Wordplay

Readers want fiction to be extraordinary enough to thrill them with its strangeness and excitement. But they also want it be ordinary enough for them to find aspects they can relate to. So how’s a writer supposed to pull off this apparent paradox? How do we make our stories both ordinary and extraordinary?
In general, stories and their heroes fall into two categories:

1. An ordinary character in an extraordinary situation.

In the beginning of Star Wars: A New Hope, Luke Skywalker is very ordinary character: a slightly dopey farm kid chafing against his boring life. But when the droids bring him Princess Leia’s hidden message, he’s forced into the extraordinary situation of fleeing for his life from Imperial troops and joining the underdog Rebel Alliance.

2. An extraordinary character interacting with an ordinary world.

In Lisa McCann’s Wake, protagonist Janie Hannagan has to reconcile her extraordinary ability of being able to see other people’s dreams with her need to live a normal life, get good grades, and keep her job at the nursing home.

The contrast between the character and his world is the catalyst that drives your story. An extraordinary character in an extraordinary world is suddenly ordinary (if everyone could see other people’s dreams, Janie would fit right in and McCann wouldn’t have a story), and an ordinary character in an ordinary world is just plain boring (if we’d had to follow Luke around his uncle’s moisture farm for two hours, Star Wars would never have been a hit).

The extraordinary element doesn’t have to be bizarre. Jane Austen’s titular Emma was an extraordinary character simply because of her unorthodox beliefs and actions. Patrick O’Brien’s 19th-century nautical world in the Aubrey/Maturin series may not have seemed uncommon to those who lived in 1800, but war, in any century, is always extraordinary.

Ultimately, most characters end up extraordinary in some fashion. (After all, there has to be a reason we chose to tell this character’s story, above all others, right?) Those that start out ordinary are often transformed by their extraordinary circumstances. Luke started out as a dumb hick and ended up a powerful Jedi. Captain Jack Aubrey and Dr. Stephen Maturin were transformed from historical anonymity to heroes thanks to their adventures in the war with France.

Examine your story to ensure that you’ve balanced the ordinary with the extraordinary. Finding perfect harmony between the two will produce just the right amount of conflict between the character and his setting—and allow him to both resonate with and inspire your readers!

Related Posts: Are You Using Setting to Deepen Your Characters?

The Necessity of Conflict

What Characters Want: The Art of Frustration
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This week’s video shows discusses the pitfalls of exclamation points and italics—and offers suggestions on how to use emphasis to gain full impact.

Excitement is something we all want to infuse our stories with. Passion and power, danger delight—they all require exclamatory writing. But something we often forget is that emphasis (whether it’s in the form of italics or punctuation) should be treated like salt: A little goes a long way.

One of my favorite books is a beautifully written tale of revenge and redemption. But its otherwise lyrical and thought-provoking prose is burdened by a ridiculous amount of italics: at least one italicized word or phrase in every other paragraph. Not only does this dilute the author’s emphasis, but in places it even reverses what the author intended as a serious conversation into one that borders on the comical.

In another book I read recently, the author cast exclamation points about with a careless abandon that often stripped her dialogue of its intended tone. For example, in one passage, she reveals how she intends the dialogue to sound by telling the reader that “the softness of his voice, and the sir on the end, robbed it of offense,” but then she contradicts herself by ending the speaker’s every sentence with a fiery exclamation point.

Emphasis is a vital part of fiction, but it only works when it’s absolutely necessary. When in doubt, don’t use it. Every time you type an exclamation point or italicize a word, go back and change it. Read the sentence without the emphasis to decide if it’s really necessary. Nine times and out of ten, the sentence will flow with more subtlety and realism without the emphasis—which allows you to save your big guns for when your story really demands them.

Related Posts: How to Make Your Prose Sing 

Color Me Vivid 

Kill the Big, Fat, Ugly Modifier!

Who knew furry little rodents were such experts on story arc? Take a look at the video below to see the foundational art of the three-act structure acted out to perfection!

This charming little story features almost all of the important tenets of a story arc:

Beginning

• Begins with the main character (hereafter to be known as MC—which, coincidentally, also stands for mouse character). We immediately know who this story is about.
• Shows us the MC’s “happy world.” This is the life he has chosen to live, the life in which he’s reasonably comfortable and has no good reason to abandon.
• Shows us the MC in a “characteristic moment.” He’s a mouse; he wants cheese. What could be more characteristic than that?
• Starts with movement. From the first moment we see him, the MC is in action. No sitting around staring at the scenery for this critter.
• Includes only necessary information. No extra characters, backstory, or props clutter the scene. We only see what we need to know at the moment.
• Gives us a reason to care about the MC. Seriously, who’s not going to love a mouse who winks at us?
• Starts with the MC wanting something. From the very beginning the MC has a desire and a goal: the cheese.
• Ends with the the first major plot point. The MC’s status quo is changed forever with the sickening crunch of the mousetrap.

Middle

• Traps MC in a spiral of events outside of his control. The line of dominoes is in motion. He’s stuck in the mousetrap and anything he does from that point is affected as a result.
• Forces MC’s original goal out of his reach. The cheese is still there. He can still see it and probably still wants it on some level, but he can’t reach it.
• Gives MC new goals. The cheese is no longer the MC’s main goal. He still wants it, in the long run, but for now his primary desire is just to escape the mousetrap.

Ending

• Revives MC at the last moment. At the most dramatic moment possible, just as we think the MC is about to cave under the pressure, he bounces back.
• Transforms MC into a hero. He not only survives, he digs down deep inside, finds a spark of extraordinariness, and rises to the challenge.
• Forces MC to respond in a unique way. C’mon, now, admit it, “Eye of the Tiger” isn’t exactly what you were expecting.
• Allows MC not only to survive, but to triumph. We may have expected our mouse to escape with his life, but when he starts bench-pressing his defiance, that’s when he rises to become heroic.
• Shows MC defeating opponent. The mousetrap—and, by extension, those who set it—have been vanquished!
• Lets MC reach his goals. He reaches both his secondary and primary goals: he escapes and he gets the cheese.
• Ends with a memorable line. It’s the ending readers will remember, so make it unforgettable!

Related Posts: 9 Ways to Strengthen Your Beginning

Backstory: The Importance of What Isn't Told

 How to Write an Epilogue That Works







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This week’s video shows uses Orson Scott Card’s acclaimed Ender series to show how contrived story techniques can actually bring a whole new depth to your storytelling—but only if you use them correctly.




Video Transcription: A gimmick is a dishonest trick—and as such it’s usually not a good way to gain your readers’ trust. Gimmicks in fiction take many forms, but most simply boil down to flashy intrusions—such as when a book uses multiple fonts to indicate different points of view or the insertion of strange narrative forms, such as newspaper articles or telephone transcriptions. These things usually only serve to distract from the story by pulling the reader out of his suspension-of-disbelief bubble like a flashing neon sign that says, “Look at me! Look how clever I am to think of such a nifty little trick!”

However, very occasionally, you run across an author who not only make such aberrations work, but uses them to great effect. One such writer is science-fiction legend Orson Scott Card, whose Ender series provides a perfect example. Every chapter in this series begins with an exchange of emails between characters (or, in a few books, telepathic conversations). The emails don’t often directly affect the chapter to follow. Usually, they serve merely as a look behind the scenes at the characters’ motivations or observations. As such, they could easily have drifted into self-indulgent speechifying. Instead, Card brilliantly used them to subtly advance his plot—and even more importantly to draw his readers nearer to the characters.

How did he do this? First of all, he didn’t treat his unique chapter openers as gimmicks. You should resort to unusual forms only to convey necessary information that couldn’t have been communicated as effectively any other way. Secondly, Card didn’t take himself too seriously. If anything, the gimmick allowed his characters to figuratively let their hair down. All the snarky, funny, smart, and sometimes scary stuff they couldn’t say in the course of the plot itself comes out in the letters. The emails abound with the characters’ personalities. The result: Card not only masterfully avoided impeding suspension of disbelief, he also created a special little treat that keeps readers looking forward to the beginning of each new chapter!

Related Posts: 11 Killer Chapter Breaks 

When Not to Skip the Prologue 

Making Clichés Work for You

Everybody who loves rewriting—raise your hand! No takers? Yeah, that’s pretty much what I thought. In my experience of seven novels and hundreds of short stories, rewriting ranks way at the bottom of the writing process, somewhere down there with paper cuts and insomnia. By the time you finish your beautiful story, all you want is to be done, finished, finis. The realization that you may need to go back and redo it is exhausting to say the least.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. As I’m discovering with the rewrite of my fantasy Dreamers Come, rewriting can be both fun and easy. Following are some of the tricks I’ve learned along the way:

Let the manuscript sit for a while. Even if you’re already aware of the story’s problems as you type “The End,” don’t be in too big a hurry to start ripping it apart. Letting the manuscript cool for a while does two things: 1) It gives you the mental and emotional distance to view the story objectively. 2) It allows you to rebuild your creative muscles, so that you’ll have the stamina to tackle a major rewrite.

Keep a list. While you’re waiting, don’t ponder your story, but do let it simmer in the back of your brain. Whenever you’re struck with an idea for an addition or the realization of a scene or character that doesn’t quite work, write yourself a quick note, so that you’ll remember to consider it later, when you’re ready to get serious.

Map your scenes. To gain a better sense of your overall story—including which scenes work and which don’t—make a map of your book. Write a numbered list of your chapters and scenes. As you go, consider each scene’s importance and effectiveness. Use highlighters to indicate scenes that can be deleted, scenes that can be combined, scenes that are weak, and scenes that are perfect.

Make a list of changes to be made. Utilizing your map, create a list of directions for your rewrite. For each scene that needs work, type the number of the chapter and scene (I included a brief description as well, to help me immediately recognize what section I was working on). Beside each scene’s designation, include a brief description of the work to be done: delete; combine with previous scene; delete minor character; change references to main character’s siblings, etc. I also included some general instructions, at the top of my list, regarding changes I wanted to make throughout to my MC’s character arc, among other things.

Create a new file. Hacking up your precious work of art is always a bit traumatic, so put your mind at ease by saving your manuscript as a new file. That way, you lose none of your initial brilliance, and if you decide you like things better the way they were before, you can always return to the first draft.

Rejoice that you’re perfecting. Rewriting is hard work, but it’s also very freeing and satisfying. Raising your story to its full potential, cutting its weaknesses, and beefing up its strengths is exciting! Don’t lament the work; revel in it. As E.B. White pointed out, “The best writing is rewriting.”

Related Posts: Killing Your Darlings

How I Edit

Make Every Scene Matter
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This week’s video shows how you can mimic the movie Forever Young in crafting a slam-bang opening that hooks readers by immediately introducing a fascinating main character.





Video Transcription: Beginnings are tricky. They have to accomplish all kinds of goals in very little time and few words. But arguably the most important goal is that of introducing the main character in such a way that the reader immediately gets a sense of who this person is and why they’re going to want to follow him around for 300 pages. One of the best ways to accomplish this is by introducing your character in a “characteristic moment.” Show him in situation that brings the salient details of his personality and lifestyle to the forefront.

This is accomplished marvelously in the 1992 movie Forever Young. The opening shot features a early version of the B-25 careening through the skies, while test pilot Daniel McCormick (played by Mel Gibson) gleefully struggles to keep it under control. This action-packed opening scene accomplishes several important goals:

1. It immediately grips the viewer’s attention thanks to the high tension of the out of control plane.

2. It establishes the importance of flying, which will be a prominent motif throughout the film.

3.It introduces the historical setting, since it’s immediately established that the B-25 has just been invented.

4. But, most importantly, it weaves all these important elements into a scene that introduces main character Capt. Daniel McCormick in characteristic moment. From just the few minutes of this opening scene, we learn that Daniel is a test pilot, that he loves being a test pilot, he’s skilled, he’s good-natured, he’s reckless, he’s funny, and he’s good under pressure.

All that in less than four minutes! By time Daniel brings the crippled plane to a dramatic landing at the end of that four minutes, we’re hooked. The beginning’s skillful introduction of character means we’re more than willing to follow Daniel through the entirety of his adventure.
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I’m honored to be a featured guest poster on The Master’s Artist today. Hop on over to read my post “I Was Normal—Then I Wrote My First Story.” Below is a peek:

Before I even get started I guess I probably need to disclaim my title. The very fact that I was the type of person who wanted to write a story in the first place probably means I was never normal. Stories running rampant in my head, imaginary people demanding my attention, random bits of dialogue popping off my tongue. Yeah, most definitely not normal. But it gets better—or worse, depending on how you look at it.

Related Posts: Utilizing Character in Beginnings 

This week’s video shows how you may be unintentionally portraying your character in a misleading way—and explains what you can do to correct the problem.




Video Transcription: Because we all walk a narrow line between presenting skillful, competent, admirable characters—and realistically fallible human beings, it’s easy to unintentionally overemphasize one aspect or the other. The easiest way to do this is by showing your character exemplifying one side or the other of his personality, while only telling the reader about the other side. Naturally, the side that’s shown is going to feel much more alive to the reader, and unless you balance your description by also showing the other side of the coin, the reader isn’t going to be likely to take your word for it that this character really is something they haven’t seen.

For example, a historical mystery I finished this week featured a character who worked for an intelligence agency. In his first confrontation in his capacity as an agent, he bungles the job by allowing his emotions to get in the way. He gains almost no information and he endangers the secrecy of his mission. And yet the author insists to the reader that the character “had more skill than that!”

The author’s intent was to portray a skillful character who was carried away in a moment of fallibility, but because she never established his skill by proving it to the reader, we were left with only her word assuring us that he was skillful. An author’s assurance, by itself, isn’t going to be very convincing.

We put our fictional characters through enough trauma without sabotaging them ourselves. Portraying a character’s flaws is an excellent way to make a reader connect and sympathize with him. But, unless your goal is to portray him as bumbling idiot, be sure to balance his flaws with some successes as well. If he’s noted for his skill in some area, show us that skill before you let the character mess up. The reasons behind his anomalous mistake will carry much more weight if we’ve first seen what the character is capable of. 

Related Posts: Show and Tell

It’s What Your Characters Do That Defines Them

Character Competition: The Saint or the Sinner?

When authors whose stories have impacted the world start talking, we start listening. Take a look at the following collection of wisdom on a myriad of writing topics. Be instructed, and be inspired!


Beginnings
“Write a section or scene that comes before the place where your piece will begin, to help you become familiar with your characters, plot or setting.”—Scott Edelstein


Characters
“Find out what your hero or heroine wants, and when he or she wakes up in the morning, just follow him or her all day.”—Ray Bradbury


Description
“One shouldn’t explain beyond what’s necessary.”—William of Occam


Dialogue
“…let the emotional weight of a scene rest on the dialogue wherever possible. This is the easy way to avoid overinterpretation, which seems to be what turns a scene from sympathetic to sentimental.”—Judith Guest


Editing
“An author is one who can judge his own stuff’s worth, without pity, and destroy most of it.”—Colette


Endings
“I rewrote the ending of Farewell to Arms 39 times before I was satisfied.”—Ernest Hemingway


Inspiration
“…most of the time that which we call inspiration is just a dry, academic process: a brutal, unromantic exercise in patience. Some of us weather it, some of us don’t.”—Lee Adams


Originality
“The secret of good writing is to say an old thing in a new way or to say a new thing in an old way.”—Richard Harding Davis
Plot
“Often I’ll find clues to where the story might go by figuring out where the characters would rather not go.”—Doug Lawson


Rewriting
“The time to begin writing an article is when you have finished it to your satisfaction. By that time you begin to clearly and logically perceive what it is you really want to say.”—Mark Twain


Show and Tell
“If you tell me, it’s an essay. If you show me, it’s a story.”—Barbara Greene
Style
“The best style is the style you don’t notice.”—Somerset Maugham


Subtlety
“What I like in a good author is not what he says, but what he whispers.”—Logan Pearsall Smith


Title
“A good title should be like a good metaphor. It should intrigue without being too baffling or too obvious.”—Walker Percy


Voice
“A writer’s voice is not character alone, it is not style alone; it is far more. A writer’s voice is the stroke of an artist’s brush—is the thumbprint of her whole person—her idea, wit, humor, passions, rhythms.”—Patricia Lee Gauch


Related Posts: The Best of My Writing Library

Lessons From Another Completed Novel

Dostoevsky and the Art of In Medias Res
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In this week’s video, Daphne du Maurier’s The Flight of the Falcon teaches us how to make even the most insignificant scenes act as dominoes that affect all the scenes to follow.




Video Transcription: Analogies to stories abound, but arguably one of the most accurate is the comparison to a row of dominoes. If you imagine your story as a line of dominoes and each individual scene as a single domino, then it becomes apparent that each scene is going to have to directly influence the scene to follow—if we expect our line of dominoes to fall in perfect synchronicity. If you have even just one scene standing out of its place in line with the other dominos, the chain reaction will fail—and the story will stagger to a standstill.


So how do we make sure each scene matters?


In The Flight of the Falcon, one of Daphne Du Maurier’s little-known works, she exhibits her mastery of the domino effect. Every scene in her story, no matter how seemingly innocuous or disconnected from the main plot, has a purpose in the story. She never wastes an opportunity. Walk-on characters, casual dialogue, random bits of description—they all tie into the web she’s weaving around her readers. This is especially exemplified in a scene late in the book in which the main character, during a ramble on the beach, stops to talk to nun who is minding several children. Their conversation is the noncommittal, relatively impersonal exchange we would expect from two strangers. A few pages later, the nun leaves the scene, her part in the book complete.


At first glance, the nun’s scene might appear to be a useless intrusion into the plot, a filler while the main character awaits his appointment, or an attempt to introduce some local color into the description. But as the story enters the climax, we realize that Du Maurier made even this simple “filler” do double duty as a domino that would influence all the scenes to follow. If we can follow her example in mastering this technique, it will streamline our writing so that our stories can power ahead at full steam, unimpeded by dead weight.


Also, I was honored be interviewed by Cathy Bryant today. Check it out on her blog WordVessel, and leave a comment after the post to be entered a drawing for a FREE COPY of Behold the Dawn.


Related Posts: Should You Outline Backwards?

The Movie Factor

Backstory: The Importance of What Isn't Told