Cadence Denton's Blog

Why Can't a Woman Write Like a Man?

2011-09-20T14:42:00.000-05:00

When I first began kicking around the idea for this blog, I’d just come off a reading binge of best-selling novels by male authors. I began with “The Magicians” and “The Magician King” by Lev Grossman and finished up with a Jim Butcher / Harry Dresden marathon. What did I learn - besides the fact the above mentioned are kick-ass writers that I would happily give up a finger or toe just to write half as well? I learned that these talented men do a boat load of “telling”. They use dialog to lecture, they shamelessly insert page after page of backstory, and then “tell” the characters’ emotional responses to said lecture and backstory. I recognized what they were doing and, at first, tssked at their blatant “rule” breaking, then I became curious as to why their “telling” did not overly distract or take me out of the story. Their “telling” well…it worked. The next question to organically follow the first: Why the heck must female writers (especially writers of the Romantic persuasion) faithfully follow the “show, don’t tell” rule? It didn’t seem fair that the girls couldn’t grab the “telling” ball and run for the end zone.
So, I Googled “Show don’t tell” and the results were eye opening. Most of the results I found were courses, blogs, or articles written by Romance writers (women) for Romance writers (uh, women?). Yes, there was a reference about the Show v Tell in an article about Style, but it was a mere sub-point. Not the carved in caps in stone majorly big deal that we’ve had drummed into us. Wow. This was a somewhat profound moment for me, I will admit. I will also admit to a bit of curiosity about the differences in style, or, why a woman writes like a woman and a man, like a man. I love Google.
According to Beth Hill, freelance fiction editor with A Novel Edit, men get to the point sooner, jump into action without belaboring the situation. They are plain talkers, with characters that have clear goals, strong motivations, and few hesitations. She says that male writers use direct, surprising dialogue. They are unafraid and to the point. She also stated that she wished more women writers would adopt these traits.
Joe Ponepinto, the book review editor for the Los Angeles Review, says that the difference between a male writer and a female writer is physical and cultural. The man defines himself by his job, the woman is woman first, career choice second. Okay, a bit simplistic and vaguely offensive, but could be he has a point. Peacemaking, nurturing, and never rock the boat is deeply ingrained in my dna. Risk taking is really, really out of my comfort zone.
Martha Barletta, MBA expert in women’s marketing and author, says that men start with the headlines then provide the specifics. Men are single-minded and focused; women are multi-minded and open. Men strip away all the muddying details and focus on the bare bones elements while us girls believe the big picture is not simple, but filled with complexity. Before we tell you the headlines we want to set up the situation – give you all the backstory. This, says she, drives men eye-rolling crazy. What say you, D.T.?
Recently Nobel Prize winning novelist, V.S. Naipaul caused a furor with his sexist statements regarding female writers. He claimed he could read a paragraph or two and know whether it was written by a man or woman. Women writers, he stated, are sentimental (weak) whereas men writers are the masters of their houses. (A little harsh, this Mr. Naipaul who is a complete stranger to political correctness.)
After a couple hours online and a pot of rich, dark roast java, I was surprised by how far I’d followed the rabbit away from my original question: why can’t women write like men? My conclusion is that it is a combination of biology and culture. Testosterone and Progesterone. It is complex and simple. While interesting, the results are not earth shaking. I’ve added a couple goals to my Improvement list. First, I want to be more direct, more headlines and bare bones, second, I will stick out my tongue to the rule makers and allow myself to “tell” in my work…but only in a tasteful way, of course.

Fa la la la bah!

2009-12-27T15:03:00.002-06:00

Christmas is two days gone and every trace of it is gone. Disappeared into the closets, nooks, attic hide-aways for another year.
Actually, I deconstructed Christmas nearly two weeks ago - on the heels of our annual family gathering.
And why not? My daughter, the sole fruit of my loins, was spending Christmas with her betrothed and his family. Why shouldn't I take down the garland, trees, and lighted village? Believe me, the pack could care less. Just make sure there is a good supply of Dingo treats and Oinkers. That's all they care about.
Christmas 2009 was possibly the most stress-free holiday yours truly has enjoyed in years.
Decades.
Maybe, forever.
It could be just me, but do you ever feel - after all the presents have been opened and the tree is bare - a sense of gloom? You know, there's such a build up to Christmas that it's pretty much a sure thing that there will be a total let down. I always feel it.
But not this year.
What I feel, with a house devoid of all Christmas trappings, is a sense of freedom and...hope! For the first time in God-knows I look into the New Year with anticipation.
I like this.
I will sooo do this again.
Happy New Year, guys!

Yeah, I know...I suck

2009-11-29T06:48:00.002-06:00

Newsflash!!!
I'm not much of a blogger.
Okay, well, not so much of a newsflash then seeing that I've been MIA since...oh...February or so.
"But I've been crazy busy," I insist in a self-righteous tone with an index finger pointed skyward.
A sad excuse, that, since there are so many of you diligent, daily bloggers (hate you) who have much more on your plates than I and still manage to keep all your balls in the air. Did I mention I hate you??
So, it is with regret and a smidge of self-loathing that I admit the truth...I suck.
There. Said it. Owned it. Let's move on.
Last you heard, I was hard at work on my WIP with hopes to complete it by June. June. Right.That sooo didn't happen.
124,000 words and four months beyond my June goal, I finally typed "The End" and let out a war-whoop that had the dachshunds running to investigate.
It took me ever so much longer than I thought. Naivete, at my age? You scoff and I don't blame you. I'm not my friend, Marley, who can crank out the words - beautifully, I might add - and have a total of 77k at the end of NaNo. Go girl!
I struggle. I fight. I tooth-and-nail it for every word.
The sweet spot, you know the one where the story flows like a river from the creative brain to the keyboard, is as elusive to me as the winning lottery numbers. Nearly.
Anyway, these last post "the end" weeks have been chock-a-block full of inactivity and simple laziness.
I've enjoyed them, but the Revision monster has begun to raise its head and, like my Roxie who can sit at the back door and bark for hours until I finally get up and let her in, has begun to growl for my attention. However, first I must finish developing the basic language for my immortals, nail down the culture for a couple groups, and review a couple workshops on basics - backstory, sentence structure, etc. After I gird my loins, then I'll put on the gown and gloves, pick up the scalpel and begin the surgery.
Where does blogging fit in the schedule?
You tell me...

Facebook insanity

2009-02-26T20:12:00.002-06:00

Okay, I'm not the brightest bulb in the pack, not the sharpest tool in the shed, maybe even a few frenchfries from having a happy meal...or however you want to say it.
I ain't computer saavy.
There. I admit it.
So, I was reading some blog or maybe it was Matt Lauer on the Today show...whatever. An expert said that the only way to get where ever it is you want to be is via the internet. One must, the expert said quite firmly, get a Facebook page, a Twitter account, and shed a few decades. At least it wasn't pounds. I work around teens, I can get help with the whole decades thing. The weight's not going anywhere too soon...but that's a whole other whining blog. Anyway, I set up my Facebook page and purposefully excluded family and friends when I send out my invites, but wouldn't you know it...I get inundated with friend requests from the very people I was dodging. What's up with that? Here I am trying to set up a "professional" real author-type page and I get all the down home types firing off questions and opinions.
Either the experts are wrong or I'm too gulible. Or both.

A Tale of Lipstick and Flying Pigs

2009-02-22T09:47:00.002-06:00

I just crossed off another square on my calendar in a countdown to the Nola Stars Con on March 6 and 7. My CP, Marley, and I have decided to expand our stay and attend the Friday sessions.

I'm so looking forward to meeting all the folks I've been reading about on the Nola loop and site.

And...I've been nervously preparing for my maiden pitch to a NY editor. Poor Marley, I have worried her to death with my incessant re-writes. Just this morning I wrote yet another pitch. Hmm, it's a bit like putting lipstick on a pig, but if I can get this pig to fly with a request for a partial or - gasp at the thought - a full then the hair-pulling insanity will have all been worth it. Had an online chat with authors Delilah Devlin and Elle James. Their suggestion was to relax, remember the important points of my story, and then shmooze a tad. DD said conversation is an art...know when to speak and when to listen.

One of my favorite things about last year's convention was the heaps and heaps of baskets the Nola members raffled off. There was everything imaginable to tempt a writer. Theme baskets, baskets stocked with supplies and pens (my favorite thing!), and everything in between. I must say, I spent waaay too much on raffle tickets last year. But I was a newbie and hadn't experienced the siren song of a well-stocked basket. I'm going prepared this time with green in my pockets. The plan is to score at least one of those yummy baskets.

In the whole Nola spirit of giving - seeing as how I'm a new member and all - I created a version of my dream basket. I have posted pictures of my masterpiece and have titled it the Night Writers' Casket. Get it? Wink, wink.

I know, I know. I'm so corny.

To Muse or not to Muse

2009-02-09T11:33:00.002-06:00

So, it's February. Gown season has reached a fever pitch with Mardi Gras balls every weekend and the first Prom of 2009 scheduled for Valentine's Day. Normally the fast-paced craziness would stop cold all work on the WIP, but this year I have decided to look at my writing as one of the few sane things in my life. And you know? It's actually working. I've been able to keep my focus and move the story forward. The muse - usually a cold hearted ho - has turned all hot and helpful. So much so that I hate to take time away from the story while it's popping. But I swore that today I would update the blog and go through my mail box. The first is simple fun. The last is a chore of epic proportions and one I loathe. I have a total of 1099 unopened messages. I checked. Wow. That many.
Hang the mail...the Muse is calling.

Travel Day

2009-02-02T05:27:00.002-06:00

I'm up and running at 5:30 AM - groan - in an attempt to leave home by 6:30. The little hellion has contracted mononucleosis and needs Mama. So, with a fresh pot of chicken and sausage gumbo, a brick of dark roast Community Coffee, and an industrial sized box of vitamins, I'm set to drive the 2.5 hours to Natchitoches and answer the call of motherhood.
The vitamins are more for my peace of mind. I don't believe they will have any effect on her ailment, but I'll feel better knowing she has them...even if - perish the thought! - she doesn't take them.

The Truth About Cadence

2009-01-30T14:34:00.003-06:00

Cadence learned to read at age three and by her fourth birthday was creating simple stories. When she began the fifth grade, Cadence had stacks of notebooks filled with her scribbled short stories and novellas. She even had one published in a national children's magazine.
Her teachers declared her gifted - a prodigy - and she entered the local university by her fifteenth birthday. Two years later Cadence graduated with a masters in advanced English studies, but she didn't stop there. No, in two additional years she received her doctorate.
By the age of 23, Cadence Denton was awarded her first Pulitzer Prize.

Uh...yeah. Right.
So much for the obligatory I've been writing stories since I was in diapers bio. Am I alone here or does anyone else find it incredible that virtually every author - aspiring or published - spent their childhood years writing short stories?
As for me, my childhood was much better spent plaguing my older sisters, tormenting my younger sister, and giving my mother migraines. This was my full time job. It's what I did and I did it well. What can I say? I'm a perfectionist.
I was sixteen before I discovered the heady freedom of creative writing. My eleventh grade English teacher promptly burst that bubble when he read aloud my essay in class. I was new to the school and my life's ambition was to become invisible. To say I was mortified by the not so friendly attention would be like saying hurricane Katrina was a little thunderstorm.
I vowed to squelch any and all desire to explore, expand, or expound on my so-called talent.
In its place, I became a just the facts sort of writer. Glorying in the term paper and school newspaper, I embraced a cut-and-dried style, a mechanized voice. In this I succeeded so well that I was accused of plagarism on one of my college papers. The prof thought I'd copied text from a reference book. Ididn't...and when I proved it I got my 'A'.

Well, maybe it was just a 'B', but at least it wasn't the 'F' he'd initially given me!
Fast forward a quarter century. I now have a little hellion of my own. Said demon seed has been lauded for her skill with words from seventh grade through high school graduation. Over those six years I became her editor, critique partner, and cheerleader. She even deigned to consider my one request - which was always the same: finish the story...it's great!
And like my request, her response never varied. Writing is your dream, mom, not mine.
Youth so often sees through all the smoke screens and around all the road blocks older folk put up, don't they? But of course she was right. Writing is my dream. And when my spawn left for college I took the plunge.
My first two endeavors, may they rest in peace, were laughable. Chocked full of cliche' and over blown with adjectives, their ashes now fertilize my flower bed. But I'm a stubborn old bird. I refused to give up and promptly signed up for online classes which was where I found the RWA. I joined several chapters, took even more classes, and found a great friend and critique partner.

Currently, I'm caught up in writing a story whose complexity has me tearing my hair out. Its characters wake me up from a dead sleep and demand I write down their words and thoughts on the notebook I keep beside my bed. I hope to complete it soon and get a good night's sleep!