the weekly DULLPENCIL editor 150-Word blog series on writing
Real vs. Believable
- Posted April 22, 2016 -
Someone just told me a fantastical story about a lady who had escaped death by mere minutes at a mass shooting in a Toronto mall, only to be killed just a month later in another mass shooting inside a Denver movie theatre. She swore it was true, and, of course, being a rational human being, I did not believe her. Well, it did turn out to be true. If I had read such an account in a novel, I probably would have stopped reading it, because it wasn’t believable, and the fictional veil would’ve been torn away from me. Just goes to show you how brilliant Mark Twain was when he said, “Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn't.” I often concentrate on making my stories seem real. However, there is sometimes a stark difference between what’s real and what’s believable, and we have to be mindful of that, especially when we’re writing a story based on real-life inspirations.
Someone just told me a fantastical story about a lady who had escaped death by mere minutes at a mass shooting in a Toronto mall, only to be killed just a month later in another mass shooting inside a Denver movie theatre. She swore it was true, and, of course, being a rational human being, I did not believe her. Well, it did turn out to be true. If I had read such an account in a novel, I probably would have stopped reading it, because it wasn’t believable, and the fictional veil would’ve been torn away from me. Just goes to show you how brilliant Mark Twain was when he said, “Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn't.” I often concentrate on making my stories seem real. However, there is sometimes a stark difference between what’s real and what’s believable, and we have to be mindful of that, especially when we’re writing a story based on real-life inspirations.
Dangerous
- Posted March 16, 2016 -
Last week, I wrote about the concern some adults have that certain subject matters might be age-inappropriate. It should be clear from my post that I’m firmly in the camp that feels censorship, and any other forms of restrictions, have no place in YA literature. However, upon further rumination, I could think of several scenarios where this may not be the case. We can’t deny the fact that YA’s are in an impressionable time of transition, where many are more vulnerable to impassioned advocacy and glorification. Therefore, narratives that extol actions and thoughts that are plainly dangerous to the reader or to others as virtues, such as terrorism, murder, suicide and other harmful acts, clearly do not belong in YA stories. Now, I am not saying that the subject matters themselves don’t have a place in YA – I can imagine many great stories that could come from these topics – only that the stories should not be advocating nor glorifying them in any way. I think that’s common sense, and probably should apply to the “adult” literary world as well, because a lot of adults I know seem to me just as impressionable.
Last week, I wrote about the concern some adults have that certain subject matters might be age-inappropriate. It should be clear from my post that I’m firmly in the camp that feels censorship, and any other forms of restrictions, have no place in YA literature. However, upon further rumination, I could think of several scenarios where this may not be the case. We can’t deny the fact that YA’s are in an impressionable time of transition, where many are more vulnerable to impassioned advocacy and glorification. Therefore, narratives that extol actions and thoughts that are plainly dangerous to the reader or to others as virtues, such as terrorism, murder, suicide and other harmful acts, clearly do not belong in YA stories. Now, I am not saying that the subject matters themselves don’t have a place in YA – I can imagine many great stories that could come from these topics – only that the stories should not be advocating nor glorifying them in any way. I think that’s common sense, and probably should apply to the “adult” literary world as well, because a lot of adults I know seem to me just as impressionable.
Inappropriate
- Posted March 5, 2016 -
I was recently asked by an adult, who shall remain anonymous, if I thought today’s YA stories were perchance too explicit, too disturbing, for us impressionable YA’s. That maybe reading these troubling works is behind recent increases in psychological issues, violence, and suicides among teens. What nonsense! I might agree that there is an age below which it may not be wise to expose someone to certain things. But, I haven’t met anyone over the age of twelve who hadn’t already been exposed to the seedy underbelly aspects of life, through their own life situations, peers, and other forms of more popular mass media. On the contrary, I would argue that reading about troubling subjects through fiction allows us to better understand them through contexts that resonate with our own thoughts, emotions, and experiences. If someone is grief stricken by a loved one’s death, reading a story about a character going through a similar experience provides immeasurable comfort. It lets us know that we’re not alone. As E. B. White astutely advised: “Anyone who writes down to children is simply wasting [her] time. You have to write up, not down.”
I was recently asked by an adult, who shall remain anonymous, if I thought today’s YA stories were perchance too explicit, too disturbing, for us impressionable YA’s. That maybe reading these troubling works is behind recent increases in psychological issues, violence, and suicides among teens. What nonsense! I might agree that there is an age below which it may not be wise to expose someone to certain things. But, I haven’t met anyone over the age of twelve who hadn’t already been exposed to the seedy underbelly aspects of life, through their own life situations, peers, and other forms of more popular mass media. On the contrary, I would argue that reading about troubling subjects through fiction allows us to better understand them through contexts that resonate with our own thoughts, emotions, and experiences. If someone is grief stricken by a loved one’s death, reading a story about a character going through a similar experience provides immeasurable comfort. It lets us know that we’re not alone. As E. B. White astutely advised: “Anyone who writes down to children is simply wasting [her] time. You have to write up, not down.”
Skipped!
- Posted 2/27/2016 -
“I try to leave out the parts that people skip,” Elmore Leonard once said. It is an indisputably good advice, but the question remains: what parts do people skip, and how can the writer self-identify the portions of their writing destined to be skipped? During the process of writing, I’m unable to stop myself from constantly changing, adding, and erasing what I am writing (I’m one of those people who can’t write straight through a first draft). However, when I’ve finished a section, or an entire piece, to my initial satisfaction, I find it very hard to change or remove anything. It looks perfect, a masterpiece even! I can’t imagine how anyone wouldn’t want to read and savor every single word. But, when I read it again after a month or so, the love I had for my precious words, as all kinds of love eventually do (I’ve been told), changes into an annoying reality that allows me to more easily hack it away into something better. So, as with wine (again, I’ve been told), let some time lapse between creation and consumption. Then you’ll know what parts people will skip.
“I try to leave out the parts that people skip,” Elmore Leonard once said. It is an indisputably good advice, but the question remains: what parts do people skip, and how can the writer self-identify the portions of their writing destined to be skipped? During the process of writing, I’m unable to stop myself from constantly changing, adding, and erasing what I am writing (I’m one of those people who can’t write straight through a first draft). However, when I’ve finished a section, or an entire piece, to my initial satisfaction, I find it very hard to change or remove anything. It looks perfect, a masterpiece even! I can’t imagine how anyone wouldn’t want to read and savor every single word. But, when I read it again after a month or so, the love I had for my precious words, as all kinds of love eventually do (I’ve been told), changes into an annoying reality that allows me to more easily hack it away into something better. So, as with wine (again, I’ve been told), let some time lapse between creation and consumption. Then you’ll know what parts people will skip.
Hidden
- Posted 2/13/2016 -
Last week, I wrote about how writers necessarily expose themselves to some extent in their writing. It made me think about my earlier pieces, when I felt insecure with the idea that people who read my stories would automatically assume that it was autobiographical. As a result, I would unconsciously construct scenes, characters, and even sentences that conveyed an image of myself which I desired to share with the public, keeping hidden any qualities that I deemed undesirable. In short, what I produced while writing in this guarded, careful, insecure state of mind was… crap. I had even used overly fancy “jargon words” that are surefire “hallmarks of a pretentious ass” (David Ogilvy). By so carefully keeping my true self hidden, I wasn’t writing honestly. As Neil Gaiman advised, I think we should “[tell] the stories that only you can tell, because there’ll always be better writers than you … but you are the only you.” So, don’t worry about what connections people may make between you and your stories. And, don’t be afraid to let your flawed, quirky, wonderful-self shine right through in your writing.
Last week, I wrote about how writers necessarily expose themselves to some extent in their writing. It made me think about my earlier pieces, when I felt insecure with the idea that people who read my stories would automatically assume that it was autobiographical. As a result, I would unconsciously construct scenes, characters, and even sentences that conveyed an image of myself which I desired to share with the public, keeping hidden any qualities that I deemed undesirable. In short, what I produced while writing in this guarded, careful, insecure state of mind was… crap. I had even used overly fancy “jargon words” that are surefire “hallmarks of a pretentious ass” (David Ogilvy). By so carefully keeping my true self hidden, I wasn’t writing honestly. As Neil Gaiman advised, I think we should “[tell] the stories that only you can tell, because there’ll always be better writers than you … but you are the only you.” So, don’t worry about what connections people may make between you and your stories. And, don’t be afraid to let your flawed, quirky, wonderful-self shine right through in your writing.
Exposed!
- Posted 2/5/2016 -
Do we expose ourselves through our fiction? Some writers have gone so far as to include their non-fictionalized selves in their stories, where they interact with their fictional creations. My favorite instance of this was in The Razor’s Edge, where the author, W. Somerset Maugham, is the narrator who also makes an appearance in the story to espouse his personal spiritual beliefs to the protagonist, Larry Darrell. Other writers, however, like Barbara Kingsolver, have adamantly denied any autobiographical elements in their fiction. Personally, I believe it is impossible not to reveal something of yourself in your work. In addition to telling a great, entertaining story, I think many of us write because we have a strong desire to tell the world something that is important to us. When our characters ruminate privately, we can’t really help inject some aspect of our own thoughts, even if unconsciously, into theirs. One writer’s protagonists, over five different books, have all drank a cup of espresso first thing in the morning – want to wager that the author is a big fan of espresso? Including our un-fictionalized selves in our stories seems a bit too much, and may pierce the "fictional-veil" we’ve worked so hard to construct. But, exposing our personal ideas, beliefs, and other physical/psychological qualities seems to me a necessary step in creating our unique voice.
Do we expose ourselves through our fiction? Some writers have gone so far as to include their non-fictionalized selves in their stories, where they interact with their fictional creations. My favorite instance of this was in The Razor’s Edge, where the author, W. Somerset Maugham, is the narrator who also makes an appearance in the story to espouse his personal spiritual beliefs to the protagonist, Larry Darrell. Other writers, however, like Barbara Kingsolver, have adamantly denied any autobiographical elements in their fiction. Personally, I believe it is impossible not to reveal something of yourself in your work. In addition to telling a great, entertaining story, I think many of us write because we have a strong desire to tell the world something that is important to us. When our characters ruminate privately, we can’t really help inject some aspect of our own thoughts, even if unconsciously, into theirs. One writer’s protagonists, over five different books, have all drank a cup of espresso first thing in the morning – want to wager that the author is a big fan of espresso? Including our un-fictionalized selves in our stories seems a bit too much, and may pierce the "fictional-veil" we’ve worked so hard to construct. But, exposing our personal ideas, beliefs, and other physical/psychological qualities seems to me a necessary step in creating our unique voice.
Change
- Posted 1/28/2016 -
Everything, including us, changes over time. Physical changes – color of leaves, wrinkles, births/deaths, etc. – are, of course, the most noticeable. However, for sentient beings like us, mental changes can be far more important. Experiences that we accrue through the people and the events that touch our lives shape who we are because we are changed by them. In this way, the characters in our fiction must change through the experiences chronicled in our narrative. I would go as far to say that if there is no change in our protagonist’s psyche, then there really is no story – it becomes just an elaborate anecdote. Now, you don’t want to overtly, and gaudily, highlight this change by writing something like: With the rising Sun, Johnny’s self-doubt dissipated like the fog around him, as he neared the finish line of the 200-mile ultra-marathon. Instead, show the change through actions that hint at the change. For example, Johnny might stop running for a moment, pause to look at the scenery around him, and then burst into tears. Well, maybe it doesn’t have to be so melodramatic… but you get the point.
Everything, including us, changes over time. Physical changes – color of leaves, wrinkles, births/deaths, etc. – are, of course, the most noticeable. However, for sentient beings like us, mental changes can be far more important. Experiences that we accrue through the people and the events that touch our lives shape who we are because we are changed by them. In this way, the characters in our fiction must change through the experiences chronicled in our narrative. I would go as far to say that if there is no change in our protagonist’s psyche, then there really is no story – it becomes just an elaborate anecdote. Now, you don’t want to overtly, and gaudily, highlight this change by writing something like: With the rising Sun, Johnny’s self-doubt dissipated like the fog around him, as he neared the finish line of the 200-mile ultra-marathon. Instead, show the change through actions that hint at the change. For example, Johnny might stop running for a moment, pause to look at the scenery around him, and then burst into tears. Well, maybe it doesn’t have to be so melodramatic… but you get the point.
Duality
- Posted 1/20/2016 -
Among those whom you know very well, is there anyone who is always, without fail, “good” or “bad?” I know of no such person, and I would bet that such a person doesn’t exist. Even Mother Teresa (who will likely become Saint Teresa in the very near future), whose actions were overwhelmingly and unquestionably “good,” apparently had some moral skeletons in her closet like everyone else. Every human has a duality within her nature. She may mostly be “good” or mostly “bad,” but never always one or the other, and the characters in your story should reflect this reality. Otherwise, they turn into clichés and caricatures, instead of living/breathing complex beings that come alive in the readers’ imagination. Perhaps your protagonist works at an animal shelter and has dedicated her life to rescuing strays, but is addicted to painkillers and occasionally steals from the veterinarian’s stash. Or, perhaps your story’s villain is a cold blooded assassin, but has a soft spot for her 100 year-old grandmother and visits her every Sunday. By giving our characters a Yin-Yang balance, we make them more believable, more complex, and, as with real people, more interesting.
Among those whom you know very well, is there anyone who is always, without fail, “good” or “bad?” I know of no such person, and I would bet that such a person doesn’t exist. Even Mother Teresa (who will likely become Saint Teresa in the very near future), whose actions were overwhelmingly and unquestionably “good,” apparently had some moral skeletons in her closet like everyone else. Every human has a duality within her nature. She may mostly be “good” or mostly “bad,” but never always one or the other, and the characters in your story should reflect this reality. Otherwise, they turn into clichés and caricatures, instead of living/breathing complex beings that come alive in the readers’ imagination. Perhaps your protagonist works at an animal shelter and has dedicated her life to rescuing strays, but is addicted to painkillers and occasionally steals from the veterinarian’s stash. Or, perhaps your story’s villain is a cold blooded assassin, but has a soft spot for her 100 year-old grandmother and visits her every Sunday. By giving our characters a Yin-Yang balance, we make them more believable, more complex, and, as with real people, more interesting.
Why Is Writing So Painful?
- Posted 1/15/2016 -
I’ve pondered this question often, and I’m pretty sure you have too. So, why is writing such a painful and difficult process for most of us? And, why do we insist on doing it when it causes us so much distress? George Orwell explored his motives for writing in his aptly titled essay “Why I Write.” Among his many reasons, I found the most honest one to be “sheer egoism.” However, rather than his ideas of egoism, which ranged from a desire to be talked about to wanting to be remembered after death, I think it has more to do with our notion that we have something very important to tell the world; as if the world really couldn’t get along unless it read our story. If this is true, then we’ve attached such importance to our writing that we necessarily must struggle mightily to find exactly the right ways to express our thoughts. Also, since our ego is now so intimately connected with our words, we’ve made ourselves (our view of ourselves anyway) incredibly vulnerable to their reception. Man-oh-man, no wonder it’s painful.
I’ve pondered this question often, and I’m pretty sure you have too. So, why is writing such a painful and difficult process for most of us? And, why do we insist on doing it when it causes us so much distress? George Orwell explored his motives for writing in his aptly titled essay “Why I Write.” Among his many reasons, I found the most honest one to be “sheer egoism.” However, rather than his ideas of egoism, which ranged from a desire to be talked about to wanting to be remembered after death, I think it has more to do with our notion that we have something very important to tell the world; as if the world really couldn’t get along unless it read our story. If this is true, then we’ve attached such importance to our writing that we necessarily must struggle mightily to find exactly the right ways to express our thoughts. Also, since our ego is now so intimately connected with our words, we’ve made ourselves (our view of ourselves anyway) incredibly vulnerable to their reception. Man-oh-man, no wonder it’s painful.
Scenes vs. Summaries
- Posted 1/7/2016 -
Scenes and summaries are the two basic mechanisms with which writers deliver their stories. They’re both powerful, and both have their place in our narratives. But is one more desirable (or more powerful) than the other? It’s sort of like an Alien vs. Predator question, but I think there is an answer. Imagine a story composed only of summaries. Can you think of any? Only things that came to my mind were textbooks (which aren’t stories) and simple (and boring) anecdotes. Now, imagine a story that only has scenes. My Dinner with Andre quickly popped up in my memory. It was a movie with two characters engaged in a fascinating conversation, over dinner, about life. The entire movie was basically one continuous scene, and it was one of Roger Ebert’s all-time favorites. Even what could be considered a summary, of one of the character’s childhood memories, was delivered in-scene. If you never watched it, you MUST check it out. It shows us why we should tell as much of our stories through scenes as possible.
Scenes and summaries are the two basic mechanisms with which writers deliver their stories. They’re both powerful, and both have their place in our narratives. But is one more desirable (or more powerful) than the other? It’s sort of like an Alien vs. Predator question, but I think there is an answer. Imagine a story composed only of summaries. Can you think of any? Only things that came to my mind were textbooks (which aren’t stories) and simple (and boring) anecdotes. Now, imagine a story that only has scenes. My Dinner with Andre quickly popped up in my memory. It was a movie with two characters engaged in a fascinating conversation, over dinner, about life. The entire movie was basically one continuous scene, and it was one of Roger Ebert’s all-time favorites. Even what could be considered a summary, of one of the character’s childhood memories, was delivered in-scene. If you never watched it, you MUST check it out. It shows us why we should tell as much of our stories through scenes as possible.
Write What You Know?
- Posted 12/30/2015 -
“Write what you know” is an adage, often attributed to Twain, which used to confuse me quite a bit. Does it mean writers should limit themselves to writing about their own experiences and nothing more? Many writers have rebelled against it, with some well-regarded authors/teachers (like Bret Johnston in this article) specifically advising students to “Don’t write what you know.” However, I think there is a very simple interpretation that reveals the true value of the proverb. I believe it is urging us to contemplate and explore our unique personal feeling in regards to whatever environments, events, people, and anything else we might want to write about, before we write about it. We don’t have to physically experience what it is like to not be able to walk, but we can certainly imagine it. By doing so, we discover our distinct emotional voice that “knows” the experience. Without this process, we would only be relying on clichés and second-hand accounts, which sort of defeats the whole point of writing. Happy New Year!
“Write what you know” is an adage, often attributed to Twain, which used to confuse me quite a bit. Does it mean writers should limit themselves to writing about their own experiences and nothing more? Many writers have rebelled against it, with some well-regarded authors/teachers (like Bret Johnston in this article) specifically advising students to “Don’t write what you know.” However, I think there is a very simple interpretation that reveals the true value of the proverb. I believe it is urging us to contemplate and explore our unique personal feeling in regards to whatever environments, events, people, and anything else we might want to write about, before we write about it. We don’t have to physically experience what it is like to not be able to walk, but we can certainly imagine it. By doing so, we discover our distinct emotional voice that “knows” the experience. Without this process, we would only be relying on clichés and second-hand accounts, which sort of defeats the whole point of writing. Happy New Year!
Tragedy
- Posted 12/17/2015 -
When you think about it, every “good” story is a tragedy. Take even a sweet and seemingly innocent fairytale with a sugar-sweet “they lived happily ever after” ending, and you’ll find there’s a tragedy in there somewhere. Cinderella’s father died and she worked as a slave for her step-mother and sisters, for example. I challenge you to find a story that you think is “good” which doesn’t have a strong tragic element in its narrative. Now, the question is, why is that? Well, it turns out that we like it when bad things happen to other people. I don’t mean that we’re psychotic, and we get a kick out of seeing people suffering. On the contrary, we like it in the sense that when we see characters struggling, it elicits in us feelings that make us humans, so to speak - anger, pity, empathy, heartbroken, etc. So, as Kurt Vonnegut advised: “Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them - in order that the reader may see what they are made of."
When you think about it, every “good” story is a tragedy. Take even a sweet and seemingly innocent fairytale with a sugar-sweet “they lived happily ever after” ending, and you’ll find there’s a tragedy in there somewhere. Cinderella’s father died and she worked as a slave for her step-mother and sisters, for example. I challenge you to find a story that you think is “good” which doesn’t have a strong tragic element in its narrative. Now, the question is, why is that? Well, it turns out that we like it when bad things happen to other people. I don’t mean that we’re psychotic, and we get a kick out of seeing people suffering. On the contrary, we like it in the sense that when we see characters struggling, it elicits in us feelings that make us humans, so to speak - anger, pity, empathy, heartbroken, etc. So, as Kurt Vonnegut advised: “Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them - in order that the reader may see what they are made of."
Audience - Part Deux
- Posted 12/9/2015 -
I wanted to thank the many community members who wrote me emails in response to last week’s blog post on Audience. Most of the feedbacks I received expressed strong disagreement with my opinions – and that’s great! I do like taking contrarian views on long held beliefs, and expect that many people would disagree. In this particular case, I wanted to try to clarify my perspective, not to defend it, but to show that my views are actually not very different from the convention. I am not proposing that we write “whatever the hell we want,” as one member paraphrased in her email. Instead, I’m advocating that we write “in a way that [we] would find engaging as a reader,” and that “[we] please ourselves first,” as I stated in the last post. So, you see, I also believe that we should write for our audience. However, instead of agonizing over who our audience is and what they might want, I am simply saying that our audience is ourselves – thus, the writer should write for herself (her audience). As always, I’d love to hear what you think.
I wanted to thank the many community members who wrote me emails in response to last week’s blog post on Audience. Most of the feedbacks I received expressed strong disagreement with my opinions – and that’s great! I do like taking contrarian views on long held beliefs, and expect that many people would disagree. In this particular case, I wanted to try to clarify my perspective, not to defend it, but to show that my views are actually not very different from the convention. I am not proposing that we write “whatever the hell we want,” as one member paraphrased in her email. Instead, I’m advocating that we write “in a way that [we] would find engaging as a reader,” and that “[we] please ourselves first,” as I stated in the last post. So, you see, I also believe that we should write for our audience. However, instead of agonizing over who our audience is and what they might want, I am simply saying that our audience is ourselves – thus, the writer should write for herself (her audience). As always, I’d love to hear what you think.
Audience
- Posted 11/30/2015 -
I’ve been busy with college application essays the last few weeks, and the process reminded me of another conventional “wisdom” about writing fiction which I disagree with: that we should write for our audience. When I Googled “college essay strategies,” countless sites claiming to know what college admissions people (the audience) want to see popped up, offering conflicting and often sketchy advice. The problem with this logic is that our perception of who our audience is, and what their preferences may be, will always be colored by our limited and specific experiences (and hearsay from sources who probably don’t know any better). So, by following this oft repeated directive, what we’re really doing is creating a conflict within ourselves between what we want to write and what we think our potential readers want. Writing is hard enough without having to second guess yourself. Write what and how you wish, and in a way that you would find engaging as a reader. If you can objectively say that you liked what you wrote, it is highly likely that many other will like it as well. In other words, keep it simple: write for yourself!
I’ve been busy with college application essays the last few weeks, and the process reminded me of another conventional “wisdom” about writing fiction which I disagree with: that we should write for our audience. When I Googled “college essay strategies,” countless sites claiming to know what college admissions people (the audience) want to see popped up, offering conflicting and often sketchy advice. The problem with this logic is that our perception of who our audience is, and what their preferences may be, will always be colored by our limited and specific experiences (and hearsay from sources who probably don’t know any better). So, by following this oft repeated directive, what we’re really doing is creating a conflict within ourselves between what we want to write and what we think our potential readers want. Writing is hard enough without having to second guess yourself. Write what and how you wish, and in a way that you would find engaging as a reader. If you can objectively say that you liked what you wrote, it is highly likely that many other will like it as well. In other words, keep it simple: write for yourself!
compression
- Posted 11/23/2015 -
Ah yes, the all too familiar mantra. Compress, compress, and compress some more. “No unnecessary words,” writing teachers preach, as if words were flakes of gold to be hoarded and guarded. I was in a creative writing class once, where the instructor recommended that I shorten “Mr. Finley had a neatly combed head of thinning gray hair, split down the middle, and an equally neat and gray mustache, shaved sharply at the two opposing ends” into “Mr. Finley had thin gray hair, and gray mustache shaved sharply at the ends.” I understood that the revised sentence contained all of the “essential” information from the original, and that it had a certain utilitarian appeal. But where was the soul? When I wrote and read the original sentence, it felt alive and frothy. When I read the revised version, it felt cold and flat. There is definitely an allure, and a sort of Icelandic beauty, in sparsity; Hemingway’s short pieces are a testament to this fact. But given a choice between the two extremes, I have to go with verbosity. Life is seldom straightforward, and you sometimes need a lot words to convey its complexities. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
Ah yes, the all too familiar mantra. Compress, compress, and compress some more. “No unnecessary words,” writing teachers preach, as if words were flakes of gold to be hoarded and guarded. I was in a creative writing class once, where the instructor recommended that I shorten “Mr. Finley had a neatly combed head of thinning gray hair, split down the middle, and an equally neat and gray mustache, shaved sharply at the two opposing ends” into “Mr. Finley had thin gray hair, and gray mustache shaved sharply at the ends.” I understood that the revised sentence contained all of the “essential” information from the original, and that it had a certain utilitarian appeal. But where was the soul? When I wrote and read the original sentence, it felt alive and frothy. When I read the revised version, it felt cold and flat. There is definitely an allure, and a sort of Icelandic beauty, in sparsity; Hemingway’s short pieces are a testament to this fact. But given a choice between the two extremes, I have to go with verbosity. Life is seldom straightforward, and you sometimes need a lot words to convey its complexities. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
motivation
- Posted 11/16/2015 -
Why are detectives investigating crimes so concerned with their suspects’ motivation(s)? Because it allows them to enter their suspects’ minds and make sense of their actions – motivation(s) basically allow them to construct a story behind a crime. A jury may be reluctant to convict someone, despite an overabundance of evidence, if the prosecution’s story based on the suspect’s motivation is not plausible. In the same way, we must assure that our readers are able to decipher our characters’ motivations that are behind their actions, and that they are believable. At the same time, we shouldn’t make it too easy for the reader and succumb to the temptation of just “telling.” Allow them to play detective, showing them just enough clues to be able to figure it out themselves. It’s the same rule as endings, which we discussed back in January: greatest satisfaction is achieved when it isn’t too obvious and the reader has to work hard to figure it out, but it also must not be impossible.
Why are detectives investigating crimes so concerned with their suspects’ motivation(s)? Because it allows them to enter their suspects’ minds and make sense of their actions – motivation(s) basically allow them to construct a story behind a crime. A jury may be reluctant to convict someone, despite an overabundance of evidence, if the prosecution’s story based on the suspect’s motivation is not plausible. In the same way, we must assure that our readers are able to decipher our characters’ motivations that are behind their actions, and that they are believable. At the same time, we shouldn’t make it too easy for the reader and succumb to the temptation of just “telling.” Allow them to play detective, showing them just enough clues to be able to figure it out themselves. It’s the same rule as endings, which we discussed back in January: greatest satisfaction is achieved when it isn’t too obvious and the reader has to work hard to figure it out, but it also must not be impossible.
Flow / consistency
- Posted 11/9/2015 -
Nothing knocks a reader out of a story’s world faster than an inconsistency. These might be confusing transitions, errors in details, abrupt change in tone, or even jarring moments that seem out of place or inappropriate. If Nancy’s cat is black in one section and is white in another, you can bet that the illusion you’ve so carefully constructed in order to draw the reader into the story’s world will crumble like a pyramid of cards. It’s frightening, really, how fragile the whole thing is. One subtle snafu could undermine your credibility; and when you think about it, credibility of the storyteller is everything. Your job is to keep Neo entranced in the world of The Matrix, to make sure he doesn’t swallow that red pill. This is why you need to have as many people as possible read your work during the revision process. Try to recruit those who are especially anal about details, who love searching for and triumphantly pointing out flaws. They might be no fun to hang out with, but they’re your best friends in the revision process.
Nothing knocks a reader out of a story’s world faster than an inconsistency. These might be confusing transitions, errors in details, abrupt change in tone, or even jarring moments that seem out of place or inappropriate. If Nancy’s cat is black in one section and is white in another, you can bet that the illusion you’ve so carefully constructed in order to draw the reader into the story’s world will crumble like a pyramid of cards. It’s frightening, really, how fragile the whole thing is. One subtle snafu could undermine your credibility; and when you think about it, credibility of the storyteller is everything. Your job is to keep Neo entranced in the world of The Matrix, to make sure he doesn’t swallow that red pill. This is why you need to have as many people as possible read your work during the revision process. Try to recruit those who are especially anal about details, who love searching for and triumphantly pointing out flaws. They might be no fun to hang out with, but they’re your best friends in the revision process.
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