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Hello World!  Part III 

22 Wednesday Sep 2021

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Hello World!  Part III

Here we are, the last way to introduce your world to your readers.  It is not so much a technique as it is a writing style.  The third-person omniscient narrator. 

You will find plenty examples of this type of writing in epic fantasy novels (J.R.R. Tolkien, and Sarah Douglass are good examples) and space operas in the science fiction genres (forgive me for not naming names, but I’m not familiar with this type of sci-fi enough to recommend).  The techniques for introducing the world to the readers are rather straight forward, but bear mentioning because that’s what this is all about. 

The first technique is sweeping, extravagant description.  I would like to point out that description is a big part of writing, and appears in every story no matter what the point of view.  In first-person point of view and third person limited point of view, the descriptions are confined to what the main character can see and what they would notice, adding to the characterization of the character.  For instance, the hardnosed detective is going to notice quite different things than the college student who just discovered magic is real.  With third person omniscient narration a good place to start thinking about descriptions is the bird’s eye view, the long-distance view.  This p.o.v. isn’t anchored to one, singular spot or person, but sees everything.  It is also not anchored to one spot in time either, so these sweeping, extravagant descriptions, can start with how something might have looked in the past, or how it will look in the future before settling on the present and coming down to what the characters in the story are doing.  In looking at the world from above, from different times (past and present), a writer can freely introduce a reader to the world.

Another technique of the third-person omniscient narrator is switching to different characters.  Being everywhere and all-knowing, the narrator can focus in on several different characters to show how different pieces of the story fit together or operator in synch (or at least tandem) with other parts.  Again, this opens up the world of the story for the reader.  If one of the characters you follow is upper class, and another is poor, it shows two different versions of the world in which the story is taking place.  Every new character that a third person omniscient narrator follows shows off another facet of the world of the story. 

I would like to state that each of these narration styles that I’ve mentioned in the past three posts have their strengths and weaknesses.  The obvious weakness for the first-person point of view and third person limited is the fact that if the main character isn’t there then they can’t know about something that happened, but then that can be strength in the adding-suspense-part of the story.  Where as third person omniscient narration can seem detached from the story, and authors run the risk of inserting their own voice and opinions into the voice of the narrator. 

Ultimately, you should pick the type of narration that works for you and your story.  Play around with each, experiment, and it’s okay if the choice changes throughout your writing life, or even from story to story.

Be yourself, be well.  Write yourself, write well.

Hello World! Part II

19 Thursday Aug 2021

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The next perspective I want to talk about in introducing readers to your world is, the grizzled veteran.  This character can be a veteran cop, or soldier, or knight, or private detective, or wizard, or private detective/wizard.  It doesn’t really matter what their profession is, what matters is they have lived and worked in the world of your story for some time, enough time to be an old hand at everything that’s going to happen.

As with the S/I/O technique, this technique is best from the first person and third person limited point-of-view.  The Harry Dresden books, and the Hunger Games series are good examples of the grizzled veteran P.O.V.  Pay attention to the Hunger Games suggestion, because it illustrates that “grizzled veteran” is just a turn of phrase, as Katniss Everdeen is a teenage girl, not “old” in any sense other than in the context of her story, but she has lived in the world of the story for some time and knows about everything in it—which makes her a “veteran” of the world.

DISCLAIMER: This P.O.V. can be exceedingly fun to write in the first person, but you have to be careful with it.  The grizzled veteran, first person P.O.V. is the stuff of noir and neo-noir detective novels and movies, and as such can come off as campy or parody very easily if you don’t have a strong grasp of character voice for it, and a plot that can sustain it.

Moving on!  Unlike with the S/I/O, the veteran introduces us to the world not by having it explained/taught to them, but how they react to it.  If, while on a case/mission/walk through the neighborhood, they encounter a hellhound and they are accepting of it (note: they can be surprised to see it but still accepting), then this tells the readers that hellhounds, and associated other demonic beings, are a part of this world.  During the course of the encounter, the veteran struggles to x, y, and z to banish/kill the hellhound, then the readers now know that x, y, and z can kill/banish a hellhound and that similar things can be done to banish/kill other demonic beings.  I would like to point out that it must be clear what the veteran’s reaction is and what they do to resolve the situation; it must be clear because those are the things defining your world.  If either one of those things is vague or confusing then your world is vague and confusing.

Sometimes, to ease the burden of this character being the sole thing defining your world authors will provide them with a partner.  When I say “provide”, I mean the author put in the partner, but story-wise there could be any number of reasons this person has latched onto the main character.  In the Harry Dresden example, he is a consultant for the police, and has to have a police detective with him at all times.  The presence of the partner is a release valve for the author, allowing them to explain to the partner certain bits of the world taking some of the weight off the back of the veteran and the storytelling.  Be careful with this however, because too much explaining to the partner can lead to a flipping of the perspective, giving us an inverted student/initiate/outsider story.  The partner should be competent individual in their own right, able to take care of themselves, if lacking in certain knowledge to do that effectively.  To bring back the hellhound example, and saying the partner is a police detective, they can shoot the hound, staggering, but not stopping it, slowing it, but not killing it, and fending it off long enough for the veteran to find x, y, and z to deal with it permanently. 

One of the ways to ramp up tension in this story is also the scenes of separation, (1) the unintentional split-up, and (2) the proving myself scene.  Many of these stories have the plot device of partner/client/chosen one/loved one that need some form of protection (even the partner in this case).  The unintentional split-up is usually a trap in order to separate the veteran from the thing they need to protect, but can also come as a twist of fate, or as part of a desperate last stand where the veteran and the thing must be separate for “safety”.  The proving-myself-scene can be any of several things, but usually comes from a “I-work-better-alone” attitude, or “they’d-know-you-were-a-cop-from-a-mile-away” setup.  Whatever the reason the veteran is taking a risk by going somewhere by themselves.  Which can lead to one of two things or both; (1) it’s a trap for the veteran, (2) it’s a lure for the veteran so the “villain” can take a shot at the thing the veteran needed to protect, (3) both of these. 

Of course, you don’t need a partner/client/chosen one/loved one to protect to ramp up tension in the story with the veteran.  Another way to do that is, the “something new” approach.  With this approach, the grizzled veteran who’s seen it all runs into something they’ve never seen before.  The reason for this can be as varied as the story your telling, the threat could be ancient, or so rare as to be thought of as a myth, or could just be so gruesome or inventively sadistic that they can’t seem to wrap their mind around it.  Let’s look at the show Supernatural, the premise being, there are monsters (werewolves, ghosts, and the like) in the world, and humans, called hunters, that hunt them down and kill them.  Sam and Dean, the main characters, were raised to be hunters by their hunter father, and they are good at it, but every once and a while they ran into something they never fought before and would have to research it.  In this story they are two grizzled veterans, and partners, and brothers (loved ones).

One of the most interesting ways to make a story with a grizzled veteran interesting, and to ramp up the stakes to eleven, is to have the antagonist another grizzled veteran.  This is a person that is just as smart/tough/world weary as the protagonist, and thus can out think them.  A story with a grizzled veteran antagonist is multi-layered, with the protagonist unraveling one plot only to find out that it’s there to obscure a much darker one.  Probably one of the most famous G.V. vs. G. V. relationships in media is Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty.  Two men, one a master detective, the other a master criminal, both geniuses, dark reflections of the other.  The beauty of a Sherlock Holmes mystery was the, “how is he going to solve this one” pull of the character, but…If he solved a case, only to find more threads underneath, the reader knew Moriarty was afoot, and then the pull of the story was if he solved it. 

Be yourself, be well.  Write yourself, write well.

Thoughts in the Key of ‘qwerty’

13 Saturday Mar 2021

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This is the title to my memoir.  I called it!  You can’t have it.

I recently read a piece of writing advice that inspired this post.  I’ll give you the piece of advice so we all have some context for things.  The advice is: Have more than one project to work on; that way while you’re waiting for edits and notes from your agent/publisher/partner/reading group you have something to keep you busy, to keep your mind ready and writing. 

First, I love this advice!  I have this blog (where I try to share helpful thoughts and lessons I have/learned in my lifelong journey writing).  I also love to pen and paper roleplay (I know, big surprise), and I’m usually the Game/Dungeon Master so I’m the one coming up with the scenarios.  Even my hobby is writing, because I just can’t enough. 

I’m not crazy!  You’re crazy! 

Anyway, if you look at the archives there is a post about over preparing, and this one is going to be in the same vein as that. 

My wife has a work associate with which we’ve spent some time.  She works part-time and considers herself a writer.  To be fair to her, she does write.  She’s participated in NaNoWriMo a few years in a row, and has several partial novels from that, as well as a couple novels between 50 and 100 and some pages that she just felt inspired to start.

Can anyone see where this is going?

As far as I know, as of this writing, she hasn’t finished one project I’ve ever heard her talk about.  While it’s great she has so many ideas-SHE HAS TO FINISH THEM!  Seriously, just like in the “preparing post”, this lack of finishing even one project speaks to a fear of failure.  We’ve all been there, half way through a story and the thoughts creep in…

What if it isn’t good?

What if it doesn’t make sense?

What if no one wants to read it?

What if I can’t get published?

What if…

What if…

What if…

What if…

What if it’s fucking good?!

What if it’s the next great novel of our generation?!

What if it inspires someone else to follow their dreams and they become a doctor and cure ignorance?

The point is, you, we, us will never know any of that if you don’t FINISH. 

Which, I guess, if you’re continuously not finishing the stories you start that’s what you want.  You’re scared that people won’t like your story, that people won’t like you, that you’ll fail, but if you never finish a story you never have to share it, share yourself.  I can understand that.  My survival instinct, the way I approach every situation even now, is to not make a big deal out of things, to not make a big deal out of me.  I fade into the background, keep my head down, and live and let live.  At the end of the day though, I yearn to have a voice, to be heard, and so, I write. 

Failure can be scary, but I have to let you know: Failure isn’t not making it; failure is to stop trying.

So, finish.  Finish your story before someone else does.  I want to hear as many voices as I can. More!  I want to drown in a sea of voices sharing their stories, sharing themselves.

Write yourself, write well.  Be yourself, be well.

In Good Company Part 3

11 Monday May 2020

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So…We’re here for the final part, the part where we look at heroes and anti-heroes. Yes, I know I’ve gone over the whole protagonist/antagonist thing, but it is exactly these terms (hero/anti-hero) that I want to dissect and talk about, so that’s what I’m using.

Now, before we go any further, I’d like you to go look at an article from waaaaay back in 2006. You’ll find it here. The article will give us a base to start this dialogue. Go ahead…It’s a short article…Ready?…Okay…

The gist of the article is: how can we tell the difference between an anti-hero and hero in these uncertain times, when heroes stand on crumbling pedestals and anti-heroes are hard pressed to be “anti-” anything when it’s hard to solidly define what’s right and wrong.

Not to poke holes in another person’s writing (especially when I sent you to it), but I feel that the article starts with a false premise: that in the early 2000’s we finally have reached the age of the anti-hero. We have anti-heroes throughout the history of writing. To give you some examples: Hercules, while a “hero”, was renowned for having a berserker rage, during which he killed his family, and had to perform his twelve labors to exonerate himself; and in the original Sleeping Beauty story it was labor pains that woke her from her sleep (some true love’s first kiss). Peter Pan was a child thief, taking Wendy because she didn’t want to grow up, herself an anti-character for fighting the established order of nature (not wanting to age). Sherlock Holmes, so popular in the mainstream now, was a heroin addict. Paladin, the main character from the series Have Gun-Will Travel. Almost all of John Wayne’s characters, and about half of Louis L’Amour’s. And more, all the way up to Jack Bauer of 24 and Dr. Gregory House of House MD, possibly the two characters responsible for the “age of the anti-hero” that got everyone up in arms about the whole thing.

Let’s take a look at Jack and Greg for a moment to try to piece together what made them anti-heroes. Jack is a family man, who gets taken from his home with his family by terrorists, who he then tracks for a day, and, ultimately, foils their plans. Along the way he does kill some people, though they were trying to kill him too; he does torture some people, though the terrorists did rape his wife and are planning to kill everyone in a city (or was it kill the president?). As the article I had you read stated being an anti-hero means you’re against something (anti-), so what is Jack anti-? Is he against terrorists? Yeah. Is he against the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people? Yeah. Is he against the rape of women (specifically his wife)? Yeah. Is he against people trying to kill him? Yeah. To be fair, the anti- in anti-hero means the character is against some established norm/laws/mores, but Jack is a character in a post 9/11 America, where the Patriot Act gave sweeping powers to law enforcement when it came to terrorists and their activities, making what Jack did legal if not exactly morally right. So, some people might take exception to the means and lengths Jack went to to accomplish his job, but I don’t know many.

Greg is another anti-hero to look at, a doctor, a man suffering from an injury that causes him constant pain, and someone addicted to pain killers as a result. Now, Gregory House is supposed to be an allegory of Sherlock Holmes, a drug addicted detective, but I think the character is much more than that. First off, his addiction comes from a genuine place (as opposed to being too smart), an injury that causes him pain. The fact that he became addicted to the drugs he needed to live his life is a statement on the pain-killer industry, and something that happens to hundreds of people a year. Also, he’s not just solving riddles of rich people who have been killed, or have missing jewels, he’s saving lives. Given Greg’s intellect, he could have been anything that could have kept his mind busy, but he chose to join a profession that saves lives. To be fair, he is more anti- than Jack, in so much that he hates all the rules he has to follow in order to do his job. In which case, he truly is an anti-hero for being anti-rules, but I think more in the case of Dr. Gregory House people are using the term anti-hero to mean asshole.

The point of the article I had you read is: it’s hard to pin down exactly what it means to be a hero. The point I’m trying to make, and maybe I’ve proven it, is that people enjoy complex characters; they prefer their heroes to get their hands dirty, or to have flaws. Not only does this give them depth (makes them believable), but makes them (I think) better examples than there pristine, “I’m-with-the-status-quo”, counterparts, the heroes. Because at the end of the day, it is the “heroes’” job to maintain the status quo, to make sure everything stays the same, or to, as quickly as possible, return things to “normal”. Which is fine if you’re in the top of the status quo, but something different if you’re not. From that point of view, the hero is actually the villain.

And thus, we come back to people like complex characters, and the terms hero and villain are too narrow and childish for many stories. So, the next time you start a story don’t think hero and villain, try to think of your main character as your protagonist and see how the story develops after that.

Until next time: be yourself, be well; write yourself, write well.

In Good Company Part 2

16 Wednesday Oct 2019

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I started this off (last post) by saying that I like villains. Then going on to say I like complex characters, and going on about making characters three dimensional.

Now I’d like to shine the spot light on the villains themselves.

There is an old saying: you can judge the character of a person by the quality of his enemies. While trying to find who said this, I came across several origins, from an Arabian proverb, to Oscar Wilde, to presidents who have all said this. With so much history behind the quote, you’d think most writers would pay more attention to it.

It’s always a shame when reading a good story to find that the villain has been added seemingly as an afterthought. As if the author was half way through the story before thinking about who the villain would be, waiting until they had to reveal them before looking at them. These paper doll villains are often caricatures of themselves, either easily beaten, often comically so, and are often just there to show how good/powerful the hero is.

This is a shame, because, done right, villains bring a whole story of their own with them. A story that, many times, parallels the hero’s story, and makes the villain a dark reflection of the hero. Yes, the villain’s presence shows us how good the hero is, but only because they are held up to the comparison of how bad the villain is.

You may be saying to yourself: That’s all well and good, but how do I make a good villain?

I’m so glad you asked, and I would like you to keep this in mind. This is a quote from John Barth that several of the people in my writing group liked to toss about. “Everyone is necessarily the hero of his own life story.” To put it another way: everyone is the main character in their own heads. And to connect it all the way back to this post: the villain doesn’t see themselves as the villain, to them they are the hero.

Let me break it down for you (because quotes are all well and good, but advice is better). The villain should have their own reasons and motivations to be in the story than just, ‘I hate the hero’. Let’s do a for instance, (I love these).

For instance, in the story of Aladdin, the evil vizier is trying to find a mystic lamp to grant him power. Aladdin isn’t even the start of the story, he’s pulled in by the villain, and only after that do the two become at odds. It’s not even that the vizier hates Aladdin; it is only that Aladdin is in the way of the vizier’s ultimate goal. So, the vizier is in the story even before the hero, it is his motivations that begin the story, not Aladdin’s. To point out the dark reflection stuff: both characters are stuck in their positions due to society’s rules, though one seems happy with himself if not his position, while the other lusts for more. Both characters steal, but one does it to survive while the other does so to increase their own power. Both want the mystic lamp to elevate themselves, but one is humbled by the elevation while the other sees it as overdue.

That’s just one aspect of: the villain should have their own motivations for being in the story.

Remember though that the quote says we’re all the heroes in our own minds. So, let’s look at a story where the hero is the bad guy and the villain is the good guy. I am, of course, talking about the classic of eighties cinema, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. If you haven’t watched it, you should…Right now…I’ll wait.

…

…

All caught up? Did you love it? I bet you love it. Good. I love it too.

But Mr. Eden, sir. Ferris is the hero of the movie and Principal Rooney is clearly the villain.

To that I say: Really?!? Is that how it is?!? Okay.

Let us examine the two characters of Ferris Bueller and Principal Rooney. Let us go over what the characters do in the movie. One character: lies to his parents, ditches school, hacks the school’s computer and deletes files, he then convinces his friends to ditch school, steals a car, steals an expensive lunch (because you bet they couldn’t afford it, and just put it on the man’s expense account), and disrupts a parade (a heritage parade), commandeering it for his own adolescent ego. The other character is just trying to do his job, making sure a minor under his charge gets the education they are required by law to receive. Does he go a little overboard? Perhaps, but he keeps getting the shit kicked out of him by life through the whole movie; you’d break too I’m sure.

The beauty of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, of any good literature, is that the stories can be told from multiple character viewpoints. This can be done because each character has their own motivations for being there. In the Ferris Bueller example, we see Ferris as the hero and Rooney as the villain because it’s from Ferris’s point of view. We could easily have a movie from Rooney’s point of view where he’s the hero. (In fact, I believe that movie is called Election ironically starring Matthew Broderick as the Rooney character that time around.)

It is for this reason that I’m not a fan of the terms, ‘hero’ and ‘villain’.

But you said…

I know I said I like villains, and I’ve been using those terms through this whole post. As the Ferris Bueller example illustrates, as the quote that’s the meat in this essay sandwich states, the terms hero and villain can be tricky and complicated. Luckily there is a handy piece of literary jargon for just this situation. The terms are, ‘protagonist’ and ‘antagonist’.

If you’re a fan of my writing, you’ll know I don’t write your traditional “heroes”. For one thing, I have numerous stories from the point of view a villain/bad guy. For another thing, my “heroes” aren’t exactly the best people. That’s why I like the terms, ‘protagonist’ and ‘antagonist’. Protagonist means the person that the story follows, and antagonist means the person/thing that opposes the protagonist. I like these terms because the allow for the grayness, the muddied waters, that writing (and life) can get into. So, Ferris Bueller is the protagonist of the movie without necessarily being the hero, and Principal Rooney is the antagonist of the movie without actually being the villain.

I will leave you with that.

Remember: be yourself, be well; write yourself, write well.

In Good Company

26 Thursday Sep 2019

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I like villains.

Everyone who knows me just let out a collective, and sarcastic, ‘nooooo’.

Let me explain. I like complex characters. I like characters with layers. Characters who, if you get to know them, would be nice/interesting/kind people, if it weren’t for that homicidal streak/drug problem/superiority complex/emotional distance.

You hear it all the time, so-and-so is a one-dimensional character; or, so-and-so is a Mary Sue/Gary Stue.

To clarify: one-dimensional characters are exactly what they look like and nothing more. Horror movies (mainly from the 1970’s through mid-1990’s) are loaded with one-dimensional characters: the jock, the nerd, the cool kid/popular one/rich one, the criminal, the emo/goth/psycho one, the airhead, the innocent one/virgin. A Mary Sue (for a female character)/Gary Stue (for a male character) is someone who’s just great. They’re smart, good looking, kind, athletic, in short, they’re good at everything including being a human being.

Here are the problems with one-dimensional characters. One, they’re unrelatable. I’m sure there are those of you out there who know a jock. You might be thinking: Why wouldn’t the jock I know relate to the jock character? Well, and here’s the second reason one-dimensional characters are bad, because people, real people, are more than one thing. That jock you know could also be a father, a loving husband, a klutz, have a great sense of humor, they could write poetry. That air-head could be a great and selfless friend, a good cook, have a wonderful singing voice. The third problem with one-dimensional characters is that by boiling characters/people down to one thing you make your audience care about them less. Why should I care if the jock dies in a horror movie? But if Billy, the boy dedicated to his girlfriend, who lives with his grandmother, who happens to be on the football team dies I would care more. For instance, who’s going to tell his grandmother, and who’s going to take care of her now?

Mary Sues and Gary Stues have the same problems, but for the opposite reason. Mary and Gary are just too much of everything. They’re unrelatable because no one can be that many things. When was the last time you met someone who was good at everything? And a great person? They’re unrelatable because your readers can’t see themselves rising to the occasion and stepping into their shoes. It’s also hard to care about these characters because it’s hard to put them in danger. That locked door? I’ll pick the lock. That file we need from the computer? I hacked it. The killer is almost on us. Them? I doubled back and tricked/trapped them, we’re good now. There’s no rising action and climax, for the audience, because they know that Mary/Gary will definitely get out of it. This also renders the other characters in the story obsolete, giving them the role baggage or witnesses, just there to slow down Mary/Gary or to see how great they are.

The thing to do then is give your characters depth. Sometimes this means giving them a flaw or two. Sometimes this means letting your audience get to know them. Sprinkle in information about them and their lives outside of the story in the story. Mostly this means giving them more personality.

A couple movies you could watch that take the ideas of stereotypical roles (the jock, the criminal, the nerd, the emo/goth/psycho chick, the airhead, the innocent) and turn them on their heads are The Breakfast Club and The Faculty. In one the stereotypes are thrown together in a detention scenario and throughout the day we learn more about them, giving them depth. In the other the horrific crisis that the group goes through forces them to change and adapt. Plus, both are fun movies.

Another thing you can do is people watch. When you see someone assign them the one-dimension (jock, nerd, airhead, etc.), and try to identify what about them made you pick that. Then give them a backstory. Give them depth. Why do they look sad? Did their favorite team just lose, or did they just go through a breakup? Of all the sports, why are they into water polo? Were they the star of their high school water polo team, or was their father/mother a famous water polo player and that’s how they feel close to them? Of all the teams, why are they into that one? Is it the hometown team, or is that the team their grandfather worked for as a groundskeeper for their entire life?

Put simply, the way to stop writing one-dimensional characters is, instead of asking ‘What are they?’ you ask ‘Who are they?’.

Remember: write yourself, write well; be yourself, be well.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

01 Tuesday Jan 2019

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2018 has been a year.

Technology has brought us together, torn us apart, and has revealed many things about people and society. Society has begrudgingly, with an almost Sisyphean effort, moved forward.

One of the wondrous (and sometimes horrifying) things about technology is that it gives a voice to everyone. From the president to the prepubescent youth, if you’ve got phone then you’re just a tweet away from having your voice heard around the world.

The voices don’t stop there. In what some are calling, the “golden age” of television, we have hundreds of channels giving us, literally, millions of options for shows to watch. Netflix alone has a breadth of variety from Jessica Jones, Diablero, The Protector, and a slew of others that promote diverse voices.

In film there are fifty-four independent film companies, and these are just the ones that have “major” releases in America. There are thousands of smaller companies that release films to little or no fanfare, but still their material, their voice, is out there.

Of course, in this discussion of voice availability we can’t forget YouTube. A platform that has singlehandedly changed the face of media in the world. To name a few productions that I like: Rooster Teeth, Crypt TV, and Unconditional Love Series.

For a beginning, or struggling, writer this can seem overwhelming/intimidating/hopeless. How can your voice be heard in the auditorium of the world when everyone is screaming?

In 2018, close to three million new books were published worldwide. Publishing is still a billion-dollar industry. Self-published books increased by thirty-eight percent. (The information is out there, you just have to look for it.)

The point being: There is still a need for stories. From small town hypocrisy manifest as a monster (It), to stories of discrimination and equality (The Sneetches), to finding a relationship filled with love and trust (Fifty Shades of Grey), the written word is still alive and well. Or at least as alive and well as we want it to be. The age of the tweet, the YouTube, and the DirectTV, people are still enraptured by a good story. Words can inspire, comfort, words can change the world.

Go out there and let your voice be heard.

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language/And next year’s words await another voice.”

T.S. Eliot

Be yourself, be well. Write yourself, write well.

I’d Like to Buy a Vowell, Please

02 Wednesday Dec 2015

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I recently read an interview with Sarah Vowell in the magazine Mental Floss. In the interview she says: “…there is no one rule. Every story deserves to be told differently.” In the interview she’s talking about nonfiction writing, but the same sentiment can be applied to fiction writing as well.

I want to start off by saying, this statement was made from a perspective of confidence and experience in one’s own writing. Indeed it could be said, correctly, that as a writer you have to know what your voice is before you try finding the story’s voice, and intertwining your voice with it.

However, if you’re struggling to find your voice, listening to how the story wants to be told can be liberating and even fun. As a way to try this out, look at a story you’ve written. Pick one at random, pick one you might be having a hard time editing-you can try one of the stories that you love, but it might be harder to see it as something else. Read the story. Once you’ve re-familiarized yourself with the story, try to see it as something else. If it’s in third person, what would it look like in first person? What would change about the story? Try writing a few pages that way. If it’s already in first person, what would it look like as a series of letters/journal entries/blog posts. Again, what would change about the story? Would you lose important scenes? How could you re-incorporate them into the story? If the story follows one character, look at the other characters-supporting characters-of the story. What would the story be like from their perspective? Take a look at a short story, what would it look like as a play? Given the limitations of space in a theatre, on a stage, could the story be played out in one setting? Do you need the same amount of characters? Look at the characters in one of your stories, what would happen if you took out one of those characters and all the information/actions they do in the story? Do you still have a story? Probably, but is it the same story? If you have the same story even though you took out an entire character, then did you really need that character in the first place?

The point of doing this is to look at writing in general, and your writing specifically, in a different way. In a way that you wouldn’t normally, but may surprise you by being a way you like.

This is also a way to take chances with your writing. I’ve been in several writing groups over the past couple years, and I’ve found that many people don’t take chances with their writing; are resistant to feedback that veers the story off the path they’ve chosen for it (I’d like to sidebar the comment: this is entirely their right to do as the author, but they may be missing opportunities for the story to grow). It’s not just stubbornness that keep a writer from changing the way a story is told. It can be fear that keeps a writer from changing a story they’ve spent so much time finding in the first place. Our profession is highly subjective, and entails a lot of rejection and questioning of motives (mainly of characters). So I can understand the anxiety ensues when it’s suggested that a story you thought was done-it just needs some tweaks-could be re-written a different way.

Oh, my God! What if I fail writing it like that?!?!

It’s true. You could fail. You could fail spectacularly. There is an old saying, that people learn more from their mistakes than their successes. It may be clichéd, but it’s true. You can learn a lot from everything you do wrong, as long as you learn from it.

Let me share with you a recent writing group experience. I read someone’s story (as you do in a writing group). I’ve read this person’s work before. They are heavily influenced by H.P. Lovecraft. (I may have mentioned this person before.) So, they give the group their story. It’s a story about a society oppressed and a resistance. It’s set in an alternate, sub-reality, of magic. Here’s where I want to say that this person knows this genre. I know they know this genre, because this story hit all the beats this type of resistance-uprising story should. In the end that’s why, I felt, the story doesn’t work. It hits ALL the beats for this type of story. There were no surprises. There was nothing that jumped off the page as unique or special.

I want to put this simply: I’m NOT saying this was written poorly. It was written with thought and knowledge. What I’m saying is that it’s a bad story. A fan of this genre of story could pick up this story and enjoy it, but they won’t remember it. When asked about good stories in the genre they probably won’t mention this story by name.

I know it’s odd to say that someone who didn’t do anything wrong wrote a bad story. (If you’re totally confused about how this happens; you clearly haven’t read the last post.) But they did do something wrong: They didn’t take any chances. They stayed exactly inside the lines for this genre of story. They didn’t think about this story in a new way, and because of that it is destined to fall into the background noise of the genre.

This is sad to me, because I like this person. They are very passionate about writing, and about what they write. They’ve reached the point where they’ve modeled/molded themselves into a writer of the horror genre. Now all they need to do (What all of us need to do as writers), is break the mold.

That’s the thing to take away today: think about your stories in more than one way. Just because it’s challenging doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. Remember, at the end of the day it’s your writing. If you don’t like the way your risk turned out, trash it and go back to the original.

Well, I think that’s it for me. Until next time: Be yourself, be well. Write yourself, write well.

BOO!

31 Friday Oct 2014

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Alright let’s talk horror. What makes a good horror story? Think back to the stories that scared, or currently scare, you. What was it about them that sent a chill down your spine?

Monsters? Sure.

Gore? Yep.

Fifteen flavors of death? You bet.

But these are not the things one needs to think about when thinking about crafting a horror story. (Yes, if your story is a ghost story you need to think about why and how they are a ghost and the rules for that, but the core writing of a horror story is what I want to discuss today.) There are two core things to keep in mind when crafting a horror story: atmosphere and claustrophobia.

Again think back to the stories that scare you. What is it about the writing that you see?

Atmosphere (At-most-fear): Descriptions of things and situations are key to setting a creepy atmosphere. Saying your characters visit a cemetery is good. Saying your characters visit a cemetery at sunset is better. Saying you characters visit a cemetery at sunset on the outskirts of town and the silence of its expanse is heavy is best. The more you can draw your readers into the scene the more you can paint them a picture of what it’s like in the world of your nightmares. Descriptions are just one way to add to the atmosphere of your story; don’t forget about your characters. How your characters react to a situation, or setting, can add to the creepiness as well.

Claustrophobia (the fear of enclosed spaces): I don’t mean this in a literal sense (you don’t actually need someone afraid of enclosed spaces in your story). What I’m talking about is your characters feeling that the world is closing in on all sides, or the feeling that they are all alone in the world. Setting can do a lot of the heavy lifting here. Think about Evil Dead, Cabin in the Woods, Cabin Fever, or John Carpenter’s The Thing. These are all movies, but still stories, that place the characters in isolation. Sure the characters could run from the cabin(s), or the research station, but then what? They’ve got miles and miles of nothing around them, while they are “free” to leave whenever they want, they are effectively trapped by their environment. (As an added bonus these environments, if described correctly, can add much in the way of atmosphere to your story). Other films like Nightmare on Elm Street and The Ring (the American version, yeah I know, but I never got around to seeing the original), go about the claustrophobia in different ways. In Nightmare the setting is the suburbs but the claustrophobia is layered first with overbearing parents that restrict their children’s movements and then by transporting the kids into dreams where they are trapped by the environment in the dreams (a house, boiler room, any number of creepy hallways) and in the dream itself. In The Ring the main character is free to go and do whatever she wants, she even lives in a big city, in this case the claustrophobia comes from the time limit placed on her life. Not only the time limit, but as the deadline (ha, ha) approaches she feels more and more isolated from the world around her. As another example think of any zombie story you’ve ever read; the claustrophobia (the main source, not just the hiding out in fortified houses) comes from the fact that the characters may be the only humans left in the world. So again while they could, theoretically, go wherever they want, what would be the point?

If you nail atmosphere and the feeling of claustrophobia for your stories you might not even need an actual monster in the story, the idea of the monster might be enough.

As always when writing horror, think about what scares you and put that on the page. You’re not alone, someone else is probably just as scared of that thing as you.

Happy Halloween!

The Uncle Karl Fix Pt. 2

21 Saturday Jun 2014

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Okay, so enough people have said something about “Uncle Karl” that you’ve (begrudgingly) decided to take a look at the scenes he’s in. Hopefully there’s been a few days/weeks/months between you finishing the writing and you going back to edit. The reason for this is that time can help you get a better perspective on your story. I can’t tell you how many times I wrote something that made complete sense in the middle of the writing, but when I went back through editing I was like: Wait! What?!

So, you’re looking at the scenes with Uncle Karl. The very first thing you need to ask yourself is: What is Uncle Karl bringing to the scene?

Try to be as objective as possible. This will be difficult. Probably at some point during your re-read of the scene you smile because of Uncle Karl. It’s tempting at this point to go: Hey, I don’t know what they (your friends who have been nice enough to read your story to help you edit it and make it better) are talking about. Uncle Karl is great. I’m the cleverest motherfucker here.

Alright, stop right there. Now I’m not saying you’re not clever, and you may be the cleverest one among your group of friends, you might even be the cleverest motherfucker writing about what you’re writing about, but…BUT…what if you’re not? And even if you truly are the cleverest writer to ever write, if people are too distracted by Uncle Karl to notice then in the end it doesn’t matter.

So you’ve re-read the scene with Uncle Karl in it with the question, What is Uncle Karl bringing to the scene, on your mind. Now for the second question: What is the scene trying to accomplish? Thinking of this question re-re-read the scene. Now is Uncle Karl helping or hindering what you’re trying to do in the scene?

Obviously if Uncle Karl is helping then Uncle Karl gets to stay. If Uncle Karl is hindering Uncle Karl gots to go.

You have to do this for each scene individually. I must stress: DON’T GET RID OF UNCLE KARL IN EVERY SCENE BECAUSE HE DOESN’T WORK IN JUST ONE. The reason I bring this up is because Uncle Karl isn’t just taking up space on the page, he’s taking up space in the world of the story. You took the time for the story to have Uncle Karl in it so the story WILL have a hole to fill if you take him out.

This is actually a good segue into the coolest question of “The Uncle Karl Fix”: What happens to the story if you take Uncle Karl out completely? BA-BA-BUUUUM!

For instance what if Uncle Karl is hindering one of your scenes, but he’s there to introduce something that will be important later in the story? So Uncle Karl is hindering the scene but helping the story. Fair enough, but what does taking him out completely do for the story? What if taking Uncle Karl out forces the Main Character to be more proactive? What’s wrong with that?

What I’m trying to get at is that getting rid of Uncle Karl doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It can provide opportunities for the story to grow and move in directions you didn’t expect. From part one I mentioned my most recent “Uncle Karl” was that my story was from a character’s POV and that it just wasn’t working from their POV.

Yeah, I was upset. Something I wanted to do didn’t work. The story sucked. I had my maybe-they’re-just-not-smart/cool/into my genre-enough-to-get-what-I’m-trying-to-do moment, and once I calmed down I started thinking about the other characters in the story. When it occurred to me who’s POV it should be from all these ideas flooded into me about how I could play around with different aspects of the story, things that hadn’t even occurred to me the first time around, things that couldn’t have because the way the story was coming out. All of a sudden the story was breathing and alive again.

At the end of the day that’s all we, as writers, really want isn’t it? To have a story that’s fun to write and lives on its own.