Last week, we introduced the idea of defining what you’re writing through the single-sentence concept statement. Here’s what I wrote for my literary nonfiction book, The Lord of the Dolls: Voyage in Xochimilco. (St. Michael’s Press, 2007)
“This is a nonfiction book about an island in the innermost recesses of the Xochimilco canals—the last remnant of the ancient lake that made up pre-Conquest Mexico City—where an old man has, for over 40 years, nailed dolls and doll body-parts to trees, garroted them with wires, impaled them on stakes; and the historic and contemporary implications of those actions.”
That’s a long sentence, but it covered every concept to be introduced in the book, and—as such—kept me on track. The concept sentence also reminded me that I was writing an anthropological adventure story. Exactly why DID this old man torture dolls?
So what about the “who cares?” question? The conclusion of my book shows that the doll island is related to an ancient cult of sacrifice that has existed since before the Conquest. This presupposes the interest of travelers, history buffs, Mexico-philes, cultists, studiers of ancient religions…and the fact that we live in a time of re-examination of spiritual beliefs, and their impacts on culture.
Now let’s take a fiction concept. This concept sentence came out of one of my writing workshops:
“This is a short story about a little girl, who, while playing at the seashore with her sisters, witnesses an interaction between her parents that affects her consequent conceptions of trust and responsibility.”
What’s your concept statement, and how do you answer the “who cares?” question? It’s good to have both answers prepared—ready to use when you corner that agent or editor at the next writer’s conference.
What? You say this sort of planning isn’t as much fun as just letting the words “flow?” Now remind me, how many times have you begun writing that book?
Next week, we’ll talk about building the framework of your story—through organization and the technique of identifying conflict, resolution, and the equal or greater force.
*****
Eva Hunter is a professional writer and writing coach and is the founder of The Writers Workshop: San Miguel in Mexico
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Comment by
Tom Colvin
31 Mar 2009
This reminds me of the “ELEVATOR PITCH,” which iwas the most talked about subject at the San Francisco Writer’s Conference in 2008.
Litertary agent Mike Larsen ran an hour-long late-night seminar on the subject. He insisted on a limit of 25 words even. I struggled and struggled to get my complicated history project into that formula and simply could not do it. I went to sleep very discouraged, knowing that the next morning I would be meeting with two agents to pitch my book.
The next morning I woke up very early with a sudden thought. My book actually has three intertwining themes. So I devised THREE SENTENCES for my pitch. I pitched to two agents — and both asked for an advanced manuscript to review.
When I ran into Larsen later that morning, I told him that I had strung three sentences together for my pitch. He immediately responded: “You can’t do that. It must be ONE sentence.” When I told him my positive results, he replied, “Well, I guess you have to do what works.”
I left the conference with a rather dismal attitude toward many agents who won’t listen beyond the first sentence. Most, anyway, were looking for “chick-lit” or controversial, tragedy-drenched memoirs [some of the east coast agents liked to call them "him-moirs" for "she-moirs."!]
Fortunately, I had done my research into agents and had honed in on two intelligent ones interested in serious non-fiction and history. It pays to do one’s homework.
Comment by
Eva Hunter
1 Apr 2009
Yes, I’m with you on that one, Tom. If you look at the concept sentence for my book–above–it could easily have been three sentences, but for the use of semi-colons and dashes.
The idea as presented here, though, is to keep yourself on track with what you are trying to say through your writing. It’s easy, after all, to wander off on side issues, and let’s face it–the Victorian style of writing in which our protagonist just happens to pass a water mill along the side of the road, then our friendly author spends five or six pages explaining how a water mill works–just doesn’t make it in contemporary writing.
That’s why I recommend putting that pesky concept sentence (or three sentences!) in your work space, so you can see it every time you work on your piece. It allows you to consistently review what it is you are trying to say…to the world.
Eva