he could see his neighbor Bill, a finger in front of his lips, signifying silence. Bill whispered, "Get dressed and follow me, quickly. I'll explain outside." Bill had been his neighbor just long enough to earn a measure of trust, so George dressed quickly, then followed Bill down the hall and out the back door.

I like that you started at an interesting point in your story, and with an explosive first line. However, I see a few details jarred me from the story.

1. Starting with the main character waking up can be seen as a cliché, even though your character is waking up in an astonishing fashion. This didn’t bother me, but it may bother some editors.

2. In English speaking cultures, everyone knows that a finger over one’s lips is silencing. When you explicitly describe this motion, I feel like you’re wasting a little space. Bill could shush George, saving you words.

3. If the only light is his digital clock, and Bill just woke up, will he really recognize his next door neighbor? It might be better, both for your story logic and for your style, if you introduce George and let Bill be a dark figure for a few lines.

4. Telling me that Bill has earned a measure of trust isn’t enough to get me to believe that George wouldn’t have freaked out.

5. Why did Bill put his hand over George’s mouth instead of shaking him awake, whispering his name, or tapping him?


"Where's Amy?" asked Bill as he glanced back over his shoulder to make sure George was sticking close.

"Her mom's been ill, so she went to visit her for a few days. What the hell's going on, Bill?"

I have trouble believing that George would have gone into such detail, given the odd circumstances.

"Hold on, just a few minutes more. I want to get away from the house first. Trust me that long, ok?"

I’d really like to be in George’s head right now. What questions is he asking himself? What answers is he coming up with? For instance, wouldn’t he wonder how Bill got inside?

"Alright," said George. His voice was a bit gruff from being awakened in the middle of the night, and a little fearful from the stress of the situation. His concerns and fears rumbled through his mind as he followed quietly behind Bill, who moved swiftly yet silently across the yard, as he expected from the ex-marine. [The clause on the end of this phrase needs revised. Your “he” in this sentence, grammatically, is referring back to Bill, even though logically I know you must mean George.] Although he tried to emulate Bill's cat-like movements, he felt awkward and out of place trying to be quiet and inconspicuous. What was he doing, he wondered, sneaking through his own back yard like a thief in the night?

Thief in the night is a clichéd phrase. I’d consider finding your own way to say this. I would also try to find a way to kill the adverbs. They’re telling me that Bill is quick and sneaky – but you could be showing me the same details.

They crossed the lawn toward the thick woods that edged the back of the property. Bill led the way along a path that wound through the woods, then up the face of the hill at the back of the development. The full moon and crisp autumn sky allowed for a clear view of the landscape. The homes below appeared haphazardly [If you kill the adverb here, I think your sentence would be stronger.] strewn on their five to ten acre plots. Some of the homes were in the recent 'McMansion' style, but most were less easily classified, ranging from sprawling ranches to old-fashioned saltboxes. Swimming pools and outbuildings were common, including garages, workshops, greenhouses, and others with no readily-apparent use. [I’m not sure this laundry list at the end of your paragraph is helping any.]

I really like the McMansion line.

Bill led them behind a granite boulder the size of George's Grand Cherokee high above his home. Behind it, sitting on the pine needles and leaves, were two other men. One was older than George, somewhat familiar, and a bit rumpled looking as befit the time of day, while the other one looked perfectly alert, fit and trim, perhaps in his mid-twenties. They waved a casual greeting to the Bill and George, then cleared a spot for them to sit.

"George, this is Frank Stevens and Larry Winston. You probably remember Frank from the fourth of July cookout." George remembered the jolly, rotund man with the graying hair. The older man nodded at George as he reached out to take his hand in a firm grip.

"Yes, I remember," George said. "Nice to see you again, Frank. I remember that brand new bright red Jag convertible you were driving. That sure is a beautiful car."

The small talk about cars is really jarring me from the scene.

George noticed the grim look on Frank's face as he answered. "Yeah, it is, I hope I get to keep it."

"What do you mean, you hope you get to keep it?" When Frank just shook his head, George turned back to Bill. "Are you ready to tell me why you dragged me all the way up here in the middle of the night?"

Without answering George, Bill glanced over at Frank. "Anything happening yet?"

Frank shook his head in negation, keeping his eyes on the roads below.

Bill leaned back against the boulder and rubbed his hands together to ward off the autumn chill. "Well, I guess we've got time for the short version before the excitement starts. Not only is Frank a doctor, his hobby is firearms. He's a licensed dealer, and he has some guns that are illegal for the average guy to own. Apparently that's reason enough for the local ATF office to occasionally decide he must be doing something illegal and try to prove it. His home's been raided twice before, and it's going to get raided again in a little while." When George started to interrupt, Bill waved him off.

This feels like you’re giving this information for the reader’s benefit instead of the other characters’ benefit. It almost feels like an ex-marine quickly briefing someone, but it falls just short. Cut a few details, or perhaps reword it a bit.

"Luckily the county sheriff is a friend and knows Frank better than that, so he sent his son up to warn him when he heard what was planned." Bill gestured toward the younger of the two men. "Larry's a county deputy. Larry, this is George Adams. He's only been living in the area a few months."

I feel like this information is being presented solely for my benefit.

Larry stuck out his hand for a quick greeting, nodding to George as he did so. Larry's grip was firm. George noticed the well-defined muscles in his forearms and guessed that he was much stronger than his slim frame indicated. He wondered how many times someone on the wrong side of the law had underestimated the deputy, simply because he was a few inches shorter than the average lawman. The two men exchanged pleasantries, then George turned back toward Bill.

"Well, I have to say it's nice meeting your two friends, and I'm sorry to hear about Frank's problems," George said, "but what's that got to do with me?"

Larry took the lead in the conversation. "Mr. Adams, we're not really sure. All we know is there are two addresses on the warrants, and the second address is yours."

###

Eight matte-black ATF vans turned off the Interstate and rolled down Jefferson Avenue, their headlights winking off as they entered the subdivision. They turned right into a boulevard flanked by stone walls. A sign between the lanes of the entrance proclaimed that they were entering Hidden Canyon Estates. The trees that lined the boulevard rustled gently in the backwash of the wake left by the speeding vehicles.

In the lead vehicle, Agent Edwards shifted in the driver's seat as he thumbed the mike switch. "Strike Team, this is Strike Leader. We're go for operation. Units two through four, follow us; units five through eight, good luck."

Agent Edwards paid scant attention to the acknowledgments of the other seven units. His thoughts were on the upcoming action. He hoped there was no Kathryn Johnston involved in what should be a simple operation. If many more 92-year-old women were shot and killed during these actions, the Supreme Court might decide to reverse their position on 'no-knock' raids.

I feel like this scene should come at the very beginning. Then, if you still have Bill waking George up by grabbing his mouth, the reader will assume—briefly—that it’s your MIBs.

###

"My address?" George's sense of unreality, already triggered by the excursion up the hillside in the middle of the night, reached a new level. "Why my address? What's the ATF, and why would they be interested in me?"

"The ATF is the Federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives. As for why, we really don't know, George," Larry said. "All we know is that no-knock raids are scheduled for two addresses in Hidden Valley. My dad was extended the courtesy of being invited along as an observer because he's the sheriff of the county. They told him to meet them at the entrance to the subdivision at 3:45, and the two addresses that were targeted. That's all the information he was given."

"Now, wait a minute. I don't own a gun or explosives, and I certainly don't have a still. I don't even smoke! I'll just go back home, and tell them they're mistaken when they arrive." His building panic was evident in the tone of his voice, although he tried hard to control it.

And cut.

I think the areas you need to focus on most are story logic and dialogue. Since I don’t know anything about George, almost all of his reactions strike me as unrealistic. I walk away from the first thousand or so words wondering why Bill is helping George, why someone would have tipped Bill off that George’s house was about to get raided, and why a group of men have risked getting in trouble with the government to protect him.

Also, I think you would benefit from reading your dialogue out loud. For the most part, your dialogue is decent – but every so often, something comes out sounding a little stiff and robotic. When you’re panicking about something, do you use words like arrive and mistaken? Those are not the words of a man who’s been woken up in the middle of the night be his neighbor and told that his house is about to be attacked.

On Critique Responses

This is an open note to everyone I do a critique for:

This is a chance for both of us to improve our abilities to critically evaluate writing. For me, it is a chance to criticize new fiction and give me both an insight into evaluating my own work, and (with luck) a chance to create a portfolio of critiques that proves that I would make a good editor.

Since this is on my blog, though, it gives you, the writer, a chance to critically evaluate opinions about your work. So, feel free to make my critique a dialogue. Want to argue with me about a specific point? Do it. You can't do this with a real editor, and you can't really get away with it at peer critique boards - but you can, and should, here.

All I ask for is civility, and in return, I'll give you as much running dialogue on your work and on my critique as you want. Because that helps both of us.