A popular post from February 2008
by Annette Lyon
I've discussed elements in Vogler's book The Writer's Journey, which is all about the classic mythical structure of "The Hero's Journey" here and here.
Those earlier posts discussed character archetypes and one particular element of the journey (death and rebirth, or the "Resurrection" scene). I thought it was time to discuss the journey itself.
Each step along the way could take up several posts (and indeed takes up its own chapter in Vogler's book). Every story won't use every step, and they aren't always in this order. But I've found the mythic Hero's Journey to be a great guideline, a template that you can refer to when creating an infinite number of brand new storylines.
The mythical story structure has helped me to pack a greater punch in my own writing. If you can read some of Vogler's work, I highly recommend it. I know I'll never read books or watch movies the same way again. Note that The Writer's Journey is out of print, but Vogler has published other works since, and you can likely find a used copy of this one.
Using the classic movie Star Wars, here are the basic elements of the Hero's Journey:
The Ordinary World
We are introduced to the Hero and his/her circumstances. We learn who he is, what he stands for, and possibly what problem is bothering him. Very often the problem we learn about in the beginning isn't the same one we end up solving by the end, because the final problem usually has much higher stakes.
SW: Farm boy Luke Skywalker living a releatively peaceful existence. Although he's an orphan, he lives with his loving aunt and uncle.
Call to Adventure
We learn that the status quo is being upset and that our Hero must take action and go on an adventure. Often a person delivers this call (Gandalf), but sometimes it's an object (the letters from Hogwarts).
SW: We have two calls. First is for the audience, where we learn that Princess Leia has been kidnapped. The second is when Obi Wan wants Luke's help with C-3PO and R2-D2, because they hold the plans to the dangerous Death Star.
Refusal of the Call
The Hero declines the adventure, whether from a character flaw or other reason. He lacks the motivation to leave the Ordinary World, and the call must be issued again.
SW: Luke refuses to help Obi Wan. Luke's motivation changes when until Storm Troopers destroy his village and kill everyone in it, including his aunt and uncle. Now the stakes are higher, and he has a reason to fight.
Meeting with the MentorThis may happen earlier if the Mentor is acting as the Herald and delivering the Call to Adventure. Alternately, the Mentor can give the Hero a "kick in the pants" (as Vogler puts it) to get the Hero movitated and the story off to its real start.
The Mentor trains and/or teaches the Hero and often bestows a tangible gift to the Hero as well.
SW: As a Jedi himself, Obi Wan trains Luke to use the force. He give Luke his father’s light saber.
Crossing the First Threshold
The Hero leaves the comfort of the Ordinary World and enters the unfamiliar territory of the Special World. Once he crosses over, he has committed to the adventure, life (and The Ordinary World) will never be the same again.
Often the Hero will be tested by a Threshold Guardian (a character or situation) blocking his path, which he must get beyond to prove that he's committed and worthy of being the Hero. Arriving in the Special World can be another test, as we see how quickly the Hero adapts to the rules of the new World.
A "Watering Hole" scene is common after arrival, where the Hero meets locals in a tavern or other public place of food and refreshment. A brawl or other test may appear.
SW: Luke travels to find a pilot to help, and he meets Han Solo in a tavern.
Test, Allies, EnemiesThis portion covers a good chunk of the middle portion of the story. The Hero is tested in increasingly challenging ways. He learns who are his allies and who are his enemies.
SW: Han Solo & Chewbacca become Allies to aid in the rescue of Princess Leia. They get through an Imperial blockade, discover that the Princess's home planet of Alderaan has been destroyed by the Death Star, etc.
Approach to the Inmost CaveThe Hero is given an even greater test as he gets through more obstacles and must use his recently-learned skills as he approaches the darkest place that will hold the greatest danger and his ultimate Ordeal.
SW: They are pulled into the Death Star.
ResurrectionThe Hero dies or appears to die and is "reborn" with new life and determination, new lessons learned. This propels him into the final act.
SW: Luke appears to die in the Death Star's trash compactor, but reemerges triumphant and ready to fight again.
OrdealA true test of the Hero, that challenges him to draw upon all the lessons he's learned and all the skills he's acquired on the journey. He often battles the Shadow (the villain) and will have to sacrifice, often allies.
SW: The huge battle at the Death Star.
Reward—Seizing the SwordThe Hero emerges from the Ordeal triumphant, carrying the "sword," or whatever symbolizes that success, whether it's accomplishment of a mission or capture of a treasure.
SW: The Death Star is destroyed
The Road Back
The Hero begins heading back to the Ordinary World, but encounters new struggles along the way (chases are common here). He must cleanse himself of the battles he's been through.
SW: Darth Vader & his henchmen chase the heroes as they try to make their escape.
Return with the ElixirThe Hero returns triumphant, having proven himself a true Hero. He has the Elixer, which is a something valuble he has learned, acquired, or accomplished that he shares with others.
SW: Luke has (for now) defeated Darth Vader and restored peace to the galaxy.
That's a brief overview, but it should be enough to get you thinking of some of the plot structures in your own work. Do you have a death/rebirth? What is the Elixer your Hero will return with? Does your Hero have enough Threshold Guardians, blocking his way and proving his mettle?
Play with the forms and analyze some of your favorite stories to see what elements fit where. It's a great structural exercise that will enhance your writing.
Showing posts with label plot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label plot. Show all posts
Monday, May 1, 2017
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
The Great Debate: Outline or Discover?
A popular post from March 2009
by Annette Lyon
You've likely heard the debate between two basic camps of writers: those who swear by outlining and those who shun it, instead discovering their story organically as they go.
Which is right?
Well, both. And neither.
Outliners swear by the idea that if you think through the entire story from start to finish, you'll be able to write a pretty solid book in your first draft. The story will have a better shape, it won't be directionless, and you won't waste time wandering around and driving into ruts and having to back up. A lot of Outliners say that thanks to detailed outlining, by the time they've finish a first draft of the actual book, it's pretty darn close to the final version.
Discoverers, on the flip side, don't want to be held down by a strict structure. They feel like half the joy in writing is finding out what happens right along with the characters. They do end up with several drafts this way as they find their way, and yes, a lot of what they might be considered a waste of time by Outliners, but they wouldn't have it any other way.
Do you have to pick a camp and set up your writing tent there? The good news is that no, you don't. There aren't just two camps, because the Outliner/Discoverer techniques are really two ends of one big spectrum. Most writers fall somewhere in the middle.
I personally lean just a teeny, tiny bit toward the Outliner side, but I'm pretty close to center.
I can't truly "outline" a book in detail. I tried once, and when I started the actual writing, the story fell flat. I'd already "lived" it, so to speak. The spark was gone.
On the other hand, any time I've gone into a story blind, without a clear idea of where I was heading, it's turned into unstructured mush.
The way I work is first having a clear story concept (what is this book about?). I need to know roughly where the story starts. I need to know where it'll end up. I must know several major landmarks along the way, including the major conflict/s, main characters, and several pivotal scenes.
That's it. I don't necessarily know how I'll get from one landmark to the next. My "outline" is pretty skeletal, but it's there in some form. As I write and "discover" an upcoming scene, I'll add it to the outline, such as it is.
This method is my writing method. Every writer's will be slightly different. The trick is finding what works for you. Let yourself discover where you fall on the spectrum.
Try outlining and see if it works for you. Remember that outlining is a spectrum concept. You don't have to write down every detail. Try different levels of outlines. Maybe you do need an outline--just not one as fleshed out as another writer's would be.
For example, if you don't know how you'll get your characters from scene B to scene C, no worries. Figure that out later. Not knowing the bridges doesn't mean you can't benefit from an outline.
On the other hand, maybe you'd benefit from trying your hand at Discovery writing. Maybe that works for you.
Or maybe you're a mixture of the two styles, falling slightly to one side over the other, like I am.
Try several styles and learn what "clicks."
Wherever you fall, don't let anyone tell you that your way is wrong or inferior. It's just different. It's YOU.
by Annette Lyon
You've likely heard the debate between two basic camps of writers: those who swear by outlining and those who shun it, instead discovering their story organically as they go.
Which is right?
Well, both. And neither.
Outliners swear by the idea that if you think through the entire story from start to finish, you'll be able to write a pretty solid book in your first draft. The story will have a better shape, it won't be directionless, and you won't waste time wandering around and driving into ruts and having to back up. A lot of Outliners say that thanks to detailed outlining, by the time they've finish a first draft of the actual book, it's pretty darn close to the final version.
Discoverers, on the flip side, don't want to be held down by a strict structure. They feel like half the joy in writing is finding out what happens right along with the characters. They do end up with several drafts this way as they find their way, and yes, a lot of what they might be considered a waste of time by Outliners, but they wouldn't have it any other way.
Do you have to pick a camp and set up your writing tent there? The good news is that no, you don't. There aren't just two camps, because the Outliner/Discoverer techniques are really two ends of one big spectrum. Most writers fall somewhere in the middle.
I personally lean just a teeny, tiny bit toward the Outliner side, but I'm pretty close to center.
I can't truly "outline" a book in detail. I tried once, and when I started the actual writing, the story fell flat. I'd already "lived" it, so to speak. The spark was gone.
On the other hand, any time I've gone into a story blind, without a clear idea of where I was heading, it's turned into unstructured mush.
The way I work is first having a clear story concept (what is this book about?). I need to know roughly where the story starts. I need to know where it'll end up. I must know several major landmarks along the way, including the major conflict/s, main characters, and several pivotal scenes.
That's it. I don't necessarily know how I'll get from one landmark to the next. My "outline" is pretty skeletal, but it's there in some form. As I write and "discover" an upcoming scene, I'll add it to the outline, such as it is.
This method is my writing method. Every writer's will be slightly different. The trick is finding what works for you. Let yourself discover where you fall on the spectrum.
Try outlining and see if it works for you. Remember that outlining is a spectrum concept. You don't have to write down every detail. Try different levels of outlines. Maybe you do need an outline--just not one as fleshed out as another writer's would be.
For example, if you don't know how you'll get your characters from scene B to scene C, no worries. Figure that out later. Not knowing the bridges doesn't mean you can't benefit from an outline.
On the other hand, maybe you'd benefit from trying your hand at Discovery writing. Maybe that works for you.
Or maybe you're a mixture of the two styles, falling slightly to one side over the other, like I am.
Try several styles and learn what "clicks."
Wherever you fall, don't let anyone tell you that your way is wrong or inferior. It's just different. It's YOU.
Monday, December 5, 2016
Paper-Thin Conflicts
A popular post from April 2009
by Annette Lyon
Want to annoy your reader?
One of the best things you can do is to have a story that, structurally speaking, might as well be a sitcom: it's episodic. That means every chapter has its own new (shallow) problem that gets resolved by the end of the chapter (or so).
That kind of weak plot is enough to make this reader want to throw a book across the room.
While it's common to have chapters that have their own sub-conflicts and sub-plots getting resolved, you always need a bigger, over-arching problem that carries the book from beginning to end.
Yes, we want to know if Luke will get out of the trash compactor alive, but we also have that Death Star thing to destroy by the end of the movie.
Yes, we wonder what Harry will do with Norbert the dragon, but if he doesn't save the Sorcerer's Stone and face Voldemort at the end of the book, we have no story.
And sure, it's nice that Belle and the Beast have a beautiful date in the ballroom, but if the spell isn't eventually broken, who really cares?
If you don't have a big conflict, one that's complex and, well, BIG, I'm sorry, but you aren't writing a novel. Or at least you're not writing a good one that readers will care about.
Conflict is the engine that drives the plot. You need enough of it to push the story from page one to the very end. That means the problems must be deeper than, "Dang. We had a misunderstanding."
At a workshop several years ago taught by Janette Rallison, she made a point that's stuck with me: If your conflict could be resolved by a single conversation, it isn't big enough.
Of course, stories with these kinds of paper-thin conflicts never do have the two characters talking it out, even if they could solve the problem in about fifteen seconds by doing so.
A common place for these kinds of thin conflicts is in romance. The basic romance formula requires the boy to get the girl and then lose the girl before getting her back again for good. Too many would-be writers use a thin excuse for getting the hero and heroine apart: a simple misunderstanding.
So the story has a series of misadventures that drag the story on, one minor blip at a time, for a couple hundred pages or so, until the sad little misunderstanding is fixed.
Misadventures and misunderstandings work for episodes of Hannah Montana, but they aren't going to work for your book.
With a thin conflict or series of thin conflicts, you'll lose your reader, because there's nothing driving them to keep reading. They lack the, "Oh, no! What's going to happen next?" or, "How will they ever fix that?"
As our own Josi likes to put it: Get your character up in a tree. Throw rocks at them. Throw bigger rocks. And even bigger rocks. Now set the tree on fire. Then make your character find a way down.
Ask yourself:
Is my character simply up in a tree?
Or have I set the tree on fire?
Get your conflict blazing. Keep us wondering whether (and how!) your character will find a way down. Intense conflicts don't have to be of the James Bond action variety. A solid internal conflict can do the job just as well.
No matter what it is, the conflict must be big enough to carry the story and keep readers interested so they won't chuck your book against the wall.
by Annette Lyon
Want to annoy your reader?
One of the best things you can do is to have a story that, structurally speaking, might as well be a sitcom: it's episodic. That means every chapter has its own new (shallow) problem that gets resolved by the end of the chapter (or so).
That kind of weak plot is enough to make this reader want to throw a book across the room.
While it's common to have chapters that have their own sub-conflicts and sub-plots getting resolved, you always need a bigger, over-arching problem that carries the book from beginning to end.
Yes, we want to know if Luke will get out of the trash compactor alive, but we also have that Death Star thing to destroy by the end of the movie.
Yes, we wonder what Harry will do with Norbert the dragon, but if he doesn't save the Sorcerer's Stone and face Voldemort at the end of the book, we have no story.
And sure, it's nice that Belle and the Beast have a beautiful date in the ballroom, but if the spell isn't eventually broken, who really cares?
If you don't have a big conflict, one that's complex and, well, BIG, I'm sorry, but you aren't writing a novel. Or at least you're not writing a good one that readers will care about.
Conflict is the engine that drives the plot. You need enough of it to push the story from page one to the very end. That means the problems must be deeper than, "Dang. We had a misunderstanding."
At a workshop several years ago taught by Janette Rallison, she made a point that's stuck with me: If your conflict could be resolved by a single conversation, it isn't big enough.
Of course, stories with these kinds of paper-thin conflicts never do have the two characters talking it out, even if they could solve the problem in about fifteen seconds by doing so.
A common place for these kinds of thin conflicts is in romance. The basic romance formula requires the boy to get the girl and then lose the girl before getting her back again for good. Too many would-be writers use a thin excuse for getting the hero and heroine apart: a simple misunderstanding.
So the story has a series of misadventures that drag the story on, one minor blip at a time, for a couple hundred pages or so, until the sad little misunderstanding is fixed.
Misadventures and misunderstandings work for episodes of Hannah Montana, but they aren't going to work for your book.
With a thin conflict or series of thin conflicts, you'll lose your reader, because there's nothing driving them to keep reading. They lack the, "Oh, no! What's going to happen next?" or, "How will they ever fix that?"
As our own Josi likes to put it: Get your character up in a tree. Throw rocks at them. Throw bigger rocks. And even bigger rocks. Now set the tree on fire. Then make your character find a way down.
Ask yourself:
Is my character simply up in a tree?
Or have I set the tree on fire?
Get your conflict blazing. Keep us wondering whether (and how!) your character will find a way down. Intense conflicts don't have to be of the James Bond action variety. A solid internal conflict can do the job just as well.
No matter what it is, the conflict must be big enough to carry the story and keep readers interested so they won't chuck your book against the wall.
Friday, November 18, 2016
What's My Story Question?
A popular post from October 2008
by Annette Lyon
About writing a good story, Lewis Carroll reportedly said something like:
"Begin at the beginning and go on to the end: then stop."
Nice advice, but it's harder than it looks. How do you know where to begin and when to end?
Here's a good place to look: uncover your major story question.
Sure, your book will have subplots and conflicts along the way, but there needs to be one over-arching question. It needs to be posed, or at least reflected, in the first chapter. It'll then be answered in last chapter.
Sometimes the story question might be just hinted at in the beginning. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, the main question is: Will Dorothy will ever get home from Oz.?
In the opening sequence, she's not in Oz. But she is unhappy at home and tries to run away. She wants to be anywhere but home. So that sets up the ultimate question: by the end, she wants to be home more than anything else. So by the time we get the question, "Will Dorothy get home?" we all want the same thing for her. Everything she does is aimed at that one goal.
After she returns to Kansas, the movie has a brief wrap-up ("You were there. And so were you!") and it's over. The credits roll. We don't need to see her interacting with her aunt, where we see how much better things are now. The question is answered.
Often you can identify the kind of story question your book should have based on the genre you're writing in. For example, a mystery's question is who committed the murder? and a romance asks, will the boy and girl ever get together?
Some books have easily identified questions:
With your own writing, it's important for you to know what your story question is, for two reasons:
1) It tells you where to begin.
2) It tells you when to stop.
Without a good beginning, your reader (or editor or agent) won't get past page twelve (or, realistically, past page three).
And without a satisfying ending, they'll never pick up your next book (or this one will never get published).
It's not uncommon for me to see beginning writers' work where they're obviously not sure of the major story question. I can tell because the chapters flounder around with back story dumps, characters who aren't quite themselves yet, a plot that meanders without a clear conflict (or a conflict that's too thin), and a story that doesn't end when it's supposed to.
There is a reason that The Da Vinci Code ends where it does: the puzzle is solved, the characters are safe, and the bad guys are caught. All the story questions are answered.
It would be silly for Dan Brown to have continued the story so Langdon goes home, takes a shower, makes himself breakfast, and then realizes that he's rather troubled by the events of the last while and he needs therapy. And then we watch him go through therapy.
Ack! That's a new story, with new story questions. It's also a new genre. We'd no longer be looking at a symbology-based thriller.
This may be an over-the-top example, but the point is valid. Do you know when your story is over? You might not know the details of the final scene, but do you have a general idea that when X happens, it leads to Y, which answers the story question, so the story ends?
It's hard sometimes to write that last page. We love our characters, and sometimes we know what comes next, so we want to write it. But if that isn't part of the story you were originally telling, don't include it.
Maybe you can write a sequel to tell the next part . . . so long as you start at the right place and end when that story is over!
by Annette Lyon
About writing a good story, Lewis Carroll reportedly said something like:
"Begin at the beginning and go on to the end: then stop."
Nice advice, but it's harder than it looks. How do you know where to begin and when to end?
Here's a good place to look: uncover your major story question.
Sure, your book will have subplots and conflicts along the way, but there needs to be one over-arching question. It needs to be posed, or at least reflected, in the first chapter. It'll then be answered in last chapter.
Sometimes the story question might be just hinted at in the beginning. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, the main question is: Will Dorothy will ever get home from Oz.?
In the opening sequence, she's not in Oz. But she is unhappy at home and tries to run away. She wants to be anywhere but home. So that sets up the ultimate question: by the end, she wants to be home more than anything else. So by the time we get the question, "Will Dorothy get home?" we all want the same thing for her. Everything she does is aimed at that one goal.
After she returns to Kansas, the movie has a brief wrap-up ("You were there. And so were you!") and it's over. The credits roll. We don't need to see her interacting with her aunt, where we see how much better things are now. The question is answered.
Often you can identify the kind of story question your book should have based on the genre you're writing in. For example, a mystery's question is who committed the murder? and a romance asks, will the boy and girl ever get together?
Some books have easily identified questions:
- Will Harry defeat Voldemort?
- Will Lizzy and Darcy get together?
- Will Montag stay true to books and escape with his life?
- Will Langdon solve the puzzle before the bad guys do?
- Will Poirot find the murderer?
- Will Luke destroy the Death Star?
With your own writing, it's important for you to know what your story question is, for two reasons:
1) It tells you where to begin.
2) It tells you when to stop.
Without a good beginning, your reader (or editor or agent) won't get past page twelve (or, realistically, past page three).
And without a satisfying ending, they'll never pick up your next book (or this one will never get published).
It's not uncommon for me to see beginning writers' work where they're obviously not sure of the major story question. I can tell because the chapters flounder around with back story dumps, characters who aren't quite themselves yet, a plot that meanders without a clear conflict (or a conflict that's too thin), and a story that doesn't end when it's supposed to.
There is a reason that The Da Vinci Code ends where it does: the puzzle is solved, the characters are safe, and the bad guys are caught. All the story questions are answered.
It would be silly for Dan Brown to have continued the story so Langdon goes home, takes a shower, makes himself breakfast, and then realizes that he's rather troubled by the events of the last while and he needs therapy. And then we watch him go through therapy.
Ack! That's a new story, with new story questions. It's also a new genre. We'd no longer be looking at a symbology-based thriller.
This may be an over-the-top example, but the point is valid. Do you know when your story is over? You might not know the details of the final scene, but do you have a general idea that when X happens, it leads to Y, which answers the story question, so the story ends?
It's hard sometimes to write that last page. We love our characters, and sometimes we know what comes next, so we want to write it. But if that isn't part of the story you were originally telling, don't include it.
Maybe you can write a sequel to tell the next part . . . so long as you start at the right place and end when that story is over!
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
How NOT to Start a Story
A popular post from October 2008
by Annette Lyon
I'm terrible at writing opening chapters. Inevitably, I rewrite them a dozen times, and quite often, something else entirely ends up as the first chapter. Sometimes I back up further and begin earlier, and sometimes I start later. Regardless, my "first chapter" curse has become a running joke with my critique group.
But since I have my sixth book coming out in a few months, I figure I've managed to pull off a decent opening chapter more than once . . . with work. And I've learned a few things a long the way.
The biggest mistake writers make in their opening chapters is trying to include too much back story too soon. This includes throwing in numerous flashbacks.
Hint: If your book opens with your main character waking up, sitting in a bath, looking out the window, taking a shower, brushing teeth, driving to work, or otherwise not doing much of anything but thinking, or if your first chapter includes a flashback, you're starting in the wrong place.
These openings are B-O-R-I-N-G. Why? Because you're beginning with massive info dump and back story. That's not a story. That's a summary of events.
Do we need to know your character's background? Sure. (Although to "get" the story we probably need less of it than you think we do.)
And chapter one isn't the place for it. Throw us into the middle of the action, where something is happening, something is changing in the hero's life, and we see them reacting to it.
Later on, you can work in some back story, but even then, it can generally be woven in using brief snippets here and there so you never have a section where the story stops cold and the reader sits back for a giant history lesson (or, more likely, puts the book aside).
As an example, think back to Raiders of the Lost Ark and its opening scene.
Do we know that Indiana is an archeology professor when the huge boulder is chasing him, when the arrows fly, when the booby traps are set off? No. We know essentially nothing about this guy beyond the fact that he's a treasure hunter on a potentially deadly adventure.
That opening scene is engaging. Even though we didn't know much about this guy, we did see his personality through his words and actions (tackling problems with wits like using the bag of sand to get the idol, rescuing his hat even when a wall is coming down, a snake phobia on a man who, we thought, feared nothing).
Through it all, the audience is wrapped up in each frame, despite the fact that most of them probably didn't even catch Indie's name in that first scene.
Once the audience is hooked like that, then the story slows down a bit. We see Indie teaching a class and then scholarly men discussing ancient artifacts and history, trying to get him to start a new adventure.
Yes, the pace has slowed down a bit, but note that the story still moving forward. There's not an extraneous scene in the entire movie. Every single one is necessary. This doesn't pertain to just the opening of your book. Don't include scenes where characters are sitting around talking.
Every scene needs a point, whether it's to reveal character, give the reader information, add conflict, propel the plot, or something else. Preferably, each scene will do more than one thing. But if it's just there as a place holder or something to mark the passage of time, cut it.
As with any writing "rule," the info dump one can be broken, of course. Large sections of back story can work. So can flashbacks. Both can be done well. But beginning writers tend to lean on them as their primary way to tell a story, and generally speaking, there are more effective ways, and amateurism will show if all you do is info dumps.
The times I've personally seen flashbacks and back story dumps work the best have been at the hands of masters. Also at the hands of NY Times best-selling authors who have proven themselves and can now type the phone book and get a million copies pre-sold. They can break the rules because of who they are. But even they rarely do it in the opening scenes.
Are you starting in the right place? Scroll down to page five of your manuscript and start reading there. You might just have a better beginning hidden on that page. Does the action really get going there (or on page 3 or 6 or 12)? Very often the first several pages are what's commonly called "throat-clearing" and not really where you want to start.
You can also do what I do: Begin the first page with "Chapter ?" That way you aren't so stuck on the idea of this being Chapter 1 that you can't let it go or renumber it.
That little question mark can be rather freeing.
by Annette Lyon
I'm terrible at writing opening chapters. Inevitably, I rewrite them a dozen times, and quite often, something else entirely ends up as the first chapter. Sometimes I back up further and begin earlier, and sometimes I start later. Regardless, my "first chapter" curse has become a running joke with my critique group.
But since I have my sixth book coming out in a few months, I figure I've managed to pull off a decent opening chapter more than once . . . with work. And I've learned a few things a long the way.
The biggest mistake writers make in their opening chapters is trying to include too much back story too soon. This includes throwing in numerous flashbacks.
Hint: If your book opens with your main character waking up, sitting in a bath, looking out the window, taking a shower, brushing teeth, driving to work, or otherwise not doing much of anything but thinking, or if your first chapter includes a flashback, you're starting in the wrong place.
These openings are B-O-R-I-N-G. Why? Because you're beginning with massive info dump and back story. That's not a story. That's a summary of events.
Do we need to know your character's background? Sure. (Although to "get" the story we probably need less of it than you think we do.)
And chapter one isn't the place for it. Throw us into the middle of the action, where something is happening, something is changing in the hero's life, and we see them reacting to it.
Later on, you can work in some back story, but even then, it can generally be woven in using brief snippets here and there so you never have a section where the story stops cold and the reader sits back for a giant history lesson (or, more likely, puts the book aside).
As an example, think back to Raiders of the Lost Ark and its opening scene.
Do we know that Indiana is an archeology professor when the huge boulder is chasing him, when the arrows fly, when the booby traps are set off? No. We know essentially nothing about this guy beyond the fact that he's a treasure hunter on a potentially deadly adventure.
That opening scene is engaging. Even though we didn't know much about this guy, we did see his personality through his words and actions (tackling problems with wits like using the bag of sand to get the idol, rescuing his hat even when a wall is coming down, a snake phobia on a man who, we thought, feared nothing).
Through it all, the audience is wrapped up in each frame, despite the fact that most of them probably didn't even catch Indie's name in that first scene.
Once the audience is hooked like that, then the story slows down a bit. We see Indie teaching a class and then scholarly men discussing ancient artifacts and history, trying to get him to start a new adventure.
Yes, the pace has slowed down a bit, but note that the story still moving forward. There's not an extraneous scene in the entire movie. Every single one is necessary. This doesn't pertain to just the opening of your book. Don't include scenes where characters are sitting around talking.
Every scene needs a point, whether it's to reveal character, give the reader information, add conflict, propel the plot, or something else. Preferably, each scene will do more than one thing. But if it's just there as a place holder or something to mark the passage of time, cut it.
As with any writing "rule," the info dump one can be broken, of course. Large sections of back story can work. So can flashbacks. Both can be done well. But beginning writers tend to lean on them as their primary way to tell a story, and generally speaking, there are more effective ways, and amateurism will show if all you do is info dumps.
The times I've personally seen flashbacks and back story dumps work the best have been at the hands of masters. Also at the hands of NY Times best-selling authors who have proven themselves and can now type the phone book and get a million copies pre-sold. They can break the rules because of who they are. But even they rarely do it in the opening scenes.
Are you starting in the right place? Scroll down to page five of your manuscript and start reading there. You might just have a better beginning hidden on that page. Does the action really get going there (or on page 3 or 6 or 12)? Very often the first several pages are what's commonly called "throat-clearing" and not really where you want to start.
You can also do what I do: Begin the first page with "Chapter ?" That way you aren't so stuck on the idea of this being Chapter 1 that you can't let it go or renumber it.
That little question mark can be rather freeing.
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Effective Arcs
A popular post from July 2010
by Annette Lyon
by Annette Lyon
As I've read the articles, I've found it fascinating to see how applicable the very same tools are to both memoir and fiction.
Memoir is one person's memory of real events, but to be something readers want to keep turning pages on, it can't be a laundry list of events in a person's life. It needs to have a structure, a narrative arc.
One piece in the magazine, "Elements of an Effective Arc," by Adair Lara, discusses how to create your own effective memoir arc. Throughout the article, I couldn't help but think how applicable the same concepts are to crafting a novel.
Here are a few tidbits she includes, but tweaked by me a bit to fit novelists instead of memoir writers:
The Desire Line
What does your MC want most? It should fit in one sentence and be specific. "Rhea wants to be happy" isn't good enough. Think of what your MC's happiest possible ending would look like. What did they get? THAT is what the desire line should be about.
Actions and Obstacles
No story is complete without conflict. (I'd venture to stay it's not a story if it doesn't have conflict). Lara uses a formula to show how this works. It's in first person since it's talking about memoir, but put your MC in place of "I" and fill it out:
I wanted _________ (the desire line).
To get it, I ________ (action).
To get it, I then _____ (action).
But ________ (obstacle) got in my way.
So I ________ (action).
And so on (many times) throughout the book.
Characters we love are those who want something and act on it. They don't sit around and react to life as it happens around them. They make things happen. Since they're active in the story, they naturally run into obstacles (hence, conflict).
They then try to find a way around those obstacles. (Still being active participants in events.)
That creates a story, especially when the desire line is compelling enough that the reader wants the MC to get what's in the Desire Line as much as the MC does.
Emotional Beats
Lara describes emotional beats as shifts in emotion that lead to events, which lead to obstacles. Emotion is what drives a story. When your MC feels something strongly (positive or negative), they take action. And then they run into an obstacle.
Example:
Belle is terrified of the Beast (Emotion)
So in spite of her promise, she runs away. (Action)
But a wolf pack attacks her. (Obstacle)
Check out page 37 of WD to see the graph Lara has there of an effective arc.
She includes the Inciting Incident, the first emotional beat and the moment things change in your MC's life. Beats will ramp up. Some will be life-altering, while others won't be quite so intense, but they should all point toward the desire line: what is motivating your character to keep moving through these emotions, toward action, around obstacles?
The Ending Incident
Someone once said that to write a good story, you start at the beginning, tell the story, and when it's over, stop.
Much easier said than done.
Knowing when the story is over and to stop writing is a tricky, especially for something as big as a novel, where there are loose ends to wrap up. But knowing where to end is a must: you can't go on and on and on once the major conflict is resolved.
To put it in Lara's terms: once your MC has achieve their Desire Line, the story is over. The MC has what they want/need. The end.
Granted, it's not quite that simple, but the concepts she outlines for a memoir arc are sound and worth paying attention to as you map out your novel.
WHAT does your MC want? What will get him/her to that place? What does finding that thing look like in your story?
When your MC reaches whatever that thing is (assuming you're going for a happy ending), that's where your arc comes down, and therefore, the story, ends. If your story doesn't end happily, the arc still needs to come down in a satisfying way: maybe the MC realizes they want something else and get that. Or they find that they can't get it, and they go through the process of accepting that. Whatever it is, the arc must be satisfying.
If you're stuck in the middle of your book, stand back and analyze the elements of your arc.
- Do you have strong emotional beats where they're needed to propel the action?
- Are your obstacles big enough?
- Are the obstacles a result of the action your MC took?
- Do the emotional beats/actions/obstacles bring your MC closer to what they want in the end?
Whether it's with memoir or fiction, readers need something to hook onto, something to grip them and keep them turning pages. A solid arc will do that for you.
(For the full article, see pages 34-38. Adair Lara teaches memoir writing.)
Monday, May 23, 2016
Tips on the First Draft
A popular post from June 2010
I stumbled across this fantastic vlog made by Joanna Penn, writer, speaker, and aspiring novelist, as she chronicles her progress and lessons learned as she writes the first draft of her novel.
I stumbled across this fantastic vlog made by Joanna Penn, writer, speaker, and aspiring novelist, as she chronicles her progress and lessons learned as she writes the first draft of her novel.
It's about 5 minutes long and definitely worth the time.
A few things to note as you watch:
- You may not need a strict outline, but some kind of outline or idea of where you're headed helps.
- You may get an "aha" moment that changes your outline. That's OKAY. (And probably fantastic.)
- Set specific goals for yourself. Personal deadlines are awesome.
- Be realistic. Even though she's thousands of words from crossing the first-draft finish line, Joanna is fully aware that it's a first draft and that after crossing one finish line, there are more ahead: revisions and editing. Lots of both.
- Push yourself to write. Don't wait for the muse. The muse may well show up in the middle of a session you forced yourself into.
- Research can not only make your story more accurate, but it can make it come alive and even spark plot and character ideas.
Monday, March 28, 2016
The Artistic Process of Writing
A popular post from August 2011
by Heather Moore
Disney/Hyperion editor, Lisa Yoskowitz, says that writing is an artistic process—there is no right or wrong way to write (Writers & Illustrators for Young Readers Conference, June 2011).
In fact, when I started drafting this blog, I changed the font style and font size to what I like to write in. In her June presentation, Lisa continued to discuss various ways of plotting/drafting, which all ultimately end up with the same end result: a book.
Because every writer approaches writing differently, I find it interesting to hear about various methods. Lisa discussed several methods:
1. Character Bible
2. Outlining
3. Storyboard/diagram
4. Dive right in (or most often called “discovery”)
I fit into category #4 when I first start writing a book. As I continue to write, I find myself creating a mini Character Bible, and also jotting down plot ideas at the end of my manuscript. This seems to be the most effective way for me. Bottom line is that we all have our own methods and idiosyncrasies, just like any other artist.
If you’re a hard-core outliner, Lisa cautions writers to make sure the characters are strong, and your voice and pacing excellent. Don’t give your writing so much over to plot, but keep that balance. According to Lisa, as well as many other agents/editors I’ve heard from, she can tell by the first page if she wants to keep reading a manuscript.
Most of the time, all we get is that one page. The best exercise I’ve come up with in order to analyze whether my first pages pop out is to read a series of “first pages” from authors I love or in the genre I’m writing in. This is also a great way to study voice—that ever elusive intangible.
What are your writing methods?
Monday, February 1, 2016
Making It to "The End"
A popular post from November 2011
by Annette Lyon
by Annette Lyon
Earlier this week, I had the chance to speak to a high school creative writing class. One question I got:
What to do when you have several partial books, but keep running into road blocks, so you abandon the story and start another one?
This young woman had several partial books, but not one finished one. What to do?
Here's the advice I gave, plus a bit more (since I have more time here):
Two pieces of advice:
1) Read up on plot structure.
Chances are, the plot ran into a ditch because you don't know where it was supposed to go or how to steer it. That doesn't mean you have to outline everything, but it does mean understanding how plots work: their structure.
Some writing books I recommend:
Scene and Structure, by Jack Bickham
This book pretty much blew my mind back when I first read it in about 2004. It's a great resource for teaching structure on a scene/sequel level. (If you don't know what a sequel is, you need this book.) It goes into scene questions and the possible answers, how to fix wrong turns, and how to find the crux of the story. Fantastic.
The Writer's Journey, by Christopher Vogler
Another book that had my head spinning. But when I finally got my bearings, it proved immensely useful. It's actually a screenwriting book that uses the classic Hero's Journey as a model. Many people think the archetypal Hero's Journey belongs solidly in fantasy and science fiction, but not so.
The first book I drafted after reading this book (a historical romance) was the easiest book I've ever drafted. I often looked at the plot and pondered what was missing or how I could improve this or that based on archetypal characters and Hero's Journey elements. And I always found a solution.
Story, by Robert McKee
A couple of years ago at a writing conference I attended, I heard this book referred to over and over again, so I finally jotted down the title and author and ordered it.
Story Engineering, by Larry Brooks
I've heard mixed reviews here, some people saying it's their new writing bible, while others say it's stuff they've already heard (the latter is generally from writer veterans).
Save the Cat, by Blake Snyder
Yet another screenwriting book. I've found that learning about story structure through film is easier to grasp than on a book level: you can watch a movie in a couple of hours and watch the elements unfold. It's also easier for writers to refer to movies and have a good chance that the readers have seen many of them and therefore understand the concepts. Another writing bible here.
Read Industry Blogs
When I first started writing in 1994, most people didn't have e-mail addresses, let alone access to the massive amounts of information available on the Internet today. Now, you can consult Dr. Google to learn just about anything.
Need to know how to craft a query letter? How advances and royalties work? The difference between genres and markets? The answers are a search away.
A few great blogs to get you started (be sure to check the archives for questions that may have already been answered):
- Janet Reid
- Query Shark (A query critique blog run by Janet Reid)
- Rachelle Gardner
- BookEnds
- Nathan Bransford
- Steven Pressfield
Podcasts
Sometimes hearing it from the horse's mouth (from people already successful in the field) is more helpful than anything. Podcasts are typically short (15 to 30 minutes). I'll download several episodes to my iPod and listen as I clean house or drive.
Some particularly useful podcasts:
- The Appendix (About to take a hiatus, but it's got a great archive. Also: I've been a guest a few times!)
- Writing Excuses (With big-time writers like Brandon Sanderson, Dan Wells, Howard Taylor, and Mary Robinette Kowal)
- Word Play (Especially for MG and YA writers, with Nathan Bransford, James Dashner, and J. Scott Savage)
2) My other piece of advice is to plant your behind in the chair and write.
There's nothing like actually finishing a manuscript, even if it's not the best. Coming to the end of a story is an accomplishment unlike any other, and it gives you the vision that yes, you can succeed. And do it again.
If you need a kick in the pants to keep yourself writing, order, read, highlight, and keep at your fingertips for further reading Steven Pressfield's The War of Art.
You'll thank me on that one.
Friday, December 11, 2015
Scatter Plots
A popular post from August 2011
By Julie Wright
Last week I was sitting on the couch catching up on my reading and my daughter was doing her homework on the floor in front of me. She mumbled the phrase, "scatterplots."
I looked down because whatever she was saying had something to do with plots and that always catches my attention. Turns out she was doing math. She tried to explain scatter plots as being a bunch of points on a graph. She tried to explain what those points did or why anyone cared they were on a graph, but all I heard was blah blah blah. It was math. I do not get math at all.
But it did get me to thinking about a book I read last year that will remain nameless. If I were to give that book a one word summary, scatterplots would do quite nicely.
They were tons of various plots in this book, which is okay--a book with several subplots has depth and provides a richer reading experience. However, none of these were even remotely related. You almost felt side-swiped when a new one showed up. This was the sort of plot structure that left you scratching your head and saying, "What was that? Where did that come from?" And not in the tone that would indicate that the new element was cool or anything, but more a tone of, "I am returning this book to the bookstore and demanding a refund."
Wiki says that: a plot is all the events in a story particularly rendered toward the achievement of some particular artistic or emotional effect or general theme.
A plot answers all those why and what questions. And like I said, it's good to have a main plot and then several subplots because that layering adds depth to your manuscript. But the plots need to work together in a way that makes sense. Characters have to have motivation for moving along in a plot line.
And beware coincidence. coincidence is not your friend. I know that coincidence happens in reality (ask me to tell you about the story of my husband and I getting together sometime). Believe me; I know coincidence happens in reality, but it's a cheater tool in fiction unless you can masterfully hide it under motivation and circumstance.
Plot is the result of your characters, their conflicts, and the way they handle--or don't handle--their conflicts. For me plot works best when it is dictated by the character's choices, their wants, needs, fears, but then I am a character driven writer. Some people are plot driven writers, which means they are driven by the circumstances surrounding a character. But you don't want so many different plots that the character becomes imprisoned by them all. And you don't want all those plots to be so unconnected that the reader is rolling their eyes enough to make themselves dizzy. All the plots need to blend in a way that makes sense.
So how do you avoid scatterplots? How do you blend them together into something believable? I promise it is worth your time to watch the video. Dan Wells can show you the way:
Dan Wells on Plot Structure
By Julie Wright
Last week I was sitting on the couch catching up on my reading and my daughter was doing her homework on the floor in front of me. She mumbled the phrase, "scatterplots."
I looked down because whatever she was saying had something to do with plots and that always catches my attention. Turns out she was doing math. She tried to explain scatter plots as being a bunch of points on a graph. She tried to explain what those points did or why anyone cared they were on a graph, but all I heard was blah blah blah. It was math. I do not get math at all.
But it did get me to thinking about a book I read last year that will remain nameless. If I were to give that book a one word summary, scatterplots would do quite nicely.
They were tons of various plots in this book, which is okay--a book with several subplots has depth and provides a richer reading experience. However, none of these were even remotely related. You almost felt side-swiped when a new one showed up. This was the sort of plot structure that left you scratching your head and saying, "What was that? Where did that come from?" And not in the tone that would indicate that the new element was cool or anything, but more a tone of, "I am returning this book to the bookstore and demanding a refund."
Wiki says that: a plot is all the events in a story particularly rendered toward the achievement of some particular artistic or emotional effect or general theme.
A plot answers all those why and what questions. And like I said, it's good to have a main plot and then several subplots because that layering adds depth to your manuscript. But the plots need to work together in a way that makes sense. Characters have to have motivation for moving along in a plot line.
And beware coincidence. coincidence is not your friend. I know that coincidence happens in reality (ask me to tell you about the story of my husband and I getting together sometime). Believe me; I know coincidence happens in reality, but it's a cheater tool in fiction unless you can masterfully hide it under motivation and circumstance.
Plot is the result of your characters, their conflicts, and the way they handle--or don't handle--their conflicts. For me plot works best when it is dictated by the character's choices, their wants, needs, fears, but then I am a character driven writer. Some people are plot driven writers, which means they are driven by the circumstances surrounding a character. But you don't want so many different plots that the character becomes imprisoned by them all. And you don't want all those plots to be so unconnected that the reader is rolling their eyes enough to make themselves dizzy. All the plots need to blend in a way that makes sense.
So how do you avoid scatterplots? How do you blend them together into something believable? I promise it is worth your time to watch the video. Dan Wells can show you the way:
Dan Wells on Plot Structure
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
The Importance of Plot
A popular post from February 2013
by Julie Wright
I am a character driven writer. For me, everything starts with that one character who says something, or thinks something, or feels something huge. I am also what some have termed a discovery writer. Outlining is something I've tried, and failed, at doing.What's the point of writing it all down if you already know the ending?
My messy methods work for me. I have pages of scribbled notes tucked into filing cabinets and several pages more frantically typed into documents on my hard drive. Character sketches, dialogue lines, careers for my characters, ways to poison people, how to knock a guy out in one clean punch.
It's like the makings of a perfect dinner. All the ingredients are there waiting to be blended, molded, wrapped into something tasty.
Only there is no recipe.
As an aside, it's funny I'm making a food metaphor since I don't cook. EVER. I once told my husband I don't read recipes because they don't have a plot.
Which makes this even funnier because that is exactly what I wanted to talk about today. Plot. your recipe *is* your plot. It is how you blend your characters, dialogue, clever means of escape, cool careers, and settings.
An egg by itself is a little boring, but with the right ingredients and a good recipe, it can be pulled into an amazing creme brulee. That is what your plot does. It pulls all your ingredients together so they work.
I've done a lot of reading and editing lately, and I've found that the books that hook me immediately are the ones with a clear plot structure. They are the ones that immediately pose a major dramatic question. I keep turning pages because I MUST discover the answer. The books I've put down are the ones that meander all over the place. Sure they have several pairs of pretty words strung together, but that doesn't make them good stories. The ugly truth of writing is that at any point, the reader can say, "Meh, not interested."
The major dramatic question is what drives the story: Will the detective discover who the killer is before he strikes again? Will Earth survive the alien attack? Will the family who bought that new house be able to overcome the ghost who already resides there? Will Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy ever realize they love each other? (of course they will!)
Many genres have a "formula" to the big dramatic question. Romance is one of those genres that is very formulaic. There isn't anything wrong with that. It would kinda ruin the genre if it didn't. Imagine if you spent all that time with the couple and all their sexual tension and banter, and they didn't ever get together. You'd feel totally ripped off. What if the detective never finds the killer and he strikes again and again and again, but no one ever stops him? That's a crummy story.
So, it isn't about knowing the protagonist will eventually get what they want, it's about the how. it's the twists and turns, the missteps and failures.
Your protagonists must have things getting in the way of them getting what they want. They need to try and fail. They need to try and fail several times. A few years ago, I seriously read a 500+ page book about everything going right for the protagonist. The protagonist didn't have to overcome or grow in any way. I was judging a contest so there was no mercy. I couldn't put it down. In order to be a fair judge I had to read every. single. painful. word.
After the protagonist tries and fails, tries and fails, they get to the climax, that defining moment where it all comes together. Where the heroine finally kisses her hero and knows he belongs to her. Where the detective has finally stopped the killer and saved the next victim just in time.
Dan Wells taught an amazing class about plot structure. Go view it. (ignore the irritating music at the beginning and end.) He taught that knowing where you want to end up helps you as a writer to discover how to get there. If you want your character to end one way, you need to start them at the polar opposite of where they end. If you want her to end with love, you need her to start with absolutely no prospects of love, destined to be a creepy, old cat lady who trips young lovers with her cane as they walk past her on the pier. Then you add plot twists. Places in the story that change who this character is.
Even if you're like me, a discovery writer, you need to know how you plan on the story ending, so that you can know how to start it accurately. You need to know the defining moments that help drive the story to that eventual ending.
So now I'm curious, What camp do you fit in: discovery writers or the outliners?
by Julie Wright
I am a character driven writer. For me, everything starts with that one character who says something, or thinks something, or feels something huge. I am also what some have termed a discovery writer. Outlining is something I've tried, and failed, at doing.What's the point of writing it all down if you already know the ending?
My messy methods work for me. I have pages of scribbled notes tucked into filing cabinets and several pages more frantically typed into documents on my hard drive. Character sketches, dialogue lines, careers for my characters, ways to poison people, how to knock a guy out in one clean punch.
It's like the makings of a perfect dinner. All the ingredients are there waiting to be blended, molded, wrapped into something tasty.
Only there is no recipe.
As an aside, it's funny I'm making a food metaphor since I don't cook. EVER. I once told my husband I don't read recipes because they don't have a plot.
Which makes this even funnier because that is exactly what I wanted to talk about today. Plot. your recipe *is* your plot. It is how you blend your characters, dialogue, clever means of escape, cool careers, and settings.
An egg by itself is a little boring, but with the right ingredients and a good recipe, it can be pulled into an amazing creme brulee. That is what your plot does. It pulls all your ingredients together so they work.
I've done a lot of reading and editing lately, and I've found that the books that hook me immediately are the ones with a clear plot structure. They are the ones that immediately pose a major dramatic question. I keep turning pages because I MUST discover the answer. The books I've put down are the ones that meander all over the place. Sure they have several pairs of pretty words strung together, but that doesn't make them good stories. The ugly truth of writing is that at any point, the reader can say, "Meh, not interested."
The major dramatic question is what drives the story: Will the detective discover who the killer is before he strikes again? Will Earth survive the alien attack? Will the family who bought that new house be able to overcome the ghost who already resides there? Will Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy ever realize they love each other? (of course they will!)
Many genres have a "formula" to the big dramatic question. Romance is one of those genres that is very formulaic. There isn't anything wrong with that. It would kinda ruin the genre if it didn't. Imagine if you spent all that time with the couple and all their sexual tension and banter, and they didn't ever get together. You'd feel totally ripped off. What if the detective never finds the killer and he strikes again and again and again, but no one ever stops him? That's a crummy story.
So, it isn't about knowing the protagonist will eventually get what they want, it's about the how. it's the twists and turns, the missteps and failures.
Your protagonists must have things getting in the way of them getting what they want. They need to try and fail. They need to try and fail several times. A few years ago, I seriously read a 500+ page book about everything going right for the protagonist. The protagonist didn't have to overcome or grow in any way. I was judging a contest so there was no mercy. I couldn't put it down. In order to be a fair judge I had to read every. single. painful. word.
After the protagonist tries and fails, tries and fails, they get to the climax, that defining moment where it all comes together. Where the heroine finally kisses her hero and knows he belongs to her. Where the detective has finally stopped the killer and saved the next victim just in time.
Dan Wells taught an amazing class about plot structure. Go view it. (ignore the irritating music at the beginning and end.) He taught that knowing where you want to end up helps you as a writer to discover how to get there. If you want your character to end one way, you need to start them at the polar opposite of where they end. If you want her to end with love, you need her to start with absolutely no prospects of love, destined to be a creepy, old cat lady who trips young lovers with her cane as they walk past her on the pier. Then you add plot twists. Places in the story that change who this character is.
Even if you're like me, a discovery writer, you need to know how you plan on the story ending, so that you can know how to start it accurately. You need to know the defining moments that help drive the story to that eventual ending.
So now I'm curious, What camp do you fit in: discovery writers or the outliners?
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Two Books Head to Head
by Annette Lyon
Many of my posts come directly from whatever I'm currently reading or editing, and today is no different. I've been through a lot of historical fiction lately, so without naming names, I'm going to compare two novels and what they did (and didn't) do right.
Plot & Character over Period
Novel #1 has an intricate plot that relies heavily on actual historical events. But even though these events are dramatic and real, the point of the story is actually the characters involved and how they react to the situations they're thrust into.
In other words, in spite of the historical detail (and how involved real events are in the plot), the time period is secondary. I doesn't really matter when the story is set, because the characters are real, universal, and riveting. I had to find out what they would do next and what would happen to them.
Novel #2, on the other hand, has a time period that overrides the plot. Lots and lots of events are thrown onto the page seemingly just because they happened then. Yes, they (usually) impact the main characters at some point, but too often the time period comes first, the plot second.
And the characters? For starters, there's too many to keep straight. For another, few are interesting enough that I'm compelled to keep reading. I don't really care about them. It's a book more about a particular year in history than a story about characters who feel real and face real crises.
A novel should always be about the characters. We shouldn't have to care more about the year than about the hero and heroine in order to slog through the book.
The irony with this comparison is that of the two periods, Novel #1 has (by far) the more intricate story as far as weaving in the history. Tons of dates, places, people, and events from real life are woven into a complicated plot. But again, the characters and story come first. The story is about how the hero and the heroine handle the conflicts. The history is there enhancing the story, not making it.
Accuracy
Novel #1 was obviously heavily researched. So was Novel #2. Some of the details in both books make that very clear.
I caught one tiny thing in Novel #1 that made me pause and wonder if it was accurate. It was so small that I don't remember what it was anymore. Novel #2, however . . . I can list off several things I know (and I'm sure many other readers know) are downright wrong. It's as if the author researched X and Y and then just assumed Z.
But Z didn't show up for another fifty or sixty years. And in another case, Z didn't show up in history until even later than that. You can't assume.
Research vs. Showing off
With Novel #1, the historical details never got in the way of the story. They were there as the backdrop of the stage the story plays out on. If we heard about a car or a hairstyle or a piece of clothing or a meal, it was described in a way that made it clear that this is simply the way things were back then. These details set the scene and make the story come alive.
Novel #2 . . . well, a lot of details feel as if they were thrown in for the sole purpose of waving a flag to get attention and yelling, "Look at me! See? I DID RESEARCH!!!!"
To be honest, I'm still trying to finish Novel #2. While I'm not a fast reader, Novel #1 was longer than this one, and I finished it in half the time #2 has taken me to get 2/3 of the way through. That alone says volumes.
Whether you write historical fiction or not, many of these same principles apply. The Hunt for Red October wouldn't have been interesting if we spent too much time learning all about Tom Clancy's research into submarines.
House wouldn't fun to watch if they spent too much time explaining all the medical terms.
The characters and the plot come first. Research is important, but don't let all the facts you dug up get your story quagmired in boring mud.
Oh, and be sure to look up Z. Just in case what you assumed about it isn't really so. It happens.
Many of my posts come directly from whatever I'm currently reading or editing, and today is no different. I've been through a lot of historical fiction lately, so without naming names, I'm going to compare two novels and what they did (and didn't) do right.
Plot & Character over Period
Novel #1 has an intricate plot that relies heavily on actual historical events. But even though these events are dramatic and real, the point of the story is actually the characters involved and how they react to the situations they're thrust into.
In other words, in spite of the historical detail (and how involved real events are in the plot), the time period is secondary. I doesn't really matter when the story is set, because the characters are real, universal, and riveting. I had to find out what they would do next and what would happen to them.
Novel #2, on the other hand, has a time period that overrides the plot. Lots and lots of events are thrown onto the page seemingly just because they happened then. Yes, they (usually) impact the main characters at some point, but too often the time period comes first, the plot second.
And the characters? For starters, there's too many to keep straight. For another, few are interesting enough that I'm compelled to keep reading. I don't really care about them. It's a book more about a particular year in history than a story about characters who feel real and face real crises.
A novel should always be about the characters. We shouldn't have to care more about the year than about the hero and heroine in order to slog through the book.
The irony with this comparison is that of the two periods, Novel #1 has (by far) the more intricate story as far as weaving in the history. Tons of dates, places, people, and events from real life are woven into a complicated plot. But again, the characters and story come first. The story is about how the hero and the heroine handle the conflicts. The history is there enhancing the story, not making it.
Accuracy
Novel #1 was obviously heavily researched. So was Novel #2. Some of the details in both books make that very clear.
I caught one tiny thing in Novel #1 that made me pause and wonder if it was accurate. It was so small that I don't remember what it was anymore. Novel #2, however . . . I can list off several things I know (and I'm sure many other readers know) are downright wrong. It's as if the author researched X and Y and then just assumed Z.
But Z didn't show up for another fifty or sixty years. And in another case, Z didn't show up in history until even later than that. You can't assume.
Research vs. Showing off
With Novel #1, the historical details never got in the way of the story. They were there as the backdrop of the stage the story plays out on. If we heard about a car or a hairstyle or a piece of clothing or a meal, it was described in a way that made it clear that this is simply the way things were back then. These details set the scene and make the story come alive.
Novel #2 . . . well, a lot of details feel as if they were thrown in for the sole purpose of waving a flag to get attention and yelling, "Look at me! See? I DID RESEARCH!!!!"
To be honest, I'm still trying to finish Novel #2. While I'm not a fast reader, Novel #1 was longer than this one, and I finished it in half the time #2 has taken me to get 2/3 of the way through. That alone says volumes.
Whether you write historical fiction or not, many of these same principles apply. The Hunt for Red October wouldn't have been interesting if we spent too much time learning all about Tom Clancy's research into submarines.
House wouldn't fun to watch if they spent too much time explaining all the medical terms.
The characters and the plot come first. Research is important, but don't let all the facts you dug up get your story quagmired in boring mud.
Oh, and be sure to look up Z. Just in case what you assumed about it isn't really so. It happens.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Cheating the Reader
by Annette Lyon
Imagine a story that leads, slowly and inevitably, toward the final climactic battle. The tension is building. The stakes are high. The bad guys are on their way.
The battle arrives.
Your protagonist takes a back seat and watches most of it. He's worried and afraid, but not really participating.
That is, until a critical moment, when all might be lost. The hero steps in, knowing he might well die as he acts to save the day.
In the end, the battle is won.
But the reader then learns that the action the hero took was not only unnecessary to the victory, but actually made the winning side worse off and victory harder to come by.
Feel a bit cheated? Thought so.
When you put together a story, you're making a silent contract with your readers. Their obligation is to suspend their disbelief enough to give you a chance to tell a great story.
Your obligation as the writer is to do your best to carry out a story that's satisfying. That doesn't mean every reader will like your work. Hardly. But it does mean that you can't promise to give your readers one thing going in and then deliver something else.
It means that if you're building up to a climactic battle, the battle should be, well, climactic.
It means that your hero or heroine should be in the thick of things, taking part, and not on the sidelines observing and reacting.
It means that if the hero is willing to sacrifice everything, including his very life, his sacrifice needs to make a difference, have some significance to the story.
Now if your story is of the Thomas Hardy variety, your reader will know to expect a dark story with tragedy in it. So if the hero's sacrifice means nothing, that might actually work. But if you've done your part right, your reader will know pretty early on not to expect a Disney ending.
The battle example above is from an actual book that's part of a series, from a book several into the series. The author had made a very clear contract with the reader on what to expect with the previous books.
This ending wasn't what the writer had promised previously. Instead, I, at least, finished the book with a sense of disappointment and unease. Of irritation that I'd been brought through hundreds of pages for this.
The traditional hero story is one where the hero prevails, makes a difference, grows, and returns triumphant. If you're going to break those expectations, that's fine. Just be sure your readers know that going in.
For example, if you're calling your book a romance, then the hero and heroine must get together in the end. (If they don't get together, again, that's fine. That's a legitimate storyline. But you shouldn't call it a romance.)
If you're calling your novel a mystery, then the murderer better be revealed before the last page. (If the detective ends up being the last victim and the reader closes the cover without knowing his identity, you haven't written a mystery.)
As Chekov reportedly said, if you show a gun on the mantel in Act I, it had better go off before the end of Act III.
Don't want anyone getting shot? Don't put the gun on the mantel.
Don't build up to a big fight if you're going to let it fizzle out before it gets started. Don't have your hero observe the climax; make him participate. Don't set up a huge issue that your hero will face . . . but then have it turn out to be nothing after all.
Know what you're promising your readers and don't cheat them.
You want them buying your next book, not throwing this one against the wall in frustration.
Imagine a story that leads, slowly and inevitably, toward the final climactic battle. The tension is building. The stakes are high. The bad guys are on their way.
The battle arrives.
Your protagonist takes a back seat and watches most of it. He's worried and afraid, but not really participating.
That is, until a critical moment, when all might be lost. The hero steps in, knowing he might well die as he acts to save the day.
In the end, the battle is won.
But the reader then learns that the action the hero took was not only unnecessary to the victory, but actually made the winning side worse off and victory harder to come by.
Feel a bit cheated? Thought so.
When you put together a story, you're making a silent contract with your readers. Their obligation is to suspend their disbelief enough to give you a chance to tell a great story.
Your obligation as the writer is to do your best to carry out a story that's satisfying. That doesn't mean every reader will like your work. Hardly. But it does mean that you can't promise to give your readers one thing going in and then deliver something else.
It means that if you're building up to a climactic battle, the battle should be, well, climactic.
It means that your hero or heroine should be in the thick of things, taking part, and not on the sidelines observing and reacting.
It means that if the hero is willing to sacrifice everything, including his very life, his sacrifice needs to make a difference, have some significance to the story.
Now if your story is of the Thomas Hardy variety, your reader will know to expect a dark story with tragedy in it. So if the hero's sacrifice means nothing, that might actually work. But if you've done your part right, your reader will know pretty early on not to expect a Disney ending.
The battle example above is from an actual book that's part of a series, from a book several into the series. The author had made a very clear contract with the reader on what to expect with the previous books.
This ending wasn't what the writer had promised previously. Instead, I, at least, finished the book with a sense of disappointment and unease. Of irritation that I'd been brought through hundreds of pages for this.
The traditional hero story is one where the hero prevails, makes a difference, grows, and returns triumphant. If you're going to break those expectations, that's fine. Just be sure your readers know that going in.
For example, if you're calling your book a romance, then the hero and heroine must get together in the end. (If they don't get together, again, that's fine. That's a legitimate storyline. But you shouldn't call it a romance.)
If you're calling your novel a mystery, then the murderer better be revealed before the last page. (If the detective ends up being the last victim and the reader closes the cover without knowing his identity, you haven't written a mystery.)
As Chekov reportedly said, if you show a gun on the mantel in Act I, it had better go off before the end of Act III.
Don't want anyone getting shot? Don't put the gun on the mantel.
Don't build up to a big fight if you're going to let it fizzle out before it gets started. Don't have your hero observe the climax; make him participate. Don't set up a huge issue that your hero will face . . . but then have it turn out to be nothing after all.
Know what you're promising your readers and don't cheat them.
You want them buying your next book, not throwing this one against the wall in frustration.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Rewrites: May the Force Be with You
by Annette Lyon
Revising draft after draft of your book can be exhausting and sometimes disheartening. Will it ever be done? Will it ever be good enough?
Why bother on yet another rewrite?
Because it'll make it better, that's why.
Rough drafts are, by definition, rough.
Revisions and rewrites take that rough stone and try to make it something it only dreamed of originally. Doing so necessitates a bit of pain as sections are cut and reshaped to make a polished stone. It also takes time. I've never regretted the extra weeks (or sometimes months . . . or in a few cases, years) it took to finally "get" what the story needed and make it right.
A great example of a massive revision process is George Lucas's first Star Wars film, the movie that entered the culture with a bang in 1977 and never let America go.
According to one website that chronicles the various drafts of what would become the film, even the basic storyline and characters underwent significant changes. Early on, there were familiar names, but they weren't attached to the people we came to know in the films, and the plot is totally different.
Read the full article for all the details, but here are a few highlights that jumped out to me:
1973
General Luke Skywalker and Annikin Starkiller are friends. Both are Jedi.
They "lead the princess on a dangerous escape route past Aquilae. They take two menial Imperial bureaucrats hostage along the way, and these passengers are a bickering terrified pair [who provide comic relief]. Their ship also contains 200 pounds of a rare spice."
When fighting, they use what Lucas then called a "laser sword"
Chewbacca is a Wookiee prince who rides a birdlike creature. Wookiees serve the Empire.
After adventures and near-death moments, the group is reunited by an old farmer who is married to a Wookiee.
They disguise ships as Imperial Rangers to rescue the princess, who is in Alderaan's prison complex.
After her rescue, the princess reveals her true goddess-like self and reward Luke and Annikin (neither of which is a relation to her).
Han Solo is merely a "friend to the Jedi."
(Note that the robots we know as R2D2 and C3PO are likely what the comic relief bureaucrats evolved into.)
1974
The hero is Anakin Starkiller.
He and his father, Kane Starkiller (who wears cybernetic armor to stay alive), oppose the Emporer.
They do so with a 60-year-old general and Jedi master named Luke Skywalker.
Kane and Luke are the last of the Jedi, the rest having been killed by the Sith.
Enemies are still Prince Valorim (black knight of the Sith) and his tall, grim general, Darth Vader.
Other characters: a guy named Anakin and his little brother Deak, friends of Kane.
Emperor gives orders to kill General Skywalker
Death Star makes an appearance in the plot.
The king is killed. The queen demands that her children (14-year-old Leia and two sons, Biggs and Windy) be taken to safety.
Luke offers to train Anakin as a Jedi.
Battered robots named Artwo Detwo and See Threepio join Anakin's party.
Han Solo, a green-skinned amphibian smuggler, has gills and no nose.
To fix part of Han Solo's ship to get past a Emperial blockade, Anakin sacrifices the power unit of his cybernetic armor, saying he's dying anyway.
They spend time with Wookiees, including freeing them and training them to fly one-man fighters to attack the battle station.
(Note that there are seeds here of how Darth Vader ended up--there's the "black knight," a general, and a father in cybernetic armor.)
Name changes in a later 1974 version:
Leia becomes Zara.
Anakin Starkiller becomes Justin Valor.
Wookiees are "Jawas."
Prince Valorum is Captain Dodona.
Early 1975
Some elements are more familiar, but a lot is still far away from the final version:
Darth Vader has a breath mask. He wants to find rebel captain Deak Starkiller.
Deak is looking for his lost brother, Luke, and for the Kiber crystal, which intensifies the Force.
Deak programs R2D2 with a directive to find Owen Lars and bring a message to Luke.
Deak and Vader have a duel (much like the one with Ben in the actual film).
Luke is found on the farm of Owen Lars, where Lars's 16-year-old daughter Leia lives (she's Luke's cousin).
Also there are Luke's two younger brothers, Biggs and Windy.
Owen gives Luke the Kiber crystal, hidden in his belt.
Han Solo has a beard and is flamboyantly dressed. He's a cabin boy of a fat drunkard captain. (A crewman on the ship is named Jabba the Hutt.)
Chewbacca is 200 years old. He has fangs and large yellow eyes.
Ogana destroyed by the Death Star.Adventures in cloud city (which will eventually become the rescue of Princess Leia in the Death star).
Other versions:
Han Solo is Luke's battle-weary older brother.
Luke is a 16-year-old girl who falls in love with Solo, who was the central male character.
By late summer of 1975, the basic story as we know it was in place.
Can you imagine the Star Wars looking like any of those? (I'm still stuck on Han Solo as a noseless green frog . . .)
The six-film saga that we have today has a grand story arc that is essentially the rise and fall of Anakin Starwalker/Darth Vader.
What amazed me when I read the article is how that arc didn't exist early on. For that matter, Anakin even wasn't the same person as Darth Vader until quite late. He wasn't even Luke's father. Intead, at one point Luke was a geezer Jedi general, not a young boy. It wasn't until quite late in the game that that Han Solo became and Princess Leia took on their final roles.
The major characters and plot points that, in my opinion, made Star Wars the ground-breaking and classic story it became were missing until close to the end of the writing process.
While your story might not undergo quite the level of revision that Lucas's script did, his journey can help to keep his process in mind on a couple of counts:
1) Keep poking and prodding at your story.
How can you improve it? Lucas played with plot lines and characters like pieces of a puzzle, rearranging them until they clicked together and just fit. My personal favorite change: watching the three different characters morph into what eventually became Darth Vader.
2) Nothing is in stone until it's in print.
If Lucas had had his heart set on one element and had been unwilling to budge on it (say, Han Solo as that giant amphibian), there's a good chance that the creative process would have been stunted, that the great story he ended up telling might never would have come out or been embraced by the public as it was.
Don't despair when it comes to revisions. See them as a chance to take the clay you've made and mold it into something truly great.
Revising draft after draft of your book can be exhausting and sometimes disheartening. Will it ever be done? Will it ever be good enough?
Why bother on yet another rewrite?
Because it'll make it better, that's why.
Rough drafts are, by definition, rough.
Revisions and rewrites take that rough stone and try to make it something it only dreamed of originally. Doing so necessitates a bit of pain as sections are cut and reshaped to make a polished stone. It also takes time. I've never regretted the extra weeks (or sometimes months . . . or in a few cases, years) it took to finally "get" what the story needed and make it right.
A great example of a massive revision process is George Lucas's first Star Wars film, the movie that entered the culture with a bang in 1977 and never let America go.
According to one website that chronicles the various drafts of what would become the film, even the basic storyline and characters underwent significant changes. Early on, there were familiar names, but they weren't attached to the people we came to know in the films, and the plot is totally different.
Read the full article for all the details, but here are a few highlights that jumped out to me:
1973
General Luke Skywalker and Annikin Starkiller are friends. Both are Jedi.
They "lead the princess on a dangerous escape route past Aquilae. They take two menial Imperial bureaucrats hostage along the way, and these passengers are a bickering terrified pair [who provide comic relief]. Their ship also contains 200 pounds of a rare spice."
When fighting, they use what Lucas then called a "laser sword"
Chewbacca is a Wookiee prince who rides a birdlike creature. Wookiees serve the Empire.
After adventures and near-death moments, the group is reunited by an old farmer who is married to a Wookiee.
They disguise ships as Imperial Rangers to rescue the princess, who is in Alderaan's prison complex.
After her rescue, the princess reveals her true goddess-like self and reward Luke and Annikin (neither of which is a relation to her).
Han Solo is merely a "friend to the Jedi."
(Note that the robots we know as R2D2 and C3PO are likely what the comic relief bureaucrats evolved into.)
1974
The hero is Anakin Starkiller.
He and his father, Kane Starkiller (who wears cybernetic armor to stay alive), oppose the Emporer.
They do so with a 60-year-old general and Jedi master named Luke Skywalker.
Kane and Luke are the last of the Jedi, the rest having been killed by the Sith.
Enemies are still Prince Valorim (black knight of the Sith) and his tall, grim general, Darth Vader.
Other characters: a guy named Anakin and his little brother Deak, friends of Kane.
Emperor gives orders to kill General Skywalker
Death Star makes an appearance in the plot.
The king is killed. The queen demands that her children (14-year-old Leia and two sons, Biggs and Windy) be taken to safety.
Luke offers to train Anakin as a Jedi.
Battered robots named Artwo Detwo and See Threepio join Anakin's party.
Han Solo, a green-skinned amphibian smuggler, has gills and no nose.
To fix part of Han Solo's ship to get past a Emperial blockade, Anakin sacrifices the power unit of his cybernetic armor, saying he's dying anyway.
They spend time with Wookiees, including freeing them and training them to fly one-man fighters to attack the battle station.
(Note that there are seeds here of how Darth Vader ended up--there's the "black knight," a general, and a father in cybernetic armor.)
Name changes in a later 1974 version:
Leia becomes Zara.
Anakin Starkiller becomes Justin Valor.
Wookiees are "Jawas."
Prince Valorum is Captain Dodona.
Early 1975
Some elements are more familiar, but a lot is still far away from the final version:
Darth Vader has a breath mask. He wants to find rebel captain Deak Starkiller.
Deak is looking for his lost brother, Luke, and for the Kiber crystal, which intensifies the Force.
Deak programs R2D2 with a directive to find Owen Lars and bring a message to Luke.
Deak and Vader have a duel (much like the one with Ben in the actual film).
Luke is found on the farm of Owen Lars, where Lars's 16-year-old daughter Leia lives (she's Luke's cousin).
Also there are Luke's two younger brothers, Biggs and Windy.
Owen gives Luke the Kiber crystal, hidden in his belt.
Han Solo has a beard and is flamboyantly dressed. He's a cabin boy of a fat drunkard captain. (A crewman on the ship is named Jabba the Hutt.)
Chewbacca is 200 years old. He has fangs and large yellow eyes.
Ogana destroyed by the Death Star.Adventures in cloud city (which will eventually become the rescue of Princess Leia in the Death star).
Other versions:
Han Solo is Luke's battle-weary older brother.
Luke is a 16-year-old girl who falls in love with Solo, who was the central male character.
By late summer of 1975, the basic story as we know it was in place.
Can you imagine the Star Wars looking like any of those? (I'm still stuck on Han Solo as a noseless green frog . . .)
The six-film saga that we have today has a grand story arc that is essentially the rise and fall of Anakin Starwalker/Darth Vader.
What amazed me when I read the article is how that arc didn't exist early on. For that matter, Anakin even wasn't the same person as Darth Vader until quite late. He wasn't even Luke's father. Intead, at one point Luke was a geezer Jedi general, not a young boy. It wasn't until quite late in the game that that Han Solo became and Princess Leia took on their final roles.
The major characters and plot points that, in my opinion, made Star Wars the ground-breaking and classic story it became were missing until close to the end of the writing process.
While your story might not undergo quite the level of revision that Lucas's script did, his journey can help to keep his process in mind on a couple of counts:
1) Keep poking and prodding at your story.
How can you improve it? Lucas played with plot lines and characters like pieces of a puzzle, rearranging them until they clicked together and just fit. My personal favorite change: watching the three different characters morph into what eventually became Darth Vader.
2) Nothing is in stone until it's in print.
If Lucas had had his heart set on one element and had been unwilling to budge on it (say, Han Solo as that giant amphibian), there's a good chance that the creative process would have been stunted, that the great story he ended up telling might never would have come out or been embraced by the public as it was.
Don't despair when it comes to revisions. See them as a chance to take the clay you've made and mold it into something truly great.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Fortunately, Unfortunately
by Annette Lyon
I want to hug my daughter's third-grade teacher. She has come up with a fabulous way of helping students draft stories with great conflict, stories that have several steps and aren't simply a recounting of summer vacation.
At a recent parent-teacher conference, I got to read my daughter's latest story, written using the concept Mrs. P. had taught, which she in turn got from a book (which I'm admitting right now I haven't read) called Fortunately, by Remy Charlip.
Each line of the book begins with either "fortunately" or "unfortunately."
I'll quote a bit from my daughter's story (with her permission) so you see how it works. She began what happened after Ned from the original story got to the party he had been invited to:
Unfortunately, tigers burst into the party.
Fortunately, everyone ran out of the room safely.
Unfortunately, he got lost.
Fortunately, he found a plane.
Unfortunately, there was no pilot.
Fortunately, he knew how to drive a plane.
Unfortunately, he fell asleep.
Fortunately, there was another person on the plane.
Unfortunately, he could not drive it.
Fortunately, the boy woke up.
Unfortunately, they crashed.
Fortunately, the plane landed in a flower bed.
Unfortunately, there were bees in the flower bed.
Fortunately, the bees went after someone else.
Unfortunately, they were just getting more bees.
Fortunately, the boy could run faster than the bees could fly.
Unfortunately, he smashed into a door.
Fortunately, it was his house and he got in safely.
See how this works? Something good happens, and then something messes that up, which propels the character into the next situation. The reader thinks it's a good time to take a breath, that everything will work out. But of course it doesn't. Not until the very end.
While I don't recommend beginning every scene of your book with "fortunately" or "unfortunately," the amazing thing here is that this is pretty much how your book should work, too, just on a slightly more complex level.
One situation should lead causally to the next one, which leads to the next.
Good things happen, but then they get messed up, leading to the next thing.
If your story doesn't have enough "unfortunately" moments, it's going to be dry and slow-paced.
Take a look at your plot and see if you can't shake it up by going between the highs and lows that we learned from good old Ned and Mrs. P.
I want to hug my daughter's third-grade teacher. She has come up with a fabulous way of helping students draft stories with great conflict, stories that have several steps and aren't simply a recounting of summer vacation.
At a recent parent-teacher conference, I got to read my daughter's latest story, written using the concept Mrs. P. had taught, which she in turn got from a book (which I'm admitting right now I haven't read) called Fortunately, by Remy Charlip.
Each line of the book begins with either "fortunately" or "unfortunately."
I'll quote a bit from my daughter's story (with her permission) so you see how it works. She began what happened after Ned from the original story got to the party he had been invited to:
Unfortunately, tigers burst into the party.
Fortunately, everyone ran out of the room safely.
Unfortunately, he got lost.
Fortunately, he found a plane.
Unfortunately, there was no pilot.
Fortunately, he knew how to drive a plane.
Unfortunately, he fell asleep.
Fortunately, there was another person on the plane.
Unfortunately, he could not drive it.
Fortunately, the boy woke up.
Unfortunately, they crashed.
Fortunately, the plane landed in a flower bed.
Unfortunately, there were bees in the flower bed.
Fortunately, the bees went after someone else.
Unfortunately, they were just getting more bees.
Fortunately, the boy could run faster than the bees could fly.
Unfortunately, he smashed into a door.
Fortunately, it was his house and he got in safely.
See how this works? Something good happens, and then something messes that up, which propels the character into the next situation. The reader thinks it's a good time to take a breath, that everything will work out. But of course it doesn't. Not until the very end.
While I don't recommend beginning every scene of your book with "fortunately" or "unfortunately," the amazing thing here is that this is pretty much how your book should work, too, just on a slightly more complex level.
One situation should lead causally to the next one, which leads to the next.
Good things happen, but then they get messed up, leading to the next thing.
If your story doesn't have enough "unfortunately" moments, it's going to be dry and slow-paced.
Take a look at your plot and see if you can't shake it up by going between the highs and lows that we learned from good old Ned and Mrs. P.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Characters as Archetypes
by Annette Lyon
All stories have a structure that is reflected throughout time and cultures. Whether you're a believer in Jung's philosophy about a "collective unconscious" that we draw from or not, the fact remains that from Homer to Grisham, from China to Italy, certain elements get repeated over and over again. For example, it's amazing to see how many versions of what we call "Cinderella" exist in the world, many of which were created independently of the others.
I'm currently reading The Writer's Journey by Christopher Vogler (2nd edition). It's out of print now, but if you can get your hands on one, I recommend it. This relatively small book has become a bible of sorts among the filmmakers in Hollywood and novel writers as well. Vogler takes the work of many others who have analyzed the structure of story and myth and put it all together in one place. It's given me lots of food for thought, and I'll likely discuss elements from the book here many times in the future.
Today, however, I thought I'd list and define some of the common archetypes found in literature. Not every story has to have them all. Some characters can assume more than one archetype, depending on their story "job" at the moment (Vogler calls these temporary archetypes "masks" that a character puts on).
HERO
Male or female, this is your main character, the person whose life is shaken up and changed at the beginning of the story and who must put things right. Vogler states that, "The most effective Heroes are those who experience sacrifice" whether it's a loved one, an item, a treasure, or a personality trait. Heroes often come full circle, ending where they began (think The Hobbit). Other times they'll stay in the "new world" they were thrust into with the story (Disney's Aladdin). Or they'll come back to the old world, only to discover it no longer exists, at least for them. By and large, the Hero teaches us how to deal with death in some form or another. The "old" and "new" worlds could be literal in a fantasy novel, or figurative in the sense of someone leaving home or even leaving their comfort zone and having difficulties to surmount that they've never faced before.
MENTOR
This person gives something to the Hero that will be useful or protective later, such as wisdom/advice (ala Jiminy Crickit), a helpful object (the Marauder's Map), or a skill (using a light saber blindfolded). Mentors are often old men or women, but any character can wear the Mentor's mask. Sometimes it's the Mentor that gives the Hero the kick out the door to get the story moving.
THRESHOLD GUARDIAN
These characters block the Hero's way, but generally aren't the primary antagonist or villain. Often they are the villain's underlings, but they can also be a friend who disagrees with the Hero's quest and tries to stop them. The Hero must find a way around the Threshold Guardian, whether through attack, bribery, winning the Guardian over as an Ally, or something else. These characters essentially TEST the Hero, make them worthy of continuing the quest. How much does the Hero really want this?
HERALD
Generally showing up in the first act of the story, the Herald is the one who brings the news that will disrupt the story and create change. Sometimes the Herald isn't a person, but rather a letter or other event. Regardless, after the Herald's appearance, life will never again be the same. One of Vogler's examples is in Romancing the Stone when Joan Wilder receives the treasure map in the mail, followed by a frantic call from her sister who is being held hostage in Columbia.
SHAPESHIFTER
Like the name suggests, this is a character who is inconstant and changing, at least from the Hero's perspective. A Shapeshifter can change loyalties or be revealed as having been in disguise the entire time (think Cary Grant in Charade; you don't know until the end who he really is: a good guy? A bad guy? Hmmm.) Often, but not always, Shapeshifters are of the opposite gender as the Hero, and therefore they're often the love interest as well (which makes some sense--since when did either gender fully understand the other?). In some cases, an opposite-gender Shapeshifter can turn out to be evil (think Fatal Attraction).
SHADOW
In short, the Hero's Villains, Antagonists, and Enemies. Note that an Antagonist isn't necessary a bad person. It could be a close friend or family member. In the Harry Potter books, Professor McGonnogal is, at times, an Antagonist to Harry, preventing him from doing what he wants to do. Vogler uses a great analogy to explain the difference between a Villain and an Antagonist: A Hero and a Villain are like two freight trains heading for one another. A Hero and an Antagonist are like two horses pulling the same wagon but trying to go opposite directions. A strong Shadow can provide a great story. (What would Star Wars be without Darth Vader?)
TRICKSTER
This person provides impetus for change as well as comic relief. Tricksters make the audience laugh at themselves and can cut the villain's ego down to size. They often act as the Hero's sidekick. According to Vogler, many cartoon characters are tricksters, including Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, and the Roadrunner.
Again, these roles are all very fluid. You can have a Trickster Hero, or a Shapeshifter Shadow, or a Herald who also happens to be a Mentor. Other archetypal characters exist as well, but these are the most common. Don't worry about becoming formulaic as you use them. There are countless ways of combining roles and creating new ways of using them. In a sense, instead of a firm recipe for a story, they're rather a great list of categories for the ingredients you can draw from to create a great dish.
All stories have a structure that is reflected throughout time and cultures. Whether you're a believer in Jung's philosophy about a "collective unconscious" that we draw from or not, the fact remains that from Homer to Grisham, from China to Italy, certain elements get repeated over and over again. For example, it's amazing to see how many versions of what we call "Cinderella" exist in the world, many of which were created independently of the others.
I'm currently reading The Writer's Journey by Christopher Vogler (2nd edition). It's out of print now, but if you can get your hands on one, I recommend it. This relatively small book has become a bible of sorts among the filmmakers in Hollywood and novel writers as well. Vogler takes the work of many others who have analyzed the structure of story and myth and put it all together in one place. It's given me lots of food for thought, and I'll likely discuss elements from the book here many times in the future.
Today, however, I thought I'd list and define some of the common archetypes found in literature. Not every story has to have them all. Some characters can assume more than one archetype, depending on their story "job" at the moment (Vogler calls these temporary archetypes "masks" that a character puts on).
HERO
Male or female, this is your main character, the person whose life is shaken up and changed at the beginning of the story and who must put things right. Vogler states that, "The most effective Heroes are those who experience sacrifice" whether it's a loved one, an item, a treasure, or a personality trait. Heroes often come full circle, ending where they began (think The Hobbit). Other times they'll stay in the "new world" they were thrust into with the story (Disney's Aladdin). Or they'll come back to the old world, only to discover it no longer exists, at least for them. By and large, the Hero teaches us how to deal with death in some form or another. The "old" and "new" worlds could be literal in a fantasy novel, or figurative in the sense of someone leaving home or even leaving their comfort zone and having difficulties to surmount that they've never faced before.
MENTOR
This person gives something to the Hero that will be useful or protective later, such as wisdom/advice (ala Jiminy Crickit), a helpful object (the Marauder's Map), or a skill (using a light saber blindfolded). Mentors are often old men or women, but any character can wear the Mentor's mask. Sometimes it's the Mentor that gives the Hero the kick out the door to get the story moving.
THRESHOLD GUARDIAN
These characters block the Hero's way, but generally aren't the primary antagonist or villain. Often they are the villain's underlings, but they can also be a friend who disagrees with the Hero's quest and tries to stop them. The Hero must find a way around the Threshold Guardian, whether through attack, bribery, winning the Guardian over as an Ally, or something else. These characters essentially TEST the Hero, make them worthy of continuing the quest. How much does the Hero really want this?
HERALD
Generally showing up in the first act of the story, the Herald is the one who brings the news that will disrupt the story and create change. Sometimes the Herald isn't a person, but rather a letter or other event. Regardless, after the Herald's appearance, life will never again be the same. One of Vogler's examples is in Romancing the Stone when Joan Wilder receives the treasure map in the mail, followed by a frantic call from her sister who is being held hostage in Columbia.
SHAPESHIFTER
Like the name suggests, this is a character who is inconstant and changing, at least from the Hero's perspective. A Shapeshifter can change loyalties or be revealed as having been in disguise the entire time (think Cary Grant in Charade; you don't know until the end who he really is: a good guy? A bad guy? Hmmm.) Often, but not always, Shapeshifters are of the opposite gender as the Hero, and therefore they're often the love interest as well (which makes some sense--since when did either gender fully understand the other?). In some cases, an opposite-gender Shapeshifter can turn out to be evil (think Fatal Attraction).
SHADOW
In short, the Hero's Villains, Antagonists, and Enemies. Note that an Antagonist isn't necessary a bad person. It could be a close friend or family member. In the Harry Potter books, Professor McGonnogal is, at times, an Antagonist to Harry, preventing him from doing what he wants to do. Vogler uses a great analogy to explain the difference between a Villain and an Antagonist: A Hero and a Villain are like two freight trains heading for one another. A Hero and an Antagonist are like two horses pulling the same wagon but trying to go opposite directions. A strong Shadow can provide a great story. (What would Star Wars be without Darth Vader?)
TRICKSTER
This person provides impetus for change as well as comic relief. Tricksters make the audience laugh at themselves and can cut the villain's ego down to size. They often act as the Hero's sidekick. According to Vogler, many cartoon characters are tricksters, including Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, and the Roadrunner.
Again, these roles are all very fluid. You can have a Trickster Hero, or a Shapeshifter Shadow, or a Herald who also happens to be a Mentor. Other archetypal characters exist as well, but these are the most common. Don't worry about becoming formulaic as you use them. There are countless ways of combining roles and creating new ways of using them. In a sense, instead of a firm recipe for a story, they're rather a great list of categories for the ingredients you can draw from to create a great dish.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Weaving Fiction from History
by Annette Lyon
Some of the most beloved novels of all time are historical fiction, written well after the period described in them. Think Gone with the Wind, A Tale of Two Cities, and Les Miserables.
These books (and many others) have much in common, including the fact that when you read them, it feels like they were written during the time they were set. The time period is accurate and real.
How did Margaret Mitchell, Charles Dickens, and Victor Hugo do it?
A Dynamic Time Period
They didn't write about any day in any year. They wrote about a time in which there was turmoil and conflict (great building blocks for a story!). Those time periods are also ones in which readers can readily identify. Saying "1860" is far more generic to a reader than "The U.S. Civil War." Immediately we have an image in mind, complete with inherent conflicts, a setting, and much more.
Research
These authors most certainly read up on the time period they were writing about. I don't know if it's true, but rumor has it that Dickens read a couple of hundred books on the French Revolution for A Tale of Two Cities. While I don't think you need to go that far in your research, read and dig around enough to know what you're talking about and be able to present the era in a way that's believable and real.
Story over Research
If there's one key to writing great historical fiction, this is it.
Keep your knowledge of the period in check. Yes, Dickens and the others knew boatloads about the Civil War or war-torn France, but they didn't flout it. They used whatever bits and pieces helped bring the STORY alive.
And that's the key right there. Story must take precedence over research. A chain of facts does not make a plot.
It's tempting to cram into your book as many of the details, facts, and figures you've learned. Or at the very least, cram more than you should. Chances are that less than 10% of what you research will end up in the book. But it's that 90% or so that you can draw on that allows you to create a rich environment for your characters to play out their stories in.
Beware the danger of making your story into a giant history lesson. Remember at all costs that the historical details are NOT the story, that they are there solely to ENHANCE the story. Yes, they may play a big part of the story and provide many of the conflicts. (But now we're back to the history being there for a reason: creating a rip-roaring story, not for setting the scene.)
I like to think of the time period as the hanger on which the story is draped. It's definitely there. It makes a big difference in how the story and characters work. But it's NOT the story in and of itself. In some respects, Gone with the Wind could have been written about several different wars, because it's the characters who create the story, not the war itself per se. (Remember how Goodnight Saigon, based in Vietnam, is a retelling of Madame Butterfly? MB certainly wasn't written during the 60s, but the underlying story is timeless.)
Any time you find yourself throwing in facts for the sake of telling more than your reader needs to know, pull back. Don't over explain elements from the past; it doesn't sound natural. If you use terms that might be unfamiliar to modern readers, find a natural way to work an explanation into the text.
For example, I had a reader for my upcoming historical novel indicate that he/she didn't know what a tick was and that I should explain. It would have been ridiculous for me to stop the scene and go on about how before mattresses, people filled large fabric "pillowcase" type things with straw, and they slept on those, and that's what a tick was. That would have been an intrusion to the narrative.
Having my characters stop and talk about it would have felt equally false. Why on earth would one of my two female characters describe a tick when they both know full well what it is? People don't chat over things they already know about. (It's what I call the, "As you know, Bob" mistake in dialogue.)
Instead, I simply had a character refer to the person who would be sleeping on the guest tick and that they'd need to get it filled with straw before she arrived. Natural conversation, but the information that the reader needs to know gets across.
Historical writing can be rewarding and exciting. Just don't let the history get in the way!
Some of the most beloved novels of all time are historical fiction, written well after the period described in them. Think Gone with the Wind, A Tale of Two Cities, and Les Miserables.
These books (and many others) have much in common, including the fact that when you read them, it feels like they were written during the time they were set. The time period is accurate and real.
How did Margaret Mitchell, Charles Dickens, and Victor Hugo do it?
A Dynamic Time Period
They didn't write about any day in any year. They wrote about a time in which there was turmoil and conflict (great building blocks for a story!). Those time periods are also ones in which readers can readily identify. Saying "1860" is far more generic to a reader than "The U.S. Civil War." Immediately we have an image in mind, complete with inherent conflicts, a setting, and much more.
Research
These authors most certainly read up on the time period they were writing about. I don't know if it's true, but rumor has it that Dickens read a couple of hundred books on the French Revolution for A Tale of Two Cities. While I don't think you need to go that far in your research, read and dig around enough to know what you're talking about and be able to present the era in a way that's believable and real.
Story over Research
If there's one key to writing great historical fiction, this is it.
Keep your knowledge of the period in check. Yes, Dickens and the others knew boatloads about the Civil War or war-torn France, but they didn't flout it. They used whatever bits and pieces helped bring the STORY alive.
And that's the key right there. Story must take precedence over research. A chain of facts does not make a plot.
It's tempting to cram into your book as many of the details, facts, and figures you've learned. Or at the very least, cram more than you should. Chances are that less than 10% of what you research will end up in the book. But it's that 90% or so that you can draw on that allows you to create a rich environment for your characters to play out their stories in.
Beware the danger of making your story into a giant history lesson. Remember at all costs that the historical details are NOT the story, that they are there solely to ENHANCE the story. Yes, they may play a big part of the story and provide many of the conflicts. (But now we're back to the history being there for a reason: creating a rip-roaring story, not for setting the scene.)
I like to think of the time period as the hanger on which the story is draped. It's definitely there. It makes a big difference in how the story and characters work. But it's NOT the story in and of itself. In some respects, Gone with the Wind could have been written about several different wars, because it's the characters who create the story, not the war itself per se. (Remember how Goodnight Saigon, based in Vietnam, is a retelling of Madame Butterfly? MB certainly wasn't written during the 60s, but the underlying story is timeless.)
Any time you find yourself throwing in facts for the sake of telling more than your reader needs to know, pull back. Don't over explain elements from the past; it doesn't sound natural. If you use terms that might be unfamiliar to modern readers, find a natural way to work an explanation into the text.
For example, I had a reader for my upcoming historical novel indicate that he/she didn't know what a tick was and that I should explain. It would have been ridiculous for me to stop the scene and go on about how before mattresses, people filled large fabric "pillowcase" type things with straw, and they slept on those, and that's what a tick was. That would have been an intrusion to the narrative.
Having my characters stop and talk about it would have felt equally false. Why on earth would one of my two female characters describe a tick when they both know full well what it is? People don't chat over things they already know about. (It's what I call the, "As you know, Bob" mistake in dialogue.)
Instead, I simply had a character refer to the person who would be sleeping on the guest tick and that they'd need to get it filled with straw before she arrived. Natural conversation, but the information that the reader needs to know gets across.
Historical writing can be rewarding and exciting. Just don't let the history get in the way!
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Fiction vs. Reality
by Annette Lyon
There's a reason Tom Clancy said, "The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense."
No kidding. I've heard many, many beginning writers go off on a tangent, demanding, "But that's how it really happened!"
So? That doesn't mean you should write it that way in your fiction. It's very easy to try "writing what you know" in the sense of recreating your own experiences in the pages of a novel. I think all beginning writers are guilty of that to some extent. And yes, it can work.
But here's where the problems creep in:
1) It becomes unbelievable.
This is the most common problem. A beginning writer recently complained that he entered his real war story into a contest, only to be told by the female judge that it was too unbelievable. He dismissed her comments because SHE WAS A WOMAN, so naturally wouldn't "get" a war story.
Hmmm. Maybe he should take a look at how he WROTE the story. I haven't read the piece, and I don't know the judge, so I'm just guessing here, but since I've judged enough of these things, I'm thinking I'm not too far off the mark: He probably didn't show what was going on, explain the situations, put the reader into the moment, make the motivations clear.
Your audience should be able to figure out, believe, and be immersed in your story regardless of gender. If he/she just can't buy it, the problem doesn't rest with the reader. It rests with YOU, the author. It's YOUR job to make the piece believable.
2) You're writing it like a journal entry.
In journals, we usually recount events. We don't recreate the scenes complete with dialogue and descriptions. If you've fallen into this trap, you're TELLING, not SHOWING, and the piece has turned into a boring sequence of events. (This happened and then this happened . . .)
Fiction must be propelled by motivation and conflict. Life isn't always like that. It USUALLY isn't like that. Stuff just happens. But in your story, events must be causally linked, and you must have conflict as the driving force.
If you're adapting a real story to fiction, you've got to be willing to hack it to pieces enough (taking out the boring parts, combining new elements) so that it becomes compelling to a reader and isn't just a bunch of journaled events.
Which leads to:
3) You won't adapt for the sake of the piece.
Sometimes a real-life story is a great springboard for fiction. But since we've established that you are writing FICTION, guess what? You can make it up. You don't have to stick with what really happened, even if you are basing the story on your first boyfriend who was such a jerk. Move things around. Change a plot point. Add a new conflict or subplot over there. Throw in a new minor character here. Clinging to "what really happened" when you're writing fiction is pointless and will result in a flat piece.
We all write from personal experience to some extent; it's inevitable. Just don't get so hung up on keeping what's "real" at the expense of what could be very good if you just shook it up a bit.
There's a reason Tom Clancy said, "The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense."
No kidding. I've heard many, many beginning writers go off on a tangent, demanding, "But that's how it really happened!"
So? That doesn't mean you should write it that way in your fiction. It's very easy to try "writing what you know" in the sense of recreating your own experiences in the pages of a novel. I think all beginning writers are guilty of that to some extent. And yes, it can work.
But here's where the problems creep in:
1) It becomes unbelievable.
This is the most common problem. A beginning writer recently complained that he entered his real war story into a contest, only to be told by the female judge that it was too unbelievable. He dismissed her comments because SHE WAS A WOMAN, so naturally wouldn't "get" a war story.
Hmmm. Maybe he should take a look at how he WROTE the story. I haven't read the piece, and I don't know the judge, so I'm just guessing here, but since I've judged enough of these things, I'm thinking I'm not too far off the mark: He probably didn't show what was going on, explain the situations, put the reader into the moment, make the motivations clear.
Your audience should be able to figure out, believe, and be immersed in your story regardless of gender. If he/she just can't buy it, the problem doesn't rest with the reader. It rests with YOU, the author. It's YOUR job to make the piece believable.
2) You're writing it like a journal entry.
In journals, we usually recount events. We don't recreate the scenes complete with dialogue and descriptions. If you've fallen into this trap, you're TELLING, not SHOWING, and the piece has turned into a boring sequence of events. (This happened and then this happened . . .)
Fiction must be propelled by motivation and conflict. Life isn't always like that. It USUALLY isn't like that. Stuff just happens. But in your story, events must be causally linked, and you must have conflict as the driving force.
If you're adapting a real story to fiction, you've got to be willing to hack it to pieces enough (taking out the boring parts, combining new elements) so that it becomes compelling to a reader and isn't just a bunch of journaled events.
Which leads to:
3) You won't adapt for the sake of the piece.
Sometimes a real-life story is a great springboard for fiction. But since we've established that you are writing FICTION, guess what? You can make it up. You don't have to stick with what really happened, even if you are basing the story on your first boyfriend who was such a jerk. Move things around. Change a plot point. Add a new conflict or subplot over there. Throw in a new minor character here. Clinging to "what really happened" when you're writing fiction is pointless and will result in a flat piece.
We all write from personal experience to some extent; it's inevitable. Just don't get so hung up on keeping what's "real" at the expense of what could be very good if you just shook it up a bit.
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