As with previous installments, this topic first came up in the DIY MFA newsletter. If you’re already an email subscriber, you can help me choose letters that get featured here by replying to the emails you loved most. If you’re not on the list, but want a sneak peek at this column before it hits the blog (and want to help crowd-source it too), go here to sign up.

Dear word nerd,

Most people think of math a logical, straightforward subject. There are right answers and wrong answers, and in between them there’s little wiggle room for any shades of grey. At least, that’s what I thought, at first. Everything changed in ninth grade geometry.

Picture this scene if you will. It’s 1992 just before the holidays, and my geometry class has finished the lessons in that particular unit. Our teacher Mr. W has two options (A) start new material even though we’ll be leaving for winter break in two days and will likely forget it all, or (B) find some way to keep a classroom of adolescent prep-school girls from devolving into utter chaos. Using the teacher equivalent of a Jedi mind-trick, Mr. W comes up with secret option C. He decides to teach us some non-Euclidean geometry. You know, just for kicks. I’m sure you can imagine the collective groan that ensued.

And yet there was something kind of cool about learning math where none of the expected rules applied. Maybe I’m just the biggest dork of all time but I learned more about education and life in those two days of non-Euclidean geometry than I did in most of high school, college, and beyond.

First: A Quick Math Lesson

Most geometry we learn at school takes place on a flat plane. In this Euclidean world, we can count on certain rules to apply. For instance, the angles in a triangle always add up to 180 degrees. This rule—along with all the other ones we learn in Euclidean geometry—is irrefutable and there are mathematical ways to prove it.

And yet…

When we put that same triangle on a different plane—an elliptical plane (i.e. a ball) or a hyperbolic plane (shaped like two trumpets kissing)—then all of a sudden the geometric rules change. Remember how the angles of the triangle added up to 180 degrees? That’s no longer true.

Because an elliptical plane is convex, the sum of the angles in a triangle are actually a little bit greater than 180 degrees. Conversely, because a hyperbolic plane is concave, the sum of the angles will be slightly smaller than 180 degrees.

This same logic doesn’t just hold true for triangles. Many of those rules that we take for granted in Euclidean geometry no longer apply when you explore them in either hyperbolic or elliptical space. For a picture of what I mean, take a look at the infographic on the right.

But you’re probably wondering what all this has to do with writing.

Guess What! There Are No Rules

Even in a subject like math, where we might expect rules to be absolute, it turns out that “rules” are relative and often based on context. As writers, we grapple this tension between rules and context all the time. Yet, as humans we often take rules at face value. We accept certain “rules” as facts, without stopping to consider how the context—the space where those rules operate—might shape or affect them.

As a ninth grade geometry student, I accepted that the sum of the angles in a triangle equaled 180 degrees. This was fact. It was GOSPEL. Then Mr. W starts spouting heresy, telling us that if we put that very same triangle in a different space, the rules would suddenly change.

This lesson taught me something much bigger than just the sum of the angles in a triangle. I learned that “rules” aren’t really rules, but they depend entirely on the context where they exist. In that moment, I realized that there is more than just one way to challenge rules and question authority.

Until then I had always thought that the only way to be a rebel—the only way to stand up to authority and question the status quo—was by breaking the rules. This iconoclastic approach never sat well with me because I don’t enjoy drama and I dislike hurting people.

Suddenly I saw a different way to be a rebel. If I didn’t like a particular rule, I didn’t have to break it in order to get the answer I wanted; I just had to change the context. If I could take a regular old triangle and make those angles add up however I wanted just by putting it on a different plane, I could do the same with any rule—mathematic or otherwise.

Change the Rules By Changing the Context

You could say that this was the moment when my inner-instigator was born and this change-the-context mindset is something I’ve carried with me ever since. DIY MFA is, after all, a perfect example of how you challenge rules simply by changing their context. My goal with this program has never been to fight against the traditional MFA. In fact, I’ve often talked about how I find the MFA-vs.-Not-MFA debate a bit ridiculous.

When I created DIY MFA, I wanted to offer writers an alternative context, a different “education sandbox” to play in, as it were. After all no two people are alike, so it’s silly to think that the same methods of learning and teaching would work for everyone. Some kids enjoy the swings and others prefer the slide. I myself was the weird loner, looking for volcanic rocks and digging for buried treasure. The beautiful thing about writing, though, is that we can all pursue it in our own way, and the literary playground is plenty big enough for everyone.

So go on out there, change the context, and challenge the rules.

Until next time, keep writing and keep being awesome!

The post Writer Fuel: How Non-Euclidean Geometry Turned Me Into a Rebel appeared first on DIY MFA.

1. Finish new draft by November
2. Edit during December
3. Send my first query in January

I kept the first goal. By November 1, I had a draft. A month of edits and I would be ready to go, right?

Wrong.

E.B. White once said, “The best writing is rewriting.” It’s a phrase that ranks up there with “Kill your darlings” and “Write what you know.” And, like most cliches, it’s a cliche because it’s true. I was setting myself up for frustration and failure by not making a realistic plan for re-writing. If I had, the process would have been quicker and more fruitful. Here’s a few ways you can make the most out of your re-write by giving it the respect it deserves.

Give Yourself a Break

Have you ever spent too much time with a friend, and grown sick of each other? You save your friendship (and your sanity!) by giving yourselves a break. The same holds true with a story. By the time you finish a first draft, you’re so in the world it’s hard to see it. You might be sick of it. You might be on a writing-high. But, either way, you are not objective about it. Editing requires objectivity.

Taking a week away can be hard, but it will give your mind and book the space to breathe. Think of it as a reward: during that week, you don’t have to stop writing, but you can work on something fun and different. You can catch up on reading. You can organize or decorate your writing space. And when you come back to your manuscript, you’ll be ready to re-write.

Read With New Eyes

One of the best pieces of advice I ever heard was from Stephen King, who said, “Write with the door closed; edit with the door open.”  When you’re writing that first draft, thinking about audience or editors or agents can stifle your imagination. Doubt crushes creativity. So shut the door, don’t listen to anyone and go for it. Sometimes the best ideas come at the end of a string of ridiculous ones.

But, when re-writing, it’s time to invite some other people into your world. You have to be the critic. This can sound harsh, but  we need to be prepared for people to have negative reactions to our work. Before you start re-writing, re-read. All of it. Start to finish. And begin considering what an editor or a reader might think. When you are looking at a scene, a character or even a plot-line, ask the tough questions. Here’s a few I ask myself:

1. Is this (scene/character/plotline/description) necessary?
2. Does it reveal character or move the plot forward?
3. Is it a reflection the character’s goals, and not mine?
4. Does it make sense?
5. Can it be said more concisely?

If the answer is no, make a note of it. I print out and bind each draft, and then make notes in the margins. You can also easily do this with Track Changes in Microsoft Word or Scrivener. Don’t start writing yet. Just observe. Take the project as a whole. Threads and problems will start to reveal themselves to you, and you’ll save time in the long run by not stopping to fix every little thing you see.

Create a Hospital

“But I love that scene!”

It’s the cry of the re-writing writer. A scene or a character or a plot-line needs to go, and you don’t want to let it. Fair enough. It is, to use another cliche, your darling. So, don’t kill it. Create a folder and label it “Hospital.” You’re the doctor, and this scene is very, very sick. Cut it out, paste it in a separate document, and save it in the hospital folder. It’s not dead; it’s on bed-rest. It will be there if you ever want to revive it.

And, in the meantime, your manuscript is getting leaner, cleaner and maybe–just maybe–doesn’t need that scene after all. But having the option of putting a scene back in can help the re-writing process be less painful.

Set Concrete Goals

With the excess cut, you’re ready to start the actual re-writing.

When you’re drafting, it’s easy to set goals: a page a day, or a word-count a day. Re-writing is less easily defined. Revising one chapter can take a week; revising another can take a few hours. It all depends. It can be easy to lose sight of the progress you’ve made, or where you’re headed, when you’re in the throes of re-writing. It’s helpful, before you start, to set goals. I try to make mine:

1. Challenging — It’s always good to push yourself. You do, after all, want to get this thing finished! So keep in mind, when you are setting your goals, to push yourself.
3. Obtainable — That being said, it’s no use to set goals you can’t keep, either. If you almost never are able to keep the goals you set, you’ll find yourself getting discouraged and not wanting to continue.
5. Sustainable — Re-writing takes a while. The standard (so they say!) is around three months for a 60,000 word book, but this can vary wildly. For me, it took a year and four months. But no matter how long it takes you, it’s important that the goals you set are ones you can keep over an extended period of time.

I make a list of tasks, by chapter, and label them as one-day, three-day or one-week tasks. Each one day task gets one line. A three day task gets three, and a week task gets seven. That gives me a line to check for every day. A simple system, but it’s very effective for keeping me motivated, and also for understanding at the progress I’ve made.

Bess Cozby writes epic stories in expansive worlds from her tiny apartment in New York City. By day, she’s an Editor at Tor Books, and Web Editor for DIY MFA. Her work is represented by Brooks Sherman of the Bent Agency. Tweet her at @besscozby, contact her at bess@diymfa.com, or visit her website at www.besscozby.com.

The post The Rewrite Rules! appeared first on DIY MFA.