Ksenia Anske – marasvoice.com

Rhythm Sucks

I subscribe to Ksenia Anske’s blog because she makes her writing process public, and shares invaluable insight, so helpful for every emerging writer out there. Please check her out at www.kseniaanske.com.

Her latest post has to do with the rhythm of sentences.

Read her article here: http://www.kseniaanske.com/blog/2014/6/21/vary-the-rhythm-of-your-sentences

I decided to take her advice and count the segments and words in my sentences. Needless to say, I found too many. One paragraph alone had 6-8 sentences, 2-3 segments each, 10-30 words each segment (segments are separated by commas in complex-compound sentences). That’s a lot. I use a lot of adjectives and adverbs; I’ve seen this style described as Victorian. I’m sure it has to do with the type of literature I studied in college; I’ve read so much of it that it now permeates my own writing. I’m not sure it’s a bad thing, I do like it.

BUT my sentences are too long, and convoluted at times. I try to express too many things at the same time, because that’s how I think. I do enjoy this type of writing, although it takes a master like Charles Dickens or Jane Austen to make it beautiful and easy to follow. I’m no master. I have a lot of work to do.

SO I took a few paragraphs from a second draft of my book (Yes, I’m working on a second draft, following a discussion with a friend who made some awesome suggestions). I re-wrote the paragraphs using some tips from editors, and included the segment and word count advice from Ms. Anske.

THEN I posted the paragraphs on www.writing.com, and asked reviewers to tell me which one read better: the long one, or the tight one where I really paid attention to the rhythm and varied it. 5 people agreed that the tight paragraph read better, and left no chances to wander off.

JUST in case you’re curious, I’m including those here, so you can see the difference for yourself. If you want, tell me which paragraph sounds better to you, as a reader. The original paragraph is in normal font, the revised one is in red. In one case, I even split the paragraph in two.

Oh my god, I can’t believe she’s here again, Lia’s hands started shaking at the sight of the girl she had been stalking for the past couple of months. Whenever she was around her, Lia didn’t have any control over how her body reacted. Her heart beat as it did whenever she attempted to spring and couldn’t, because she was quite out of shape. Her hands shook at the thought of making eye contact with the girl whose name she hadn’t managed to find out yet. Her stomach tightened, and involuntary diaphragm spasms caused her to choke up while speaking.

I can’t believe it, Lia’s hands started shaking. The girl she had been stalking for the past couple of months was there. Whenever she was close, Lia lost control of her body. Her heart beat as it did whenever she attempted to spring and couldn’t, because she was quite out of shape. Her hands shook at the thought of making eye contact. She didn’t even know her name yet. Her stomach tightened, and involuntary diaphragm spasms caused her to choke up while speaking.

The bar was dimly lit and smoky, and the music was loud. Patrons were busy discussing the most recent soccer game when fights had broken out and people had landed in the hospital. Lia didn’t care about soccer games. She had had enough of all the men in her family monopolizing the only TV set in the house every time a championship was on. She cupped the mug of hot red wine in her hands for warmth, and closed her eyes just for a second to inhale the sweet black pepper aroma which opened her sinuses and made her sniffle. One second of reverie, and she saw herself in Angie’s arms, kissing her rosy lips fiercely and shamelessly.

The bar was dimly lit and smoky. The music was loud. Patrons were busy discussing a recent soccer game with fights that had landed people in the hospital. Lia didn’t care about soccer games. She cupped the mug of hot red wine in her hands for warmth. She closed her eyes just for a second and inhaled. The sweet black pepper aroma opened her sinuses and made her sniffle. One second of reverie, and she saw herself in Angie’s arms, kissing her rosy lips fiercely and shamelessly.

As various friends pulled chairs close after ordering their drinks, Lia glanced over to Angie. She felt her stomach tighten again, as jealous claws poked at her heart. She would have given anything to be in the petite girl’s place. Except I’m not petite. Angie was holding the girl’s hand, caressing it softly. Once in a while, a kiss landed on that girl’s forehead, and Lia wondered what that would feel like. She couldn’t stop watching them. Angie’s piercing blue eyes were hypnotizing. Their shape, perfectly oblong and curled upwards, was perfectly symmetrical. Her hair, natural black curls, could barely be contained in some sort of pony tail which Angie kept trying to fix. Every time she did, Lia could see a small portion of pale skin between Angie’s blue shirt and jeans. She felt her heart beat faster every time she envisioned touching her there. Angie laughed. Lia smiled watching. She is so perfect, she thought. How can someone this perfect ever even see me? She would hate me, anyway. All her friends are so… small and elegant, and they wear heels in the middle of winter. I would fall flat on my ass just trying. Oh my God, if my mother knew about this, she would kill me. I gotta be home by eleven tonight, otherwise I won’t get out for a month. So many things can happen in a month. I might never see her again. That can’t happen.

Their friends pulled chairs close after ordering drinks. Lia glanced over to Angie. She felt her stomach tighten again. Jealous claws poked at her heart. She would have given anything to be in the petite girl’s place. Except I’m not petite. Angie held the girl’s hand, caressing it softly. Once in a while, she kissed the girl’s forehead, and Lia wondered what that would feel like. She couldn’t stop watching them.

Angie’s piercing blue eyes were hypnotizing. Their shape, perfectly oblong and slightly curled upwards, was perfectly symmetrical. Her naturally black curls were barely contained by a ponytail Angie kept trying to fix. Every time she did, Lia could see pale skin between Angie’s blue shirt and jeans. She felt her heart beat faster when she envisioned touching her there. Angie laughed. Lia smiled watching. She is so perfect, she thought. How can someone this perfect ever even see me? She would hate me, anyway. All her friends are so… small and elegant, and they wear heels in the middle of winter. I would fall flat on my ass just trying. Oh my God, if my mother knew about this, she would kill me. I gotta be home by eleven tonight, otherwise I won’t get out for a month. So many things can happen in a month. I might never see her again. That can’t happen.

Lia wasn’t free. She lived at home with her mother, and attending college locally. It was all she could afford. She had taken exams twice at universities in other cities, and had failed. She hadn’t even wanted to try again, this time locally, but her mother had refused to listen to her desire of just getting a job and forgetting about college. God knows they needed the income. They were all alone, and her mother worked in a retail store downtown. They barely had food on the table, and clothes on their backs. Lia wore jeans her mother modified for her, as she gained weight. She wore one pair of tennis shoes until she felt the ground scratching the soles of her feet. On her 18th birthday, their fridge was unplugged, because there was nothing worth preserving in there. Not even a cake.

Lia wasn’t free. She lived with her mother. She attended college locally, although all she wanted was to get a job. God knows they needed the income. Her mother had refused to listen to her plea, and she was now a student. They were all alone, and her mother worked in retail. They barely had food on the table, and clothes on their backs. Lia wore jeans her mother modified for her, as she gained weight. She wore one pair of tennis shoes until she felt the ground scratching the soles of her feet. Only then she could buy a new one. On her 18th birthday, their fridge was unplugged, because there was nothing worth preserving in there. Not even a cake.

SO what do you think?

WHICH paragraph sounds better?

ANY other suggestions?

Cheers.

My Humble Thoughts on the First Book of Siren Suicides by Ksenia Anske

Half way through Chapter 14 of Ksenia Anske’s Siren Suicides – I Chose to Die, and I just now decided to make some notes. I started it yesterday, and only abandoned it to selfishly write my own short story. Well, that’s not entirely true. The truth is that, after reading her entire blog, the articles about reading, writing, editing, marketing – and loving those – I was a bit afraid that I wouldn’t like her actual novel and that I wouldn’t know how to say that appropriately. I hate being disappointed in someone’s writing, especially after I already like them. Before you assume anything, this was not the case.

I should have started this document with Chapter 1 (but hey, it’s never too late, right?). I‘m doing it now, and while I am a nobody as far as writers are concerned, I do believe that people are more likely to read novels others have read and expressed opinions about. My humble opinion is that Ksenia Anske deserves to be read and taken in. Let her live on the pages in front of you, you can just feel the longing for it, and the passion that goes into every turn of phrase.

So here goes (I number ideas because it’s easier for me to keep track of them, I apologize to those who find this annoying; also, please keep in mind that I don’t have any professional training as far as writing is concerned, and some of the points are purely subjective; while I start most of the points with “I love”, THIS IS NOT ABOUT ME – just wanted to make that clear):

1. I love the idea of turning into a siren, and continue some kind of existence when all you want is to die and disappear forever. We all seem to have a fascination with what happens after dying (I personally love movies dealing with that), and many writers have dealt with the topic (myself included). However, the idea of turning into something not dead but not alive either, something so beautiful, enticing, and lethal as sirens, is just different to me. Taking an old myth and turning it into something this new and current takes, I think, a lot of talent and guts. Ksenia Anske has plenty of both, and I don’t doubt that we’ll be seeing that in all her books.

2. I love the new combinations of nouns and adjectives, verbs and adverbs, in ways that I have myself considered before but always dismissed as “incorrect”. I love that she’s not afraid of that, and the end result shows it beautifully. I will not point them out, there’re too many of them:)

3. I love that the story happens really fast, the chapters are all connected, you don’t miss any of the action. This would make a great movie, I can imagine the visual effects involved.

4. I love how Hunter addresses Ailen and her father with the typically adolescent ‘dude’. The dialogue seems so effortless and flowing, as if the writer has multiple personalities and is able to inhabit each one at a time, by pure choice, and switching between them as fast as the lines switch from one character to another.

5. This whole first book somehow reminded me of Perfume by Patrick Suskind, where the main character processes his environment through the sense of smell. The siren here processes everything through hearing: “I can’t hear a single soul.” Also, I love the way souls ‘sound’: “The first cop, his belly jiggling, his soul bitter – a mixture of clanking beer bottles and bowling balls – …” – each description of a soul gives you the perfect amount of insight into fleeting characters that are only there to make what Ailen experiences all the more intense.

6. I LOOOOVE the sarcasm!:)

7. One-word sentences: I’ve always heard/read/learned that one-word sentences are a big no-no, and thus have always avoided them even when, deep down inside, I knew they worked. I’ve been so focused on all these things that others tell me are wrong, that I completely forgot to trust my gut and go with what I feel is right. One-word sentences just work, but I had to see them used by Ksenia Anske to finally accept it completely. Thanks!

8. I love the descriptions of the city. I feel like I could take them as directions, and follow them to all the places where Ailen goes. Beautiful!

9. I love the subtle insights into the psychological makeup of the characters” “It’s devoid of any clutter, with only a few wall shelves on each side holding select tools – my father’s style of keeping everything organized with almost surgical precision.” – Ch. 18, pp. 223. These are all over the book, so just go read it yourself!

I just finished the first book of the series, and I am posting this now because I know these points will apply to the other books as well. I find myself completely trapped in the story, and need to know how it continues. Ailen’s struggle with the lack of love from her father and the doubts related to her mother is so vivid and you can’t help but wonder if she will ever get the answers she’s looking for. I don’t need to read the other two books to recommend this to others. Please go to www.kseniaanske.com and get the books! You will only understand what I’m talking about after you read them yourself.

PS. I will update this post after I read the other two. Can’t wait, although I will have to because there are people here mowing our lawn, there’s cleaning to be done (uugghh), and someone at school needs my help with a report.

The Ksenia Anske Model

“You know why I write? Because paper can’t tell me to SHUT UP.” – K. A.

In an effort to start promoting my writing a bit more (I have been lazy with it lately, mostly because I have no idea what I’m doing), I recently joined Twitter and started following a bunch of random names as they appeared in my thread (until I realized you can actually search for topics that interest you). One of the people I followed this way is a writer by the name of Ksenia Anske (she’s Russian, lives in Seattle). Her tweets got me hooked right away, and I started paying more attention to what she has to say overall. Then I visited her full profile and laughed out loud while reading her other and older posts. Then I ended up on her blog, and WOW, talk about mind blown! The way she uses the English language puts me to shame. I’ve always thought I was good at writing, but this girl is unbelievable and I would urge ANYONE with a little bit of brain function to go to her blog and REALLY READ it (www.kseniaanske.com). She’s inspiring to me, and her words got me excited about writing again. She’s insightful, witty, unexpectedly honest, and funny… all in one… You can just read her passion, it emanates from every word and envelops you so insidiously that you don’t realize it until you stop reading and ponder. Wow. Where have I been until now? Damn, my writing is bad. Oh my, so much more to learn. Maybe I should just quit, I’ll never be this good. Why am I crying? This is too much. I have to write a story now.

Anyways, Ms. Ksenia is giving away her writing for free, although people who want to support her can also buy her books on Amazon, for example, or donate to keep her writing. I’m including this link to the specific article about it (http://www.kseniaanske.com/blog/2014/5/24/what-happens-to-book-sales-if-your-books-are-free), and I’m including a short fragment here, because I couldn’t say it any better (and I just like the way she puts it):

“This is the lesson I learned, through all this fear and trepidation. Like I said in the previous blog post, I still finance myself via savings and occasional consulting gigs, but I will keep giving my art away for free, because it’s what I believe in. I believe in sharing love, and my art is my manifestation of love. I love you, and I want you to have what I can give. If you want to give back, please do. If not, I’m happy because I gave. Nothing else matters, really. I don’t know when I’ll be dead. Just reading the news today, the news of another horrendous shooting, made my hair stand on end, and filled me with sadness. What kind of a world do we live in, when one is so deprived of love, one descends to killing those who denied it? I cry as I write this. You never know when that stray bullet might catch you. We will all be dead, one way or another. Why wait? Why sit on the wealth of your love when you could be so much happier sharing it? What is money anyway? Pieces of paper that exchange pockets, a concept. This is it.”

I’m calling this The Ksenia Anske Model, which I will be following myself (don’t worry, she already knows I stole it and gave her approval: “Steal it! STEAL IT!!”). I cannot find words to express how much sense this makes to me, so I will stop now and go write another story… well, no, lots of things to fix on this blog first:) Pdf.’s to add, explanations of what this means for those reading my stuff, updates, links, etc. etc.