How to Properly Anchor Your Book

Books without anchors leave readers adrift.

The simplest anchors may help us keep track of who's who in dialogue that runs on for a page. An occasional He or She said will usually suffice. Or a gesture inserted between two quoted sentences can break the monotony.

'Do you really think so?" Jane stared into space. "I just can't see it that way."

Other anchors inform or remind us where the action's going down or how a room is arranged. How far apart are two seated characters if one of them's holding a gun? If we know that, we'll understand why B doesn't simply charge A. Or: if the narrative's divided between Seattle and San Francisco, perhaps the Seattle portions are told in the first person, the S.F. portions in the third. Or we may devise a subtler way than announcing the place with each change of locale.

The timeline should be carefully anchored as well. And this can be the devil's own business. Bold headers can give us the day or the hour at the start of each new part or chapter:

DAY ONE

or

12:00 A.M.

or

SUMMER

FALL

etc.

Or the timeline can be reinforced in a subtler way:

Two weeks after the death of Red Sands...

When details are entirely absent or are in far too short supply, we find ourselves adrift in an airy tale of faceless characters moving in and out of blurry rooms or homes, engaging in dialogue that comes from God knows which. Because of its blurred, dream-like nature, the prose can't help but fail to engage us. For all we know, the characters aren't even wearing clothes.

So then, the solution seems easy enough: when we write, it should always be 'Anchors away!'

Not so fast, though. 

Too many or too heavy anchors can quickly sink your readers

Too heavy: the mannered, nonstop repetition of 'He said' or 'She said.' In its own way, this is as phony as the prideful replacement of each 'said' with a deep purple substitute: S/he articulated...S/he pronounced...S/he uttered...S/he speechified...Variety is wonderful--if it's organic and discrete.

Too many: The equally mannered, nonstop iteration of brands/colors/fabrics/costs of all clothing in alls scenes. The cost and provenance of furniture. Etc.

Let's drop anchor as needed by readers. And let's drop it unobtrusively, simply as we can.

The result will be:

Business Cards 2: The Front Side Only Sort

Only one side of a card is required if people actually want it. And they may want it for various reasons.

Your name and/or your position

All three of these are fine. I warm most to the attitude of the first and the simple gravitas of the third. But the cards provide the contact information that the recipients crave. We don't need to know the names of Arnold's movies. Of the three examples, more is only more with the cheeky attitude displayed in the first. That comes across as something like the soul of Facebook. And if Obama's card looks too cluttered, remember this: he was trying to convey complete accessibility.

Your service

Look closely and you'll see the perforated line down the center. Contact info on both halves. A tearable divorce lawyer card is more than simply clever. It tells us how this lawyer works. The steadfast, conventional lettering conveys professionalism and reliability. And the ingenious tear design tell us this lawyer knows how to think outside the box as well. 

Your experience

Your other major selling point may be the breadth of your experience:

--Twenty years' experience

--99% acquittal rate

--Formatter/editor of 700 books

--First agent of Lady Gaga

Whether you show at a courtroom or an accident site or a literary convention, your card will open many doors if you're a proven pro.

                                                                       *****

But what about the rest of us?

Sad to say, when we're just starting out next to no one really needs us. Or at least they don't know that they do yet. Our names are unknown. We lack movie star mugs. Half the seats in our new indie business are empty at all times. Or we find ourselves desperately struggling to stand out in a wilderness of signs.

If your card tries too hard or it's cluttered...you're toast.

If it fails to at least suggest a compelling Reason Why...you're toast.

If it lacks pizzazz and personality...you're toast.

If it fails to give contact info...you're similarly toast.

No need to despair, though. A two-sided card can help you reach the high plateau where only a one-sided card is required.

Consider this yoga studio card, whose contact info's on the back:

Till next week.

This is my report.