Adventures in fiction
writing techniques
When writing about writing it's tricky to figure
what order to introduce each subject. I chose to introduce subjects as they would normally arise for me in writing a story. Some subjects may seem elementary, but on this journey we have to consider even the newest tenderfoot. If you've been on this
trail awhile, hang on and hopefully we'll get to something of interest before long. But we start first with the dangers lurking in fiction writing in the hope it may save us from slipping into a black-hole.
Warnings.
I feel like I'm writing a disclaimer for a pack of cigarettes. Before I lead you down this thicket of words and images, I must issue three real warnings.
First, writing fiction is addictive. You laugh, but once I
started building worlds on paper I found there was always a force calling me back. It didn't make any difference how many failures I had, how many rejection slips I collected--more than my share--or how many times I smashed typewriters to smithereens
against the floor, I could never turn off that seductive siren-call that still wafts across trouble waters whispering of how BIG my next novel will be.
Notice the two cliches: smithereens and troubled waters? Those
are some of the sharks lurking in those troubled waters we must liquidate if we want to polish our stories.
Second, there are many real live sharks waiting to prey on our fiction-writing addiction. It is way too early
to talk of submitting for publication, but not too early to warn about those waiting to take advantage of our desperate desire to be published. These often skirt the edge of the law, and sometimes overstep it. There was a felony case against a New York
company that charged big bucks for amateurish critiques with the promise it would lead to publication, and less than scrupulous agents recommended this company in return for kickbacks. It also includes a recent e-mail I got offering to electronically
publish my novel. For 500 buck-ohs they would convert my novel to 'digital format.' Isn't that what DOSTEXT is? Can I not do that with a tap of my mouse? Beware of those who promise the moon least you end up with a
firefly.
Mainly let it be said, a reputable publisher will NOT charge you for publication. A reputable agent will NOT charge you a reading fee, nor recommend a high priced company to edit your manuscript. And a
reputable agent will NOT charge you hundreds of dollars for up front expenses. Reputable agents make their money through commissions on selling your writing. Reputable publishers make their money through book sales. Up front money is a scam. I don't
care what they call it, handling fee, reading fee, cooperative publishing, you can bet you are putting your dollars on a one way ride to Indiana Jones' Lost Temple of Doom. Repeat after me, up front money, all up front money, is a
scam.
But suppose I want to have my story published for my family and I'm willing to pay the cost? Then you want to self-publish. This way you control the cover art, the number of books to be published, and the cost
of printing. I don't recommend it for fiction writers, in self-publishing everything depends on the writer, but I knew of a few--very few--who managed to make it work Most end up with lots of books in the basement.
The third warning is, go buy a copy of BLOODY BONSAI. Now before you think this is crass commercialism, whiiiiich in a way it is, there are also two things to consider. The first is to read it and judge if I'm practicing what I preach in BookMarc. BUT
the second is a warning. The real work starts once a book is published. Publicity depends upon the author, and if he/she doesn't take every opportunity to bring the novel before the eyes of potential readers, then no one else will. If you have a novel
accepted for publication, you must stand ready to take on the added job of publicist--like, did I mention buying BLOODY BONSAI?--or your second novel will never make it to your editor's desk.
With these caveats in
place, and if you're still game, in BookMarc #2 next week we'll plunge into Brer Rabbit's thorn-thicket and weave our tortuous path through the briers and brambles of fiction writing. The good stuff.
Copyright Peter E. Abresch BookMarc
February 13, 1998
No one can teach you to write
fiction. Say what? I really believe that. It's a process you have to work through yourself, to find your style and your voice--just as your telephone voice is different from your speaking voice, so too is your fiction-writing voice. You have to
develop a smoothness that only comes from writing and rewriting until you learn how to lead one sentence into another, one paragraph to another, and one chapter into another. You have to hone your skills just like any other craftsman. But writing is
something we do everyday, right? Like walking. But just because we can walk eight miles, does that mean we can climb Mount Everest? Then why would we believe we could jump right in and write a great novel without taking the time to learn the craft?
To practice it. To polish our words like a cabinet maker puts a fine sheen on a table top.
Now while no one can teach you to write fiction, they CAN teach you the elements, plotting, building of characters, what makes
dialogue work--the rules, folks. We need to know the rules so we know how to break them. It took me a bunch of years to realize this, and part of the reason for writing these treatises is to help you avoid the mistakes I
made.
Sometime toward the beginning of your writing efforts it would be a good idea to check out local college extension courses on fiction writing. You don't want an English teacher whose idea of creative writing is
correct grammar. "Write me a story on what you did on your summer vacation." You want someone with credits to their name, people who actually have novels or short stories in print.
The same thing goes for books on
writing. A book can't give you a successful formula either, but it can point out the stepping stones on which to balance while crossing the river.
The trouble with many books on writing is that they are difficult to
read. Does that sound right? Good writing should be fun to read. Mark Twain or Nathaniel Hawthorne, depending on who you talk to, is quoted as saying, "easy reading is hard writing." Well, if the authors are trying to teach us how to write
easy-reading, shouldn't their books on writing be easy reading? Or at least interesting reading? I include myself in what I'm saying here. If you are having trouble reading my stuff, hey guys, I probably don't know what I'm talking
about.
I remember once buying, hard cash, a book on the history of Israel, because I was interested it relating it to the Bible. The author had many letters after his name and the book was praised in a review. After
plowing through ten pages of parenthesis and words in quotes and convoluted phrases that went on for six or eight lines, I threw it aside. This man might have had a captive student audience, and I pity them, but not me. Maybe it worked for content,
but not for easy-reading.
Two of the best books on writing, in my opinion, are "Stein on Writing" by Sol Stein, and "Self Editing for Fiction Writers" by Renni Browne and Dave King. I wish I had these books twenty
years ago. Today I'd be a millionaire best seller. Oh yeah.
Lastly, if we want to write easy-reading, we have to read books that are easy reading. Not books written forty or a hundred years ago, but those written
today. Television and movies have changed the perception of how we view stories, instant starts and building scenes rather than the slow pace of long-ago novels. So choose the genre you're interested in writing, and read for pleasure and to see how
they do it. When I am not writing I'm usually reading. And with audio books, I'm even at it while riding my lawnmower or in the car. We'll talk more about this.
Okay, I think in Bookmarc #3 we're ready to get
started.
Copyright Peter E. Abresch BookMarc February 13, 1998
Sometimes a single event will spark an idea
for me and I'll carry it around for months, even years in one case, before the rest of the story clicks into place At other times I'll pop up early in the morning, like God speaking to me, with a full blown idea--wow, wouldn't it be neat to try this? I
know one woman must have a title before she can start. Others keep meticulous notes on various subjects of interest, keep adding to them, and when one reaches critical mass, they go to work.
But a story idea is the least
of your problems. If you're even reading this it probably means you already have an idea. Of all the ingredients you'll be putting into this pie, the idea is the cheapest item. People often offer ideas with the comment that all the author has to do is
write it up for a sure-fire bestseller. Oh yeah, and split the profits no doubt. Anyone can have an idea, that's why ideas can't be copyrighted.
The idea can be either for a plot--suppose a man were to wake up and find
himself in a different time? What would happen next? And what would happen after that? And after that?
Or it can be an idea for a character--Sundance Moonflower. What is she like? Chances are with a name like that
she's a Native American or a sci-fi character. How does that affect her? Where does she live? That's how a character story devel ops, how she reacts to things happening in her life, and why.
Okay, so you have an idea.
Where do you go from here? Once again it depends on the individual. It's not how others do it, but what works best for you. Some write extensive outlines, others write no outlines, they have an idea in their head and they strike out for parts unknown.
It all works.
Having said that, I think for the beginner it's best to start out with some outline. This gives you a road map for the journey, something to pull out when you come to a
crossroad.
Some will be happy with one-page outline, just enough to start putting down words. Others will write a small outline and then keep reworking it until they practically have the first draft. You really have to
try them all on to see what fits for you. If the short outline doesn't get you into the story, try working out a long one, and if a long outline starts to destroy your interest, slap something short on a piece of paper and go for broke. The main thing
is, if one way doesn't work, try another. You develop your craft by trial and error.
I do it both ways. If I know where I want to begin, what's in the middle, and how it ends up --> Charge! If the idea is nebulous, I
have a location, two main characters, something happening in the background, say a juicy murder or two, then I'll try to work it out in an outline. A few lines switched around now saves time over changing the bulk of the story
later.
But an outline is not a Moses tablet. Follow it too rigidly and you will ignore logic for storyline and lose credibility. Treat it as a road map. If you come to a new fork, go with it a bit, see how it works
out. As we write with the forefront of our minds, our subconscious keeps churning away like a computer chewing over mathematical data, and at unsuspecting times slips us new solutions. We have to be ready to grab them and go because they often result
in a better story.
In BookMarc #4 we look at blocking out a story.
Copyright Peter E. Abresch, BookMarc February 13, 1998
Okay, say we've got our story idea and
we've written an outline of sorts. Now we want to block it out and see how it fits. This won't be necessary for everyone, those who charge ahead w/o writing an outline, nor for those who can keep the whole story in their
head.
I think it's easiest to view your story like a movie. It's something we're all familiar with. Everything in your story is played in scenes, with one scene closing and another beginning. This is true even for a
linear story, say that told in the first person. Call these chapters if you like, but sometimes more than one scene takes place within a chapter, depending of how you set it up. The story moves from the opening to closing the scene, it just doesn't
have to follow a linear progression. I'm sure you've seen movies that jumped around in time and place and character. You can do that with your story as well.
Most writers do their blocking with story boards. These are
simple cork boards or bulletin boards or even a large piece of Styrofoam. You assign a scene-heading to a three by five card, jot down what happens and which character is telling the story, then tack it up on the story board. Once you've worked out all
the scenes to complete the story and have them up on the board, you see how they fit together. Shift them around and study them for effect. You also might want to see if you have redundant scenes, weak scenes, scenes that really do not add anything to
the story. If so, get rid of them. When you're happy with how they're lined up, you're almost ready to begin writing.
A writer I know, Dave Poyer, showed me once how he blocks out a complicated storyline, with many
secondary stories and many view points, on a large poster, with arrows and lines to intersecting points in the book, where characters will converge and play off once another, and perhaps end as one expires, or diverge to come together at the novel's
conclusion.
For instance, suppose our story takes place during an his toric episode, say we want to reveal what happens during the battle of Minihaha when a lone aircraft carrier comes up against a lone enemy battleship.
One way would be to tell it through one person, but then it becomes a personal story and we want the real star to be the battle. To do that we have to show the story through many eyes. Someone flies a plane, someone fights fires, a doctor tends the
wounded, a man trapped below deck, a gunner, and two captains leading their ships through the muck.
Oookay, so the first thing we do is set up the scenes for each character, which becomes a story in him/herself.
Remember, things can change up until the final draft. After we get all the scenes we need for each character, we pin up all our cards. Where character-scenes intersect, we decide which character is the strongest for the scene and toss the others. When
we fin ish, we trash any character and scene that's not absolutely necessary. Finally, we arrange the cards to tell the story in the most dramatic way. That's how to block a story.
One more point on the battle of
Minihaha. Remember in BookMark #3 we talked about logic? Well, logic tells us we would never find a lone aircraft carrier and a lone enemy bat tleship out on an ocean w/o an escort. So we have to change the parameters or come up with a reason for this
unusual condition. The carrier leaves the fleet to pick up an ex-pilot Admiral who is afraid to fly. The enemy battleship has destroyed a sub that has sunk its escort. Or visa versa. They bingo in mid-ocean. Yeah, I know, it's really stretching, but
you get the idea.
In BookMarc #5 we'll take up brainstorming, perhaps a little out of order, but, as the old carny barker used to say, "ya pays ya money and ya takes ya choice."
Copyright Peter E. Abresch,
BookMarc February 13, 1998
Sometimes it's hard to figure out in what order
these items should be taken up. Should I talk about outlines and blocking stories before brainstorming? Should I talk about brainstorming before ideas? These are some of the same questions you'll face in trying to figure out the order of scenes in
your story. For me I choose to bring up brainstorming now. For now. Remember, folks, what we said about outlines--they're not Moses tablets.
My friend Marcy Heidish--A WOMAN CALLED MOSES, DEADLINE-- told me how in
brainstorming with a buddy, batting things around for an idea she had, one of them took up a snifter full of marbles and emptied them on the floor where they bounced and rolled and scattered. If you read her book, THE TORCHING, you'll come across this
snifter of marbles in the guise of eyes cut out of cadavers. A chilling thought for late at night.
I've tried to encourage this kind of brainstorming with writing friends of mine, but I've not been too successful.
First of all, everything has to be onboard. Nothing can be ridiculed at as stupid or silly. That's part of the reasoning for bringing it up, to bounce wild and crazy ideas around to see what jells into a corpse pressed down into headcheese. But a lot
of writers hold protectively to their story ideas, and there is also a strong feeling that if they talk the story out they'll never write it out. And I'm not so sure they're wrong.
The idea of brainstorming is a bit like
that of writing an outline. First it's to clarify the total story in our mind. Then to bring about some order in the way we're going to tell the story. Finally, to consider, hold, or reject some ideas in the planning stage without waiting till half
the book is written before we've found our idea ain't gonna work.
The problem is in finding someone you can trust, one w/o a hidden agenda, who will bounce alternatives back and forth w/o dumping the overall project as
worthless. An embryo idea that might sprout into a masterpiece is vulnerable as a seedling. The mustard seed needs to be nurtured for it to become a tree.
Living out in the boonies, I brainstorm with myself. After
all, I'm a nice guy, trustworthy, brave, clean, and reverent. And I am humble, recipient of the national humble award.
This idea I got from Elizabeth Neal's book, YES, YOU CAN WRITE. She calls it looping. I call it
brainstorming with myself. You need a timer, one that will ring or ping. This is essential to keep from worrying about the clock. You set the timer for five minutes. Then you write like hell, never stop ping to correct anything, whatever pops into
your mind, even if it's only, "This ain't working, Clyde." You probably want to have a jumpstart reason why you are doing this--how can I kill the grape-colored Barney w/o getting caught? I usually put that up top before starting. Anyway, after the
timer goes off, you take a moment to put down a once sentence main idea to come out of this session. You reset the timer and go at it again, adding another idea statement. Then do it a third and final time.
This is the
most valuable writing tool I use.
I should tell you it is an acquired taste. Like drinking coffee. The first few times I didn't get much in the way of results. And there was the thought I was wasting fifteen min utes
of valuable writing time. But I kept at it and now I use it whenever I get stuck, outlines, new chapters, changes in plots, building characters, everything. I've heard of writers who start with this every time they sit down. And I think if you stick
with it a bit you'll find yourself coming up with all sorts of twists and turns--ideas that had not bloomed at first blush, and most will not pop up till the third five minutes.
I usually end each session by listing all
the ideas that have come to me, something I might want to explore next time, and finally some unresolved thoughts for the future. I do this a lot, especially when I don't know where to go next. I've recommended this to other writers who were stuck in
the middle of their novels and told they to try it for a week. They grudg ingly agreed only to come back at the end of the week saying it opened up a whole new set of options for them. I urge you to try it. And let me hear how you make out. I need
feedback on things I recommend. Maybe it only works for guys who are nice, trustworthy, brave, clean, reverent, and recipients of the national humble award.
Next time, BookMarc #6, we'll take up
composing.
Copyright Peter E. Abresch, BookMarc February 13, 1998
We're not really writing yet. Just getting the
words strung out for the first time. It's more like composing, creating the story. For those of you starting out, and those able, I urge you to compose your story right on a computer. If you do this from the beginning, you will work with words as they
are in the finished story. Printed words look different than written words. Eventually someone will have to key them in, introducing errors, a page missing or misplaced will lead to a lot of head- scratching, so why not start out on the computer? Time
spent now in a learning-curve will pay big dividends in the end.
Okay, some people can't. I have a friend who uses a bat tered old typewriter for composing and rewriting, which makes it even harder, but she has a phobia
of computers and eight pub lished novels. I have another friend who can only compose in long hand on a yellow pad, and then has to type it in. In fact, Elmore Leonard uses regular yellow paper that he has made up for him. I also have a friend, Cyndy
Mobley--Pilots Die Faster, Rites of War--who dictates into a recorder and has published ten books in two years, but she's phenom. Whatever works--but it's easier if you can go from start to finish using the computer.
Another thing about composing, I know of very few novelists who complete a saleable first draft. As Anne Lamott said in her great book on writing, BIRD BY BIRD, no one she knows "writes elegant first drafts. All right, one does, but we do not like her
very much. We do not think she has a rich inner life or that God likes her or can even stand her." Most beginners plan on one draft, the best they can, then wait for the publishing world to offer them big-buck in a bidding war. I know I did. But
very, very, very few people have publishable first drafts. By the way, ‘very' is a word that really says nothing. If I were going to rewrite that sentence for my second draft, I would say: If you compare the population of No Trees, Texas, to New York
City, you'd have the ratio of those first drafts that are publishable to those that are not. I'm in the "not" class.
So what are we trying to do with the first draft? Just get it down. Some people rewrite as they go
along, but for me, just let me get the words between the title and the closing sentence. I hate first drafts. Every page and chapter is a major deci sion, stepping into the unknown. You may have had an outline, but now you are working with people that
should be coming alive to you. You have to figure how they interact with one another. And everything has to have a story logic to it. I am always tempted to quit part way through. I have to steel myself against that, and sometimes only dogged
persistence keeps me going when my inner voice is yelling--this is all vulture dung.
I keep a journal of these stumbling blocks with dates and things, so that when things get tough I can look back and see I've been there
before and overcame it. Sometimes, when really discouraged, I read an early chapter and usually decide--hey, not too bad. I can fix this.
Lary Crews--EXTREME CLOSE-UP, OPTION TO DIE--said, "Every time I begin to
write another book I'm scared that I'm no good and that my early success was just a fluke."
It's a bit like running up a hill. This first time we're puffing and stumbling, sweating, out-of-breath, with gravity enticing
us to turn around and go back down. But if we hang in- -and don't expire on the spot--we'll make it to the top. The next time we'll know we did it before and have a good chance of doing it again. The running may not get any easier, but each hill we
climb gives us confidence for the next.
Copyright Peter E. Abresch, BookMarc February 13, 1998
Okay, we talked a bit about first drafts, but
now we are down into it. And, as always, this is only my best cut and not meant to be the definitive instruction on the subject.
As I mentioned in the last Bookmark, the first draft is to get it all down. We might think
of it as a really extensive and detailed outline, but also a complete one. Once we have written the last line we can take a breath of joy in knowing we have the keel and ribs for our tome to set sail. Not the skin yet, and maybe not the driving force,
but the first draft gives the final product it's form.
If we started with an outline, now is the time to put it aside. If we allow our first draft to be ruled by a Hitler- outline, we will go goose-stepping along,
ignoring logic, rig idly focusing on a planned ending, and probably doomed to the same fate as the Third Reich lasting a thousand years. Oh yeah.
A more American way is to go with the flow, hang loose, see where the
road takes us. For example, in KILLING THYME, the sequel to BLOODY BONSAI, I knew when I started the first draft who the killer should be, and why, and I had one person already knocked off before the start, but as I moved along I decided it would be
nice to do someone else in. Bump off another guy? Hey, it's not as good as sex, but it does get the blood flowing. And the more I thought about it, the more opportunities I had for people to be guilty of something, so that in the end more than one
player headed out for Bar City. If I had stuck to the original outline the story would not be half so interesting, and perhaps would have bogged down for lack of enthusiasm.
In fact, the sin of first drafts is also their
saving grace. They are garbage. But since we don't have to worry about get ting everything right, we can relax, kick off our shoes, air out our toes, and let our imaginations run free, knowing full well we'll have plenty of time to correct things later
on.
The big problem with changing things as we go along is that it's more work. If half way through our story we need our heros to sit at a bar in the same restaurant where they ate in chapter two, we have to go back and
add the bar to our description of the restaurant. If you say in chapter 24, "They walked into the bar of George's Cafe that they hadn't seen before," you might get by, but it's sloppy and contrived, and the reader wonders how come you didn't know it was
there. Are you stupid? But if we slip in a sentence in chapter two, the reader eases on in w/o a blink. The same if you change a woman from nordic blonde to a chocolate skinned West Indian. You can't say her makeup washed off to reveal... What if
your story works better if you change your murder weapon from a knife to a bazooka? Sam pulled out his knife, which was really a bazooka, and blasted a hole in the Ford Ranger, which was really a battleship. Oh yeah. We'll talk about setups and
payoffs in a future BookMarc.
For now, if we make a change, we have to go back and reflect this in the early chapter. We can do it immediately or make a note to do it at the end of the first draft. Since I am always on
a hell-ride to complete FIRST DRAFT, I make a note and keep on charging. Who knows, I might change back to the original before I'm finished. But we better keep notes or we'll forget, and inconsistences will turn our readers off faster then a
three-day-dead fish being eaten by a skunk on a hot summer day.
Rather than fool with handwritten notes, I have an extra file I keep open to handle things like: names of characters; brief descriptions; things I need to go
back and change; snip pets for future chapters; and stuff--names of restaurants, protagonist's car, phone number, anything I might later need to refer. It's far easier to jump to this file in chapter 22, for the name of a character I haven't seen since
chapter three, than it is for me to go through line by line till I find it. And this file can be invaluable should we go on to write a sequel. I call this note file, Things. You may call it, George.
Copyright Peter E. Abresch, BookMarc
February 13, 1998
It takes three things, like the legs of a
tripod, for a story, family journal, article, or novel to stand. Plot. Characterization. Writing. Yes, we can talk about other things like dialogue and description, but I think these slip under more than one heading. Good dialogue not only comes
under good writing, but is also a feature of good characterization. Description not only is good writing, it part of a good plot, letting us both see the picture and feel the mood. Hopefully, we'll point out these things by example as we travel
along.
Plot. Characterization. Writing. If we forget about any one of these tripod legs, the whole thing comes crumbling down. We might put more emphasis on one, such as a literary work might be read for the pure joy
of the way words are strung together, but if we eliminate plot, it goes nowhere and we have no story. If we drop characterization, we can have a good story line with good writing about characters nobody cares about. Your reader ship will suffer. Good
plot and good characters, but poor writing and people will not plow through it.
In these days of shrinking budgets, it is important for us to give publishers a story that refuses to be put down. We can not take a
good-enough attitude in anything. Big names get away with slop. Not us. If we are strong in one category, we have to study and work on the other two to bring them in balance.
Most agents and editors I've talked to
prefer a character driven story to a plot driven. In fact, they say, the plot driven story better be damn good. What they are saying is a fantastic plot might occasionally get by with cardboard charac ters, and yes, some genres pay less attention to
characters, but how much better if we people this fantastic plot with rounded characters that readers identify with and care about? On the other hand, a character driven story will suffer if it goes nowhere. If it doesn't have conflict and suspense,
you don't have a story. So you need them both. Then there's the writing.
Writing is rewriting, folks. I know it's gotten to be a cliche, but that doesn't make it any less true. In RUSSIA HOUSE John Le Carre says
"Spying is waiting." Well, here in BookMarc writing is rewriting. That's why first drafts are garbage. It's just getting words and ideas down. Something I've called composing rather than dignify it with anything else. Writing is rewriting. It is
sparse, clear, conveys mood and sight and feel and taste and sound, using no more words than are absolutely necessary, squeezing out the fat to leave a rich, simmering broth. It is the soup that binds the flavors of plot and char acterization as surely
as if they were chicken and garlic.
When we have rewritten the last word of our story for the last time, it must be the absolute best we can make it in every way. Anything that stumbles or doesn't ring true will have to
be gone over again and again until it stands, or we can count on a rejection. Which we'll probably get away.
I'm telling you all this because I wish I had known it twenty-five years ago. Have I said this before? I
believe I had good plots, it has always been my strong suit, but I had no idea about characterization. I had no one to sit me down and point out why my hero was a stick figure, or how to make my sentences flow. That's what we're trying to do on this
writing journey. If it works, we'll all learn something. Not only in writing novels and short stories, but for family journals and essays and articles.
However, keep in mind what I said early on. We can point out all
the things that go into a good story, but no one can teach you how to write that story. I can show you some dance steps, but the casual weekend ballroomer will never be able to star in a ballet w/o practicing again and again and again and again. Good
writing is rewriting again and again and again, until plot and characterization come into sharp focus.
In the next BookMarc we'll start on plot.
Copyright Peter E. Abresch, BookMarc February 13,
1998
I will tell you all I know about plotting. Some
things I've learned at Georgetown University from my friends David Hoof--BLIND MAN'S BLUFF--and Marcy Heidish--THE TORCHING-- and some from reading, but a lot I gained over many years of writing before I found a publisher for BLOODY BONSAI.
The basic plot of a novel is someone wants something and strives to attain it. This want could be the reason for start of the novel, or the opening story conditions could create the want. Like the protagonist being
charged for murder, or bumping into a handsome person and getting the hots. Anything except wanting to sit in front of a TV and drink beer for three hundred and fifty pages. The goal must propel our Other-Self into action. Other-self because we said
characterization is an indispensable part of our story. That means building a character that we identify with, that we come to know and care about, and in most cases project ourselves into, our Other-Selves, or for brevity,
Oself.
The simplest way I can describe a plot-line is that Oself is standing at the base of a mountain and the goal is to get to the top. The most obvious way is to hop in a Humvee, yank the sucker into four-wheeling,
and plow straight up till Oself reaches the top. Big whoop. How boring. There is no conflict here. There is no story here.
If we want to keep our readers, folks, and want them to care for our hero, Oself must
continually face downturns and overcome them, growing stronger each time, mentally if not physically, till at least he's ready for the big climax.
So what we must do is to put someone in Oself's way. Can you say
antagonist? This is the snarling beast from hell who is against us just because we are really nice guys, good looking, stout-hearted, brilliant, brave, and humble. Oh yeah. And the beast could be a man, woman, Satan, the Gods, fate, the weather, or
the mountain itself. The beast could even be the doubt that lingers in Oself's own mind. The beast is that which must be overcome to stand at the pinnacle and gaze beatifically down on the world, and whether Oself makes it or not must always be in
doubt. In fact, failure may be Oself's fate. What matters in plot, unlike football, is not whether Oself wins or loses, but how Oself plays the game.
The desire for climbing Plot-line Mountain could be anything. The
pure joy of standing at the top. A love object waiting there. A pointer to the Holy Grail. But whatever it is, Oself's want has to be desperate. In fact, winning must be the only thing in Oself's mind until either the goal is reached, or until is it
replaced by something more important, say like saving a life, or winning a love, or the realization of defeat.
If Oself doesn't care if he/she makes it to the mountain top, if the need is not life threatening, physically
or psychologically, why will the reader care? The more we build the intensity of desire, and the more difficulties get in the way, the more the reader is glued to the page. Come on Oself. I'm in your corner. Your stomach is ripped open and your
intestines are hanging out, both your legs are broken and an arm too, you lost one eye and can't hear because a bomb broke your ear drums, in spite of it all, Lucky, I know you can make it.
Having said that, we need to
mention, in BookMarc #10, that the difficulties we put in the way must be logical.
Copyright Peter E. Abresch BookMarc February 13, 1998
We left off in part one talking about
difficulties. The more we build the intensity of desire for Oself, our other self, to reach the goal, and the more difficulties in the way, the more the reader is glued to the page.
But the difficulties must be logical.
Everything must play as real life. We've all seen television shows where everything that possibly can go wrong, does, even to the point of nonsense. The problem with just making everything go wrong is it becomes an obvious device. Instead of building
suspense, it yanks the rug from underneath it. Haven't we all reached a point in some TV shows where we just want to get the dumb thing over with? What happened is they crossed the line into gratuitous obsta cles. You've heard of gratuitous sex? Meet
gratuitous obsta cles. Both rob your story of authenticity.
The same thing could be said if you're vocally telling a story, like a life history. If you keep dragging it out because for once you have the spotlight, you
reach a point where your listeners' eyes glaze over and they tune you out. Have you ever listened to a dull sermon in church? While the preacher's talking about God we're thinking about lunch. How about the guy who can't tell a joke? Usually it's
because he drags it on so long we've either forgotten the point or no longer care.
In one of my early works I had everything rushing towards a climax when I decided I'd throw in a traffic accident to spice it up. My
freelance editor said, "Why do you do this? With real suspense driving the story, why throw in something that doesn't add anything, but only annoys?" It woke me up.
If you've brought your reader into a state of
suspense, don't risk it all with a cliche traffic jam. Instead try to ratchet the main theme tighter till it crackles at the breaking point. How do we do this? Limiting time is probably the best way.
If our story
covers five years and we're in the second month, we have no sense of urgency to bring a murderer to jus tice. Ah, but if the statute of limitations is about to run out, we better get on the stick. Our love is on the way to the airport and we'll lose
her/him because we haven't asked forgive ness. A bomb is going off in five days and we only know it's somewhere in New York City. Why do you think movies are filled with atomic bombs with digital clocks ticking away the seconds? With each countdown we
ratchet up the tension. It has almost gotten to be a cliche, but it still seems to work. For now.
Another way of increasing tension is moving into the un known. Darkness in a foul smelling dungeon with torches burning
out. Or we can increase the danger of the known. Climbing the face of a melting ice-cliff with handholds falling away. Or we can increase the odds. Pacing through a chewing-gum bureaucracy in a desperate attempt to get medical help for a dying
love.
Let's take an example from Dean Koontz's "Tick Tock." In a climactic chapter, with a beast advancing across the livingroom to devour the hero, Koontz wants to stretch the moment out for the reader's pleasure. Does
he bring in a traffic-jam cliche? Chandelier suddenly falls in the way? Floorboards break without warning? No, Koontz does it naturally and cleverly by simply adding a few paragraphs to describe the beast in detail as it advances, the eyes, the sound
it makes, the way it moves and how it smells--sight, sound, smell, taste, touch. One part of the reader's mind is absorbed in the beast's appearance while the other is screaming for the hero to get the heck out of there.
What matters is not how we do it, but the finesse with which it's done. Once the device becomes obvious, it's as effective as a lawyer teaching ethics. A politician lecturing on truth?
All right, the preliminaries out
of the way, in the next installment we're ready for Oself to tackle Plot-line Mountain. And, as always, all comments, suggestions, rebuttals, or addi tions gratefully accepted. I can always use feedback.
Copyright Peter E. Abresch BookMarc
February 13, 1998
