A decidedly uninteresting collection of essays. The essays are written in a sort of univerally vanilla style, which is maybe indicitive of how writing classes are taught, but which hardly gets the reader exciting about the writing process. The exercises are hokey, and may be of interest to people just getting started on the work of writing, but will most likely be useless to anyone who has completed a few stories. "The Eleventh Draft" and "Why I Write" are much more interesting, inciteful, and inspiring books about creating fiction.

Imagine having 23 professional writing coaches at your disposal - each instructor teaching the fundamentals of writing they've perfected over the years. "Creating Fiction" is the best of nationwide creative writing programs taught by respected novelists and short story writers.

Established authors offer their expertise in these informative essays. Every entry ends with related exercises pertaining to the writing elements you've just learned. In fact, you'll find over 100 writing exercises taught in expensive workshops.

These writing essays tackle the challenging aspects of your writing venture. This in-depth guide to writing covers:

* Thinking About Fiction

* Characterization

* Point of View

* Plot, Structure and Narrative

* Style and Voice

* Revising, Editing and Marketing

Every category provides a variety of essays, offering several unique perspectives to help you perfect your craft.

Well I have not read Ms. Checkoway's book just yet, but I can say from experience that Ms. Checkoway knows writing and how to teach it. As one of my first writing instructors, she gave me tools I still use today. I know that every aspiring writer can benefit from reading "Creating Fiction."

This novel is even more trite, than the authors boring monologues on mail order brides. Rather than familiarize the reader with the subject matter at hand, the author pumps her own ego repeatedly. What I did find amusing were the multiple references to the author's own homoerotic, incestuous, and pediphilific tendencies. In a word this novel blows. literally.

This tells you more about the author than it does about China; the writer claims to know Chinese but commits some obvious howlers ("horse-horse camel-camel" for "ma-ma hu-hu") that shows she speaks very little. Much better books about China include Kristoff & WuDunn's China Wakes, the Tysons' Chinese Awakenings: Life Stories from the Unofficial China, or Jan Wong's Red China Blues : My Long March from Mao to Now.

I've read stacks of books on China--both before, during, and after living there--and I will certainly add this one to my recommendation list. There are plenty of writers comfortable with giving pure "reportage" on a foreign country they have lived in, supposedly factual accounts of dramatic encounters or distanced anecdotes about the sights and sounds, but few willing to speak honestly about how they are personally affected by that place and the people they grow close to--or the complicated reasons that motivate them to go in the first place. Why travel to another country if you aren't willing to be changed by it or admit the concerns and questions you bring with you? Why read a memoir if you want just the facts or a large scale "objective" account and not something of the writer too? Read an encyclopedia or history book if that's what you're after, although these won't give you a sense of what it is for you as an individual to be in that place. Checkoway's beautiful account of her year in Hebei Province and the lives of the Chinese women who were brave enough to tell her their stories enriched my own understanding of the women in China who had befriended me, leaving me longing to return and at the same time profoundly aware of the way travelers are constantly compelled, each for their own reasons, to try to connect across cultures and political divisions. There is a haunting, respectful quality to Checkoway's prose. She admires these women for their courage, determination, and insights, and by the end of the book, I admire them--and Checkoway--too.