Let the trumpet blare and the drums resound—Some favorite reads of 2011 (in no particular order).
Not all were written in 2011. That’s when I read them. For more information on the titles see my reviews at http://www.amazon.com/gp/cdp/member-reviews/A2VTAR3P8C0LBD/ref=cm_pdp_rev_all?ie=UTF8&sort_by=MostRecentReview or http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1005496.J_R_Lindermuth
Small press/Indy
1.Hard Trail to Socorro—Wayne Dundee
2.Dangerous Enchantment—Margaret Blake
3.Kansas Dreamer—Kae Cheatham
4.Camp Follower—Susan Adair
5.Sugar And Spice—Saffina Desforges
6.Mediterranean Grave—William Doonan
7.In The Blood—Steve Robinson
8.Snakeskin—C J Lyons
9.Bestseller Bound Anthology No. 1
10.The Righteous—Michael Wallace
Trade mystery/thrillers
1.Feast Day of Fools—James Lee Burke
2.Nightwoods—Charles Frazier
3.The Most Dangerous Thing—Laura Lippman
4.Long Gone—Alafair Burke
5.Bad Intentions—Karin Fossum
6.Thirteen Hours—Deon Meyer
7.A Question Of Blood—Ian Rankin
8.The Snowman—Jo Nesbo
9.Medicus—Ruth Downie
10.The Way Home—George Pelecanos
Trade fiction
1.The Second Son—Jonathan Rabb
2.The Orphan Master’s Son—Adam Johnson
3.Death Of Kings—Bernard Cornwell
Non-fiction
1.Kingdom Under Glass—Jay Kirk
2.Winged Obsession—Jessica Speart
3.Finding Everett Ruess—David Roberts
4.The Unconquered—Scott Wallace
5.Bull Canyon—Lin Pardey
6.Floor Of Heaven—Howard Blum
Happy New Year and good reading.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Monday, December 26, 2011
Sans GPS
Do you outline your stories?
While considered essential for most non-fiction projects, writers of imaginary works are divided on the necessity of an outline for fiction.
Some sketch out a plot so thoroughly it might almost be considered a book in itself. Others belong to the school now jokingly referred to as Pantsers (i.e., they fly the seat of their pants), those who devise as they go along.
Some create a detailed tome describing every step before they even consider starting the actual book. P. D. James, for instance, spends up to a year planning a book before writing a single page.
Others plunge right in with a mere image in mind and no idea where it will lead them. William Faulkner, for instance, claimed to put his characters on a road and walk beside them, listening to what they had to say. Despite this claim, Faulkner did outline (though he may have called it something else), as evidenced by the scribblings for “A Fable” on the wall of his study at Rowan Oaks.
John Fowles said The French Lieutenant’s Woman began with a mental image of a woman standing alone at the end of a causeway. James Lee Burke has said he usually doesn’t know what’s going to happen beyond a scene or two.
Michael Connelly says he generally knows “whodunit,” but “wings it” from there. The late Tony Hillerman insisted he didn’t want to know too much in advance, less he become bored with the story and unable to proceed.
Personally, I’m on the side of these pantsers. My idea of an outline is generally so scant—the mere jotting of a few words, comments or descriptions I don’t want to lose in the midst of the project. To someone else I’m sure it would have no more meaning than hieroglyphs in a language they don’t understand.
In fact, though they may vehemently deny it, most writers do outline—though they may not consciously realize it.
How is that possible, you ask.
Larry Brooks (see www.storyfix.com), a strong proponent of outlining, points out that stories have an architectural structure and the purpose of outlining is to insure the writer includes all the necessary elements. There’s no denying this is true. Miss one or more of those elements and you have a failed story.
Though pantsers do not incorporate all those elements into a written sort of GPS format it does not necessarily follow that they ignore them. Rather pantsers choose to integrate the elements internally, or perhaps I should say, intuitively—a kind of magic rhythm.
The story is present in the mind, sometimes for years, being mulled, considered from every angle and, eventually, our characters provide direction after conscious thought is more systematically organized in the subconscious.
While considered essential for most non-fiction projects, writers of imaginary works are divided on the necessity of an outline for fiction.
Some sketch out a plot so thoroughly it might almost be considered a book in itself. Others belong to the school now jokingly referred to as Pantsers (i.e., they fly the seat of their pants), those who devise as they go along.
Some create a detailed tome describing every step before they even consider starting the actual book. P. D. James, for instance, spends up to a year planning a book before writing a single page.
Others plunge right in with a mere image in mind and no idea where it will lead them. William Faulkner, for instance, claimed to put his characters on a road and walk beside them, listening to what they had to say. Despite this claim, Faulkner did outline (though he may have called it something else), as evidenced by the scribblings for “A Fable” on the wall of his study at Rowan Oaks.
John Fowles said The French Lieutenant’s Woman began with a mental image of a woman standing alone at the end of a causeway. James Lee Burke has said he usually doesn’t know what’s going to happen beyond a scene or two.
Michael Connelly says he generally knows “whodunit,” but “wings it” from there. The late Tony Hillerman insisted he didn’t want to know too much in advance, less he become bored with the story and unable to proceed.
Personally, I’m on the side of these pantsers. My idea of an outline is generally so scant—the mere jotting of a few words, comments or descriptions I don’t want to lose in the midst of the project. To someone else I’m sure it would have no more meaning than hieroglyphs in a language they don’t understand.
In fact, though they may vehemently deny it, most writers do outline—though they may not consciously realize it.
How is that possible, you ask.
Larry Brooks (see www.storyfix.com), a strong proponent of outlining, points out that stories have an architectural structure and the purpose of outlining is to insure the writer includes all the necessary elements. There’s no denying this is true. Miss one or more of those elements and you have a failed story.
Though pantsers do not incorporate all those elements into a written sort of GPS format it does not necessarily follow that they ignore them. Rather pantsers choose to integrate the elements internally, or perhaps I should say, intuitively—a kind of magic rhythm.
The story is present in the mind, sometimes for years, being mulled, considered from every angle and, eventually, our characters provide direction after conscious thought is more systematically organized in the subconscious.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
