by Mayumi-H | Jan 16, 2013 | Process
Before we begin, when I say, “Good things happen in the dark,” I’m not talking about those fade-to-black sexy-time moments that occur between two consenting adults. (Though, those can be very good, make no mistake.) No, I’m talking about story, and when you (might) want to keep your readers in the dark.
Lance Henriksen
Sir Ian Holm
[Spoiler warning!] In ALIEN (1979), Holm plays Ash, an android. The tricky part – that “terrible place” to which Henriksen refers – is that the audience is not aware Ash is an android until rather late in the story. In the moment, the reveal is a surprise. Yet, on repeat viewings, with the luxury of knowing what’s to come, the audience can watch Holm’s performance and see the “secret” well in advance.
There’s an art to this, in writing as well as acting. (They are, after all, two ways to tell a story.)
Personally, I’m a fan of keeping my cards close to my vest. I believe story details should occur organically, in dialogue or description, without the reader feeling like they’re being hit over the head with a mallet.
Showing your hand too early?
Scott paused. “I’m not going to be here forever.”
“Why?” Ross asked with another offhanded snicker. “Where you going?”
“Truro,” Scott answered, the tone of his voice much more definite than simply conversational.
In the abrupt silence between them, they both slowed their pace, until they were standing in the sand, facing each other.
“Truro?” Ross said at last. “You mean, you’re leaving?”
Scott shrugged again, more naturally this time. “Venus’s job is there,” he said, “and the commute is brutal on her. Sometimes, she works twelve- or even fourteen-hour shifts! We had to rent a flat down there just so she’d have a place to crash when things get hairy.”
“What about the school? I thought you were going to take over for Pennington?”
Scott smiled wryly. “The only way he’s leaving that classroom is feet first. Besides, I can find a job anywhere.” He sighed. “Emma needs to be with her mum more. And we both miss Venus like crazy when she’s not at home.”
Ross blinked, then smiled, too, a bit sadly. “Well, I’ll miss you, mate. The girls, too.”
Scott chuckled, still melancholy but with a renewing trace of his usual humour. “You lads are rather like family, as well.” His stance relaxed as he gave another sigh. “But, we do what we have to do.”
The main point of the dialogue above is that, sometimes, we have to make sacrifices for the people we love; that’s the primary theme of the chapter from which the snippet is taken. But, I also put a tiny detail in there, one that doesn’t come to fruition until four chapters later.
Readers who were paying attention should recall the detail upon gentle reminder in that later chapter. Even if they don’t, I still give some brief explanation. But, it doesn’t come completely from left field…and, I don’t need to waste precious plot development time relating facts I’ve already put out there. Or – potentially worse – slowing down the drama or excitement of the moment by breaking away into exposition.
[Caveat:] Of course, different genres can approach this dilemma in different ways. Agatha Christie, for example, would dump so much information to the reader, in order to make her mysteries trickier to figure out before the end. (I’m guessing this is what happens to a real detective: they’re given lots of different facts, without easily knowing which ones are worth following. So, they have to pick and choose…or, follow them all.) This can certainly build tension and create red herrings, making for a fun – if not terribly straight or succinct – ride. But, a romance writer who wants to drop a baby-bomb on their main character may wait for a particular moment to make such a plot point known, to maximize shock or drama value, then go back and illustrate supporting details as a follow-up. This practice, too, can create opportunities for emotional growth.
So, there’s no one way to weave the little details of your story, or to let them known to your reader. But, what are your favored storytelling techniques for divulging information?
by Mayumi-H | Jan 12, 2013 | Fearless, Uncategorized
In the year I’ve had this little blog space, I’ve tried to keep to an update schedule of three times per week: I reserved Mondays for talking about and posting some pages from the Fearless novel, I kept Wednesdays for creative writing prompts (usually 100-Word Challenges for Grown-Ups or Five Sentence Fictions), and on Saturdays, I’ve been posting about my writing process in general. In going over my annual statistics report, though (and looking at the hits and comments I get), I’m wondering if three regular topics is too many.
The (overwhelming?) power of 3
I don’t always have time for them they don’t always interest me. I like giving readers insight into Fearless (which I’ve taken to calling my beautiful mess), but I often use it as an example for my Saturday process posts…and, most readers around here have their own stories they want to tell, so I’m thinking my posting parts of the novel on Mondays is just plain old boring for them. Plus, many of us have made new year resolutions to buckle down with our own writing this year (I know I’ve done), so maybe three times a week is simply too much to take in.
In light of these considerations, I’ve decided to try updates twice a week, instead of three times per week (at least for the next six months). Since my photo/art blog already posts on Mondays, starting this week, Process posts (about writing and the current work in progress/WIP) will occur on Wednesdays, and writing prompt responses/original short fiction posts will occur on Saturdays.
Hopefully, this will help me write better posts, read/comment on more of your posts, and let me concentrate a bit more on my storytelling.
[polldaddy poll=6823403]
What schedule do you keep for your blogging? Do you keep a schedule? How many updates do you consider not enough, too many, or just right?
by Mayumi-H | Jan 7, 2013 | Excerpts, Fearless
(Or, visualisation, if it please you, Beth. ;))
I think writers should be as visual as traditional artists. Perhaps more so, because we need to provide description for a reader, without the benefit of a comic panel or moving image. But, dwelling on description overlong can become tedious for a reader, and that we never want.
“Good morning,” he replied, coming to a slow stop in front of her. He propped his board beside him, shielding her from the bright sun; it didn’t make her any less pretty.
“Ah…Amber, yeah?” he said, feigning blase non-involvement.
She nodded. “And you’re…” She paused a moment. “Fearless?”
He snorted. “Close enough. Ross.”
“Right,” she said. Though from her smile, he guessed she hadn’t needed the reminder, either.
He raised his brow at her. “You need help with something?”
“You said I should stop by,” she reminded him, as she glanced up at the sign of the shop, with its graffiti-style lettering. Looking back to him, she smiled again. “So, here I am.”
“Here you are,” he echoed, as he felt himself break into a smile, too.
That’s the only time the shop sign is mentioned, but I still came up with a design:
The Fearless shop logo
Mostly, I did it because I like playing around with graffiti. But, I also think it’s important for a writer to have a firm vision of the world in which their characters live. The more we know – either in our heads or on the page – the less we need to explain to the reader: the details usually invariably find their way into the story on their own.
I design (or, at least, I keep detailed notes for) every location of any import in my stories, from Ross’s living loft above the shop, to Amber’s hospital room, to the Truro flat. I did the same for a Japanese apaato and a country ryokan, a starfaring tramp tanker and a soldier’s little love nest. Because understanding where your characters are will help everyone understand where they go, how, and why (we call that “blocking” in theatre-speak).
How do you design your locations in your stories?
by Mayumi-H | Jan 5, 2013 | Process
“F***,” Ross swore to himself as soon as he’d closed the door to the loo. Another quietly hissed, “F***,” as he wrenched the metal faucet handle open, and a third as he clenched his fingers beneath the flow of water.
Shouldn’t have come what are you doing here you don’t belong Sam‘s right–
And, of a sudden looking up into the mirror above the sink, he saw the reflection of that oddly proper but still charming wave walker, with the blond hair and clear blue eyes, in the dark shirt and silk tie, and stopped.
“No,” he told that man in a whisper. “It’s just one night. You can do this.” He splashed some water on his face, to cool the flush of red behind his eyes, and looked into the mirror again with a determined stare. “Just keep your bloody mouth shut.”
Apologies for the coarse language above, but I wanted to illustrate a technique used quite a bit in fiction: the inner monologue. Or, put more basically, thoughts in a character’s head.
I try not to dwell in a character’s head overmuch. There are times when it’s convenient to make a point, but I’m well aware that the inner monologue can be a crutch, where the danger is I’ll be informing the reader (telling) of a character’s motivations or feelings rather than letting the character’s actions make those motivations and feelings known more organically (showing).
Almost worse than this fallback to telling, though, is when I see some writers use the inner thought convention in a way that is so formal it becomes unnatural, cumbersome, even. Thoughts become like words spoken aloud, as you might see in a comic book thought bubble…
…when I don’t know of anyone who thinks in structured sentences.
Now, I don’t take issue with a simple thought such as “War sucks,” which is basic and visceral: the emotion is broken down pretty much to its core as can be done. What I do roll my eyes at is a chunk of text broken out as a character’s inner thoughts that is structured so much like a proper paragraph that it could just as well be spoken. That it probably should be spoken:
Perhaps I should go to her, standing there in front of her locker, and ask her if she’d like to go to the dance with me. Just go up and ask her. How hard could that be? If she says yes, maybe I could bring her flowers, too, to show her how much I like her. But what kind should I get? She’s said peonies are her favorite, but what if the florist doesn’t have any peonies? What are peonies, anyway? Oh, blast! Why does young love have to be so complicated?
This is overdoing it, of course, but you get the idea. How boring is that, to be told outright – through an inner monologue, no less! – what the character is thinking and feeling? How much more interesting would it be to guess a little:
He shifted on his feet as he watched her giggle among her friends. Even the way she opened the locker door was full of grace, fingers clutching her books like they were delicate flowers.
Didn’t she like flowers? He’d heard her talk once about peonies – whatever they were – in some conversation or other. Maybe, if he came to her with those before he asked her to the dance, she might notice him, for once….
Actually, I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. 😉 I do know it’s more interesting to write, though, so hopefully it’s more interesting to read.
The inner monologue is a perfectly acceptable convention. Just remember that it shouldn’t be your answer to all explanations. Thoughts are in our heads for a reason. Words from our lips just the same.
Do you employ the inner monologue? If so, how? And, which of those examples do you prefer, if either?
by Mayumi-H | Dec 31, 2012 | Fearless, Process
Amber smoothed her hand over his tie, flattening it against the line of buttons on his shirt, and looked up at him, her expression an odd mix of hesitant and hopeful.
“I know this isn’t easy for you,” she muttered. “But, I really want us to try and have a pleasant evening. All right?”
Ross did his best to return her a smile, but it didn’t quite work. Because as much as he’d said (and wanted to believe) Sam was no threat to him, stepping onto her turf, into her sphere of influence, for the first time since that Christmas past – the night everything changed – was something entirely different.
Finally, he could only shrug, and say, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
The original title of this post was “Villains and Lovers,” but I thought the title for the 1921 film (which still is above) – “There are No Villains” – was more appropriate. Because one man’s villain is another man’s lover, just as one man’s insanity is another man’s genius, or one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.
In the snippet above, the character of Sam stands as an antagonist for Ross. But, as the story is told only from Ross’s perspective, I want the reader to make his or her own judgments about Sam, apart from Ross’s prejudices. They need to do, if they’re to get a fuller picture of who she is and why she does what she does. Because, as I’ve said, one man’s villain is another man’s lover.
Villains in themselves can be a tricky lot. Some – a few – are absolute: devils incarnate who serve only to tempt, subvert, and destroy. More often, though (or, at least, more interesting), are the villains who exist as three-dimensional characters. In fact, your villain probably should have more than one dimension to them. If they just want to press that red button that blows up the world, there’s not much conflict that can’t be solved with a solid punch to the jaw (or a swift-talking mediator, if you prefer). But if your villain is a character in his or her own right – with feelings, motivations, and (dare I say it?) sympathies – that can and probably will create much more depth for all of your characters, not just that one.
What kind of villains are your favorites to read, or to write? Do you have suggestions of great villains to check out? (Of course, all of this applies only if your antagonist is sentient. You can’t exactly reason with a typhoon or a tumbling asteroid. Or, maybe you’ve figured out a way to do that, in which case, I really want to read your story!)
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