Speculative Fiction Centre
"The soul sets its own horizon..." --Alexander Dumas
ARTICLES ON WRITING
So, you think you might like to write sci-fi or fantasy but you're no Mr. Wizard...
Sci-fi and fantasy can be daunting genres to a writer who wants to test the waters. Creating your own world, your own society, as a backdrop to a story, can appear an immense task. So, where do you start? Define your setting. Am I doing (1) another planet, (2) a fantasy reality, or (3) our own contemporary world with an injection of fantasy elements? The last is easiest, needing the least amount of invention.
There are some general choices you need to make:
Cultural sophistication: are you using a high-tech world, contemporary world, or primitive low-tech world. In other words, will I be describing people walking, riding animals of some kind, or mechanisms of some sort. You can even have an overlap. You can have alternate worlds with elves, dragons, wizards, and advanced technology. The neat thing about using your own world is that it’s how you make it. No one can contradict your facts. You just have to be logically consistent in the elements you use. A world with trains needs steel forging technology and coalmines. Gunpowder may be optional. The more technology, the more of an infrastructure you need for it. Fortunately, you don’t have to show all that.
Tunnel Vision: You don’t have to provide the reader with an in-depth background, world history, and culture as part of the setting. You can leave out much of this. Just ask yourself, “What elements are going to enter the perceptions of the main character?” Use that character’s POV (point of view) as a narrow window to your new reality. The only part of the setting you need to show is the part your main character will directly experience. The only part of the alien culture you need to reveal to the reader is that part that directly effects the main character's present circumstances.
He will perceive the world around him through his senses. Therefore…make a list of natural elements you want to briefly highlight: What color is the sky? The sun? Is there more than one sun? The grass? Are there unusual plants that will stand out? Is this in a jungle or forest? Am I setting my story in a mountain area? Seashore? A swamp? Deciding on the climate and the time of year will give you a good idea as to the type of clothing your characters will need.
A rose by any other name: The heart of a story will always be conflict. You can approach your other-world characters as if they are very human, regardless of what they look like. All living things are going to generally share the same basic animal needs: sex, food, shelter, and clothing unless they have tree-bark skin or scales or something. Other desires that drive people can also drive aliens, or humans in a fantasy world. The desire for companionship, power, accomplishment, revenge, are still driving forces. Love itself is a universal force.
Try telling your story as if it weren’t sci-fi or fantasy, just another story. Then go back and put your own spin on all the elements of setting and culture. Don’t so much write a fantasy/sci-fi story as transmute one into that form.
Start with a “normal” conflict: how about parents arguing over what’s best for their child, and the kid being caught in the middle? Happens all the time right? Well, this happens in sci-fi and fantasy too. It’s the story of Star Trek's Mr. Spock, for instance, with his Terran mother and his Vulcan father. Remember, there’s no such thing as an original plot—-only original variations on them.
Example:
FIRST TRUTH
Mom and Dad were at it again.
"How can you do this to your own son!?!" Momma shrilled. "Let the boy eat SOMETHING. It’s been three days."
"You know my answer," that was dad, his quiet voice deep as a grave, filling the room. "It’s his fifteenth summer. If he is to have a place on this world, he must be more Edothican than those of full blood. I cannot excuse him from the Rhi’kah. He must prove his understanding of First Truth."
That’s right. Talk about me as if I’m not in the room... just forget I’m here...
I drew a cautious breath, and felt a sharp pain in my side. I was pretty sure I’d busted a rib or two. I watched Momma steal a look at me and turn tearfully away again. I hated to image how I must look to her with one eye swollen shut, my lip split, and big ugly bruises, yellow and blue, fading at most of my vital spots. Had father put his heart into it, he’d have killed me a dozen times over.
"I can’t stand what you’re doing to him," Momma said. Stirred by her emotions, her crystal talisman blazed to life, glowing a hard blue. Its energy lifted the soft strands of her hair, pooling in her eyes, sheathing her flesh in Chaos Magic--the heritage of the Silver World to its people.
"Then look at what I’m doing for him."
"For him? What’s he supposed to learn from being chained like an animal and starved? That life’s a misery and nothing’s fair?" The fire around Momma brightened.
"Fair is a word we teach our children when we want the universe to destroy them."
That’s right Dad, throw a quote from the Edoth at her. She’ll love that.
"You want to know what I think about that damned book of yours?" Momma’s voice gained amplification as she went along. It was her standard response to father’s logic, but I don’t think I’d ever heard her at this decibel level before. She was getting too bright to look at.
*
(Okay, I’ve set up the conflict--a child of two worlds, torn by their separate pulls, needing to find his place in the world. Now, I need to give the reader background on the cultural forces behind what appears to be cruelty. I give a brief encapsulated history of my world.)
*
"The Edoth is the way of strength. It deserves respect," father answered. "It brought my people out of the jungle, into the light of civilization. It is the code we live and die by, and a path of reason through a pitiless universe. It has enabled my people to survive on a world never meant for life, allowing us to forge paradise from the heart of hell..."
Hmmmmm, lecture number two-hundred and fifteen. I knew it by heart.
"If our son is weak, this planet will destroy him. Is that what you want?"
Their stares were locked. I held my breath. Momma closed her eyes, dropping her head as fresh tears arrived. "No," she answered at last. The fire dancing over her dimmed, subsiding. Her humanity returned.
*
(Okay, now I’m using the sensory perception of the main character to bring in the alien quality of the world, its uniqueness.)
*
I looked at the skylight past open shutters. The crystal port filtered out the harsher bands of radiation, letting a molten bar of light pour into the room. The light brought warmth to murder the morning chill, taking the shiver from my muscles. I was grateful. It was nearly time to end this mess, and I needed all the edge I could get.
The floor still bore the stains of my last fight. Splatters marred the patchwork pattern of turquoise, golden agate, beryl, polar jade, and topaz crystal embedded in the plaster deck. The blood lost distinction as the room became monochromatic--washed a matching crimson by the climbing sun.
*
(Okay, now it’s time to resolve the situation. The kid needs to break the deadlock. A story is conflict, and the ending is the resolution of that conflict.)
*
Don’t look down at the missing stone in the fresco, I warned myself. He’ll follow your glance, and see what you’ve done.
I set my eyes on Father instead, noticing his night-black uniform as it caught a rusty sheen that made it seem soaked in blood. His adamant face glowed like steel in a crucible. His body was massive, hard, as if carved from bedrock. I love you, Dad, but sometimes,you’re scary as hell.
My thumb felt the facets of a large topaz hiding in my hand. I’d taken my last beating in order to get it, feigning unconsciousness long after waking up so I could slowly claw it from its plaster setting with small, secretive movements while laying in a deceptive and awkward sprawl.
This rite-of-passage would have been a lot easier without my off-world blood thinning the strength, speed, and regenerative powers I’d have had were I fully Edothican. Besides which, I had trouble focusing. Like Mother, I tended to question every little thing in the universe. I couldn’t turn it off. A voice inside my head kept asking, what’s the point of starving while chained to a food locker? Is this a test of spirit, intelligence, training...?
I’ve had all the usual wilderness survival courses that are designed to measure these things--pushing you past your own assumed limits. No, I decided, physical force wasn’t the answer here. Neither was patience or endurance. Father said I’d die before he’d allow me to open the food locker, ending the test. I believed him. I’ve never heard him say anything that wasn’t true one way or another. He was here on guard duty until I solved the riddle, and could tell him the First Truth--the one damned thing I’d never found mentioned in the Edoth.
I drew a deep breath, and felt no pain. My ribs had knitted. It was time. If I was luckier than I deserved, this trick would work, overloading his reflexive response, bringing him down to my level for a second or two. Within my fist, I shifted the topaz onto my thumbnail, and flicked it into the air. The small motion made my Dad stab me with narrowed eyes, ending his distraction with momma.
I stood still, projecting innocence as the stone arced high into the air, toward the vaulted ceiling. The cut stone spun, sending refracted star-points of orange light whirling across all surfaces. In that moment, I realized what First Truth had to be: there’s always a way to do what can’t be done. It was a test of imagination.
Father’s eyes widened slightly as he tracked each movement of light, extrapolating their source. I went in, watching for Father’s reverse kick; he tended to over use it because it was wicked fast, powerful, and got the job done. Time slowed; a trick of the mind that all Edothican children learn early on. I held nothing back, determined to spare Father the burden of becoming my executioner.
*
(Okay, time for the twist. The best endings turn things around somewhere on what is expected. Here, the reader is led to believe that the son is attacking the father, but the next paragraphs stand that assumption on its head.)
*
Momma screamed. Dad’s reverse kick came up in a blur as I expected. I hopped on top of his thrusting leg, using his attack to launch my own. My body turned like a wheel. My leg was locked at the knee. This brought my heel arcing down with lethal force. Momma fell back--silenced by sheer surprise. Stunned, she dropped to the floor realizing that she was my target, not father.
Had she looked closer at the taunt length of chain running from my collar, she’d have known she was safely out of range. So why did I attack her? I knew that only a threat to Mother could draw Father out of position. Yeah, some deep part of him knew the exact length of chain as well as I did, but there was no way he could restrain himself; his heart could not stand to see me commit to a death strike against the woman he loved without him doing something about it.
I was jerked up short by the chain, hanging myself horizontally by my leap. I dropped like a rock, ignored the pain as best I could. Resisting a sensation of disembodiment, I reached past my head and seized the chain. My back scrapped across the fresco as I reeled myself in, hand over hand, slithering under Father as he sprang toward Momma.
By the time he overrode his first response; landing, turning, and launching back my way, I’d reached the food locker, and pried it open. Father froze in place glowering down at me. I continued to stuff my mouth with a piece of roasted thunder-lizard haunch, clutching a low-level shelf for support.
Finally, Father reached into the refrigerated locker for a bottle of purified water. He handed it to me without a word, eyes dancing with amused approval. He smiled for the first time in days as I drained the bottle, and even attempted a joke.
"Go easy there, Son. Try not to choke on your victory."
*
And there you have it, the happy ending. The kid we’ve been rooting for pulls off the impossible. Try this pattern, these techniques, for a story of your own, and you may just surprise yourself on how easy it can be.
Understanding rejection.
After the heat of creation cools, a discerning and dispassionate eye is needed. A writer has to wear the hat of editor to polish their work to perfection. On the cattle drive to market, the best stories are lean. The rest of the herd gets culled out by attrition. Entire pages may be casualties. Paragraphs may be left rotting in the cruel desert sun.
Prose can get ripped out of place like a bloody heart in the hand of the Terminator-—but as a self-editor, you cannot relent. An old proverb says: “Faithful are the wounds of a friend.” You do yourself a favor, beatting your writing like a red-headed step-child, bludgeoning it into shape. It’s kinder that you do it than to leave it to the editor you hope will publish your work. Like the song says: “Sometimes you gotta be cruel to be kind.” This is especially true when dealing with yourself.
As an editor, be prepared to read a story as if some unknown stranger had submitted it to you. Several edits will need to be done. Instead of reading and trying to catch everything at once, it’s easier to focus on a few things at a time. Here is a checklist you can use after you’ve run spellchecker and eliminated grammatical errors (Always your first step). Stories with obvious errors are rejected out of hand without even being fully read by editors that dislike wasting their valuable time.
CHECKLIST
1. Is there an absorbing opening hook? The best would be an action scene. Get the reader firmly on board the train before bothering to explain ANYTHING.
2. Is the “voice” of the writing smooth? Do sentences vary in length? Does sentence construction vary? Does the rhythm of words, the flow of sentences gently sweep the reader along, or are there overly complex sentences where the train of thought can be lost, where focus becomes uncertain.
You want the reader lulled into the world of your creation, to believe it real. This spell can be broken easily, especially if the reader has to stop to reread a passage for the sake of clarity. A reader must never be reminded that they are actually reading and not living out your story along with its main POV character.
Writers of Horror--ask yourself; am I trying to force mood and atmosphere, invoking horror through the language of my exposition? This is not the best way to go. Instead, let action, the events themselves, create the horror you’re looking for. Horrible scenes are scenes where horrible things are happening. In action scenes, use a stripped down “voice” that shows the scene. The scene will sell itself. Too many writers excessively emote through their prose and drive it into the ground, wearing out the reader. Always remember, less is more.
3. The beginning of a work should set the scene: telling a reader the genre; western, mystery, sci-fi, fantasy, historical novel…
The general mood of the story is set: light-hearted, grim, witty, fast-paced, introspective, whatever.
The main POV should be established. Characterization should start bonding the reader to the POV right away. We should be given a reason to care about our character, or if it’s a villain that's first highlighted, we need something to draw us into a fascinated voyeurism with his evil heart. A reason should be given why we will love to hate him.
The beginning of a work also needs to set up the major conflict. This is absolute in a short story, in a novel, a little time can be taken to show the challenge that must be eventually overcome, but something should be there to anchor the first few threads of plot. And there should never be so many threads that the main plot gets overwhelmed and hidden in the pattern.
4. Plot is the next element to look for on your editing checklist. Plot isn’t just things happening. A hat full of events isn’t a plot, no matter how entertaining, interesting or well-written. Without plot, all you have is a slice-of-life vignette—-not a story. You don't want action for it's own sake, but purposeful events that are interconnected and escalating in intensity.
The events of a plot are like dominoes in a line. They are all essential: if one is missing, the full cascade won’t be achieved. And the line needs to go somewhere. Each event needs to lead to the next, taking the reader straight to the climax. A novice writer may have a table covered with dominoes but have none of them in a row. A writer may have his line, but clutter the table top with extra dominoes that are outside the line and will still be standing once the cascade is finished. Such waste needs to be cut. Everything should advance the plot even if it does other things besides.
5. Perspective: am I using the senses and sensibilities of the POV character as a window to the story or am I standing off to the side as an invisible observer (narrative intrusion) telling the reader things? If this last is true , it’s a big no-no. Never tell what’s happening, but paint a picture with words, show it instead.
Do I know what each character wants and is fighting for in every scene. The old adage “Show, don’t tell” is critically important.
6. Am I rehashing old storys and plots, or really giving the readers a new twist on things. Do I know the market and what's selling? Do I care? Or am I writing just for me? To get published, know the needs of the editors out there, and meet those needs. If I am a doctor and a patient comes to me for an appendix removal, and I take out his spleen instead, I’m not going to be getting any repeat business.
Once established, you can write outside the box to your heart’s content. But if you only do that starting off, you may never market your writing and getting read and published is what writing is all about. To use a sexual metaphor: if you don’t write what others want to print, you’re only wanking-off when intercourse is possible.
In conclusion: chances are if your work is being regularly rejected, and you’re on top of all of the usual spelling and grammar errors people make, then you’re failing for reasons that are on this list. Be cruel to yourself, and you’ll get published: it’s okay to be your own worst enemy--the right way.
Crafting a satisfying story
There are certain mistakes that beginning writers consistently make. In an effort to help the aspiring wordsmith, and elevate the quality of writing in the universe at large, these helpful tips are offered.
Know what you write: Many people write slices of life and vignettes. These works may be well done and capable of sustaining interest, but they aren’t stories. Claiming they are may disappoint readers looking for the real deal. So what’s the difference? I’m glad you asked. Conflict and resolution provide a litmus test. Ask yourself, “what problem have I created for my main character and did it get resolved, one way or another. A story is all about the conflict, whether it’s Johnny against the school bully, Johnny against the snowstorm, or Johnny against his inner demons. Conflict is man versus man, man versus nature, and man versus self. The best stories actually use more than just one of these at a time.
And for you poets out there, there are three types of “poem”. You should know which one you write so you can categories it and post it on-line appropriately, or sell it to the right market. Poems rhymes. Prose doesn’t. Free Verse poetry is their bastard child. It’s poetry that doesn’t rhyme. You can do any of these three you like, but you should know the difference (and PLEASE use a spellchecker before posting. Nothing screams amateur like misspelled words).
Write what you know: The best stories flow from our experience feeding our imagination. The settings I write with authority and authenticity are those I’ve been to, those around me. This makes setting a story in my hometown preferable to writing about life in
Other worlds and realities are easier for the beginning write to use than the “real” world because no one else has been there to contradict the setting. But I have to be consistent in logic: If I have a world with more than one sun, I need to have characters that cast multiple shadows. If I have a world with no moon, I can’t have incoming and outgoing tides. If I melt a polar ice cap, I can’t flood the world because the melted water would simply take up the same space that the ice used to occupy, a point that completely escaped the scriptwriters of the Blade Runner and Water World movies. And if I do a time travel story, I need to remember that the earth moves around the sun and the sun itself is in constant motion within the galaxy. If I move through time, I will appear in outer space and die instantly because the Earth will be somewhere else.
I shouldn’t write a sword and sorcery story and have the hero win with magic that let’s him do whatever is necessary. I need to apply order even to the unnatural. I can’t kill vampires with silver bullets--that’s for werewolves. In fantasy, realism can be brought in if magic has a cost, and only works under specific conditions. By limiting the magic, you create tension. It becomes possible your hero may not save himself. This possibility of failure adds suspense. Suspense is good.
The KISS method (keep it simple, stupid): Another common problem with the novice writer is over killing with purple prose. Here’s an example:
A pale specter in the frigid night, thought mired in a miasma of suffering, Johnny staggered like a dancing bear in the icy cold face of night. The enraged storm howled in blind fury, battering him with fists of wind, lashing him with cold needles of rain. “Suzy!” he screamed hoarsely, clutching the blood-smeared knife handle protruding from his agonized, outraged guts. “Call me an ambulance so I can get to the hospital. I’ve had a small accident.”
Here’s a trimmed version: Notice, it’s smoother and faster to read, and doesn’t slow the reader down, distracting from where the story is going.
A pale specter, Johnny staggered through the cold rain. The storm howled. Fists of wind punished him. “Suzy!” he screamed, clutching the blood knife handle protruding from his gut. “Call…nine-one-one. Hurry…”
Remember, less is more.
Too much polish: Too much formality and accuracy with grammar and sentence structure creates stiffness in exposition and dialog. You should write the way you think. Have people speak as they customarily do. Use contractions. Don’t be afraid of sentence fragments. Keeping all the rules creates mediocre writing. The great masters are those who know rules are springboards into unknown territory. You don’t break a rule just to do so, however. You should know the rule, and know what effect you are creating by breaking it. Such an action should never be an accident.
Example time again:
Suzy found him there, sprawled in the mud, lit by flashes of lightning. “Oh my god! What have you done to yourself, Johnny? Her hand touched the bloody handle. Her first impulse was to pull it out, but she stopped herself. Suzy knew if she were to do that, he might bleed to death before help arrived. Speaking of which, she drew her cell phone from a pocket. She needed to tell them where Johnny was.
Try it this way instead:
She found him sprawled in the mud, lit by lightning flashes. “Omigawd! What have you done, Johnny? Her hand touched the bloody handle. Her first impulse was to pull it out, but she stopped herself. If I pull it out, he’ll bleed to death before help arrives. Damn! What am I supposed to do? Call for help stupid, she told herself. Her hand stabbed into a pocket, seeking her phone.
Notice, internal thought is present tense while exposition is past tense. In this example, the narrator is less visible. I’ve entered more fully into the POV, the point of view of my character. Internal thought creates intimacy but shouldn’t be overused.
Start off running: Assume that you have a book in the bookstore. A potential buyer sees an intriguing title. He or she plucks it off the shelf. Usual behavior at this point is to look at the cover art and read the back jacket to see if the book is interesting. Assuming your reader’s interest is sustained, they will now sample the writing style. Most readers will skim one or two opening paragraphs and decide at that point if they want the book. Here’s where most authors succeed or fail. If there is a lot of scene setting and boring exposition to wade through and no “hook” to grab the reader, they’ll put the book back and try another.
Here’s a false start:
The night was dark away from the streetlight islands. The storm didn’t help much. Cold and wet and wild, it ripped leaves from the branches, splattering the windshield, creating a stained-glass effect destroyed by the wipers. The EMT was glad for a hot cup of coffee. It warmed his hand as he sipped it. While the vehicle plunged toward its destination, his mind retreated into revelry. There was a Lakers game tonight. He had money on it. If he won, there was a boat he wanted to buy, an investment in pleasure. Fishing was his life. His wife would argue about the waste of money. Raised in a large family by penny-pinching parents, she tended to squirrel away every spare dollar against a rainy day. Well, he told himself, it’s raining ain’t it? Maybe if I buy her some flowers. A dozen red roses…
Character development, mood, and scene-setting need to take a back seat to hooking the reader with conflict. The focus is too wide. See how this next example hits like a bullet.
The siren screamed. Ambulance lights flashed urgently. Hell of a night for dying. The EMT sipped hot coffee as he drove. He hoped they’d make it in time. “How’s he doing, Fred?”
“Pulse is thready. Grim Reaper’s breathing down this guys neck.”
See the difference? The other material can still be used, but later in the story, after the reader’s firmly on-board.
Emotional satisfaction: To me, this is the most important element. If I’m not satisfied, I may avoid this writer in the future. At the end of the story, a reader needs to feel that the “bad” guy got what was coming to him. Or, if the story doesn’t have a happy ending, do I care? Will I mourn for the main character? Did the writer succeed in making me like them in the first place? Did bonding occur? Could I see something of my self in the character? I’ll enjoy reading about a self-destructive flawed character if there is some small element that’s at least likeable, if not admirable.
There’s much more stuff to go into, but this is a good start. Just remember, writing is extraordinarily subjective. Be your self, not Steven King or some other famous writer. You can do what you want to. Get as experimental as you want. If what you write is written well, you’ll find an audience, with a little luck and a lot of hard work. Everything is purchased with an investment of time and energy. Write something with your heart in it. If you enjoy reading it, chances are others will like it too.
Taking your writing to the next level.
Turning the corner from amateur to professional seems like a true ordeal to those pushing the envelope. I often hear: “I’d write more, but I just can’t get inspired” or “I don’t have the time I need”! The truth is, life does not accommodate the dreamer. Having a dream is not enough, and muses don’t bless as often as they should. You must be professional before you’re recognized as one. It’s unfair, I know, but there you are.
The two main traits of a professional are these: they write whether they feel like it or not, and they make the time for what’s important—learning the craft of writing.
The pro set a regular schedule, working a certain amount of time or completing a certain number of pages each day. He or she usually chooses the same time and place, a quiet corner where they can lock out the world. During this holy time, no one is allowed to interrupt except in direst emergency. If a writer makes this adamantly clear, and stands by it, half the battle is won.
Next, the pro doesn’t wait for inspiration, but plans the next project, writes a synopsis—-a writer’s blueprint-—and works the plan so the story doesn’t meander hopelessly. If after an hour or two, all the professional types is maggot-gagging tripe, the time is still well spent because habit creates discipline which creates professionalism.
Time and energy will eventually be rewarded. On an average, it takes most writers seven years to get into print, and usually not with their first effort at a novel. The pro hones his skills, learning the requirements of his avocation. Great writers are not so much born, as made in the crucible of effort and determination.
A bumblebee flies because it doesn’t know it can’t. A writer writes because that’s what writers do. In the long run, a writer is just someone who didn’t quit--may God have mercy on us all.
RESONANCE IN WRITING
Smoothing out your narrative voice.
Ever hear of a trained singer who can hold a vocal tone until it shatters a wine glass? It’s not black magic, but resonance; two things connected by energy.
Developing as a writer, the novice often neglects the useful tool of resonance. Resonance tells a receptive writer how to plot his characters, it hooks the reader, guides in the use of setting and mood, and in the release of filler--background information that can come off as narrative intrusion if not handled well.
Plotting Resonance: in determining plot, resonance between writer and main character is essential. Plot is what happens in a story-—a problem faced and resolved by a character. You don’t decide on the events, then grab up characters--like action figures--and force them into roles. Respect your characters. Let them be real to you.
Good characterization will create plot. You should ask yourself, “Given these circumstances, what would this character do?” When there’s resonation in play, the answer will be obvious to you. That will be your plot.
Occasionally, your story needs a character to do something they wouldn’t normally do as you build toward a climax. When this happens, the easy fix is to introduce a new element, an X factor, coercing the desired behavior from your character. Characters can deviate from their “normal” responses if you provide a motivation.
How many times have we seen a movie or TV show where characters do things that aren’t realistic, that don’t make sense, and we know the only reason they did this was because it was in the script. This is what you want to avoid.
Sympathetic Resonance: a major concern of the writer should be to create a bond between the main character and the reader. The reader needs to see something in the character that resonates with their feelings, their human condition, their hopes and dreams. The main character ought to have a flaw or two. The perfect hero gathers little sympathy. He’s seen as too good to be true , arrogant, even boring to some. People find scoundrels far more interesting than saints.
A villain’s more than a disruptive element we hate, he or she’s someone we LOVE to hate. But villains need resonation too, at least one redeeming trait. People ought to be able to say, “Sure, he killed his mom and dad with a frying pan, but he’s kind to dumb animals and he recycles his garbage!”
Resonance needs to be in full swing before the main character gets to the climax of a story. If we don’t identify with the character, we won’t care if he wins or not. The climax won’t matter. But when we care, the climax becomes sharper, gaining importance. A story that doesn’t engage the reader may not be finished. The writer wants to craft a story that compels reader’s attention and faithfulness. Resonance is the key.
The Enhancements Of Resonation: When resonance is present, other elements become enriched.
Setting isn’t just location, but an actual character in the story. Setting acquires personality, an infusion of mood.
In a Louis L’Amour western, the savage wild country is a mirror of the soul to the main character who is shaped by the land. The character resonates with the setting. They are two sides of a coin. To understand one, is to understand the other. Setting then becomes symbolic, useful in giving the reader insight into a character.
A setting that’s too strange will lack resonation, unless the writer can find familiar elements the reader can identify with. When showing the strange, include elements of the familiar. To intrigue with the common, show elements of the strange.
Resonace requires balance, timing. A good writer will know when to highlight setting, and when to let him leave the stage. Sometimes you don’t want a constant sound. Beats of silence in music enhance sound when it returns.
Down In Front: a common problem area with new writers is the tendency to have the narrator stand up, point at things in the story, and explain things to the reader. This is like someone who stands up in a theater, a shadow between the audience and the screen, interrupting the show. Our resonance to the action, flow, and characters is broken and has to be reestablished. Narrative intrusion prevents intimacy between reader and main character. It is never a good thing, even when necessary, and it’s not as necessary as most writers believe.
Ideally, when we’re in the head of a character, the narrative shouldn’t tell us any more than our character already knows. We want to experience events along side the character, finding things out at the same time.
Some writers construct elaborate worlds and background profiles. Sometimes, there’s more information in the research phase of a book than in the final product. ONLY THOSE THINGS THAT ARE RELAVENT TO THE STORY NEED TO BE ALLOWED IN. Avoid overkill. More is less. Anything that breaks intimacy—-resonation--needs to be brought in a different way or not at all.
Resonation will tell you when to bring in data for a reader. The time to deal with unknown elements is when the story comes to them in the course of the plot. Don’t have a character just “remember” something because you want to get it in. And don’t have a flashback without an environmental factor to trigger it. Present and past need resonation to bridge them.
Be smooth with filler, reducing its impact. Be strict with yourself. Then, your story’s flow will sweep readers away with captivating power. The reader will fall into the story and forget that they are just reading. When this happens, readers will look for your stuff again…and again…and again…
SUSPENSION OF DISBELIEF
Inside us all is a child that believes in magic lamps and in every dream coming true.
In a recent story, one insightful reviewer commented on my use of a "convenient occurance" that bordered on the highly unlikely: a guy got mysteriously dropped into an alien dimension--the land of gorgeous barbarian babes.
I did this on purpose.
The "Stranger In A Strange Land" story has a long history, hailing back to the "golden age of sci-fi". Alan Bert Akers' "Transit to Scorpio", DC comics "Adam Strange", Just about everything ever written by Edgar Rice Burroughs: "John Carter of Mars", "Beyond the Futhers Star", and "Carson of Venus" are just a few. And it happens in fantasy and other genres as well.
These type of stories come close to forming their own sub-genre. The improbable is seen in everybody speaking English wherever Captain Kirk goes in the universe, In the way the batcar burns rubber from the batcave into Gothem in time of emergency but there's never another car on the road to get in their way. It's seen in the way the Lone Ranger manages never to kill anyone, just shooting the gun out of every outlaw's hand without ever missing. The absurd continues in the way Clark
Sometimes, this is a focus on synchronicity. Synchronicity says that literally EVERYTHING has to happen sometime, no matter how fortuitous or incredible. Einstein said, "Given time and eternity, all things are possible." Some Sci-fi and fantasty writers like myself seek out the unlikely to build on, doing so tongue-in-check, knowing probability is being toturously skewed. The skewing is actually parody in disguise. It is dream fulfillment being hocked to an audience that willingly suspends its disbelief because it's fun to do so.
There is something in all of us that will "Strain at a gnat, but swallow a camel." This is what I delight in playing to. The key to making a Suspension of Disbelief work for you is simple: If it's fun and exciting, the reader will forgive the unlikeliness of anything, especially if they see that it's a wink at convention, not just bad writing. People will play along with you IF YOU DELIVER! That's all the justification a writer needs.
No one on a high octane rollercoaster ride stops halfway in the journey to bitch about how unlikely the arrangement of banks, turns, and loops are. They knew all that getting onto the ride. It's after the writer gains consent that the gloves can come off! A good rule is to always let the reader know early what kind of story/genre they're getting into. That way, you don't outrage their expectations. If a story is going to be humorous--you don't start off with high, poignant drama. If a story is going to be a tear-jerker, you don't start off with a light-hearted pie fight. A reader should be aware that a Suspension of Disbelief is being asked of them. If you are writing a supernatural story, the supernatural element needs to at least be elluded to early. You don't want it showing up in chapter three or four without the groundwork being laid.
When Ian Flemming wrote James Bond, he did so by imaging all the outragious things he ever wanted to do. Then he created a character to do them, living out his every fantasy. It's why little girls watch "Sailor Moon" anime: she is the ordinary girl that winds up transforming into the beautiful princess every girl wants to be. Our resonation with our own desires--brought to life--makes Suspension of Disbelief work. You have to know what's in the reader's secret heart and offer it to them.
So how do you know what's buried in their heart? That's the easiest answer of all: look in your own.
THAT WHICH DOES NOT KILL US
Editing as an act of self mutilation.
When I decided to write a 1,500 word submission for a Writer's Digest contest, I was used to crafting longer or shorter works. That particular length was a challenge to me. I wrote a 1,800 word story called "Ghost Warrior", but it was 300 words too long. Since I knew stories over the contest length would be discarded unread, I had to be merciless with my editing to get the work to fit. Even then it didn't win (I was robbed!) But as they say, that which does not kill us, makes us stronger.
I edited to simplify sentences, and lost many things I liked, but which didn't really advance the plot. Somehow, when I was done, I had a very lean wolf on my hands, staring hungrily back at me. The story came in just under 1,500. And reading the new version with a dispassionate eye, I had to admit that the lean bare-bones story had more power and actually read a whole lot better.
The point is this: There's always a lot more needing to be left out of stories than a writer is comfortable with cutting. In Shakespear's "Romeo and Juliet", one of Romeo's dying kinsmen says; "Yea, though the wound is ne'er as deep as a well nor wide as a church door, 'tis enough!" IF THE PROCESS DOESN"T HURT A LITTLE, YOU HAVEN"T DONE IT RIGHT. It's not enough.
When a newspaper reporter turns in a story to his editor, the guy takes a "blue pencil" and draws a line through every unneeded word. Journalistic articles are downright anorexic. Fiction writers don't have to be as sparce, but this type of cutting teaches them a valuable skill. That's why some of the best fiction writers are ex-newspaper men.
Purple prose exists because a writer is someone who believes that every word is gold and precious beyond belief. Sadly, this is not so. This love an artist has for their work is part of who we all are. It's why there's always the "official" version of a movie--and then the director's cut, where he sweeps everything up from the cutting room floor to save in a "director's cut". Sometimes, the director is right about the full vision he wants to bring. But usually, he's a little too close to the project for the best discrimination.
It's why no matter how much I edit a fresh work, if I put it aside for months, or come back to a story a year later and reread it, I see all kinds of things needing to be changed. TIME IS PERSPECTIVE. Sometimes the heat of creative energy needs to cool after completion before its best version of a story can be hewn out.
My friends, a good writer is one who knows when he or she must "bite the bullet" and be very strict in the editing process. A writer's group can help us face the unpleasant truth that readers don't see what's in our heads, only what we get down in print. Sometimes, we are not as clear or brilliant as we think we are being. And it's always easier to edit other peoples stuff than your own.
Still, the end result is worth the agony. Don't give until it hurts--don't give and let it hurt a lot. It will make you a better writer.
THE LENS OF PERCEPTION
Get the monkey off your back before it chokes you out.
Unless you're writing old school with omniscient narrative style, instead of limitied omniscent, the narrator of a story ought to be an unseen ape in the overhead jungle. Problems arise when he scampers down to become a monkey on the back of the POV character. When Jane (symbolic here for the reader) is trying to get intimate with Tarzan, this can be an annoying distraction.
Breaking the cycle of “narrative intrusion” can be difficult, but the first step to solving a problem is the realization that you have one—that there’s a monkey on your back. In a nutshell, this is the tendency to tell the story instead of showing it. This practice is the primary error of the novice writer, and a most persistent habit.
The problem runs amok in the exposition when the narrator tries to directly interject information to the reader that may or may not be needed, and does so in a heavy handed way—-like an ape at the zoo flinging feces. This is called a “data dump”.
Here’s an example:
I walked up the street to Billy-Bob's Steak House to see the new owner, my old buddy John “Mad-dawg” Murphy, thrice decorated Marine veteran and master of the Kung-fu grip. Losing his leg in ‘
Inside, I was ushered into an office. I sat. "I'm in trouble," I said. "I need your help."
I know, on the surface, this seems like incredibly great writing. You may be asking; “What’s wrong with it?”
Just this; it lacks the enhancing lens of perception that shows instead of tells. The data has no texture, no sensory component. It exists in a sensory deprivation tank, without the textures provided by the POV. The reader needs to be in the mind of the main character. All data should come in through the eyes of that point of view, colored by the perceptions natural to that character—-not the narrator. The narrator can hijack a story, becoming a character himself, if you’re not very careful (apes are willful things).
So, how do you fix narrative intrusion?
Basically, you keep the data tied to the main character. Take all that background data that was crammed into the previous example and bring it out linked to sensory perceptions—-things the main POV character sees, hears, and remembers.
Don’t just say the main character is at the steak house. Establish setting. Describe the place. Describe “Mad-Dawg”. Use his stiff military bearing—or something the POV character can see—-to naturally justify the insertion of the veteran data. Show “Mad-Dawg” in his office, sitting at a desk with his bionic leg up as he’s screwing on a replacement toe or something. How he got the limb can be worked more naturally in. Dialog is often a more effective tool for this than exposition. Other pieces of data can be shown through the office setting, making it serve double duty; a purple heart on the wall in a glass case, pictures of him with his old combat team, etc…
It should go something like this:
* * *
I walked up the street to Billy-Bob's Steak House to see the new owner. The place was a massive A-frame structure, wrapped on three sides with tinted windows. It looked as if it would have been more comfortable at a ski resort. The sign just inside the door said I was in luck; it was endless surf and turf night! A heart-faced girl with brown eyes and tawny hair gathered up a menu, preparing to lead me to Carnivore’s
“That’s all right,” I told her. “I’m here to see Mad-Dawg.” She blinked, not sure she’d heard me right. “Oh, sorry. That’s what we called him in ‘
“Is he expecting you?”
I smile habitually at pretty girls. I did so then. “No. Just tell him a buddy from his old unit is here.”
“Yes, Sir. One moment, please.”
The smell of the place was getting to me, feeding my hunger. My stomach complained of neglect. Shut up, I told it. You’ll get taken care of soon enough.
The hostess hurried back. She led me to a back office cluttered with half-full boxes. His hair was still an unruly black mop. The face it framed was nearly untouched by age. He looked up as I arrived. Though no expression altered the mask of his face, I saw a flash of welcome dancing in emerald eyes.
Mad-Dawg sat at a desk, his tin leg up on it, shoe and sockless. I’d known that he’d had the original blown off by a mine, decades ago, but this was my first time seeing the bionic replacement provided by some nameless agency so he could continue his black-ops missions.
I watched him take off a mangled digit and screw on a new toe. I had to wonder if it came complete with a death ray. “How’s that thing holding up?” I asked.
“Can’t complain.” Mad-Dawg looked up with his patented thousand-yard stare, guaranteed to drive fear into the hearts of the ungodly. I was glad not to qualify. “It’s brought me enough cash to buy this place, and quite a lot else. This a social visit?”
“I’m in trouble. I need help.” My gaze went to the wall over his head. Glass cases held a Congressional medal of honor, a purple heart, and assorted medals of valor. Next to them was an old picture of the recon unit. He and I were both there, wearing mud on our faces, grinning for the camera with the jungle behind us. We’d walked through hell together. It didn’t matter that that was a long time ago. Bonds forged on the battlefield are forever.
“Have a seat,” he said. “Tell me about it.”
* * *
You see? The same information comes in, but not from a disembodied source (the narrator), not as a monkey on the back of the main character. The data comes in as an expression of the main POV instead. This is the cure, my friends. Time to clean up your act. Go cold turkey. Don’t let narrative intrusion clog the arteries and make a mediocre talent out of you!
THE JOURNEY
The journey of a thousand miles...is best avoided altogether.
Consider your next story to be a journey: your plot is a beast of burden, a camel. Oases are points of action (each one bigger than the last) that lead to the
The load must be diverse to generate interest at the market. The unwise camel herder may pack too much exposition or dialog. Sometimes, there is a real lack of sensory detail, imagery. Then, there’s all that stuff in our character outlines that we are itching to use: age, description, schooling, childhood traumas, etc… Then there’s setting the scene, imbuing it with mood.
The main part of the story must be the plot, the camel. Sure, you can pile everything else together, and then toss the camel on top, but you won’t be crossing the desert anytime soon. The other elements don’t have legs for the work of going some place.
Plot is the response of a character facing a problem. The climax is when he or she beats the problem or is defeated by it. The trick with establishing a tight plot is to focus your characterization on the problem. Tie them together so you don’t have characterization wandering away from the camel, getting lost on the trip.
Today, with the focus being on what modern writers call the “character novel” with its “character arcs”, it’s easy to craft a work that forgets where it is going and why. This isn’t a story, just an interesting portrait slowly being covered by wind-blown sand.
To keep direction and pacing going, chart your course carefully. Make a graph. The beginning point is the “hook”. This is a bit of intrigue or action like bait on a hook. It is the first paragraph of your story, your departure point. Next, decide on your destination, the climax. This is the most exciting point of the story, the event all others (the oases) should be pointing to. Don’t mistake your story elements for these. Then, draw a line to connect hook to climax.
One method to ensure that your story stays focused is to write its ending first. Create a high intensity climax where all conflict ends. Make it emotionally satisfying and exciting. Then, ask yourself, what are all the actions that got me here? These are the oases you use, no others. There are many oases in the desert. If you just go to everyone out there, you could wander in circles and never get to market. Discipline is essential; only draw your line through the oases you need to visit to get to where you’re going.
If you want to hit your mark, use a rifle, not a shotgun, or you’ll mangle your target beyond recognition. And have some compassion for the plot (the camel). You want it light on its feet. A common error is to overload the poor beast so it can’t take a step. This is akin to taking out a fly with an elephant gun. It may be emotionally satisfying, but the collateral damage will be horrific.
The desert, your editor, can be most unforgiving so don’t risk meandering until your story collapses in exhaustion, to be picked apart by buzzards. Frankly, this is exactly what most novice writers do. Remember, the readers are at the marketplace, longing for what you alone can bring. Why would you want to keep them waiting?
