Category Archives: writing

April 3, 2024 · 6:00 am

 The powerful novella vs. a weak novel #amwriting

MyWritingLife2021BI do a lot of rambling in my first drafts because I’m trying to visualize the story. While I try to write this mental blather in separate documents, the random thought processes often bleed over into my manuscript.

During the editing process, I sometimes find that besides the four chapters that don’t fit the plot anymore, perhaps three more chapters will expand on background info. They can be condensed or cut.

I’m a wordy writer, but sometimes the finished work is shorter than I’d planned—a lot shorter. Sometimes, I get to the end of a story, but it’s only at the 40,000-word mark (or less).

Then I have to make a decision. I could choose to leave it at the length it is now and have it edited. If I am married to the idea of a novel, I could try to stretch the length, but why?

If I know anything, it’s this. When I have nothing of value to add to the tale, it’s best to stop. Fluff weakens the story, and I’d prefer to write a powerful novella rather than a weak novel.

In the second draft of any manuscript, I change verbs to be more active and hunt for unnecessary repetitions of information. At that stage, the manuscript will expand and contract. It hurts the novelist in my soul, but the story may only be 35,000 words long when the second draft is complete.

animal farm george orwell40,000 words in fantasy is less than half a book. That makes it a novella. But I send it to my beta reader to see what she thinks. If she feels the plot lacks substance at that length, I let it rest for a while, then come back to it. Then, I can see where to add new scenes, events, and conversations to round out the story arc. That might bring it up to the 60,000-word mark.

If Sherrie (my sister and beta reader) says the story is good and ends well, I stop adding content and move to the editing process.

So, what sort of scenes do I cut?

A detailed history of everyone’s background is unnecessary. Readers only want to hear a brief mention of historical information. It should be delivered in conversation and only when the protagonist needs to know it.

Unfortunately, when I am building the basic structure of the novel, I sometimes forget to write the cast members’ history in a separate document. Once I shrink or cut those rambling paragraphs, I have a scene that moves the story forward but is much shorter.

1024px-Charles_Dickens-A_Christmas_Carol-Title_page-First_edition_1843In the second draft, I will discover passages where I have repeated myself but with slightly different phrasing. My editor is brilliant at spotting these, which is good because I miss plenty of them when I am preparing my manuscript for editing. I wrote that mess, so even though I try to be vigilant, repetitions tend to blend into the scenery.

Once Irene points them out, I decide which wording I like the best and go with that.

Also, in the first draft, I find a lot of “telling” words and phrases I will later change or cut. I look for active alternatives for words and phrases that weaken the narrative:

  • There was
  • To be

I change my weak, telling sentences to more active phrasing. This means I sometimes gain a few words because showing a scene as it happens requires more words than giving a brief “they did this.”

But then I lose words in other areas—lots of words.

I feel that when writing in English, the use of contractions makes conversations feel more natural and less formal. It shortens the word count because two words become one: was not is shortened to wasn’t, has not is changed to hasn’t, etc.

Reading my manuscript out loud is a real eye-opener. I print each chapter out and read it aloud. I find words to cut, sentences and entire paragraphs that make no sense. The story is stronger without them.

In the first draft, I look for crutch words and remove them. This lowers my word count. My personal crutch words are overused words that fall out of my head along with the good stuff as I’m sailing along:

  • So (my personal tic)
  • Very (Be wary if you do a global search – don’t press “replace all” as most short words are components of larger words, and ‘very’ is no exception.)
  • That
  • Just
  • Literally

I try to plot my books in advance, but my characters have agency. This means the character arcs and the story evolves as I write the first draft. New events emerge, and I find better ways to get to the end than what was first planned.

blphoto-Orange-ScissorsI have learned to be brutal. I might have spent days or even weeks writing a chapter that now must be cut.

It hurts when a perfect chapter no longer fits the story. But maybe it bogs things down when you see it in the overall context. It must go, but that chapter will be saved. Those cut pieces often become the core of a new story, a better use for those characters and events.

Once that first draft is complete, no matter how short or long, I measure it against the blueprint of the story arc. I ask the following questions about every story:

  • How soon does my inciting incident occur? It should be near the front, as this will get the story going and keep the reader involved.
  • How soon does the first pinch point occur? This roadblock will set the tone for the rest of the story.
  • What is happening at the midpoint? Are the events of the middle section moving the protagonist toward their goal? Did the point of no return occur near or just after the midpoint?
  • Where does the third pinch point occur? This event is often a catastrophe, a hint that the protagonist might fail.
  • Is the ending solid, and does it resolve the major problems?

blueprint-of-the-story-arcEven if this story is one part of a series, we who are passionate about the story we’re reading need firm endings.

Novellas occupy a special place in my heart. A powerful, well-written novella can be a reading experience that shakes a reader’s world. The following is a list of my favorite novellas. And yes, you’ve seen this list before, and also yes, some are considered literary fiction:

  • The Emperor's Soul - Brandon SandersonThe Emperor’s Soul, by Brandon Sanderson
  • A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens
  • Breakfast at Tiffany’s, by Truman Capote
  • Candide, by Voltaire
  • Three Blind Mice, by Agatha Christie
  • The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, by Robert Louis Stevenson
  • The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells
  • Of Mice and Men, by John Steinbeck
  • The Old Man and the Sea, by Ernest Hemingway
  • Animal Farm, by George Orwell
  • The Turn of the Screw, by Henry James

Read.

Read widely and try to identify the tricks that impressed you. The real trick is figuring out how to put what you learn to good use.

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April 1, 2024 · 6:00 am

Dissecting Voice/Style #writing

What does “voice” refer to in literature? It is an author’s habit, their fingerprint, a recognizable “sound” in the way they communicate their stories.

a writer's styleWhen we speak aloud, we habitually use certain words and phrase our thoughts a particular way. The physiology of our throats is unique to us. While we may sound very similar to other members of our family, pitch monitoring software will show that our speaking voice is distinctive to us.

For some of us, the moment we say “hello,” our friends and family know it’s us on the other end of the telephone, even without caller ID.

The same is true for our writing.

Our voice is comprised of the way we construct paragraphs, the words we choose, and the narrative mode and time/tense we prefer to write in.

Our content is shaped by our deeply held beliefs and attitudes. Those values change and evolve over time. Content includes the themes we instinctively write into our work and the ideals we subconsciously hold dear. Those elements shape a story’s character and plot arcs and represent who we were at the time we wrote it.

Our voice or style is the visual sound of our words as they appear on the page.

Let’s take another look at Gillian Flynn’s novel, Gone Girl.

Gone_Girl_FlynnFlynn’s style of prose is rapid-fire, almost stream-of-consciousness, and yet it is controlled and deliberate. She is creative in how she uses the literary device of narrative mode. Primarily, Gone Girl is written in the first person present tense. But sometimes Flynn breaks the fourth wall by flowing into the second person present tense and speaking directly to us, the reader.

This seamless manipulation of narrative tense reveals Flynn’s thought process.

One criticism you might hear about her style is that, at times, her characters all sound alike. Only the chapter title and subjects covered in that section let you know which person is speaking, Nick or Amy. That means we are hearing the author’s own voice in the role of the characters.

When Flynn slips into the second person mode and speaks directly to the reader, she forces us to consider the ideas she is presenting, involving us in the story.

That flowing from mode to mode is a literary device she is good at, and speaking as an editor, it is neither good nor bad. Whether it works depends on an author’s skill.

Your enjoyment of that kind of narrative depends on your personal taste. Flynn’s style of writing is unique, but her exploration of dark, unlikeable characters makes this a difficult novel for some readers.

A writer’s personal ethics and taste and the kernel of “what if” shape how they approach the subject matter and the themes of their work. Their knowledge of craft is demonstrated in the construction of sentences, paragraphs, and scenes. Skill in the craft shapes the overall arc of a story.

desk_via_microsoft_stickers

courtesy Office 360 graphics

The words we gravitate to and reuse and how we unconsciously punctuate our sentences combine to form our voice, our style.

This personal sound evolves as we develop more skills and knowledge of writing craft.

My own style has changed dramatically since my first novel. When I began writing seriously, I was in the habit of using italicized thoughts and characters talking to themselves to express what was happening inside them. I often employed compound sentences that, when I look back on them now, were too long.

Using italics for thoughts is an accepted practice and is not wrong. When used sparingly, italicized thoughts and internal dialogue have their place. However, thoughts can be used as a means for dumping information, which then becomes a wall of italicized words.

In the last few years, I’ve evolved in my writing habits. I am increasingly drawn to writing shorter sentences, but I vary sentence length to avoid choppiness.

When conveying my character’s internal dialogue, I use the various forms of free indirect speech to show who my characters think they are and how they see their world. So, in that regard, my author voice has changed.

We write for ourselves first. Then, we revise and edit for the enjoyment of other readers.

We do not iron the life out of our work, because that spark of joy that was instilled the moment we laid down those words must still shine through. It takes thought and the ability to recognize and cast aside prose that doesn’t say what we want it to, yet still have it sound like our writing and not someone else’s.

Be consistent with punctuation, whether you are right or wrong. If you “hate the Oxford comma” or some other widely accepted rule of grammar, you must be consistent when you avoid its use.

Inconsistency in a manuscript is not a voice or style.

It’s a mess.

Ernest Hemmingway rarely used commas. However, he was consistent in how he composed his sentences, and his work was original and readable.

MoveableFeast“I was learning something from the painting of Cézanne that made writing simple true sentences far from enough to make the stories have the dimensions that I was trying to put in them. I was learning very much from him but I was not articulate enough to explain it to anyone. Besides it was a secret.”

~~Ernest Hemmingway, A Movable Feast

Some authors’ voices really stand out, and their writing skills are up to the task of conveying what they intend their words to say. Their stories find an important place in our hearts.

They are the writers that agents are desperately seeking.

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March 27, 2024 · 6:00 am

How the narrative tense shapes the point of view #writing

Every story is different and requires us to use a unique narrative time. Narrative tense conveys information about time. It relates the time of an event (when) to another time (present, past, or future). So, the narrative tense we choose when writing a particular story indicates its location in time.

MyWritingLife2021In my previous post, we talked about narrative point of view. POV is the perspective, the personal or impersonal “lens” through which we communicate our stories. It is the mode we choose for conveying a particular story.

The narrative tense we gravitate to is also a component of our voice.

We shape our stories by combining narrative time with two closely related aspects:

  • Narrative point of view.
  • Our narrative voice (we’ll explore this more later).

The way that narrative tense affects a reader’s perception of the characters is subtle, an undercurrent that goes unnoticed after the first few paragraphs. It shapes the reader’s view of events on a subliminal level.

  • “I eat.”
  • “I am eating.”
  • “I have eaten.”
  • “I have been eating.”

The above sentences are all in the present tense. They contain the present-tense form of a verb: eat, am, and have.

Yet, they are different because each conveys slightly different information, a different point of view about how the act of eating pertains to the present moment.

Revisions are a mess for me because I “think aloud” when writing the first draft. Passive phrasing finds its way into the prose.

Verb ConjugationWhen I begin my second draft, those weak verb forms function as traffic signals. They were a form of mental shorthand that helped me write the story before I lost my train of thought. But in the rewrite, weak verbs are code words that tell me what the scene should be rewritten to show.

I’ve used these examples before. Each sentence says the same thing, but we get a different story when we change the narrative tense, point of view, and verb choice.

  • Henry was hot and thirsty. (Third-person omniscient, past tense, passive phrasing.)
  • Henry trudged forward, his lips dry and cracked, yearning for a drop of water. (Third-person omniscient, past tense, active phrasing.)
  • I struggle toward the oasis with dry, cracked lips and a parched tongue. (First-person present tense, Active phrasing.)
  • You stagger toward the oasis, dizzy with thirst. (Second-person, present tense, active phrasing.)

This is a moment in time for these thirsty characters, and the way we show it to our readers is meaningful in how they perceive the scene.

Sometimes, the only way I can get into a character’s head is to write in the first-person present tense. This is because the narrative time I am trying to convey is the now of that story. (This happens to me most often when writing short stories.)

Every story is unique; some work best in the past tense, while others must be set in the present.

WARNING: When we write a story using an unfamiliar narrative mode, watch for drifting verb tense and wandering narrative point of view.

Drifting verb tense and wandering POV are insidious. Either or both can occur if you habitually write using one mode but switch to another. For this reason, I am vigilant when I begin writing in the first-person present tense, but later discover it isn’t working for me. If I were to switch to close third person past tense, each verb must be changed to match the new narrative mode and time.

But changing an entire draft to a different narrative mode isn’t the only danger zone:

  • Time and modes will drift sometimes for no reason other than you were writing as quickly as you could. For this reason, when you begin revisions, it’s crucial to look at your verb forms to ensure your narrative time doesn’t inadvertently drift between past and present.

So, where does voice come into it? An author’s voice is their habit, their fingerprint, a recognizable “sound” in the way a story is communicated.

route recalculatingThe way we habitually phrase sentences, how we construct paragraphs, the words we choose, and the narrative mode and time we prefer to write in is our voice. It includes the themes we instinctively write into our work and the ideals we subconsciously hold dear.

So, our voice (or style) is formed by our deeply held beliefs and attitudes. We may or may not consciously intend to do it. Regardless of intent, our convictions emerge in our writing, leitmotifs that shape character and plot arcs.

As we grow in writing craft and our values and beliefs evolve, that growth is reflected in our voice. We get better at conveying what we intend to say, and our style of writing reflects it.

A fun writing exercise is to write a 100-word short story in a narrative mode that you dislike. Think of it as a little palate cleanser.

Then, rewrite it in that same mode but using a different narrative tense. You might see a wide array of possibilities that a new narrative mode and tense bring to a scene.

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March 25, 2024 · 6:00 am

Narrative point of view #writing

I think of books, stories, and literature in general, as a window through which readers can see a small slice of the wider world. The scene we can view through that window is narrow because it is expressed through the eyes of the narrator: the point of view.

WritingCraftSeries_narrative modeIf we move to a different window, the view changes. Some views are better than others.

We focus our readers’ attention on specific details by manipulating the narrative point of view. We narrate the story in one of three different ways by telling it from a first-person, second-person, or third-person narrative point of view.

Other factors will come into play, and we will get to those later, but first, let’s look at the basics.

First-person point of view is relatively common and is told from one protagonist’s personal point of view. The narrator admits they are relating the tale, using the pronouns “I-me-my-mine,” allowing the reader or audience to see their opinions, thoughts, and feelings.

It is told from the view and knowledge of the narrator and not of other characters. As such, it is that of an unreliable narrator. You, as the author, must remember that no one has complete knowledge of anything. The protagonist cannot be all-seeing and all-knowing. The reader will find out the information as the protagonist does, and that will keep them interested in the story.

Second-person point of view, in which the author uses “you” and “your,” is rarely found in a novel or short story. In fiction, it is the mode of an unreliable narrator, as “you” aren’t omniscient and can’t know everything.

It is, however, commonly used in guidebooks, self-help books, do-it-yourself manuals, interactive fiction, role-playing games, gamebooks such as the Choose Your Own Adventure series, musical lyrics, and advertisements.

I find using this narrative mode in fiction is tricky. Some authors don’t carry it off well, and it reads like a walkthrough for an RPG. That difficulty is why this mode is rarely used in fiction.

Gone_Girl_FlynnBooks like “Gone Girl” by Gillian Flynn prove it can work well. (Flynn also uses first-person present tense in that book, and we’ll discuss it at length next week when we take a deep dive into voice.)

Now, we’ll move on to the third-person point of view. This is the most commonly used narrative mode in literature. It offers a wide range of flexibility because an author can zoom in close or go to a wide-angle view of the action. In this narrative mode, the characters are referred to by the pronouns “he,” “she,” “it,” or “they.”

Third-person point of view is that of an invisible person describing the events and thoughts of all the characters as they happen.

  1. The writer may choose the third-person omniscient mode, in which the thoughts of every character are open to the reader, or third-person limited, in which the reader enters only one character’s mind, either throughout the entire work or in a specific section.
  2. Third-person limited differs from first-person because while we see the thoughts and opinions of a single character, the author’s voice, not the character’s voice, is what you hear in the descriptive passages. This narrative mode is also that of the unreliable narrator.
  3. The Flâneur (idler, lounger, loiterer.) This is traditionally a form of third-person point of view, but I like to think of it almost as a fourth point of view. Many of you have heard of it as third-person objective or third-person dramatic. The flâneur is an unreliable narrator.

The flâneur is a voice that observes and comments but is not a character. They are the witness to the events, and they narrate the story as they see it.

  • The flâneur is not reliable—he has his own personality, offering subtle judgments and unconscious opinions on the behavior of the characters. Therefore, just as in a first-person narrative, the reader cannot be sure he is telling the unbiased truth.
  • The narrator tells the story without describing any of the character’s thoughts, opinions, or feelings. So, the reader can only guess at character motivations and must assume the objective observer truly is objective. We must hope he has told the truth as he discusses what he sees.
  • It separates the reader from the intimacy of the action and slows the pace down. In some narratives, this mode is exactly what the story needs.

Author-thoughtsLast week, I mentioned head–hopping, a disconcerting literary no-no that occurs when an author switches point-of-view characters within a single scene. I’ve noticed it happens more frequently in third-person omniscient narratives because it’s a mode in which the thoughts of every character are open to the reader.

Head-hopping is a first-draft error. Our characters are all speaking as we write. Each character’s thoughts are important, but on paper, they can be chaotic, like a holiday dinner in my family.

Each character’s mental ruminations add something meaningful to the story, but let’s have some manners here. Thoughts are unspoken dialogue, and each scene or chapter should detail the internal dialogue of one character.

As we write, we know what every character is thinking. In the first draft, we may write passages that detail every character’s viewpoint. First, we’re in Joe’s head, and then we are in Mary’s.

Head-hopping will confuse the reader, who will no longer be able to suspend their disbelief.

We don’t want that.

When a side character has something to say that is important for the reader to know, I give that character a separate chapter, even if it is a short one.

My Coffee Cup © cjjasp 2013I find that when I can’t get a handle on a particular character’s personality, I open a new document and have them tell me their story in the first person.

Then, when I go back to the manuscript, I feel like I know them as a friend.

I hope this little refresher on narrative mode helps you in your work. I have written in all the above narrative modes and find myself using either first person or close third person point of view most often.

Next up, we’ll talk about narrative tense and how it can change the tone of a story.

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March 22, 2024 · 6:00 am

#FineArtFriday: Spring in Giverny by Claude Monet 1890

Monet_-Spring_in_GivernyArtist: Claude Monet  (1840–1926)

Title: Spring in Giverny

Date: 1890

Medium: oil on canvas

Dimensions: height: 64.8 cm (25.5 in); width: 81 cm (31.8 in)

Inscriptions: Signature and date bottom left: Claude Monet 90

What I love about this painting:

The fruit trees are flowering in the part of the world where I live. All along the streets, in back yards, and public areas, apple, cherry, and flowering plum trees are covered in buds, their branches tinted with shades of pink and white. The Pacific Northwest is bursting into color. The streets in our town are lined with trees of pink and white.

Yellow forsythia is blooming, and dogwood brightens each neighborhood. Flowering trees and ornamental shrubs bring swathes of welcome color to the gray and rainy days of March.

Monet’s trees show us the appreciation the artist had for nature. His fruit trees and ornamental trees make me happy too. We need the color, need the sunshine.

Thank you, Claude Monet, for sharing this moment in time with us.

About the Artist, via Wikipedia:

Oscar-Claude Monet 14 November 1840 – 5 December 1926) was a French painter and founder of impressionist painting who is seen as a key precursor to modernism, especially in his attempts to paint nature as he perceived it. During his long career, he was the most consistent and prolific practitioner of impressionism’s philosophy of expressing one’s perceptions of nature, especially as applied to plein air (outdoor) landscape painting.  The term “Impressionism” is derived from the title of his painting Impression, soleil levant, exhibited in 1874 (the “exhibition of rejects”) initiated by Monet and his associates as an alternative to the Salon. [1]

Read the rest of the article at Claude Monet – Wikipedia

Credits and Attributions:

IMAGE: Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:Monet – Frühling in Giverny.jpg,” Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Monet_-_Fr%C3%BChling_in_Giverny.jpg&oldid=654964112 (accessed March 21, 2024).

[1] Wikipedia contributors, “Claude Monet,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Claude_Monet&oldid=1213738859 (accessed March 21, 2024).

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March 20, 2024 · 6:00 am

The potential for drama #writing

Last week, we talked about transition scenes. We talked about how the resolution of one event takes us to a linking point that takes us further into the story. We talked about how, without transition scenes to link them, moments in time appear random, as if they don’t go together. They push the plot forward. Action, transition, action, transition—this is pacing.

MyWritingLife2021BBut how do we recognize when a moment of action has true dramatic potential? We try to inject action and emotion into our scenes, but some dramatic events don’t advance the story.

  • How do we recognize when an action scene is not crucial, not central to the overall plot arc?

I find that my writing group is essential in helping me eliminate the scenes that don’t move the plot forward, even though they might be engaging stories within the story.

It’s easy to be so attached to a particular scene that we don’t notice that it’s a side quest to nowhere.

If that happens to you, don’t throw it out! Save it in a file labeled “outtakes,” and with a few minor changes, you can reuse that idea elsewhere. A side quest might slow down the pacing of one story. But that quest, with different characters and places, could be the seed of an entirely different story.

Possession_ASByatt_coverRecognizing where the real drama begins is tricky. Let’s have a look at the novel Possession: A Romance by A.S. Byatt (pen name of the late Dame Antonia Susan Duffy DBE), winner of the 1990 Booker Prize.

The story details two complex relationships viewed across time. The modern relationship begins in an unexpected way. The novel opens in a library, a place of silence and solitude where one would think the only opportunity for drama is within the pages of the tomes lining the shelves.

But Byatt saw the potential for real drama in that quiet, dusty place. Her protagonist, Roland Michell, a scholar and professional man of high morals, commits a crime. There isn’t anything exciting about a professor sitting in a library and researching the lives of dead poets—that is, until he pockets the original drafts of letters he has come across in his research.

A person unfamiliar with academic research might not understand how such a small, seemingly inconsequential theft could possibly have a dire outcome.

  • This is the moment that has the potential of ruining his career, destroying everything he has worked for.
  • The consequences of this act hang over him to the end.

About the book, via Wikipedia:

The novel follows two modern-day academics as they research the paper trail around the previously unknown love life between famous fictional poets Randolph Henry Ash and Christabel LaMotte. Possession is set both in the present day and the Victorian era, contrasting the two time periods, as well as echoing similarities and satirizing modern academia and mating rituals. The structure of the novel incorporates many different styles, including fictional diary entries, letters and poetry, and uses these styles and other devices to explore the postmodern concerns of the authority of textual narratives. The title Possession highlights many of the major themes in the novel: questions of ownership and independence between lovers; the practice of collecting historically significant cultural artifacts; and the possession that biographers feel toward their subjects.

AS. Byatt, in part, wrote Possession in response to John Fowles‘ novel The French Lieutenant’s Woman(1969). In an essay in Byatt’s nonfiction book, On Histories and Stories, she wrote:

“Fowles has said that the nineteenth-century narrator was assuming the omniscience of a god. I think rather the opposite is the case—this kind of fictive narrator can creep closer to the feelings and inner life of characters—as well as providing a Greek chorus—than any first-person mimicry. In ‘Possession’ I used this kind of narrator deliberately three times in the historical narrative—always to tell what the historians and biographers of my fiction never discovered, always to heighten the reader’s imaginative entry into the world of the text.” [1]

So, Byatt changes narrative point of view in this tale when necessary, as a means to better explore an aspect of the story. That is a neat trick, if done right, which she does. (Done wrong, it has the potential of adding chaos to the narrative.)

e.m. forster plot memeI admire the audacity of having Michell, a protagonist who considers his professional reputation as his most prized possession, commit such a catastrophic action as stealing those original letters. It proves there is potential for drama in the least likely places.

I have been known to spend months writing the wrong story.

Instead of following the original outline, I took the plot off on a tangent and wrote myself into a corner. Then, once I admitted to myself that there was no rescuing it, I moved on to something else.

Most writers don’t see where they’ve gone awry until someone else points it out, or they step away from it for a while.

Once I give up and set a work that is stalled aside for a month or two, these things are easier to see. In the case of one novel, I cut it back to the 20,000-word mark and made a new, more logical outline. Writing went well after that, and so far, I’m getting good, useable feedback.

Creators see their work the way parents see their children. We tend to think every scene is golden. Unfortunately, some events I might believe are necessary—aren’t.

In reality, they lead the story nowhere.

desk_via_microsoft_stickers

courtesy Office 360 graphics

But I love my children, even the unruly ones. Nothing is a waste of time, and those scenes become the basis of novellas and short stories.

The ability to recognize the potential for a crucial dramatic moment is a matter of perspective. It is the ability to see the story arc as a whole before it is fully formed.

It is also the knack of knowing what kind of drama the story needs and where it should fit within the plot arc.

Credits and Attributions:

[1] Wikipedia contributors, “Possession (Byatt novel),” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Possession_(Byatt_novel)&oldid=1189753614 (accessed March 19, 2024).

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March 18, 2024 · 6:15 am

Random thoughts about #Writing #Romance

Fantasy is a popular genre because it involves people, and sometimes it features romantic love.  People are creatures of biology and emotion. When you throw them together in close quarters, romantic connections can form within the narrative.

WritingCraftSeries_romanceI’m not a Romance writer, but I do write about relationships. Readers expecting a standard romance would be disappointed in my work which is solidly fantasy. The people in my tales fall in love, and while they don’t always have a happily ever after, most do. The other aspect that would disappoint a Romance reader is the shortage of smut.

I think of sex the way I do violence. Both occur in life, and we want our characters to live. While I have been graphic when the story demanded it (Huw the Bard, Julian Lackland, and Billy Ninefingers), the stories are about them as people and how events shaped them. I’m more for allowing my characters a little privacy.

I flounder when writing without an outline. Even in the second draft, I’ve been known to lose my way.

I struggle when attempting to write the subtler nuances of attraction and antipathy. We are sometimes repulsed by a person, and when trying to show that, I find myself at a loss for words.

When I’m building the first draft, emotions seem to come out of nowhere and feel forced.

monkey_computer_via_microsoft

courtesy Office360 graphics

For me, the struggle is in foreshadowing these relationships and showing the gradual connection as it grows between two people.

I have friends who write Romance. I read their work, and I’ve attended workshops given by Romance writers and learned a great deal from them. However, being on the spectrum, as they say nowadays, I learn by pursuing independent study.

That works for me because I can’t pass up buying any book on the craft of writing.

Two books in my writing craft library that have seen heavy use were written by Damon Suede, who writes Romance. He explains how word choices can make or break the narrative.

As a reader, I have found his viewpoint to be accurate. As a writer, I have found putting it into practice takes work.

Verbalize_Damon_SuedeIn his book Verbalize, Mr. Suede explains how actions make other events possible. Crucially for me, he reminds us that even gentler, softer emotions must have verbs to set them in motion.

Emotions are nouns. I sometimes struggle to find the best verbs to push my nouns to action.

Matching nouns with verbs is key to bringing a scene to life.

This is where writing becomes work. It’s time to get out the Oxford Dictionary of Synonyms and Antonyms and delve into the many words that relate to and describe attraction. Or I can go online: ATTRACTION Synonyms: 33 Synonyms & Antonyms for ATTRACTION | Thesaurus.com

I make a list of the words that I think will fit my characters’ personalities. Then, I have to choose the words that say what I mean and fit them into the narrative. Sometimes, this means I will rewrite a sentence two or three times before it says what I intend and flows naturally.

desk_via_microsoft_stickers

courtesy Office 360 graphics

I have written two accidental novels. Both feature romances, and because the novels were spewed onto the page, the relationships developed without preplanning.

Now, I’m in the final stages of one of these novels. The last two years have been spent fine-tuning the attractions and showing the growth of their relationships while exploring the central theme through the events my protagonists experience. (Have I mentioned it takes me four years to get a book from concept to publication?)

For me as a person and as a reader, true Romance has an air of mystery, of something undiscovered. It has to be a little bit magical, or I can’t suspend my disbelief.

I have no trouble writing adventures for my people. I have no difficulty noticing when two characters are gravitating toward one another. Writing the mystery of attraction, injecting the feeling of magic into it is the tricky part.

Book- onstruction-sign copyWhen a beta reader tells me the relationship seems forced, I go back to the basics and make an outline of how that relationship should progress from page one through each chapter. I make a detailed note of what their status should be at the end. This gives me jumping-off points so that I don’t suffer from brain freeze when trying to show the scenes.

As I am rewriting the scenes involving a romance, I want to avoid weak phrasing. I look at the placement of verbs in my sentences. If it feels weak, as if told by an observer, I move the verbs to the beginning of the sentence so that my characters do things. I don’t want someone saying they did it. I want the reader to experience doing it.

    1. Nouns followed by verbs feel active. Bystanders narrate, but characters do.

Don’t get me wrong—some stories need an all-encompassing narrator. But most of the time, we’re not interested in being told what happened. We want to experience it ourselves, which is why I gravitate to one character’s point of view. Our characters are unreliable narrators, giving us their opinions and shading the truth, and are more interesting because of that.

lute-clip-artI think our characters have to be a little clueless about Romance, even if they are older. They need to doubt, need to worry. They need to fear they don’t have a chance, either to complete their quest or to find love.

Romance writers have it right: overcoming the roadblocks to happiness makes for great love stories. This is why I read in every genre. I try to learn what I can from the masters, seeing how they use their words to write their scenes and construct their stories.

Romance is drama, but it isn’t the entire story.

Adam Savage said something about drama and creativity on his recent podcast, talking about Stanley Kubrick’s creative process. He said that what Kubrick was good at was recognizing the points when a story could create drama.

And recognizing those places with potential is crucial to creating a great novel or short story. We will explore that thought further on Wednesday.

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March 14, 2024 · 6:00 am

#PiDay: Elegy for Hawking

Stephen Hawking, Star Child,

Entered the world in the Year of the Horse

While bombs fell over London.

Rebel,

Always went his own way

Even when his way was difficult.

Revolutionary,

Freed his mind to travel the cosmos.

Sat taller in his chair than giants stand.

Quantum thinker,

Body shrunken to a singularity,

Mind as expansive as the universe.

Dreamer,

Stephen Hawking

Left us in the Year of the Dog

While we baked Pi for Einstein

And marveled at what we had lost.

Stephen Hawking,

Born 8 Jan 1942; died 14 Mar 2018 at age 76.

Author, Motivational Speaker, English Theoretical Physicist.

Hawking was the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge University, a position once held by such notables as Charles Babbage and  Sir Isaac Newton. Afflicted with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehrig’s disease, or ALS), Hawking was confined to a wheelchair and was unable to speak without the aid of a computer voice synthesizer. However, despite his challenges, he made remarkable contributions to the field of cosmology, which is the study of the universe. His principal areas of research were theoretical cosmology and quantum gravity.

Hawking also co-authored five children’s books with his daughter, Lucy.

Hawking’s book list can be found at Amazon: Stephen Hawking’s Author Page 

Popular books

  • A Brief History of Time (1988)
  • Black Holes and Baby Universes and Other Essays (1993)
  • The Universe in a Nutshell (2001)
  • On the Shoulders of Giants (2002)
  • God Created the Integers: The Mathematical Breakthroughs That Changed History (2005)
  • The Dreams That Stuff Is Made of: The Most Astounding Papers of Quantum Physics and How They Shook the Scientific World (2011)
  • My Brief History (2013)

Co-authored

  • The Nature of Space and Time (with Roger Penrose) (1996)
  • The Large, the Small and the Human Mind (with Roger Penrose, Abner Shimony and Nancy Cartwright) (1997)
  • The Future of Spacetime (with Kip Thorne, Igor Novikov, Timothy Ferris and introduction by Alan Lightman, Richard H. Price) (2002)
  • A Briefer History of Time (with Leonard Mlodinow) (2005)
  • The Grand Design (with Leonard Mlodinow) (2010)

Forewords

  • Black Holes & Time Warps: Einstein’s Outrageous Legacy (Kip Thorne, and introduction by Frederick Seitz) (1994)

Children’s fiction

Co-written with his daughter Lucy

  • George’s Secret Key to the Universe (2007)
  • George’s Cosmic Treasure Hunt (2009)
  • George and the Big Bang (2011)
  • George and the Unbreakable Code (2014)
  • George and the Blue Moon (2016)

Stephen Hawking, StarChild, Image By NASA [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Wikipedia contributors, “Stephen Hawking,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Stephen_Hawking&oldid=830584312 (accessed March 15, 2018).

Elegy for Hawking, by Connie J. Jasperson © 2018 – 2024 All Rights Reserved

This poem has been posted every year on Pi Day since the day after Hawking’s death.

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March 13, 2024 · 6:00 am

Transitions – bookend scenes that determine pacing #writing

In the previous post, we talked about scene framing. Scenes are word pictures, portraits of a moment in a character’s life framed by the backdrop of the world around them. Everything depicted in that scene has meaning.

transitionsBut the scenes themselves are pictures within the larger picture of the story arc. Think of the story arc as a blank wall. We place the scenes on that blank wall in the order we want them, but without transition scenes, these moments in time appear random, as if they don’t go together.

Transitions bookend each scene, and the way we use those transitions determines the importance of the passage. The bookends determine the narrative’s pacing.

Transition scenes get us smoothly from one event or conversation to the next. They push the plot forward. Action, transition, action, transition—this is pacing.

The pacing of a story is created by the rise and fall of action.

  • Action: Our characters do
  • Visuals: We see the world through their eyes; they show us something.
  • Conversations: They tell us something, and the cycle begins again.

Do.

Show.

Tell.

I picked up my kit and looked around. No wife to kiss goodbye, no real home to leave behind, nothing of value to pack. Only the need to bid Aeoven and my failures goodbye. The quiet snick of the door closing behind me sounded like deliverance.

The character in the above transition scene completes an action in one scene and moves on to the next event. It reveals his mood and some of his history in 46 words and propels him into the next scene.

He does something: I picked up my kit and looked around.

He shows us something: No wife to kiss goodbye, no real home to leave behind, nothing of value to pack. Only the need to bid Aeoven and my failures goodbye.

He tells us something: The quiet snick of the door closing behind me sounded like deliverance. 

The door has closed, there is no going back, and he is now in the next action sequence. We find out who and what is waiting for him on the other side of that door.

All fiction has one thing in common regardless of the genre: characters we can empathize with are thrown into chaos with a plot.

Remember the blank wall from above and the random pictures placed on it?

Hieronymus Franken the arts

Our narrative begins as a blank wall strewn with pictures. We take those pictures and add transition pictures to create a coherent story out of the visual chaos.

This is where project management comes into play—we assign an order to how the scenes progress.

  • Processing the action.
  • Action again.
  • Processing/regrouping.

Our job is to make the transitions subliminal. We are constantly told, “Don’t waste words on empty scenes.” To be honest, I know a lot of words, and wasting them is my best skill.

bookendOur bookend scenes are not empty words. They should reveal something and push us toward something unknown. They lay the groundwork for what comes next.

What makes a memorable story? In my opinion, the emotions it evoked are why I loved a particular novel. The author allowed me to process the events and gave me a moment of rest and reflection between the action. 

I was with the characters when they took a moment to process what had just occurred. That moment transitions us to the next scene.

These information scenes are vital to the reader’s understanding of why these events occur. They show us what must be done to resolve the final problem.

The transition is also where you ratchet up the emotional tension. As shown in the example above, introspection offers an opportunity for clues about the characters to emerge. A “thinking scene” opens a window for the reader to see who they are and how they react. It illuminates their fears and strengths, and makes them seem real and self-aware.

Internal monologues should humanize our characters and show them as clueless about their flaws and strengths. It should even show they are ignorant of their deepest fears and don’t know how to achieve their goals.

With that said, we must avoid “head-hopping.” The best way to avoid confusion is to give a new chapter to each point-of-view character. (Head-hopping occurs when an author describes the thoughts of two point-of-view characters within a single scene.)

Fade-to-black is a time-honored way of moving from one event to the next. However, I dislike using fade-to-black scene breaks as transitions within a chapter. Why not just start a new chapter once the scene has faded to black?

The_Pyramid_Conflict_Tension_PacingOne of my favorite authors sometimes has chapters of only five or six hundred words, keeping each character thread separate and flowing well. A hard scene break with a new chapter is my preferred way to end a nice, satisfying fade-to-black.

Chapter breaks are transitions. I have found that as I write, chapter breaks fall naturally at certain places.

Every author develops habits that either speed up or slow down the workflow. I use project management skills to keep every aspect of life moving along smoothly, and that includes writing.

In my world, the first draft of any story or novel is really an expanded outline. It is a series of scenes that have characters talking or doing things. But those scenes are disconnected. The story is choppy, nothing but a series of events. All I was concerned about was getting the story written from the opening scene to the last page and the words “the end.”

Book- onstruction-sign copyThe second draft is where the real work begins. I set the first draft aside for several weeks and then go back to it. I look at my outline to make sure the events fall in the proper order. At that point, I can see how to write the transitions to ensure each scene flows naturally into the next.

Yes, that first draft manuscript was finished in the regard that it had a beginning, middle, and ending.

But I was too involved and couldn’t see that while each scene was a picture of a moment in time, it was only a skeleton, a pile of bones.

By setting it aside for a while, I’m able to see it still needs muscles and heart and flesh. Transitions layer those elements on, creating a living, breathing story.

Credits and attributions:

IMAGE: Title: The Sciences and Arts

Artist: Hieronymous Francken II  (1578–1623)  or Adriaen van Stalbemt  (1580–1662)

Genre: interior view

Date:   between 1607 and 1650

Medium: oil on panel

Dimensions: height: 117 cm (46 in); width: 89.9 cm (35.3 in)

Collection: Museo del Prado

Notes: This work’s attribution has not been determined with certainty with some historian preferring Francken over van Stalbemt. See Sotheby’s note. Sold 9 July 2014, lot 57, in London, for 422,500 GBP

Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:Stalbent-ciencias y artes-prado.jpg,” Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Stalbent-ciencias_y_artes-prado.jpg&oldid=699790256 (accessed March 12, 2024).

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March 11, 2024 · 6:00 am

Scene Framing, or how worldbuilding helps tell the story #writing

When I am reading, I become invested in the characters and their problems. The authors I like best use the environment to highlight the characters’ moods and darken or lighten the atmosphere. Their worldbuilding conveys a perception of drama with minimal exposition.

ScenesIn a novel or story, each scene occurs within the framework of the environment.

I think of the written narrative as a camera and visualize my narrative as a movie. The challenge of writing for me is discovering how to best use the set dressing to underscore the drama.

Scene framing is a necessary skill for writers of all stripes. Directors will tell you they focus the scenery so it frames the action. Their intent is that viewer’s attention is drawn to the subtext the director wants to convey.

An example of how this works in literature is one I’ve used before, a pivotal scene from Anne McCaffrey’s 1988 novel Dragonsdawn. 

AnneMcCaffrey_DragonflightThe Dragonriders of Pern series is considered science fiction because McCaffrey made clear at the outset that the star (Rukbat) and its planetary system had been colonized two millennia before, and the protagonists were their descendants.

Some elements of the narrative are considered fantasy because they feature dragons and telepathy.

The early novels detail the gradual rediscovery of lost technology and the revelation of their forgotten history. The stand-alone novel I’m discussing today, Dragonsdawn, is a how-it-all-began novel, and it reinforces the science fiction nature of the series.

  • It explains the science behind McCaffrey’s dragons and why they were genetically engineered to be what they are.

The story follows several POV characters, giving us a comprehensive view of the colony’s successes and failures. For the first ten years, the planet Pern seemed a paradise to its new colonists, who were seeking to return to a less technologically centered, agrarian-based way of life. They believe Pern is the place where they can leave their recent wars and troubles behind.

A decade after arriving on the planet, however, a new threat appears. It is a deadly, unstoppable spore that periodically rains from the skies in the form of a silvery Thread that mindlessly devours every carbon-based thing it touches.

Plot-exists-to-reveal-characterThe scenes we are looking at today have two distinct environments to frame them. In both settings, the surroundings do the dramatic heavy lifting. This chapter is filled with emotion, high stakes, and rising dread for the sure and inevitable tragedy that we hope will be averted.

  • While there is high drama in Sallah Telgar‘s direct interaction with Avril Bitra, the visuals and sensory elements of each environment reinforce the perception of impending doom.

The story at this point: We are at the halfway point of the book. Before the advent of Thread, Avril disappeared, gathering resources and intending to leave the planet with as much treasure as she can carry. She has been pretty much forgotten by the others but has an agenda and refuses to be thwarted.

In the first scene of this chapter, we are focused on Sallah, one of our protagonists. We see her leaving her children at the daycare. Such a common, ordinary thing, dropping off your children on your way to work.

The focus zooms out, and we see Kenjo, the pilot, putting the last of the precious fuel into the only working shuttle, the Mariposa. This shuttle has been refitted for one last science expedition: to discover the source of the deadly Threads. He is to retrieve a sample, knowing that if this mission fails, there will be no other.

The focus returns to Sallah, who observes a woman she recognizes as Avril Bitra slipping through the abandoned shuttles on the landing grid.

Sallah wonders what Avril is up to. The view widens again as we see Avril following the pilot, Kenjo, who vanishes. We then see her entering the Mariposa alone.

Sallah makes a spur-of-the-moment decision to follow Avril to see what she’s up to. This plot point is an example of a point of no return, which we discussed last week,

Here is where the sparse visual mentions of the environment become crucial as they emphasize the stark reality of Sallah’s situation.

compositionANDsceneFramingLIRF03092024Sallah enters the shuttle just as the airlock door closes, catching and crushing her heel. She manages to pull it out so that she isn’t trapped, but she is severely injured.

Later, the dark, abandoned interior of the Yokohama reinforces Sallah’s gut-wrenching realization that her five children will grow up without a mother.

Something we haven’t talked about is subtext.

Subtext is what lies below the surface. It is the hidden story, the hints and allegations, the secret reasoning we infer from the narrative. It’s conveyed by the images we place in the environment and how the setting influences our perception of the mood and atmosphere.

Subtext supports the dialogue and gives purpose to the personal events.

Scene framing is the way we stage the people and visual objects. What furnishings, sounds, and odors are the visual necessities for that scene?

Whatever you mention of the environment focuses the reader’s attention when the characters enter the frame.

  • In this chapter of Dragonsdawn, we see the junk and scrap on the grid and the decaying shuttles.
  • Two shuttles have been dismantled and parted out. Their components are crucial in keeping the few cargo sleds that have been converted to Thread-fighting gunships in working order.
  • Only one shuttle remains in usable condition.
  • On the Yokohama, it is dark and frigid, and the interior has been partially gutted. Anything that could be carried away has been taken to the ground and repurposed.

Sensory details are vital, showing how the environment affects or is affected by the characters.

  • Conversely, not mentioning the scenery during a conversation brings the camera in for a close-up, focusing solely on the speaker or thinker.

A balance must be struck in how your characters are framed in each scene. We flow from wide-angle, seeing Salla floating in freefall, blood pooling in her boot. The camera moves in, a close-up showing Avril’s rage at the fact that she can’t control the course of the Mariposa, which is programmed to dock at the Yokohama.

We are there when Avril taunts Sallah for her matronly body. A feeling of helplessness comes over us as Avril ties a cord to Sallah’s crushed foot and forces her to make the navigational calculations for Avril’s escape. The camera moves in, and we hear the interaction.

Sallah pretends to do as Avril asks. But really, she sets her enemy’s doom in action. The camera moves to the wider view again, seeing her at the controls in the dark, using the last of her energy. Worst of all, we know she is dying, and she understands there is no rescue for her.

  • We hear the interaction with her frantic husband on the ground.

Dragonsdawn_coverThis is an incredibly emotional scene: we are caught up in her determination to seize this only chance, using her last breaths to get the information about the thread spores to the scientists on the ground.

We learn how to write from reading the masters. We learn by observing how others use the setting to support and reinforce the subtext of the conversations and events.

Scene framing is a cornerstone of worldbuilding, and when it is done right, it can make a scene feel powerful.

Next up: Transitions

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