Wordplay

In the 2003 film adaptation of Peter Pan, Wendy describes the stories she’s been telling the Lost Boys as “adventures, in which good triumphs over evil,” to which Captain Hook sneers, “They all end in a kiss.” Like Wendy and the Lost Boys, millions of people escape into the world of fiction to find happily ever after endings. We cheer when the good guy defeats the villain. We applaud when true love conquers all. We find hope and encouragement in the fictional examples that peace and happiness await on the other side of seemingly insurmountable trials. Without doubt, happy endings are enjoyable, uplifting, and reaffirming.

But does this mean all endings should be happy? Are sad stories with sad endings the domain of the lonely, the manic-depressive, and the masochistic?

In his essay “Writing toward the light” (The Writer, December 2010), creative writing teacher and short story author David Harris Ebenbach shares his experiences:

More than once I’ve been asked why I don’t write happy stories. I’ve been asked by friends, family, strangers, and even the president of the college where I teach. My wife, too, messed up a perfectly nice date by reminding me in the middle of my complaining about how hard it is to get published that, after all, people like to read about hope, beauty, and wonder.

Is that what we’re doing when we write sad stories? Are we squelching hope, beauty, and wonder? Or are we perhaps just exploring the opposite side of the same coin? Life is just as full of sadness as it is of happiness. To ignore that fact is to limit both our personal experience of the human existence and our ability to write truthfully about life. To cap every story with a happy ending is dishonesty to both ourselves and our readers. The moment fiction becomes dishonest is the moment it becomes useless. Novelist Aryn Kyle comments in her article “In defense of sad stories” (The Writer, June 2011):

“You should write something happy,” people tell me, and I don’t understand. Happy like Anna Karenina? Happy like The Grapes of Wrath? Happy like ... Catch-22 or ... Hamlet?

Take a moment to think about the stories that have changed your life. I’m willing to bet many of them were stories of pain, loss, sacrifice, and sin. These are the stories that speak bluntly about hard subjects and force their characters—and their readers—to face hard truths and, hopefully, walk away from the realizations as someone slightly different and perhaps slightly better. Few of us would want to subsist on a steady diet of tragedy, but all of us are better for having occasionally cleansed our reading palate with the astringent bite of these unflinching portrayals of bittersweet truth.

As writers, not all of us are cut out to write the next Crime and Punishment. Light humor is just as valuable as stark reality. But if we’re going to call ourselves authors, we need to be brave enough to stand unflinching before the truths of life, even—and perhaps especially—those that don’t end happily ever after. Readers won’t hate you for writing a sad story (although, granted, not all of them will be ready or willing to stomach it). In fact, if you execute it properly, you have the opportunity to leave an impression they’ll carry with them all through their lives.

Sad stories don’t have to be depressing stories. The stories that have broken my heart and changed my life are stories of great tragedy, but they’re also stories of great hope. That, right there, is where we find the true power of the sad story—because light always shines brightest in the darkness.

Tell me your opinion: Have you ever written a sad story you were afraid would turn readers off?

Related Posts: Eliciting Emotion

Punch Your Readers in the Gut

How to Kill a Character - And Avoid Hate Mail

_________________

Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Wordplay podcast in iTunes).

Just a quick reminder: The $.99 sale of the e-book versions of my historical novels A Man Called Outlaw and Behold the Dawn ends a week from today. If you haven’t already grabbed copies, be sure you take advantage of this spectacular deal while it lasts! Also, I’m pleased to announce Wordplay is now available in a mobile format for easy access on the go, via your cell phone or other mobile device. Check it out!

This week’s video demonstrates how to implement the all-important character transformation by using examples from the recent superhero blockbuster Thor.



Video Transcription: Personal transformations are always at the heart of strong character arcs. Our protagonists are faced with trials that force them to acknowledge their own inadequacies and then, usually, change their ways in a manner that allows them to overcome both their faults and, as a result, the bad guy. This moment of personal revelation and transformation is inherent in almost every story. Without it, your character remains static, the plot falls flat, and readers are left to wonder, Why did any of that matter? But including a transformation isn’t enough in itself. You have to offer visible proof your protagonist has changed.

Ideally, you accomplish this subtly, gradually, and believably over the entire course of your story. But you’ll need to drive the point home in two important scenes. We’ll call them “before and after” scenes, and we can find an obvious—if a bit heavy-handed—example in the recent superhero blockbuster Thor. Within the film’s first twenty minutes, viewers are given a prime “before” scene, which shows the protagonist’s faults of arrogance, intolerance, and recklessness, through his misguided attack on a neighboring kingdom. This scene gives viewers unquestionable proof of the protagonist’s flaws.

But without an “after” scene to bookend it, this original scene would be useless. So, right on schedule, just before the climax, we’re given the proof the events of the movie have changed the protagonist. When he chooses self-sacrifice over useless attack, kindness over arrogance, and forgiveness over intolerance by volunteering to surrender himself to his brother’s anger, in order to save others, viewers have no reason not to believe in the character’s radical transformation. Thor isn’t a perfect example of character arc, by any means. Its pacing and sense of proportion are skewed throughout the middle of the film, but in these two scenes it offers us an imitation-worthy example of how to prove a character’s change of heart.

Tell me your opinion: What "before" and "after" scenes highlight your protagonist's character arc?

Related Posts: What a Mouse Can Teach You About Story Arc

Change Is the Key to Powerful Character Arcs

External and Internal Conflict: The Killer Combination

You don’t have to love kung fuuuuuuu to enjoy a good action scene, but you do need to understand the basics of this integral type of scene if you’re going to blind readers from overexposure to your action awesomeness. Fight scenes, chase scenes, and other action extravaganzas appear in stories of every genre, so consider the following to make sure yours are legendary:


Realize spectacle doesn’t translate well to the page


—It mattered not how many foes he faced. They were no match for his bodacity.


Action scenes are the stock-in-trade of Hollywood’s summer blockbuster. But the likes of Kung Fu Panda (or The Matrix or Star Wars) can’t use extravagant visuals to wow readers on the page. Describing, in detail, the flying fists and impressive footwork of a kung-fu battle just isn’t quite as spectacular on the page. Authors need to recognize this limitation and work around it.


Make it about the characters


—He’s a panda! You’re a panda! What are you gonna do, big guy? Sit on me?


If you’ve stuck in an action scene just because it’s cool or just because you feel you’re supposed to have an action scene about now, it’s probably going to fall flat. Action, no matter what form it takes, must advance the plot and deepen characterization. The interaction between the protagonist and his opponent must go deeper than just exchanged blows. Who are these people, why are they fighting, and what does their fight tell you about them and their relationship?


Utilize dialogue


—The warrior said nothing, for his mouth was full. And then he swallowed... and then he spoke: “Enough talk, let’s fight!”


Action movies can sometimes get away without much in the way of dialogue, since the visual representation of the action is enough to carry the story (in The Bourne Supremacy, Jason Bourne says hardly anything throughout the movie’s second half). But, in written fiction, dialogue is the most vibrant part of storytelling. Make sure you use it to your advantage by breaking up descriptions of action with story-advancing (and perhaps scintillatingly witty?) dialogue.


Up the tension by increasing the odds


—You can’t defeat me! You... you’re just a big... fat... panda!


Even the Man of Steel needed a weakness to keep audiences from growing complacent with his inevitable victories. Your hero should rarely, if ever, have the advantage in a fight. Give him a weakness—mentally, morally, or physically—that will make readers fearful he won’t win.


Know your stuff


—I just ate, so I’m still digesting, so my kung fu may not be as good as later on.


Whether you’re writing about warfare in the middle ages, urban street fighting, or an entirely original form of martial arts, do your research. Not everyone is going to be able to spot the inconsistencies, but some readers will—and if it’s obvious you don’t know the difference between a backfist and a shadowless kick, readers who do know will drop your book in disgust.


Choreograph the moves


—Uh... I don’t think I can do all those moves right away.


Sometimes it’s impossible to accurately visualize the intricacies of a fight scene. Sometimes we just have to get out of the chair, grab a prop or two, and block them out for ourselves. Just make sure you draw the blinds, so the neighbors don’t call the cops.


Make your scenes unique


—You never seen Bear style!


Action scenes can quickly take on a been-there-done-that feel, from book to book, and within the same book. Strive to give your action scenes a unique element or slant. If, when you reread it, it feels just like that last action blockbuster you saw, it’s probably clichéd at best. Action scenes, just like dialogue, must avoid repetition under threat of reader boredom.


Shorten your sentences


—Skadoosh!


Ramp up the speed and excitement in your action scenes by choosing short, punchy words and rapid-fire sentences. Vary your short sentences with the occasional compound or complex sentence, so readers don’t feel you’re bludgeoning them, but if you find your fight scene slogging along, the slow pacing is likely due to overweight phrasing.


Know what not to show


—Legend tells of a legendary warrior whose kung fu skills were the stuff of legend.


Fights don’t need to be blow for blow. Just show us the high points. Except for moments when you’re slowing down the pacing for emphasis’ sake, we don’t need to see the character’s muscles tightening, his fingers curling into a fist, his hand drawing back and then swinging forward to connect with the opponent’s nose, knocking him slobberless. Sometimes you’re better off summarizing your character’s brilliant moves. Just say the white hat hits the black hat, and you’ll be good to go.


Action scenes can be more fun than slurping a bowl of noodles. Study to become a master of these finer points of the action, so readers can share your fun. Shashabooey!

Tell me your opinion: What's the most difficult part of writing action scenes?


Related Posts: How to write fights, games, races and chases - in 3 easy stages by Roz Morris


Use Motion to Spice Up Your Scenes


Bring Character Emotion to Life Through Action


_________________


Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Wordplay podcast in iTunes).

This week’s video shows how the classic action thriller Jurassic Park achieved lasting success through its attention to character.



Video Transcription: Authors sometimes feel pressured to dive right into the action of their stories, at the expense of important character development. None of us wants to write a boring story, and, as a result, we sometimes overreact by piling on the explosions, fight sequences, and high-speed car chases to the point we’re unable to spend important time developing our characters. Character development is especially important in the first half of the story, since readers need to understand and sympathize with the characters before they’re hit with the major plot revelations at the halfway mark and the climax.

Summer blockbusters are often particularly guilty of neglecting character development, but in Stephen Spielberg’s Jurassic Park, we have an enduring exception. A viewing of this movie provides important insight into its success. No one would claim this film is a leisurely character study, but it rises far above the monster movie genre through an expert use of pacing and loving attention to character, principally in its first half. It may surprise some viewers to realize the action in this movie doesn’t heat up until almost precisely an hour into the film. Up to that point, we have no scream-worthy moments, no adrenaline, and no extended action scenes.

Spielberg used the entire first half of the movie to build suspense and encourage viewer loyalty to the characters. By the time the storm hits and the dinosaurs attack, we sincerely care about the half dozen main characters and our nerves have been effectively strained to the breaking point through the magnificent use of foreshadowing. Spielberg, unlike so many authors and filmmakers, understood that if he could hook viewers through his characters, he could take his time building his story to an artful climax.

Tell me your opinion: Do you prefer stories to open with character or action?

Related Posts: Utilize Character in Your Opening Scene

Use Foreshadowing to Keep Readers Reading

Up the Stakes to Grab Readers

Over half a million books were published in the last year alone. Makes you wonder if maybe everything there is to be said has already been said, doesn’t it? With so many new books churning from the print mills every day, surely every idea has been done to death. What room is left for originality? You may look at the half-finished manuscript in your computer folder and then click through the latest releases on Amazon and cringe at how similar some of them sound to your own story. Are there any original stories left to be written? And, if so, how do you find one to write?

I’m about to give you the answers, but not without a most important caveat. I have to preface my answer by telling you, in all seriousness, that this is the deepest, darkest of writerly secrets. Originality is achieved thanks to a single super-secret ingredient. Brace yourselves, and try very, very hard not to scream:

The secret ingredient is…

YOU. (Hey, I did warn you it was scary looking.)

Ultimately, nothing is new under this sun of ours. What has been before will be again. The wheel of time rolls on, the seasons cycle, patterns repeat. Struggling against this inevitable truth won’t help you create the next Stephanie Meyer-esque trend. In fact, sometimes the more we try to be original, the more hackneyed our stories end up sounding. The only truly original element writers have it within their power to access is themselves. ThrillerMaster David Morell (in a November/December 2010 Writer’s Digest interview with Jessica Strawser) explained:

When I teach writing, I have a mantra: Be a first-rate version of yourself, and not a second-rate version of another writer…. I talk about [how] every writer has a dominant emotion, and if you can identify it and try to understand it, it becomes your subject matter, and it makes you different from everybody else.

No one in this world, before or since, possesses exactly your set of gifts and perspectives. No one else sees life precisely as you do. It’s true that, just as most of us learn to read using the same set of letters and symbols, most of us learn to view the world through similar frameworks and points of reference. But just as everyone who reads the same book comes away with a different mental and emotional experience, each of us also translates his knowledge of the world into a unique story.

The best of writing is honest writing. So long as you’re being brutally honest with yourself on the page, digging deep to find the buried ideas that are yours alone, beneath all the chatter and color of those half-million other ideas, you’ll never have to worry about originality. Children’s author Kathi Appelt (in a May 2011 The Writer interview with Mary Quattlebaum) drove the point home:

…I write to fill the hole in my heart. At any given time, all of us have an empty spot, one that is calling for companionship, for example, or for justice, love, romance, or a belly laugh. When I sit down to write, I look to see what hole needs filling at that particular moment. Sometimes that can be painful—but it can’t be ignored. Flat or uninteresting writing often signals something deeper that is being covered up.

Be honest in your writing. Identify the originality inherent in yourself. Then turn it loose on the page and stun the world.

Tell me your opinion: Have you ever felt your stories aren't original?

Related Posts: The Myth of Originality

Turn Cliches on Their Heads

Why Authors Must Be Honest

_________________

Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Wordplay podcast in iTunes).

This week’s video discusses some of the more notorious inconsistencies in Elizabeth Gaskell’s classic Wives & Daughters as a warning for authors to check their facts.


Video Transcription: Most authors are aware of how important it is to avoid plot holes and inconsistencies. But sometimes it’s the little details, more than the large ones, that bedevil us with their discrepancies. You’d think, as authors, we would be so close to our own stories we would instantly realize the error of calling a minor character by a different name the second time he appears. You’d think we would see our protagonists so clearly we’d never make the mistake of giving them blue eyes in one scene and brown in the next. But the sad truth of the matter is: It happens!

At least, in the days before such handy features as Word’s Find tool, authors had more of an excuse for their forgetfulness. For example, Elizabeth Gaskell’s beloved classic Wives & Daughters, published posthumously in 1866, is rife with niggling inconsistencies. She blithely—and, one would presume, obliviously—changed one character’s name from Sally to Dorothy to Clarinda and back again. Another character’s surname darted between Fitzpatrick and Kirkpatrick. The local tavern was called the George in one scene and the Cumnor Arms in another. And the opposing political alignments of two prominent families flip-flopped between Whig and Tory somewhere in the middle of the book.

Ultimately, it’s inevitable every story contain some mistake, no matter how many objective eyes have read it. The good news in all of this is that if you write as well as Gaskell, your readers will likely forgive you. But that doesn’t negate the author’s responsibility to be wary of inconsistencies. Write yourself copious notes, check and double-check yourself, and ask beta readers and critique partners to be on the watch for discrepancies. Your readers will thank you—and you’ll be able to avoid embarrassing discoveries later on.

Tell me your opinion: What's the most embarrassing mistake you've ever discovered in your own writing?

Related Posts: Killing Your Darlings

Embrace Your Inner Editor

Strengthen Your Story by Writing the Perfect Review

I’m often asked about my writing routine. What techniques have I found most useful for making the most of my writing time, getting in the groove as fast as possible, and making sure I’m writing to my full potential every day? Although my writing routine evolves in minor ways depending on what’s going on in my life and what story I’m working on, I’ve discovered that organizing my daily writing routine into a series of specific steps, designed first to center my thoughts on my story, then to ground me in the requirements of the specific scene I’m working on, then to pump me into readiness for the actual writing, helps me get the most out of every minute I spend writing. Below is a pictorial tour of my writing session. Take a look. You might find some ideas worth implementing in your own writing routine!

4:01: Outline: I refer to my outline in yWriter to make sure I remember all the details of the scene I’m supposed to be writing today.


4:05: Current Writing Journal: I warm up my creativity with an entry in my writing journal. I discuss my feelings about my story and go over ideas for the upcoming scene.


4:15: Old Writing Journal: I read an entry from an old writing journal to remind myself of the challenges I faced and overcame in previous stories.



4:17: Writing Article: I read one of my filed articles about the craft of writing, both as a warm-up exercise and a reminder of important techniques.



4:20: Character Sketches: I review notes about the character whose POV I’ll be writing from today.



4:22: Research Notes: I review a pertinent segment from my research notes.



4:24: Proofreading: I proofread the scene I wrote the day before.



4:30: Music: I choose a soundtrack.



4:30: Chocolate: I fortify myself with chocolate sustenance.



4:30: Write: And we’re off!




Tell me your opinion: What's your writing routine?

Related Posts: Journaling and Conquering Monsters

4 Reasons I Quit Writing Exercises

Create a Functional Writing Station

_________________

Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Wordplay podcast in iTunes).

This week’s video explains how Howard Hawks’s classic western Red River used the characteristic moment as foreshadowing and framing.


Video Transcription: One of the opening scene’s most important jobs is introducing the main character as someone the reader will find worth his time. This is best accomplished by opening with the protagonist in a “characteristic moment.” This moment will put the character in a situation that shows him performing an action that will figure prominently later in the plot, or, more importantly, it will illustrate a key point in his personality.

The opening scene of Howard Hawks’s classic western film Red River nails the characteristic moment. The movie begins with the main character, Thomas Dunson (played by John Wayne), leaving a wagon train to go his own way. The wagon train leader protests, saying Dunson signed a contract to finish the trip and that the train will need him as they enter Indian country. Dunson replies, “I signed nothing. If I had I’d stay.” This line of dialogue, by itself, presents a significant insight into the character. Viewers realize this is a man who plays by the rules, as he sees them, in a black and white fashion. When, later in the movie, a desperate Dunson takes it upon himself to enforce, by any means necessary, the contract his cattle hands signed, the dark turn his personality takes is a mirror image of the one we were presented with in the opening scene.

Characteristic moments are important because they provide immediate proof of the worth of your character—proof that will grab your readers from page one. But they’re equally important as foreshadowing and framing. This first glimpse of your character will prepare readers for the course he will take in the following pages and, as a result, will create a coherent, resonant story, from beginning to end.



Tell me your opinion: Does your opening include a characteristic moment?

Related Posts: What a Mouse Can Teach You About Story Arc

Use Foreshadowing to Keep Readers Reading

Strengthen Your Story With Proper Framing

I have lots of fun news to start of the week and the month!


The Interview: I was honored be included in one of The Writer’s Quarters’ “Lucky 13” interviews. You can catch a sneak peek below and read the entire interview here.

What do you find particularly challenging about writing now? What about when you first started out?
Ha! When I first started out writing was easy-peasy. I wasn’t originally interested in being a writer. I just wanted to put my stories on paper, so I wouldn’t someday forget them. I’d just pour the words onto paper and that was that. Writing didn’t become hard until I actually learned “the rules.” Stories aren’t hard. Craft is where the challenge lies. And it’s a marvelous challenge. I often tell writers they should always be writing scared, always pushing themselves to attempt something a little more difficult, a story a little more daring. If we’re not writing scared, we’re not pushing the boundaries and we’re not growing as authors. Currently, my personal challenge is figuring out how to add 40,000 words to my “completed” WIP. This is an entirely new dilemma for me, since most of the time, my manuscripts err on the side of too many words.

The Giveaway: Mystery author Elizabeth Craig is offering my CD Conquering Writer’s Block and Summoning Inspiration as the prize in the drawing on her blog Mystery Writing Is Murder. You can check out the entry rules here and find more information about the CD here.


The E-Book Sale: I already mentioned this in yesterday’s post, but just in case you missed it: The e-versions of my books (A Man Called Outlaw and Behold the Dawn) are available, this month only, for $.99. Click here to get ‘em while they’re hot!

Special Announcement: This month only, both of my e-books (available on Kindle, Stanza, Sony Reader, Palm Soc, and Epub) are a steal at $.99. Click here to learn more. Now back to your regularly scheduled post!


Why do you write? This is a favorite question in writing forums, polls (such as the one in the sidebar!), and interviews. Sooner or later, every writer has to answer this question, either for himself or some curious second party. Simple question that it is, it can be surprisingly difficult to answer. And, even after we’ve answered it, we sometimes find ourselves analyzing and justifying our answers. Does this question have a right answer?

Off the top of my head, I jotted a list of every answer I could think of. We might write to:

1. Make a mark/leave a legacy.
2. Stroke our egos.
3. Proselytize others (to a religious, political, etc., viewpoint).
4. Connect with others.
5. Explore and experience life.
6. Feed aesthetic appreciation.
7. Earn money.
8. Satisfy a compulsion (i.e., we can’t not write).
9. Create.
10. Gain catharsis.
11. Express ourselves.

Are any of these answers good reasons to write? Are all of them good answers?

In a word: yes.

As you read through the list, perhaps you nodded at most of the answers, perhaps you rejected a few (Ego Stroking and Making Money are sometimes the victims of upturned noses), and perhaps you particularly identified with one or two. But I’m willing to bet almost every single one of those answers is true of you, and every other author, to one extent or another.

If you’ve ever struggled to justify your writing to the rest of the world—or even to yourself—you might find it helpful to study the above list and organize the reasons in the order that best reflects your own motivations. Perhaps Exploring and Experiencing Life is your number one reason, while Leaving a Legacy is at the bottom. Identifying your reasons for writing can not only help you justify their value, it can also help you focus your writing so you can best fulfill those reasons.

On the other hand, you may have read the list and nodded your head at the pertinence of the reasons—without feeling as if any of them summed up your reasons for writing. Maybe your reason isn’t in that list. Maybe your reasons change from story to story, or even day to day. Maybe you know you have a reason, but you can’t put it into words. Maybe you don’t care what the reason is. Is that okay too?

In another word: definitely.

The always inspiring Jeff VanderMeer made a spot-on observation in Booklife:

Why you do something doesn’t necessarily affect the quality of what you do…. the animating impulse behind our need to write often eludes us… in a sense we not only make up stories, we make up stories about why we write.

At the end of the day, what’s important isn’t so much understanding the reason you write as it is accepting that you don’t always need an explicit reason. You’re a writer. You write. And that is enough.

Tell me your opinion: What is your #1 reason for writing?

Related Posts: Why Write?

The Validation of Money

Catharsis and the Written Word

_________________

Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Wordplay podcast in iTunes).