It was a little more than three weeks ago that I sat down to read Freedom with the highest of hopes. I loved the title. I liked what I’d heard about The Corrections. I liked the flap copy and loaded the novel onto my Kindle hoping that this was one of those books that would hold me spellbound from page one and take no more than a day or two to get through so I could get back to this infatuation I have going with the talented (but sometimes maddening) Henning Mankell. 

While I wouldn't say that I was outright disappointed by Freedom as a story, I was surprised by it, and not entirely in a good way. Franzen is an intelligent and very engrossing writer, whose insights on human nature I quickly came to enjoy and value. But Freedom to me in some ways felt too much like a vehicle for his thoughts and observations and too little like the gripping story I had hoped for. That said, it’s a very interesting book, in part because of the ways it manages to entertain and engage while going against the grain of many solid points of novel craft. 

As Fool’s Republic opens, Simon Wyley floats in a tiny all-white cell. A short-order cook with a genius-level IQ, Wyley has had a steady job for twenty years, paid his taxes, kept to himself. A dedicated husband and father, he’s a model citizen. So why is he being held?

Wyley is accused of committing crimes against the state—the charges are always implied, never specified—and is being held without formal charge, benefit of counsel, or due process of law. He confuses and confounds his interrogators using the only weapons at his disposal, irony and whimsy, to challenge their arrogance and false assumptions. As Wyley’s journey proceeds, we develop a deeper understanding of the complicated man behind the wisecracks and the dark underbelly of the society that has imprisoned him.

Really? Did I really write that first post without mentioning how good fiction editors are first and foremost enthusiastic readers?

Indeed I did, but only because I can’t imagine anyone seriously considering a career as a book editor who’s not an avid reader and hasn’t logged more than a few all-nighters with a book they’ve been unable to put down. So let’s assume that as a given.

In 1929, at the height of the tuberculosis epidemic, a patient dies every hour at the Waverly Hills Tuberculosis Sanatorium. Wolfgang Pike is both priest and doctor at the sanatorium, but his medicine can't cure the sick and his religion can't bring peace to them--nor to himself. He was a doctor before he was a priest, and in between he met and married the love of his life, Rose, who died tragically on a downtown street. His new life revolves around writing the perfect requiem for his late wife. But nothing is perfect enough for Rose's memory.

This is the story of THE REQUIEM ROSE, a historical novel that immerses the reader in Louisville, Kentucky between the great World Wars. Against the backdrop of political turmoil and the sweeping tuberculosis epidemic, James Markert spins a tale that's equal parts mystery, romance, and drama. The Requiem Rose was published by Butler Books and released in August 2010, and has enjoyed a warm reception since then. As Jeffrey Reed, music director of Orchestra Kentucky, said, "The movie Amadeus showed us how a requiem possibly brought about the demise of its composer, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Conversely, in The Requiem Rose, James Markert shows us how music can be a life-saving force; a reason for living." We've invited James Markert to share more about his creation here.

TED: Tell us a little bit about the genesis of the book idea.

JM: Waverly Hills is an abandoned tuberculosis hospital near where I grew up as a child and it is known to be possibly the most haunted building in the world. I toured it a few years ago fully intending to write something scary, but then fell in love with the architecture of the massive building and became more intrigued by the flesh and blood inhabitants that stayed there. So I thought, okay, what if it is haunted? And I'm surrounded by ghosts...what's their story? So as I stood out on the fourth floor solarium porch overlooking the woods, I watched the leaves blow in the breeze and imagined the sound of a violin playing, and then a piano, and the story was born.

"So why couldn't Malfoy have brought that necklace into the school -?"

"Oh, Harry, not that again..."

Many readers, myself included, echoed Hermione Grangers' frustration at that point in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

For the past few weeks we have been looking at the best-selling Harry Potter books, and the lessons that aspiring authors can learn from them. We talked about when to hold back detail, how to drop hints, and the importance of believable characters and creative worlds.

But before you think that we see Harry Potter as the Holy Grail of fiction, let's move on to Number Five: everyone needs an editor.

When Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone first released, it was a quick-read novel at just over 200 pages. As the popularity of the series grew, so did the page counts. The plots grew darker, the subplots more intricate, and at least from this editor's perspective, the characters started to repeat themselves. How many times does a reader need to hear that Harry thinks Draco Malfoy is planning something sinister? Or see the Weasley twins plotting a prank? And do we really need all those adverbs to tell us how the characters are feeling?

Diagon Alley.

The Knight Bus.

The Quidditch World Cup.

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Hogwarts.

These were not places that existed in our imaginations before we met Harry Potter, but for many readers they are now as real as Times Square.

If we, as writers, look to JK Rowling for tips on how to make our own books better (as we have been doing here at The Editorial Department for the past week), perhaps the biggest lesson is this: create a world the reader will remember.

The world that Rowling built for Harry Potter is vibrant in its detail and extravagant in its creativity. She takes well-known fantasy archetypes - wizards, trolls, giants, dragons, goblins - and drops them, unexpectedly, into the present day. According to Rowling, we could see them on our modern streets before they disappear back into the fantasy world of castles and quills.

One of the most exciting things about the small press market is the ability to publish books that cross broad genre boundaries. Joan M. Sargent's TURKOISE, billed as Visionary Fiction, is one such book. It was released by Parendi Press in June, 2010. Combining elements of historical and multicultural fiction, a touch of magical realism, and a strong romantic element, Turkoise is a multiple award winning debut novel. The story of the book's genesis--a concussion followed by vivid dreams and uncanny coincidences--is almost as fascinating as the story itself. We invited Joan Sargent to share more about the book and her creative process here.

In a journey that could heal her heart, or end her life, a young journalist grieving the sudden death of her fiancé is called on to investigate a psychiatric patient's claims of reincarnation with a soul mate across time.

TED: Tell us a little bit about the genesis of the book idea and/or how you came to decide to write it.

This week we're talking about Harry Potter. No, not the much-anticipated movie that's releasing this week (although I, for one, already have my ticket). We're talking about the books that started it all, and the lessons that authors can apply in their own Works In Progress.

Principle Two: Chekov had a gun; Trelawney had a prophecy.

Being patient and letting a story unfold does not mean that a writer should hold back major plot twists until the last minute. Within writing there is a literary technique called Chekov's gun - an element is introduced early in the story, but its significance does not become clear until later. "One must not put a loaded rifle on the stage if no one is thinking of firing it," he wrote.

There aren't many guns in Rowling's tales, but readers quickly learn that seemingly offhanded comments prepare readers for unexpected revelations. Hagrid's mentioning Sirius the night Harry's parents died prepares readers, almost without their noticing, for the inclusion of Sirius into the story later; they have already crossed a certain barrier of plausibility about his involvement because they have known for some time that he was there.

This week-and probably for weeks to come-everyone will be talking about The Boy Who Lived. It's hard to believe it's been thirteen years since we first met Harry Potter, the wizard hero of JK Rowling's epic series. In anticipation of the movie that launches the quest for the Deathly Hallows, I decided to re-read the entire series, all 3407 pages (in the Bloomsbury editions) spanning seven books. I found not just a captivating, imaginative story, but lessons in great storytelling applicable to all writers who are creating novels of their own.

We'll explore five ideas over the next few days, and look for applications to your own writing.

Road Signs: A Story of Practical Magic">Straddling the line between fantasy and literary fiction is a genre known as magical realism. It combines the poetic punch of literature with surreal and otherworldly elements to make a genre far richer than either genre alone. Our editors were pleased to work with such a book recently, and we're even more pleased to announce that Jay Archer David's ROAD SIGNS is now available to the public. "There is a road between places, between things, peoples and times. It conceals magic, bestows power-but mostly we travel it with eyes closed. David wants to open his eyes and travel farther." This is the premise behind ROAD SIGNS, and we've invited Jay Archer David to share more about his book, its creation, and his decision to self publish,  here.

TED: Tell us a little bit about the genesis of the book idea and/or how you came to decide to write it.