I was going to critique some more of the one-sentence Storylines that my loyal blog readers have submitted for critique over the last couple of weeks. However, I thought today I’d just take the opportunity to congratulate a young woman who came to this web site a few years ago, read about the Snowflake method, and then did the hard work of writing a novel, getting an agent, and finding a publisher.

Her name is Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani, and her debut novel, I DO NOT COME TO YOU BY CHANCE, was just named the winner of the Commonwealth Africa Prize in the first novel category. You can read all about it on the Book South Africa blog.

Congratulations Adaobi! I’m delighted to hear it!

Let’s be clear about one thing. The Snowflake method (or any method) will not magically get you published or win you writing awards. It focuses your efforts and helps you manage your creativity. That’s all. That’s enough. Getting published and winning awards requires talent, dedication, training and hard work. Tools are just tools — they make the hard work go a bit easier, better, and faster.

Tomorrow, we’ll return to our regularly scheduled critique of your one-sentence Storylines, which is of course the first step in that pesky Snowflake method.

You may remember that I interviewed Adaobi here on this blog a few months ago. If you’d like to congratulate her, leave a comment here. I’ve emailed her just now, so she’ll be dropping by shortly, and I’m sure she’d be happy to see any comments you write her.

I hear occasionally writers saying that they get a lot of writing done because they’re good at multitasking. And I have to say I doubt it.

Of course we may be talking about different things, but the way I define multitasking, it’s a great way to NOT get much writing done.

Let’s remember where the term comes from. It’s a technical term from the world of computers. In the bad old days, computers had one CPU — the central processing unit that does things. If you wanted it to do several things at once, you couldn’t do that, but you could fake it as follows:

Each program that’s running was only allowed to work on a task for a short time — say 20 milliseconds. Then it would give up control of the CPU and another program would take control. That one would run for a short time, and then it would give up control.

That works fairly well with computers, so long as all the programs play well together. If any of them decides to hog the whole system, then all the other programs are out of luck.

It didn’t take long for computer manufacturers to realize that if multitasking was going to work well, it had to be brainlessly easy to program. The operating system (Mac OS or Windows or Linux) had to enforce the rules and break in on each program and keep it from hogging.

That works pretty well for computers. But what about for our brains?

Our brains have a bit of an advantage over computers. The simplest computers only have one CPU. We humans have multiple brains that handle low-level bodily functions like breathing (you don’t have to think about this) and higher-level physical actions like walking and chewing gum and high-level conscious activities like doing our taxes and writing fiction (which are considered by some people to be the same thing).

So we’re naturally designed to multitask at a bunch of things, within limits. You really can do a bunch of things simultaneously, so long as they don’t take conscious thought.

When you start trying to do things consciously, though, you run into problems. Go ahead and try to write two emails at exactly the same time. Can you do it?

Yes, you can. You can open two email windows at the same time on your screen. Then you can type one character in the first window, grab the mouse, move it to the other window, type one character, grab the mouse, move it to the other window, type one character, and so on.

That’s multitasking on conscious tasks, and it’s horrendously inefficient. Most of your time is wasted in switching from one context to another. Context switches kill you.

Even if you’re trying to do something a lot more normal, such as watch TV and do your calculus homework at the same time, the context switches kill you. Both tasks suffer, even if you think you’re doing great at both of them. If you think that, you’re fooling yourself.

Now look at what most people mean when they say, “I’m a great multitasker. I can watch the kids and talk on the phone and cook supper and keep an ear on the washing machine all at the same time.”

Yes, of course, most people can do all those things at the same time, but that isn’t multitasking because only the talking on the phone really requires conscious thought.

I sometimes hear people say, “I’m good at multitasking. I can do email and handle the phone and work on a spreadsheet and have an instant messaging session going and be texting my friend, all at once.”

With all respect, the only reason anyone can do all those things at the same time is because most of them allow for short context switches of a few seconds. You can do a line of an instant message or a text in a few seconds. You can work on an email for a minute or two, then interrupt it and come back twenty minutes later. If you’re on the phone, you CAN in principle zone out and resort to saying “Uh-huh” repeatedly while you do something else, but that’s beginning to cheat. If you’re trying to do two phone conversations at once, you’ll see this right away, and so will the people you’re talking to. And if you’re working on a spreadsheet, you can in principle keep cutting away to do other things, but it’s going to take time to get back into the swing of things every time you return.

Things like doing a spreadsheet or writing a novel take periods of concentrated thought. After each interruption, when you can resume work on them right away, but it typically takes up to 20 minutes to really get into the flow and work at your highest productivity level. If you keep cutting away every five minutes to attend to something else, you CAN get some work done on that pesky spreadsheet or novel, but you won’t be working at nearly the level you could be working if that was the only thing you were doing. And if you try to be like a computer and work on it in 20 millisecond snatches, then you are completely and hopelessly dog meat.

There’s a big difference between what you CAN do and what you can do WELL. And tragically, we humans can only work well on one task requiring focused concentration at a time.

All of which reminds me that my latest humor column has been out for about a week now. The title of it is “Multitaxing” and in it, my plumber Sam and I argue the merits of multitasking. Want to guess who wins the battle of multitasking. You can read it all here.

A quick note to say that my monthly humor column was posted more than a week ago. Sam the Plumber is continuing his attempts to provide novelists with services they don’t want or need. His latest foray into the world of publishing takes him into the murky world of book trailers. Take a look here.

What’s your opinion? Do book trailers work? What does it mean to “work?” How do you know if a trailer works?

Private message for Adele Eichler only:

Adele, you have been emailing me every week or so about a problem you’re having transferring your copy of Snowflake Pro from your desktop machine to your laptop.

I have been answering your emails, but it’s clear to me that you’re not getting them. My best guess is that your spam filter is intercepting my messages. Therefore, I’d recommend that you check your spam folder to see the answers I’ve been sending you.

The other problem is that you have not given me enough information to solve your problem. All you’ve told me is that you can’t transfer the program. You don’t tell me what you did, which step failed, and how you know it failed. Without such information, it’s impossible for me to know how to fix your problem.

I’d suggest you email me with your Skype address or a Facebook account or some other way of reaching you other than email, since I can’t seem to reach you by email. And please tell me a few more details so I can solve the problem. You should have the download page for Snowflake Pro. It has a detailed set of instructions for downloading, installing, and running the software. You would make my task immensely easier by telling me exactly which step fails and what you see on the screen which tells you that it fails.

I met John Olson at a Christian writing conference in 1996. Both of us were unpublished novelists with a background in science.

I soon learned that John had a yen to write novels based on the vampire mythos and an uncommon ability to write spooky stuff. John soon learned that I like scary fiction.

That weekend, we forged a friendship that’s lasted for over thirteen years. We’ve coauthored two books together. We’ve climbed corporate ladders and abandoned them. We’ve held each accountable as we pursued our dreams. I’ve learned boatloads about the art of writing fiction from John, and also a bunch about the art of living, and I hope I’ve paid him back by teaching him a thing or two also.

A bit more than a year ago, I sat in on a major track John taught at a writing conference on the subject, “Writing in the Shadows.” I enjoyed his talk tremendously and kept thinking, “Darn! Why didn’t I think of that?”

John’s latest novel, POWERS, is just now hitting the bookshelves. I got my copy last week and am reading it now. It’s a prime example of “writing in the shadows.”

I’ve asked John for an interview so I could introduce you to his ideas. Here’s the result:

RI: I really enjoyed your lecture series last year on “Writing in the Shadows.” In a nutshell, what is “writing in the shadows” and why would an author want to do that?

JO: You’ve heard of reading between the lines, right? Well, writing in the shadows is writing between the lines. It’s a set of techniques for creating mood and evoking an emotional response in such a way that readers aren’t consciously aware of why they are responding the way they do. The words on your page all have shadows. Once you learn how to harness these shadows for your own purposes, you can use these techniques to add creepiness to dark scenes, dread to action scenes, joy to celebration scenes or chemistry to relational scenes.

RI: Editors often tell us to “show, don’t tell,” but they rarely show us what they mean by that. What does “show, don’t tell” mean to you?

JO: It’s pretty easy. It means to… uh, show and er… not tell. Okay, maybe it isn’t so easy to explain. Let me give you some examples. As a novelist I’m often tempted to write something telling such as:

Hailey was scared.

But if I do this, I don’t give the reader a chance to experience that fear emotionally along with Hailey. Readers know intelectually Hailey is afraid, because I told them she was (and foolish readers that they are, they trust me), but they don’t get to experience the fear along with her unless I actually show Hailey being afraid:

Hailey froze. The vampire’s teeth were only inches away from her neck. She held her breath and tried to think, but her pulse throbbed like kettle drums in her ears. She had to make her stupid heart slow down. It was only encouraging him.

See? I never once told you Hailey was afraid, but you probably figured it out anyway. That’s showing.

Okay… I know what you’re thinking. I totally cheated. Of course Hailey’s going to be scared with the sharp end of a vampire pointed at her neck. But what if your story doesn’t have any conveniently located vampires? What if you need to show fear, and the reader doesn’t even have a reason to be afraid yet?

That’s where writing in the shadows comes in. It’s possible to write a scene in such a way that your readers will pick up on the fear without knowing the reasons behind it.

Your POV character doesn’t even have to realize she’s afraid. In fact it’s often better if she doesn’t. If she knew she should be afraid, she might not walk into that dark basement we need her to walk into. We see this technique used all the time in movies. Our clueless heroine walks into the dark basement and suddenly the background music changes. We know right away what’s going to happen, and we start yelling at her, telling her to turn her flashlight on, but she doesn’t seem to hear us. It can’t be because the background music is too loud, because if she could hear the music, she’d know the vampire was hiding behind the artificial Christmas tree waiting to jump out at her and make us wet our pants.

Stupid heroines. If only our novels had soundtracks to go along with them, showing in the shadows would be so easy! But if you think about it, our novels do have background music. It’s hidden in the shadows of the words. Sentences have flow and rhythm and cadence. Words have connotations that evoke mood and emotion and tone. Characters have autonomic responses that happen whether they’re aware of them or not. We have all kinds of tools to work with. We can go beyond showing and show in the shadows like this:

The door closed behind her with a sigh. Hailey shivered as a chill brushed across her mind, leaving behind the aftertaste of decay and wet rat. She hurried toward the elevators, fighting the urge to break into a run. Hollow footsteps echoed loud and lonely in the empty marble hallway. Stepping into a waiting elevator, she punched the ninth floor button and leaned back against the wall. The door shut with a clank, sealing her in.

See? Words like “sigh” and “aftertaste of decay and wet rat” and “sealing her in” create an emotional subtext that shows the reader what to feel without telling them why we want them to feel it. That’s showing in the shadows.

RI: You’re a strong proponent of giving readers “partial information.” What do you mean by that, and what have you got against giving readers the full scoop on things?

JO: Giving the full scoop ruins all the fun — at least it does if we’re talking about novels. Ice cream is a completely different subject. Imagine a murder mystery where the author tells us who the murderer is the second we’re introduced to him. Or imagine a romance where the author tells us all about the couple’s future life together as soon as the male lead is introduced. It kind of spoils the fun, doesn’t it?

Well, that’s what we do any time we give the reader too much information. We take away the mystery and anticipation. So if Dash Totallyripped McMoneybags throws up the second he sees our heroine, don’t tell us why. Let it be a mystery we can look forward to solving. And if Sydney Hottiepants is in love with Dash, don’t ruin the romance by telling us. Let us interpret what she’s feeling by the way she agonizes over her decision of which flavor of lip gloss to wear.

Remember, when we meet people in real life, they don’t come with fact sheets pinned to their shirts. We have to “figure them out” by interpreting their words and actions.

Let’s face it. We humans are really good at interpreting things. It’s one of the things we do best. By giving our readers too much information, we deny our readers the pleasure of interpreting and figuring things out for themselves. Not only does it take away from the fun, but it feels shallow and contrived. Why? Because that’s not how reality works.

We may think that giving ten pages of backstory on the history of Sydney’s attraction to losers is going to make her seem more real, but it will actually have the opposite effect. In reality we never have access to all the information. We have to interpret the clues we’re given and figure things out for ourselves. It’s more fun that way — even if we get everything wrong.

RI: Pace is a critical element in modern fiction which is rarely taught. Can you give us your top three tips on pace?

JO: Sure… Tip 1) Slow. Tip 2) Medium. Tip 3) Fast.

How’s that for a fast-paced response? Of course I could have picked up the pace by writing “Slow, medium, & fast.” Or I could have slowed it down by using a plethora of multisyllabic adjectives and obscure, seventeenth century, Latin-derived inkhornisms — which brings me to my fourth point.

Readers subconsciously assume that reading time is proportional to the timing of the events they’re reading about. If a writer takes time to describe the wildflowers beside the trail, the readers will infer a leisurely pace. If the story gives a quick succession of vague impressions, the readers will assume a rapid pace — like the POV character is moving too fast to process all the visual information streaming past her eyes.

That’s why you should never describe the wildflowers while a vampire is chasing your heroine through the woods. That’s also why words like quickly and rapidly should be avoided. Not only are they evil “telling” Ðly adverbs, but they also work against what they’re trying to convey. Inserting them into a sentence actually slows down the sentence (which slows down the action in the reader’s mind even though it’s supposed to make the reader think the action is speeding up). The word slowly, on the other hand, doesn’t work against itself, and is much more acceptable even if it is also an evil “telling” Ðly adverb.

Pacing is tricky. There are hundreds of ways to inadvertently slow down a fast-paced scene. One of the worst culprits is what I call “order out of” which is when the author presents information to the reader in the wrong order. Take, for example, the following sentence:

A gloved hand burst through the wall and clawed at Dash’s face.

On the surface this looks like a perfectly good sentence, but if you look at what’s going on in the reader’s mind, you’ll see why it slows the action down. When readers read the words “a gloved hand,” they picture the gloved hand in their mind. Then, when they read further and read that the hand bursts through the wall and claws at Dash’s beautiful face, they get confused and have to readjust the pictures in their minds.

Their first impression of the gloved hand was on the wrong side of the wall. They could see it in their minds, so they automatically put it in Dash’s view, because he’s the POV character through whose eyes they are viewing the action. But when it bursts through the wall and claws our hero on the face, they have to back up and readjust the picture so that the hand is on the other side of the wall. These kinds of readjustments break the flow of the narrative and slow the pace down — usually at times when we’re trying to speed the pace up.

RI: One of the things you and I have always agreed on is that fiction is about giving the reader a “powerful emotional experience.” What are the main emotional drivers that propel a story forward?

JO: Besides the inherent pleasure we all get from reading beautiful, well-written prose, I think there are five main drivers that make our readers want to keep turning the pages. I could tell you what they are, but that would spoil all the fun. Instead, I’ll give you a hint. They’re so central to fiction that they’re written on the shelves of most book stores. That’s right. They’re the genre labels. See if you can figure it out. What emotional driver is central to each of these groups of genres?

• Mystery
• Romance
• Action/Adventure
• Thrillers, Suspense and Horror
• Historicals, Science Fiction and Fantasy

RI: Any question I should have asked and didn’t?

JO: I never know how to answer this question. I suppose it’s because I always think through all the questions I know the answers to and then reject those questions, because they’re too easy. And I avoid all the questions I don’t know the answers to because, well… I don’t want to look stupid. Which means I always end up looking stupid — whether I’m stupid or not.

Stupid question.

Okay, here’s a question you should have asked me:

Q: Who is the best author and writing instructor you’ve ever cowritten a book with?

A: The answer can also be found on book store shelves. (Hint: Search for the word “DUMMIES” written in big bold letters.)

RI: Thanks for the plug, John, but it may be a wee bit superfluous. I already mentioned my new book, WRITING FICTION FOR DUMMIES, about 5000 times last month, and I’m going to mention it again another few thousand times. But it never hurts to have you mention it too.

Thanks for your thoughts on Writing in the Shadows!

PS: John Olson has a new audio course, “Writing in the Shadows,” which will go on sale on my Web site soon. Before that, though, we’ll give you a chance to get it free — if you buy John’s latest book POWERS, which happens to highlight all of John’s ideas for writing in those pesky shadows.

Why would we give away a two-and-a-half-hour-plus audio course to you just for buying a book? For the answer to that, see the article in this month’s e-zine, “How to Run a Book Rush.”