Tag Archives: fiction

Using punctuation to lock readers into your protagonist’s POV

Life update! While I’m still pursuing writing, right now I’m detouring to focus specifically on developing my editing skills. Along with reading for Strange Horizons and Flash Fiction Online, I’ve taken on more freelance editing and story coaching jobs this year, and I’m working towards a copyediting certificate from UC San Diego. I thought some of the assignments I turned in for the first course in the UCSD program, a grammar intensive, might make for fun blog posts, so here’s one about using the semicolon (and other punctuation) to guide the reader through description of setting in a story, locking them into your protagonist or narrator’s POV.

Using punctuation to lock readers into your protagonist’s POV

According to The McGraw-Hill Education Handbook of English Grammar and Usage, semicolons should be reserved for instances “when the two parts of a compound sentence—the two independent clauses—are very closely related” (260). But, assuming fluid prose and sound rhetoric, all consecutive sentences from any given text may be expected to bear a degree of “close” relationship to each other. Although one can imagine two sentences side by side which bear absolutely no relation—for example, “I find it difficult to understand contemporary punctuation usage through studying examples from Moby Dick. My cat just vomited on my toe”—in practice, most writing will not contain sentences this jarringly disconnected. So how does one determine if two independent clauses are closely related enough to warrant a semicolon?

I’d like to explore this question in the context of writing fiction, particularly in describing setting. In a passage of setting description, generally the sentences are all “closely related”—they all describe the setting, lighting up aspects of place formerly obscured, like a flashlight beam in a night hiker’s hand. So when and why might a semicolon be used?

When describing setting in fiction, I try to think about where, based on the details I select, I am turning the reader’s attention, and how the reader is spatially experiencing the world of the book. If the protagonist enters a garden, I could describe the grackles in the pecan trees, the stink of stagnant pond water, or the irises wilting in the afternoon sun—details which ground the reader in a real sense of place, while also doing something to characterize the protagonist/narrator, whom the reader will infer (consciously or subconsciously) is the one noticing and pointing these things out to them. Just look at how setting informs character through the narrator in Ella Fitzgerald’s song, “Tenderly,” who describes how “the evening breeze / caressed the trees / tenderly,” compared to the narrator in T. S. Eliot’s poem, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” who describes “the evening spread out against the sky / like a patient etherized upon a table”!

Recognizing that description of setting is really simulation of character gaze or movement through space, an author may use punctuation to moderate that gaze or movement—and the reader’s “movement” alongside them. Punctuation may serve not simply as grammar notation or reproduction of spoken language’s rhythm, but as a lever or regulating valve for the reader’s flow through the physical world described in the text.
Then, while all the sentences in a passage of description may technically be “closely related,” different punctuation choices can influence how closely a reader feels physically proximal to what is described, depending on the effect you want to produce.

Consider this passage of setting description from Satin Island by Tom McCarthy:

There was a small window. A few feet from this there was a drape that hung along the wall: this big wrinkled curtain. I don’t know why it was there—maybe for warmth; behind it there was just a wall as far as I could tell.


Each of these sentences could be said to be equally related, because they are all describing something about the same room. But McCarthy doesn’t join them all with semicolons. He saves it for a specific impact at the end, while slowly escalating towards it through other punctuation, tightly controlling how the reader moves through and experiences the space:

First, the initial period forces the reader to come up short at the window, simulating the way one is naturally drawn to and transfixed by a source of light upon entering an otherwise dark room. Next, the colon similarly emphasizes the prominence of another detail: a peculiar curtain, which might have blended into the shadows if only a comma had preceded it. While the window is “small,” the curtain is “big,” and McCarthy’s next punctuation choices serve to magnify the oppressive curtain even further: an em-dash links question and answer bubbling in the protagonist’s mind in response to the curtain. Finally, McCarthy drops a semicolon to provoke the reader, after a tense pause, to dare to draw back the curtain.

If McCarthy had used a period here instead, the reader would not experience the sense of a continuously deeper slide into the room, as if sucked into a whirlpool. The punctuation parallelism would have made the curtain and wall seem to sit statically next to each other, two-dimensional instead of three-dimensional. The reader would know there was a wall behind the curtain—but she would not have pulled back the curtain herself to discover it.

Whenever you write a passage describing setting, return during the editing phase to interrogate its punctuation. Think about how a comma might dip a reader’s finger into the pool, where a period pushes them all the way in. Could the enclosure of one detail in parentheses better effect the reader poking their head around a corner? Consider if a colon or an em-dash announces the presence of the gothic mansion at the end of the lane—and its door, creaking open, slowly, very slowly . . .

First Place for Flash Fiction – Roanoke Writers Conference

Quick update, this month I won first place at a flash fiction contest at the Roanoke Writers Conference!

The story I submitted, “She Stalks in Beauty, Like the Night,” is a slice of life high school sweetheart love story in a small town Texas. With lesbian vampires. I’m sending it out to magazines now to hopefully get it published somewhere.

It’s incredibly encouraging to conclude this first year of studying the craft of the short story by winning this award, and not simply because it feels like proof of my capability despite (oh, unceasing!) doubts. This story is a product of community, and to me the award symbolizes less my own skill and more the dear friends who have helped me in these early stages of my writing journey.

Context: I first drafted this story for the Clarion West flash fiction workshop I did over the summer, and drastically revised it based on critiques from friends I made there, to a level of quality I couldn’t have reached relying only on my own intuition and skills. Plus, I wouldn’t have heard about this conference and contest if it weren’t for a lovely friend I met through work, who herself heard about this through her library writing group. And the conference itself was a huge, collaborative effort of a community that truly believes in supporting each other and new writers.

On that note: check out the North Texas Writers Collective, sign up for their newsletter and go to next year’s Roanoke Writer Conference! They have so much to offer, particularly the community and mutual aid network behind it. The conference, organized thanks to DG Swain, Alicia Holston at the Roanoke Public Library, and many more, and packed with presentations and workshops by successful authors across genres and trad/indie publishing, was totally free. I actually personally left $50 richer than I arrived thanks to the flash fiction contest (which also completed my little goal to make $100 from speculative fiction this year!) but MORE IMPORTANTLY I left richer in information, networking, and friendship. At one point, I looked around the conference and just thought, “these are my people.” I felt like for the first time, I had found my local crew in terms of love for the craft of writing, and I’ve been continuing to meet up since then with friends I made there.

I can’t recommend this conference enough for writers in the Dallas/Fort Worth area and beyond, and I’m looking forward to what else the North Texas Writers Collective cooks up. What impressed me most was the genuine love I witnessed, writers who have “made it” turning around to uplift the next generations and share everything they can, and cultivate a collaborative and healthy community. I’ve unfortunately experienced my share of toxic communities, and a lot depends on the seeds you plant and the presence of experienced, wiser members bringing up newbies with good principles. So it was gratifying and even healing to find an intergenerational community planting good seeds.

For other new writers who are nervous about conferences and trying to figure out how to make connections and learn: just show up! I literally just showed up, not knowing anybody or what to expect, and just being present opened me to being approached by people who would share resources and encouragement and become new friends and mentors.

Some ways that stories start

This week I studied story openings! I looked at a number of short stories and novels in science fiction, fantasy, romantasy, suspense, and literary fiction. Here’s what I noticed:

  1. Starting in medio conflictu
  2. Application: some writing exercises
  3. Some Types of story openings
    1. The Founding Legend Prologue opening
    2. The Theme or Philosophy Concept opening
    3. Intriguing Clutter / Lagniappe opening
    4. “This is Real” Author Note opening
    5. Hard Action opening
    6. Soft Action opening
    7. Contemporary Day in the Life opening
    8. Fantasy Day in the Life / Hero’s Journey opening
    9. Big Game Hunter opening
    10. The Tool of the Trade opening
    11. Dialogue opening
    12. The Ensemble opening

Starting in medio conflictu

I found that one thing 99% of openings had in common was that they began with some kind of conflict. It could be epic in scale, along the lines of “Once upon a time there was a war between the Humans and the Faerie,” or of middling importance (like a fight scene or argument about something fairly important) or even super low stakes (a guy struggling to open a jar of pickles, or bickering with his sister over something almost inconsequential).

It seems like it basically doesn’t matter what the conflict is, as long as there is one. Some do retain relevance on rereading—this seems particularly common in short stories, where the opening conflict often reflects the heart of the story. In these cases, the real significance of the opening conflict is only made clear at the end of the story, giving these stories a circular quality, as in the echoing and layering “We Will Teach You How to Read” by Caroline M. Yoachim. The jar of pickles may turn out to be the key to saving the world! But this doesn’t necessarily have to be the case. I found other stories where, however dramatic the opening conflict seemed, further reading revealed it was more of a throwaway event simply for the purpose of hooking attention or setting things up. Gideon the Ninth and its sequels are notoriously built for re-reading, yet I find that the opening of Gideon, where she tries to escape her prison-home, is actually a fairly unimportant conflict, soon swept away by more relevant ones.

The opening conflict can also be a single, sustained issue, or a barrage of problems. In “Lucky Thirteen” by Tracy Clark, the singular, subtle opening conflict is the hint of difficulty in an old man’s traversing an icy path. But in “La Chingona” by Hector Acosta, in setting the scene, each sentence describes a new conflict: a church which looks like it’s flipping off God, a storm and thunder making the lights flicker. Neighbors arguing upstairs. An eviction notice. Sabaa Tahir’s An Ember in the Ashes begins with a low-stakes conflict in the form of argument between the MC and her brother, then proceeds at almost breakneck pace, introducing new exposition, mysteries, obstacles, and stakes with every line of a dialogue.

Application: some writing exercises


Some exercises and methods I’ve drawn from this are:

1. Think of opening a story or scene in terms of conflict, not simply in terms of things happening. If I’m starting with a character, ask what would stand most in opposition to their achieving their goal right then? What kind of initial conflict, however low stakes, might exemplify the main character’s overarching problem, or explain the driving forces in the world of the story, etc.

2. Try out two ways of opening a story or scene: “slow,” going long and deep on a single, sustained conflict, or “fast,” piling on the problems like an opening salvo.

3. Ask how each sentence, aspect, or scene could be modified to most maximize or imply conflict. Instead of a tree standing next to a house, the tree’s branches might beat against the window. Instead of opening with someone reading a letter, open with them having to put on their reading glasses first. Turn each line of dialogue into a rebuttal or disagreement in some way, rather than allowing characters to chat obligingly. Write a scene like those classic commercials where everything goes absurdly wrong.

4. After finishing a story, go back and ask how the opening conflict could be revised into something emblematic of the driving conflict or that foreshadows the ending.

Some Types of story openings

I also noticed some common types of story openings crop up again and again. When I start working on a fantasy novel next year I’m going to do an even deeper genre-specific dive to understand common structures and beats, but for now here’s what I’ve found across various genres, that can be helpful in thinking about where and how to begin:

The Founding Legend Prologue opening

Usually 1-3 pages. Tells the foundational myth or event in a prologue that sets the stage for the world of the story, generally followed by a first chapter which can enter straight into action scene and not require as much explanation of the magic/world because the prologue has cleared up the basics. It also helps to serve as a promise of the premise or clarify what the story is about for the reader, so even if there aren’t werewolves in the first chapter, you know to expect them. In Elantris, a single page prologue briefly explains how the city of Elantris was once great and people magically turned into immortals to live there. In The Serpent and the Wings of the Night, the prologue establishes the origin story of an important character, and that this is a world of humans vs vampires.

The Theme or Philosophy Concept opening


Can be a prologue or opening to first chapter. In The Power, a couple pages describe the book’s stance on the concept of power: “The shape of power is always the same; it is the shape of a tree[…].” The Left Hand of Darkness features the MC ruminating on a concept that led him to where he is today. Or in Anna Karenina: “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

Intriguing Clutter / Lagniappe opening

Opens with various pieces of “texture” leading us into the world of the novel, like news clippings, letters, email or text exchanges, poems, epigrams, fake author/title page, drawings, etc. (see The Power which includes many of the above). An exception is that in fantasy genre, it’s so typical to start with a map and/or dramatis personae that these do not feel like intriguing clutter and I would not consider them an in-story opening, rather I consider them frontmatter. 

“This is Real” Author Note opening

An author note references the book as if it’s real or what it describes is real. For example, Thomas More’s Utopia or Gene Wolfe claiming he has tried to translate The Book of the New Sun into English and Latinate approximations, explaining name choices and worldbuilding.

Hard Action opening

Opens in the middle of a fight scene, a raid, a dogfight, or interrogating somebody, etc. BAM hits you in the face with dramatic action. Typical of action thrillers, but also seen in fantasy or science fiction. A Broken Blade by Melissa Blair opens with the MC Opens in the middle of (really, right at the end of) interrogating a victim whose throat she slits at the end of a short scene.

Soft Action opening

Opens in the middle of an active scene (versus narration/exposition), but it’s lower stakes, not as dramatic. Gideon the Ninth opens with the dramatic situation of an escape in process, but it’s softened by humor and the fact that the character isn’t being pursued or prevented from carrying out their plan until the end of the scene.

Contemporary Day in the Life opening

See Starter Villain and many generic romance books, mystery, and contemporary horror: opens with character just going about their normal daily life activities, which each thing they do or reflect on giving a piece of information setting up the character, setting, and story to come. There needs to be some kind of driving mystery, problem, little conflict, or piece of intriguing news that drives you to keep reading among these generally humdrum details, although there is some general interest in this person just for being a person and demonstrating different quirks, complaints, gossip etc.

Fantasy Day in the Life / Hero’s Journey opening

Technically also day in the life, it starts with character waking up and/or going about their usual activities, but it looks pretty different from the contemporary one. Often because the hero is starting in a wretched village, and their status quo is wretched, whereas in Contemporary Day In Life, the status quo is generally pretty chill and pleasant. See Foundation by Mercedes Lackey, which starts with a young boy MC working in the mines. Elantris could be considered this I think, starts with character waking up and, if only very briefly, experiencing a moment of peaceful day in the life of a prince, before he’s suddenly thrown into a new reality. 

Big Game Hunter opening

It’s funny this would happen enough to be its own category, but there’s a distinct trope of opening fantasy stories with the hero hunting a deer, in many cases only to stumble on a magical creature. Hunger Games, A Court of Thorns and Roses, Eragon, and The North Wind all open like this. I guess it’s an easy way to make a character be immediately engaged in action/conflict, while still setting up the status quo before the real inciting incident. It also seems to be a trophy way to demonstrate “strong female character who don’t need no man.”

The Tool of the Trade opening

Opens by demonstrating and/or explaining some craft, technique, or trade. “The Dragonslayer of Merebarton” by K.J. Parker opens with an explanation of mending a chamberpot. “Stingers” by LaToya Jovena opens with a bartender’s perspective on life and mixing drinks as chemical processes. Can be combined with another opening, for example the Hunter opening shows an everyday skill, as does the interrogation scene mentioned in “Hard Action opening” above.

Dialogue opening

This would also count as an action opening, but one comprised mainly of dialogue between the main character and somebody else. In a short story, this will often cut straight to the chase, and comprise a conflict between the main character and their foil, love interest, or antagonist. The reverse is true in novels, where the dialogue will either be with a throwaway character, or with a beloved sibling, best friend, or comrade in arms. In a novel, the antagonist and love interest aren’t usually introduced in the opening dialogue/scene, I think because you don’t want to rush past developing the main character before introducing them. But this convention is occasionally broken, as in A Promise of Fire by Amanda Bouchet, where the love interest shows up in the first page. Like pure action, the dialogue should usually be a conflict between the two characters, although it can be low stakes, like “you look like shit,” “thanks a lot” “you sure you shouldn’t be resting?” “people depend on me” etc. Can also be combined with the Day in the Life opening, for example in Bannerless the main character comes down for breakfast, giving a glimpse of her normal daily life before she heads off to a detective assignment in an unfamiliar town.

The Ensemble opening

This may be a convention in some genres like epic fantasy and bad writing in others, like more basic fantasy. It’s an opening in which a bunch of characters are introduced, not just the main character and one or two foils or companions (I noticed most books have only 1-3 characters in the first scene). Now, this is different from an ensemble story, like Gideon the Ninth or Murder on the Orient Express, where each chapter introduces a couple more characters, until you’ve met everyone, and then the chapters sort of cycle through focusing on a couple at a time, so you can give each their deeper turn. No, this is referring to having over 3 characters in the very first scene/chapter. I am not personally a fan of this kind of opening, I feel it taxes my brain to try and hold too many characters at once right at the beginning of the book. I get them muddled up in my head since I don’t yet know them intimately on an individual level, and I also don’t get as interested with a broad sweep of characters (which can’t go as deep) versus giving me a single character or couple of characters to go deep on at first.

Taking storytelling seriously – 6 month progress report

Reflection

In January, I committed to seriously pursuing writing fiction as a long-term vocation. I’ve written since I was young, and had periodic years where I put serious effort into improving my writing and publishing, but have always set storytelling aside. I’ve struggled with the usual sense of inadequacy, the internalized idea it’s not a “worthwhile” pursuit or that there’s “more important” things I should focus on, and genuinely needing to overcome some challenges in my life first. But I’ve always loved writing, felt compelled to write, and it’s the one thing I know I can stick with for the rest of my life and give my all, so that’s what I’m going to do.

Looking around, I see people develop at different rates, and compared to many of my peers, I have been a slow grower. But, we all start from different places, and life has thrown me a couple extraordinary curve-balls. It took me about 30 years to sort out my priorities, and I used to worry about falling behind, about “proving myself.” But nearing my thirties, something shifted in my brain to perceive, more patiently, a different time scale. Now, I think in terms of being in it for the long haul. My goal is to have written ten novels by 2035, and maybe published one of them. It feels good to be patient with myself and give myself the time I need to actually learn this craft. I’ll be a sloth or a snail, just enjoying the doing—“I wake to sleep and take my waking slow.”

It was a challenging start to this commitment this year, because I also started working two jobs, sometimes 60 hours a week. But I have been extremely disciplined about how I use my remaining time. On work days, I tend to either study a story or writing textbook, or work on a shorter piece or exercise. Fortunately, looking back on creative writing and education courses I took in undergrad, and my own teaching experience, I’ve been able to design what I think is a pretty good syllabus for the year, which I continue to adapt and develop as I learn more. On off-days or days I only work a single job, I write 4-12 hours. Although entering this next half ofthe year, I’m cutting back because I do have a tendency to go too hard and see diminishing gains. Now I’m trying to keep it around 2-4 hours of writing a day, plus study hours. Rest and doing other stuff is important, not just for recovery and strength, but because the subconscious plays such a role in writing and needs unstructured time and space to foment, as well as new experiences to draw from.

I figure that, if I continue to work consistently and keep study widely and deeply, there’s no way I can’t be at least decent at storytelling after ten years. I have reached mastery of only a few things before, not even mastery but just being roundly competent, like getting to the point in tennis as a kid where I could compete for and actually win first place. It felt amazing. Not the winning, but the sheer possession of the craft, the deep thrill of being really very good at something. The special joy you can get out of life when you know something backwards and forwards to the point you can actually begin to innovate in the field. That’s where I want to get with writing stories. The failure for me now is if I don’t follow through, not if I never become a genius or get recognized or rich (ha!) from writing.

Of course, I’d still also love to be recognized, and to make some money from writing. That’s another thing I used to feel embarrassed about admitting, but I’m kind of done trying to impress people, I prefer to just be honest about everything. I write because I have things I want to share with other people. I want to give people a good story, relief from suffering, connection with others, useful ideas, and assistance in noticing certain beautiful things. And my life would be a lot easier and more enjoyable if I could make a living from it too, so that I could truly put all my best hours into production, doing what I love. That’s the dream.

For now, I will do my little writing exercises and write my shabby, deranged little first drafts, and hopefully start to make some writing buddies along the way, because this would be even more fun with company.

2024 Stats – 6 Month Progress Report

+ I got a poem accepted for upcoming publication in my favorite magazine, Strange Horizons (!). While I’m learning to write stories now, I’m still trying to work on poetry while I can.

+ Outlined and completed 8 chapters of a romance novel based on study of a particular niche and market. However, I decided the goal of completing a novel was one I needed to fail for now. The more practice the better at this novice stage. I can complete a lot more short stories in a year and probably learn more from that than from completing a single novel, so I pivoted to short stories starting in February.

+ I finished 8 short stories out of 14 projects. It took me a couple months to learn I needed to focus on finishing everything I start. Since then, I’ve finished everything, even though these endings are predictably abysmal, because… I haven’t been practicing endings, since I haven’t been finishing things.

+ I published 5 blog posts, including 2 book reviews (and this post :P). I also wrote a number of essays/analyses/blog posts for private reflection and learning/practice, but was selective about what I published here.

+ I developed a syllabus and disciplined practice for learning to write stories as well as a 5 year plan for moving forward with writing. This may actually be the best achievement of all, because it’s allowed me to make incremental, actual progress that I can track and know I’m not floundering.

+ I read 40 books, far more books in 6 months than I probably read in the past 3 years (below).

The biggest lessons I ‘ve learned so far about learning to write stories

1. FINISH what I start. No matter how terrible and ridiculous it makes the story, give the story a conclusion. Also applies to study–work through one textbook or story analysis at a time. Embrace that you are a beginner, that this story isn’t going to be good, that everything is practice for a much longer-term goal.

2. Set goals and steps to meet those goals, and reflect regularly (at least once a week) on progress towards the goal.

3. Break down other peoples’ stories and write in imitation of them for practice. I think this is the most effective learning strategy I’ve tried so far. Textbooks can help give you broad overviews of story structure, or different techniques, but the active/constructive learning that occurs when you break down a story yourself, then try to apply it to writing your own story, really sticks and improves your writing the most. Across history, artists learned through direct imitation of the masters. When you read something more than once, break it down and analyze it, and try to write in imitation of it, you really lock in the information and learn in a way you don’t retain just reading stuff passively. Had to learn to read for writing.

4. Similarly, when stumped, study more. Feeling stuck or “writer’s block” is often a case of simply trying to summon stuff up out of thin air, instead of going out and finding the information you need to move forward. When I haven’t known how to proceed, it was usually because I either didn’t actually know enough about the art of writing a story, or I hadn’t fleshed out my characters, concept, etc. enough to project what would happen next (often a combination of both). Here, studying how other authors have handled an issue is again helpful, as well as becoming more knowledgeable about my limits, what I’m actually capable of writing at this level, etc.

5. General technique stuff. Not gonna list it all out here. Just the base matter you have to accumulate as a beginner, a chaotic blend of information and half-baked ideas and dawning awareness of things you don’t yet understand, which the coming years of further practice will refine into something meaningful.

6. A grounded perspective. Working at a book store has been really helpful to give me a humbling, but also encouraging sense of perspective about the business/publishing side of writing, and who readers are. I’ve seen how books come and go on the shelves, with even great writers eventually circulated off to make way for the new big thing, and it’s made me realize that like everything else in life, the world of books is actually in a constant state of change. Just because someone is big right now doesn’t mean it will last forever, and just because someone is small right now doesn’t mean that, after another twenty years or publishing five more books, they don’t become huge. It’s helped me plan the rest of life accordingly, understanding I won’t be able to make a living writing fiction (at least not any time soon), and to stop seeing the options as “failure” or “famous” and instead as “all you can do is work consistently, love the work itself, and hope for good fortune.” Working with a lot of different readers (coworkers and customers), has also given me a better grasp of audiences, trends, marketing, commerciality, and the need to factor these into writing I want to make money from, when I get to that point.

Maybe I’ll check in again at the end of the year and see what’s changed. I feel like it took me this long just to kind of figure out what my process needed to look like, learning strategies and resources, how to organize my time for this, etc. so hopefully the next six months will show a slightly accelerated progress! 

Books I’ve read so far this year

NB: Many of these I “read”—listened to, actually—thanks in large part to audiobooks via Libby, since many days I have 2-3 hours of cumulative commute time. 

Jeff VanderMeer –  Southern Reach Trilogy (while it remains a trilogy), Hummingbird Salamander, and Borne
Tamsyn Muir – The Locked Tomb trilogy (pending book four)
Asimiov – Left Hand of the Electron
A. K. Larkwood – The Unspoken Name
Mary Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows – The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society
Aimee Lim – Spindle of Fate
Arkady Martyne – A Memory Called Empire
Sarah J. Maas – A Court of Thorns & Roses
Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone – This Is How You Lose the Time War
Ted Chiang – Exhalation
Sayaka Murata – Convenience Store Woman
Rachel Harrison – Cackle
Ann Leckie – the Imperial Radch trilogy
Hiron Ennes – Leech
Meg Cabot – Enchanted to Meet You
Mira Grant – Kingdom of Needle and Bone
Lisa Jewell – None of This is True
Catriona Ward – Sundial
Gillian Flynn – The Grownup
Melissa Marr – Remedial Magic
Lana Harper – In Charm’s Way
Larry Brooks – Story Engineering
Gwen Hayes – Romancing the Beat
Thich Nhat Hahn – The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching
Agustina Bazterrica – Tender is the Flesh
Jack Woodford – Plotting for Every Kind of Writing
Kate Wilhelm – Storyteller
Carlo Rovelli – Helgoland
H. P. Lovecraft – The Shadow Over Innsmouth
Ryu Murakami – Piercing
Ralph Bauer – An Inca Account of the Conquest of Peru
Jane Goodall – The Book of Hope