Monday, December 21, 2020

Writing Your Anti-thematic Statement

 

Most of us have heard of the thematic statement--the argument or point the story is making about life. But every thematic statement has an opposing worldview. The anti-thematic statement. When we understand what the anti-thematic statement is and how it functions, we can craft better themes. Which means we can craft better plots. And craft better characters. Because all three interweave as the holy trinity of writing 😉.

 

What is the Anti-thematic Statement?


The thematic statement is the truth the story is arguing. 

Disney's Frozen: We must be open to be loved authentically (that might mean we get hurt, but some love is worth the hurt).

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling: Love is the most powerful force in the world.

M. Night Shyamalan's Glass: We must believe we are extraordinary, so we can do the extraordinary. 

(Yes, I'm using Glass. Yes, I know a lot of people don't like it because it broke plot rules, but that doesn't mean its thematic components don't work.)

But for every argument, there is an opposing argument. For every truth, there is a lie. This is the anti-thematic statement, which is a type of false thematic statement. (I like to use "anti-thematic statement" in this case, because we are talking about the direct opposite of the thematic statement, specifically.)

Here are the anti-thematic statements of the same stories.

Disney's Frozen: We must be closed off and isolated from others to be authentic and safe, otherwise there is hurt, including hurting loved ones.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling: Hatred is the most powerful force in the world (alternatively, love is the weakest). 

M. Night Shyamalan's Glass: You must believe you are ordinary, because you must only do the ordinary.

Every story makes a statement about life. The anti-thematic statement is the opposite of that. 

Monday, December 14, 2020

Understanding the Mirror Moment


The first time I heard of the "mirror moment" I cringed--because the only "mirror moment" I knew in writing, was the very cliche, often touted as a no-no, mirror moment in the opening of a book, where the protagonist stares at her or himself in the mirror to describe her or his appearance. This is frowned upon for several reasons that would be better saved for another post (and yes, all rules can be broken).

Luckily THEE mirror moment is something totally different! It's a moment that comes right at the middle of your story (aka, the midpoint) and doesn't actually require anything close to a physical mirror. This is a term coined by best-selling writer, James Scott Bell, and it's his version we are here to talk about today. (Sorry other "mirror moment"--I'll save you for another post). 

Monday, December 7, 2020

Crafting Convergence


The concept of convergence is something I wish I was introduced to earlier in my writing journey, which is why I'm writing this post to introduce it to you now. I first ran into the concept a little more than a year ago (why so late in my journey? 🧐), and it's been in the back of my mind a lot lately. 

Don't get me wrong, I've heard convergent-related ideas--like ticking time bombs and deadlines--before, but they were never connected to the broader concept of "convergence." 

"To converge" means to meet at a point, incline toward each other, or to come to a common conclusion. 

I also think of it as having a kind of collision.

In crafting our stories, we often want a degree of convergence.

Convergence is about getting the audience to look ahead to a specific moment that promises a (potential) collision. This is very effective on the plot level, as it draws the audience into the story and keeps them around as they anticipate that collision.

So how do we bring convergence into our plot?

In his book, The Structure of Story, Ross Hartmann breaks down different ways we can do just that.

Tuesday, December 1, 2020

Advent Calendar for Writers! ($2300 in Prizes!)

 

Hi everyone! I’m so excited to share something with you … something mind-blowingly amazing: The Advent Calendar for Writers Giveaway. It’s the biggest event you’ll find for writers, offering $2300 worth of prizes. Each day between Dec 1st & Dec 14th, a new giveaway is hidden behind an Advent Calendar window. Just visit the link above, click the window, and discover what you might win! And you might especially want to visit on December 3rd (this Thursday) because there’s something you can win from yours truly 😉! The last day to enter for all the giveaways is December 19th. (And I think we could all use some cheer at the end of this year.)

Next week, I'll be back with a writing tip on convergence--a topic not talked about enough in the community (and one I wish I understood earlier, since I messed it up in an early draft of my first novel 🤦‍♀️--but that's why I'm going to share the concept with you!) I also have some other topics cooking, one on four things that need to be in your scene's opening, another on developing your anti-thematic statement, and others.

In case you missed it, last week I was on Writers Helping Writers talking about how stakes set up the audience's expectations (and what we can do with that). You can read that article here. Or if you are in the mood for a tiny tip, I put one up on my social media outlets (Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr.) Thank you for following and being part of this amazing community 😍 💫

 




Monday, November 16, 2020

Look Forward, not Backward, to Pull the Reader In


A lot of writers have the tendency to look "backward" when writing. They might use a lot of flashbacks, they might have a character think "back" on things, or they may simply refer to events that happened in the past. Sometimes they may even backtrack and reiterate what has already played out on the page, or repeat information the audience already knows. Finally, they may backtrack every time they switch a viewpoint character and spend paragraphs talking about what that viewpoint character thinks and feels about what already happened on page.

As writers, we love looking back. Part of this is because from our perspective, when we understand a character's past we understand the character better, or alternatively, when we understand what events led to the current point of the story, we understand the story better. From a writer's perspective, we may even feel more powerful emotions by linking back to the past regularly.

Looking "backward" in a story isn't necessarily wrong. It has an important role in storytelling. Maybe we do need that flashback, for example. Looking back once in a while also adds authenticity--after all, we all look back from time to time in our personal lives, and a story should be bigger than what's on the page. Your characters should have an existence, a history, before the first chapter. Finally, looking back on occasion can help feed into the sense of cause and effect necessary in a good plot. 

However, unlike the writer, much of the time, for the reader, looking backward is not near as interesting or as effective as looking forward.

Often as writers, we think, if the audience can just see the significance of the past, they'll be drawn into the story. In reality, looking forward does this innately and more powerfully.

The past has already happened. It can't be changed. Which is why you will hear many writers speak out against flashbacks.

But the future--that hasn't happened yet. It can change. So when we look forward to it, the audience automatically gets drawn into and invested into the story.

This creates anticipation and tension. Two elements (that to some extent overlap) that will get the audience to turn page after page.

This is essentially why hooks are so important. Most of the time, hooks get the audience to look forward to, or in other words, anticipate something

Stakes work similarly. When there are significant risks, the audience needs to keep reading to see the outcome.

Thankfully, looking "forward" in a story can sometimes be easier than looking backward (remember how I said it's innately equipped to draw in the audience?). One way to do it is by simply having a line where the viewpoint character thinks about what could happen. It might be something as direct as this:

I was afraid that if I told him the truth tomorrow, he wouldn't like me.


See how that automatically has us anticipating that something bad might happen? Now we need to turn the page!

Other times the line might be more indirect, building off the context of the story, but whatever the case, the viewpoint character is anticipating what might happen, so we are too.

An alternative approach is to give a summary line about what does happen, which begs for more information. (I've heard some say this is "cheating," but I personally don't have a problem with it, if it's not overused.) For example:

To her dread, their alliance only made things worse.


Wait, what? This alliance we just read about makes the situation worse? Now as a reader, I'm looking forward to learning how and why--to getting more information--and I'm wondering, what will the consequences be if things are worse?

In my mind, there are two main, important categories that really draw the audience in:

1- We get the audience to dread (or fear) something might happen.
2- We get the audience to hope something might happen.


Both of these categories are very effective. One is negative and one is positive. But both cause the audience to look forward and therefore anticipate and therefore read more. Readers may worry something bad is going to happen to the character or in a story. Or they may pray something good will happen.

In the writing world, we indirectly talk about the first category a lot. It can bring in a lot of tension. Think about it. This is usually where all the advice about "risks" and "stakes" comes in. What does the character or world have to lose? In a good horror film, we are drawn in by the fear that a character might die, or worse.

We don't talk as much about the second option, which can still be very effective. Hope is a powerful thing. This is where all the advice about giving your character a goal or something he cares about comes in. It works because it gets us to hope for an outcome. In a good romance, we hope that the characters fall in love, or better.

And sometimes, you may be appealing to both of these simultaneously.

In most stories, category one is probably most effective, but don't ignore category two, which is often underestimated.

Utilizing both regularly in your storytelling will get the audience to turn page after page--by getting the audience to look forward.

And I will add that there is a third category, in my opinion:

3- We get the audience to feel curious about something. 

 

That functions a little differently, but you can read about it here.

So next time you feel tempted to look backward in your story to try to make it more effective, stop and consider if what you really need is to look forward.  

 

Related Articles:

Breaking Writing Rules Right: "Don't Use Flashbacks"

How to Write Stakes in Storytelling

Reeling Readers in via Curiosity

How to Write Excellent Introspection


Monday, November 9, 2020

7 Point Story Structure Explained in 5 Minutes


Hi there! Today we are doing a basic introduction to and breakdown of 7 Point Story Structure--all in ~5 minutes.

This is a great story structure to learn when you already know the basic, basic story structure:


And are ready to go a little deeper, without doing a deep dive into more complex approaches like The Hero's Journey or Save the Cat! (Or other, more complicated renditions of 7 Point Story Structure.)

And a lot of best-selling writers stick to this structure alone.

It doesn't seem like anyone knows definitively where this structure originated. Some say here. Some say there. Dan Wells, a best-selling writer, is sort of famous for (and sometimes misattributed for having come up with) it, but he says he learned it from a role-playing guide book, but I've also seen it in other places. It's used a lot in screenwriting.

It's also worth noting that both Larry Brooks and K. M. Weiland use a rendition of this structure as well. 

While some, like Wells, use the term "Plot Turn," others, like Brooks and Weiland, use the term "Plot Point." (You know how writing terms are--not regulated 🙄) So please note that they mean the same thing, should you listen to people talk about this structure.

So let's get to it. 

Monday, November 2, 2020

Using Character Arc to Create a Story



Lately I've been writing down and pulling together different approaches to brainstorming and creating stories. Some are more basic and some are more advanced, and some will work better for certain people than others. Today I want to introduce an approach to brainstorming a story that works off character. Well, the character arc (or lack thereof, I guess), specifically. 

So if you are one of those writers who tends to favor character over plot (🙋‍♀️ #GuiltyToAFault #WhatIsPlot), this might be preferable to you. If not, it's still useful to have at your disposal. Every story needs to address character arc. 

Okay, so if you are new to the writing world, you might want to know what I mean by "character arc." "Character arc" is just a fancy term for how a character grows or changes through because of the story. Most of the time, we are talking about the protagonist, since that is the most important character. (But technically any character can have a character arc.)

And that's who we are referring to in this post, the protagonist. 

For the sake of this post, I'm going to break down the protagonist options into two categories: "change" vs. "steadfast." (Because I've used this elsewhere and seen it used elsewhere.) 

Monday, October 26, 2020

Surprising Your Readers in Every Scene


Often we think of surprising audiences with large twists and turns, with thrilling midpoints or shocking losses, but bringing surprise into smaller story pieces, like interactions and beats, can sometimes be equally satisfying in their own way.

They also hook and reel in readers, which is always a plus.

In Story by Robert McKee, McKee talks about the importance of "the gap." The gap is that space between what the character expects to happen and what actually does happen. Sounds simple and obvious, right?

But many writers don't consider how to fully utilize this on the small scale. Every character wants something pretty much all of the time. They may be hungry, so they go to a drive-through, expecting to order. She may be going to a friend's house to tell them she just got engaged, expecting to share that excitement. He might be wanting to ace a test for college.

So everyone wants something, and most people will be taking some form of action to get it. As your character takes that action, think about what they expect, then consider how the result could be different. Maybe your character is trying to order at the drive-through, but no one is responding (a result different than expected), so then what do they do? They take an escalating action. Maybe they raise their voice at the microphone, once, then twice. Suddenly, someone comes on . . . who sounds like they are dying. Now the character needs to think about and take another action, which has another expectation, which could offer another gap.

But not all gaps need to be that drastic. Maybe your character shows up at her friend's house and rings the doorbell, expecting to be let in, like usual. But when her friend opens the door, she blocks the way, and it looks like she's been crying. Unexpected result. Or maybe your character shows up to the testing center, but as he sits down, realizes it's actually an open book test . . . and he didn't bring his.

For the last year or so, I've been revisiting Disney movies, including Frozen. Guess what? This sort of thing happens all the time.

Take a look at this scene alone:

 



Anna: This way to the North Mountain?

Kristoff: [laughs] More like this way [makes her point higher] <--unexpected

[Characters walking through snowy setting]

Anna: I never knew winter could be so beautiful. <--unexpected

Unknown voice: Yeah, it really is beautiful, isn't it? <--unexpected

[Anna and Kristoff look around mildly confused]

[Unknown voice keeps talking and then walks behind Anna and Kristoff as a living snowman, Olaf] <--unexpected

[Anna sees him and kicks him. His head comes off and he's still talking happily.] <--unexpected

Kristoff: You're creepy.

[After tossing the head back and forth, Anna throws it at the snowman, who falls and then gets back up . . . with his head upside down] <--unexpected

Olaf: Wait, what am I looking at right now? Why are you hanging off the earth like a bat? <--unexpected, for Olaf

[After some talking, Anna gives Olaf a carrot nose . . . which she accidentally pushes in too far so it's out the back of his head] <--unexpected

Anna: Are you okay?

Olaf: Are you kidding me? I . . . am wonderful! I've always wanted a nose! It's so cute. It's like a little baby unicorn. <--unexpected

[Anna smashes the back of the carrot in, so his nose is way bigger] <--unexpected, for Olaf

Olaf: Oh. I love it even more! <--unexpected

Olaf: Alright, so let's start this thing over. Hi, everyone. I'm Olaf, and I like warm hugs! <--unexpected

Anna: [in recognition] Olaf? That's right! Olaf. <--unexpected, for Olaf

Olaf: And you are . . . ?

Anna: I'm Anna.

Olaf: And who's the funky looking donkey over there? <--unexpected

Anna: That's Sven.

Olaf: Uh-huh, and who's the reindeer? <--unexpected

Anna: . . . Sven. <--unexpected, for Olaf

Olaf: Oh, okay, make things easier for me. <--unexpected (in subtext)

[Sven tries to eat Olaf's carrot nose] <--unexpected, for Olaf

Olaf: Ah, look at him trying to kiss my nose! I like you too! <--unexpected

Anna: Olaf, did Elsa build you?

Olaf: Yeah, why?

[Kistoff takes off Olaf's arm and begins inspecting it] <--unexpected

Anna: Do you know where she is?

Olaf: Yeah, why? <--note that the repeating why here sort of plays with expectation in a way

Anna: Do you think you could show us the way?

Olaf: Yeah, why?

[Kristoff playing with Olaf's removed stick arm]

Kristoff: How does this work?

[Arm slaps him] <--unexpected

Olaf: Stop it, Sven! <--unexpected

Olaf: Trying to focus here. Yeah why? <--unexpected (the repeat, "yeah why," needs focus?)

Kristoff: I'll tell you why. We need Elsa to bring back summer. <--unexpected, for Olaf

Olaf: Summer? Oh, I don't know why, but I've always loved the idea of summer, and sun, and all things hot! <--unexpected

Kristoff: Really? I'm guessing you don't have much experience with heat. <--unexpected, for Olaf

Olaf: (cheerfully) Nope!

 

You'll notice in this scene that the gap isn't just about the viewpoint character. Every character wants something, even Sven, who wants a carrot (and he doesn't get the result he wants when Olaf reacts). There can also be a gap with the audience and what they expect. Often this is the same as the viewpoint character, but those two things can deviate.

Sure, sometimes the characters do get what they want or expect, and sometimes that's necessary for progression, but you'll notice scenes and interactions are much more interesting, even entertaining, if reality doesn't meet expectation most of the time. If you can turn and twist even beats, the audience will be surprised and thrilled on the small scale over and over again.

To do this, it's important to remember a few things:

- The unexpected result should usually be more powerful or different than expected.

- If it's less powerful than what is expected, it should quickly be followed up by something new and surprising.

- Often the unexpected leads to a form of escalation. Notice how even Olaf wanting introductions creates a sort of rising action, up until he confuses both of the guys as "Sven" and the real Sven tries to bite his nose. In other situations, a sense of risk might escalate, as the character takes more and more actions to try to get what she wants.

- If it doesn't lead to escalation, it should probably lead to the character having to take a different action.


When starting a scene, consider these questions to help you play with the gap:

- What do each of my characters want?

- What does my audience expect?

- What would surprise them?

- How could their reaction open another gap?

 

Also:

- Am I meeting expectations too much?

- If I am meeting expectations, do any of those instances need to be cut? Are they necessary information for the audience? For example, if my character knocks on the door of her friend's house expecting to be let in, and she is, right away, is that interaction meaningful? Or can I start the scene already in the house?


Like every rule, these guidelines can be dangerous if taken to an extreme or misunderstood, but used appropriately, and they can really bring more power, surprise, and entertainment to your scenes.


Monday, October 19, 2020

Plot vs. Structure: The Difference Explained



Often in the writing world, we lump together plot and structure (#guilty), which makes sense, because they're so intertwined. They're sort of like two peas in a pod. But they are actually two different things, which can be difficult to discern at first when you are learning the craft. 

So what is the difference? And why does it matter?

Self, I'm glad you asked that 😉 because that's what I'm going to talk about today.

And I'll be using two of my favorite foods, Mexican food and sandwiches 😋 🤤, to illustrate.

Hopefully you aren't on a diet that restricts those things, if so . . . 😅

At first I was going to refer to Cafe Rio 😍 as an example, but since that is more of a regional thing (proud to say the original started in my hometown ✌️), I decided to go with Chipotle, which is at least across the U.S. . . . I think. 

Anyway, plot vs. structure, Chipotle food. Let's do this.

When you go to Chipotle, you mostly have four options: burrito, taco, salad, or what they call, a burrito bowl (basically the burrito without the tortilla). 

But what some of my family members occasionally laugh about is that it's all the same food. You're just picking how you want to deliver that food to your mouth.

Meaning, whether you get a salad, burrito, taco, or a bowl, you have the same food options. 

I could choose chicken and black beans and then choose whether I want it in a salad, burrito, taco, or bowl. What goes in each is all the same. 

This is a good example of taking a plot and structuring it.

Plot = the actual content of the story. Plot is the events, usually brought on by cause and effect, that make up the narrative. It's what happens. It's the chicken, beans, rice, and lettuce (and salsa and sour cream and . . . you get the idea).

Structure = how it is delivered to the audience. Structure is which content goes where and in what order. If I'm getting a salad, the lettuce is put in the bowl first. If I'm getting a burrito bowl, the meat and beans and rice are put in first. 

In most stories, plot and structure will fit together in rather straightforward ways. For example, the majority of stories are told in a linear timeline. 

But not all stories. 

Some stories take place in multiple timelines, some jump all over in time (The Prestige & The Time Traveler's Wife), and some even play with the passage and delivery of time to the audience (Arrival). 

In this sense, the plot is structured in a way that is not the linear order. The delivery to the audience is different than the basic cause and effect the characters are experiencing.

But September! (you lament.) What about all those story structures we've been learning about?

Well, yes, don't worry, we are going to touch on those too. It's sort of like learning about light. You can view it as a wavelength, or you can view it as a particle. They are both correct. (And it's helpful to have both.)

But the Mexican food point is, the plot is the ingredients and the structure is the delivery method. You can fit the ingredients into a structure.

K, I'll come back to that in a second. Let's talk about sandwiches.

How do we define a sandwich? Okay, well, let's not get crazy, because if we get out into the weeds, it can actually be difficult to define (I do often prefer open-faced sandwiches for one), but for the sake of this post, let's just say it's two sides of something (usually bread), and a middle or filling. 

Monday, October 12, 2020

Picking the Right Pain for Your Protagonist


Let's be honest, pain is a key component of storytelling. If you want to tell a good story, at one point or another, a character will be in pain, and often the most important character to experience pain is the protagonist. But not all pain is the same. You have, what I like to think of, as "passive pain" and "cost pain."

Passive pain is hurt or hardship that just happens to the character. It might be having their parents die in a car crash or a bully who just hates them or a physical ailment they were born with. Passive pain is usually introduced at the starting of the story, during the setup. This also makes the character more sympathetic. We feel for them because of the situation they are in, and hey, life isn't fair for anyone.

But beyond the setup, passive pain needs to take somewhat of a backseat. It's only interesting for so long, and then it can become boring or even annoying. We all have random crap we have to deal with; it's part of life. And if the story just focuses and reiterates what pains happen to the protagonist, it's usually not very engaging for very long.

It's much more interesting, and more intense, when the pain becomes a cost for the protagonist on his or her journey. Having loved ones die randomly is one thing. Having them die as a cost to reaching a goal is way different. This is because it has a sense of cause and effect, which is what storytelling is all about.

If the protagonist doesn't struggle for success, the problem isn't actually that difficult, and the victory doesn't feel "earned." And in a way, it doesn't feel worthy of being a story. Most stories are about overcoming--whether that's overcoming something inside or externally or both (or overcoming a type of death).

Once the setup is done, there should be more "cost pain" than "passive pain," generally speaking. Sometimes, this may be obvious cause and effect--in a rush to win a significant cooking contest, your protagonist burns her hand. She wouldn't have burned her hand if she hadn't needed to plate her food before the timer ran out, which would disqualify her from the contest. Other times, there is a connection, but it's more indirect. Since she wins the cash prize of the cooking contest, her neighbor (who was also competing) now can't afford to take his young daughter on a trip this summer. The neighbor, who was always friendly, may now be rude to her, maybe even badmouthing her to other neighbors, which then affects how her neighborhood sees her, which makes her dog walks more difficult . . .

Passive pain is just stuff that happens. We feel sorry, but it's out of our control, and we bear no responsibility. Cost pain is much more significant--it's in our control or at least within our influence--if only we just made different decisions! Took X, Y, or Z action instead! This means it's also more likely to haunt our hero, which will make them more sympathetic to the audience.

Every goal has a cost. Usually the bigger the goal, the greater the cost. The bigger the cost, the greater the victory. It's the contrast that creates great power. An easy victory isn't that satisfying.

This isn't to say you can never have passive pains beyond the setup, or that you can never have cost pains in the opening--it's just to say that the cost pain is more effective and therefore should be more present and utilized through the story. Try to avoid writing stories where all the pain the protagonist experiences is from stuff that just "happens" to him or her--passive pain.

Even the story of Job is actually about cost pain. Sure, on the surface, it may seem like a passive pain story--because all these terrible things are happening to him. But in reality, all of those things are the cost for remaining faithful to God (even if you are angry or unhappy about it like he was at times). It's the cost of trying to retain one's beliefs.

Cost Pain > Passive Pain

Now go forth and consider what pain this journey costs your protagonist. 

***

I've recently added another editing service to my offerings: manuscript evaluation. This is similar to my content editing, but lighter. Basically, I read right through the manuscript and write up an editorial letter where I talk about how the manuscript can be taken to the next level or how the writer can improve, in general. I've done this as a "slimmer" version of my content editing in the past, but haven't advertised this approach lately because I personally think most manuscripts deserve a deeper edit. However, I understand that many people (especially now thanks to covid) are on a tighter budget. This approach is faster and therefore cheaper (but again, not as detailed). For now, I intend to have it listed only temporarily. For everything about my editing services, visit FawkesEditing.com.


Monday, October 5, 2020

2 Tricks for Scene Transitions

As novelists and short story writers, we probably don't think about scene transitions too much. Don't get me wrong, we may take a long time seeking out the perfect hook or the most-intriguing opening, and we may write and rewrite the end of the scene to get it just right. But when it comes to moving from one scene to another . . . it's probably something we feel more rather than really think about. 

And that's okay, and you can be totally successful that way. 

But last year I learned about two scene transition techniques that have stuck with me. Unsurprisingly, they come from film, a medium where scene transitions are more obvious and more touchy. 

Lately I've been more and more mindful of them in my writing and have found they can be quite helpful when trying to get the flow between passages just right.

They come from the book Story by Robert McKee.

In it, McKee explains that when it comes to successful scene transitions, you really have two options:

Monday, September 28, 2020

How Plotlines Complete the Audience's Viewpoint


 
We talk a lot about viewpoint when it comes to writing the actual text, but we rarely talk about the different kinds of viewpoints the audience needs to experience to make the story feel "complete" or "whole." Surprisingly, they are much the same in a sense: first person, second person, third person, and their plural counterparts. Or, I, you, he/she, they, and we.

Sounds strange, doesn't it? 

A couple of weeks ago, I did a post on the 8 Archetypes of The Hero's Journey. In it, I explained that the reason archetypes are recurring and work so well, is because their inclusion mimics the human experience. This helps the story feel "whole." The following concept (courtesy of Dramatica, but I've added some of my own thoughts) works the same way.

When we include these different plotlines, it mimics our experience as human beings.

Warning: It might seem confusing at first, but hang with me, and hopefully you'll get the idea.

And remember, this is about completing the audience's perspective, not what the writer chooses to write in. 

And also, again, remember . . . there are always exceptions in the writing world 😅 but this is an interesting outlook.

Monday, September 21, 2020

Arrogance vs. Confidence, Self-deprecation vs. Humility


One of the most popular posts of all time on my writing blog, has surprisingly, little to do with writing. And yet, at the same time, seems to have everything to do with it. When my blog was a baby (less than a year old), I wrote a post about the differences between confidence and arrogance, and humility and self-deprecation. It still gets regular hits.

Which wouldn't be a problem . . . except, since then, I've refined and updated some of my ideas. 

And I'd like people to have the more refined version. 

So this is sort of a repost, but not really a repost, and sort of not about writing, and yet totally about writing. 

Because let's be honest--on our own writing journeys, it can be easy to zigzag all over the place between these characteristics, whether it's because we've just finished a manuscript that is obviously bound to be the next great American novel (or . . . insert whatever country you hail from) or because we've just found out our editor hates our characters. It's like one of my favorite writing memes.

So, I want to talk about the differences between arrogance and confidence, and humility and self-deprecation--and how to discern each.

Monday, September 14, 2020

8 Archetypes of The Hero's Journey


Today we are covering the eight character archetypes of The Hero's Journey.

Archetypes are recurring patterns and figures in storytelling (well, to put in simplified terms). Often a story won't feel "complete" without the proper archetypes.

But keep in mind that archetypes don't have to manifest exactly like this in your manuscript--it's not necessarily a character-for-character thing. In fact, these work more as functions, especially today. You can mix and match and combine them in your cast of characters. Or sometimes the functions may be like masks that different characters wear at different times.


Hero

Obviously this is the protagonist, but we'll go a little deeper into the Hero archetype, than that, of course.

Vogler, who has a whole book on The Hero's Journey specifically for writers, says, "The word hero is Greek, from a root that means 'to protect and to serve.' A Hero is someone who is willing to sacrifice his own needs on behalf of others. . . . At the root the idea of Hero is connected with self-sacrifice."

The Hero is the main person the audience will identify with. He or she provides a context for them to view the rest of the story. In order for this archetype to be effective the Hero needs to be both universal and original--universal enough that the audience can relate to him, but original enough to feel distinct, like a real person.

Another important function is that the Hero shows growth, and usually, he or she grows the most out of all the characters. She is typically the person who takes the most action, or at least, the most significant actions in the story. Through The Hero's Journey, she will face death, real or figurative.



Mentor

This archetype is almost as familiar as the Hero. The Mentor is often seen as a wise old man or woman, but it doesn't have to be. Traditionally, the Mentor is a positive figure who trains the Hero. Both Dramatica and The Hero's Journey touch on the idea that this archetype is similar to God or the conscience or a higher self, in the sense that it encourages the Hero to do what is right. This figure often functions like a parent.

In addition to teaching, the Mentor often gives gifts, maybe a magic pendant that lights up the darkest places, for example. Sometimes these gifts need to be earned by the Hero--he may need to prove he is worthy of them--and almost always they are required to finish the story. The Mentor may drop information that will be important later. She may also provide motivation when the Hero has difficulty moving forward.



Threshold Guardian

Just as the Hero will likely need to prove herself to the Mentor, she will likely also need to prove herself to a Threshold Guardian. As she faces obstacles on her adventure, she may need to get past a guard, rival, or unfriendly creature--not necessarily the antagonist, but someone in the way of the goal. Vogler writes, "At each gateway to a new world there are powerful guardians at the threshold, placed to keep the unworthy from entering."

The Threshold Guardian's purpose is to test the Hero before she can continue. Not all Guardians are defeated--some may be bypassed or turned into an ally. In life, the Threshold Guardian represents the resistance we face when we make up our minds to go a certain direction. This resistance may not be ill-intended--it can come from a best friend who doesn't want us to move away, for example. The friend's resistance tests our resolve--are we willing to still move even when begged not to?



Herald

The Hero starts out in his Ordinary World, until the Call to Adventure arrives. Often that Call to Adventure comes from a Herald.

The Herald announces "the need for a change." Like the Mentor, the Herald will work as a motivator for the Hero. Maybe the Hero knows a change is coming, but it's not validated until the Herald appears.

Other than Act I, a Herald can surface at almost any point in the story, announcing and encouraging the need for change.



Shapeshifter

By nature, this archetype is shifting and unstable. The Hero will meet the Shapeshifter, get one impression, only to discover they are truly something else later. Or their very nature may change several times throughout the Journey. "Shapeshifters change appearance or mood, and are difficult for the Hero and the audience to pin down."

Typically, traditionally, the Shapeshifter is the opposite gender of the Hero, perhaps a love interest. The Hero's Journey borrows heavily from the studies of Carl Jung, and this pattern connects to his concept of the "animus" or "anima"--an archetype representing the male elements in the female unconscious or vice versa. Of course, the Shapeshifter can also work well as the same gender, such as in a buddy comedy or adventure story.

In the narrative, the Shapeshifter functions by bringing in doubt into the Adventure. Because we can't pin down the Shapeshifter, we will feel unsure and ask questions.



Shadow

The Shadow is the antagonistic force. It "represents the energy of the dark side, the unexpressed, unrealized, or rejected aspects of something." It can be the main antagonist but also other villains, enemies, or inner demons of the self.

The Shadow challenges the Hero as a worthy opponent. If the story includes a main villain, that Shadow may illustrate characteristics the Hero rejects within himself, so in a sense it mirrors the Hero while also being the direct opposite of the Hero. Often the best Shadows are humanized in some way.

Shadows are not always negatively rooted. They can also be things unobtained, such as unexplored potential, forgotten dreams, or unexpressed love.

It's the stuff we try to push away into the unconscious. And sometimes that stuff is personified into a character.


Ally

Many heroes need a buddy or a sidekick to help them on their journey. This can be a best friend, a pet, a training partner, a servant, a classmate, or a variety of other things. Having an Ally gives the Hero a comrade to interact with--to bring out human feelings, thematic discussions, and possible problem-solving methods. An Ally will help illuminate aspects of the Hero that the other archetypes cannot.

Allies may ask questions the audience needs to hear but that the Hero would not ask, such as Watson when paired with Sherlock Holmes.

In mythology, it's not uncommon for the Hero to have a spiritual protector, like a guardian angel or the ghost of an ancestor.

The Ally "might represent the unexpressed or un-used parts of the personality that must be brought into action to do their jobs."




Trickster

This archetype exemplifies mischief and the desire to change. The Trickster is typically the comic relief. In the human experience, the Trickster humbles those with big egos and brings others down to earth. They may highlight follies and hypocrisies. "Above all, they bring about healthy change and transformation, often by drawing attention to the imbalance or absurdity of a stagnant psychological situation." They are rebels of social or political conventions--or at least, their actions bring such things into question.

A great Trickster can help balance out long, tense moments in a story. In order to feel suspense most powerfully, you need to contrast it with relief and laughter.



Remember, often today we don't use characters that fit archetypes exactly, but rather these are different character functions to bring into the story. Feel free to mix them up or bring something new to your character. 

Why does this matter? Well, there is a reason these figures appear and reappear throughout human history. They represent different parts of the human experience: encouragement to do right, feelings of doubt, resistance, motivation, imbalance, repressed or unrealized desires. . . . 

Including the different parts, makes a story feel more complete or whole, because it mimics life.

To learn more about this or other archetypes, check out and compare The Hero's Journey's list to Dramatica's list

3 Quick Announcements:

This Wednesday at 6 p.m. MDT, I will be participating in a virtual Hamilton panel through FanX. We will be talking about the film recording and everything Hamilton. Visit the FanX website on Wednesday to watch. 

I've recently added another editing service to my offerings: manuscript evaluation. This is similar to my content editing, but lighter. Basically, I read right through the manuscript and write up an editorial letter where I talk about how the manuscript can be taken to the next level or how the writer can improve, in general. I've done this as a "slimmer" version of my content editing in the past, but haven't advertised this approach lately because I personally think most manuscripts deserve a deeper edit. However, I understand that many people (especially now thanks to covid) are on a tighter budget. This approach is faster and therefore cheaper (but again, not as detailed). For now, I intend to have it listed only temporarily. For everything about my editing services, visit FawksEditing.com.

QueryLetter.com is holding a writing competition. This contest is all about book blurbs. The winner will receive $500. Learn about the contest here. It looks like submissions must be sent by the 15th--so act quick if you want to enter!

Monday, September 7, 2020

How to Focus a Novel: 3 Key Things


 
 
Ever take a look at your story and notice it's wandering here, there, over the river, through the woods, and all the way to grandmother's house?
 
Whether you are brainstorming, writing, or revising, it can be difficult to discern what belongs in your story and what belongs on the cutting floor--what is a good, appropriate idea, and what is a less-than-good, not-quite-appropriate idea.
 
Unless you know about the holy trinity of writing. 
 
What is the holy trinity of writing, you ask?

Well, nothing . . . 

EXCEPT THE THREE KEY ELEMENTS THAT MAKE A STORY EXCELLENT.

(Spoiler: I'm the only one who calls them "the holy trinity of writing," so don't use that term elsewhere unless you want strange looks (which, let's be honest, sometimes makes life more exciting 😉).)

With these three elements, you should--theoretically--be able to evaluate what content belongs in your manuscript and what belongs in the recycle bin (oof, so harsh). 
 
Have I always thought of these three elements as the holy trinity of writing? 

Definitely not.

In fact, years ago, I would have scratched my head at one of them.

But as I've grown and gained experience, I have found this fact to be largely true:

Everything* in the story must connect back into one of these three components.
 
*Well, "everything"--you know how writing "rules" are.

 
Character (arc)

Plot (cause and effect events that make up "what happens")

Theme (what character arc + plot is teaching us about life)
 

99% of what you write should be touching and progressing one of these things, and often, all three. 

Really? 
 
Really.

When you have and know all three components of your story, you are able to brainstorm better or evaluate better. 
 
You are less likely to wander down roads that lead to hundreds of pages needing to be cut.

Knowing each of these three things will help you refine everything you write. The good news is, you don't have to know everything about each of these topics. (Well, at least not until the end, perhaps (though some writers may even argue against that).)

Monday, August 31, 2020

What to Do When You Want to Quit Writing


We've all had it. That dreadful thought that passes through the mind: Maybe I should quit. 

It's often depressing. 

And discouraging. 

And to be totally honest? Completely normal!

So I wanted to do a post talking about it today. But before I get too far into this, I need to explain some things.

There is a difference between "passing thoughts" and "intentional thoughts."

Passing thoughts are what they sound like, thoughts that just enter your head, don't carry a lot of weight, don't really take much root, and pass right through your mind.

All of us have passing thoughts.

When people ask others things like, "Did you ever think of giving up?" and the person replies "No," it's a little misleading. The reality is, all of us, all of us have passing thoughts about quitting. The thought will just naturally come to mind when you are struggling. How can you really go years without it ever crossing your mind? You can't, because inside, you know it's an option.

When someone says they never thought of giving up, what they really mean is, they never thought seriously about giving up. It was never an intentional thought.

All of us will have passing thoughts of doubt and quitting. I know I do!

Most of us will probably even have serious thoughts of quitting. 
 
And really, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Doubt and skepticism are super important parts of the human mind. They keep us safe, alive, and grounded. They help us learn to discern better and to think more critically. They even help us to grow. 
 
I mean, if you never experience doubt and skepticism, then there is a good chance that something is . . . wrong. (But, hey, I'm not a therapist or anything!)
 
And in reality, this is sometimes more of a spectrum than an either-or situation, because there are different levels of seriousness.

Monday, August 24, 2020

Utilizing the 3 Types of Death

 

Last week I was reading a writing book by James Scott Bell, and in it, he made the claim that every story is really about death (or the fight against it). 

I admit, my first reaction was to challenge it. Death? Really? Every story? Really? Even if you are talking about a figurative death, there must be plenty of stories that have nothing to do with such a thing!

But then I kept reading. 

. . . and I changed my mind, in a sense. 

Every story is about death, but there are three types of death: physical, professional, and psychological.
And it can be quite useful to know about them, particularly through the middle of your story (well, at least it was to me). 

So here are the types.

 

Physical

This is pretty much self-explanatory. This is death, death, as we know it. In a lot of stories, the protagonist’s actual life is at risk. Thrillers, survivalist stories, often dystopias . . . You get the idea. But sometimes worse is the prospect of a loved one dying (which can tap into the psychological).


Professional 

I admit, I really want to call this one something else, like “vocational,” because it’s not always about an actual job or profession. But then, I guess if it were called that, we wouldn’t have the three Ps (physical, professional, psychological). A story about professional death may indeed be about the protagonist having his job or profession at risk. But it can also be a vocation or calling at risk, such as possibly being expelled from school, or turning out to be a bad parent, or losing your lifelong dream to be the best ballerina in America. In a sense, this is the protagonist’s life role in danger of dying. So you might find this in stories about lawyers, or artists, or athletes . . .

 

Psychological

A psychological death is when someone dies on the inside. She becomes a shell of a person. What's at risk in the story, is that person's livelihood--who he or she is. In romances, it may begin to feel that if the couple never gets together, they'll suffer an inward death. They'll never be who they were before. And they'll never become who they could have been. 

But it can be about something else too, like a loss of identity or a traumatic shift in a worldview. It can even be something the character has been battling with for his or her whole life, like toxic gender roles, which kill him or her on the inside.


 

For a story to be satisfying, it needs to be about fighting some kind of death.  This is in part because if there is no death, then the stakes aren't high enough. We need high stakes for the story to matter, to have meaning. Because if nothing significant is at stake, then what happens doesn't really matter. Which means the story doesn't really matter.

And many stories will be about the protagonist fighting off more than one death. When looking to strengthen stakes, it might be helpful to look at how to bring in another type of death. 

When it comes to structure, the death will be introduced at the inciting incident. By the end, that death will be confronted in the climax. But the middle. The middle is where the protagonist reacts to and tries to fight off that death (generally speaking, in some form or another). Which means, through the middle, you need to think of ways to escalate that death into something more formidable or painful. 

Maybe in the inciting incident, your protagonist realizes he could die on this journey. 

Then through the middle, you put in more life-threatening things. Or perhaps you escalate it so that not only could he die, but his whole family could. Or perhaps the way he could die becomes more traumatic. Or perhaps the timing he dies could be more damning. This obviously becomes problematic.

But in the climax is when he must face that death in the most dangerous way. Will he succeed? Or fail? Well, that depends on the kind of story you are telling. 

So I guess, yes, in a sense, every story should be about death. Because if something is not at risk of dying--of reaching an end, a judgment, a state that cannot be undone--then the story misses out on reaching its potential. 

So, think about what kind of death is key in your story, and if it is threatening enough. 

UPDATE: Hi everyone, recently I realized that a lot of stories that have a sort of bittersweet ending, have one in part because one form of death has come as a cost to victory. For example, in Lord of the Rings, Frodo succeeded, but he suffered a psychological death of sorts--he can't go back to his previous life in Hobbiton. In Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Ed succeeds, but suffers a professional death as a cost--he can't do alchemy anymore. And in some stories, the protagonist or a key character will actually die.

Of course, you can write a story that has no bitter, in which case, there probably won't ultimately be a "death." And you can write a story where there is no "sweet," in which case, there probably won't be a painful "death." I guess I would also add, it's possible to create this effect by also having a relationship "die." However, one might argue this connects into a psychological death.


Monday, August 17, 2020

Mastering Motifs for Thematic Power


Today I want to talk about a topic that for much of my life I could care less about--no really, I could care less about motifs. From me, they always got the metaphorical shoulder shrug. Like, who cares when there are so many other more important things to focus on in writing?

Turns out (as what often happens) I didn't care about them because I didn't fully understand them.

I also feel that part of this stems from the fact that I don't think we do a very good job teaching theme in our society.

It was only when I started really understanding theme, that I started caring about motifs.

Because no one told me growing up (unless I was asleep during that class somehow) that motifs are used in conjunction with theme.

I was only ever told that a motif was a recurring . . . thing in a story. The "thing" can be an object, an action, a word or phrase, a concept, a sound, a color, a--I think you get why I use the word "thing." But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Instead, let's first start with a topic we are all familiar with: symbolism.

What Symbolism Actually is

I sometimes dislike the word "symbolism" because I feel like it implies the need to "decode" something, as if it's a secret message that you can only get if you are smart or "in the know."

I won't say it's never such a thing, but I will say that often that is not the actual point of symbolism.

Mostly, at its heart, I feel that symbolism is a means to communicate something abstract in a more concrete way (which as writers, is something many of us will be all too familiar with). . . .

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Monday, August 3, 2020

Vulnerable Vibes vs. God Mode



As you probably all know by now, I do a lot of editing. I also do a lot of writing. Every once in a while I find myself looking at a story where the protagonist is overly sensitive and vulnerable for most of the time. On the other hand, I also sometimes find myself looking at a story where the protagonist is too . . . well . . . powerful or maybe even invincible too much of the time.

But often, the best protagonists and stories show some of both.

And I would surmise that by tapping into both, you can write a more powerful story, because as I've talked about before, it's not hitting the same concept over and over that makes a story more emotionally powerful, it's hitting it and its contrast. It's crossing opposites that makes a story more powerful. Sameness can actually dull the impact.

While I try to avoid gender stereotypes, I will say from my experience, that GENERALLY speaking, if a protagonist is too sensitive and vulnerable too much of the time (and often needs help and rescuing to boot), it's usually written by a female (and just so you know, I've been guilty of this as a lady). And that GENERALLY speaking, if a protagonist is too powerful and invincible too much of the time, it's usually written by a male. However, most stories I look at are rather well balanced.

So why am I talking about this today?

Well, because even if you aren't in the extreme, I believe any writer can benefit from being aware of the two extremes and learning how to utilize each end of the spectrum.

Ideally, we should be seeing your protagonist be both vulnerable and powerful.

While there are some particular points where this is most effective (which I'll get to), it's usually a good idea to have some of this throughout: the beginning, the middle, and the end.

And in a lot of stories, each aspect may become more . . . potent, as the story progresses. So in a sense, the character may face more, stronger vulnerable moments as the story progresses, and simultaneously more powerful moments as the story progresses . . . possibly (you know how it is with writing 😉)

Monday, July 27, 2020

5 Keys to a Satisfying Denouement



Often as writers, we put a lot of our focus on the starting, climax, and middle of a story, and the denouement or falling action may be somewhat of an afterthought. If you grew up like me, you were kind of taught that the denouement should just be a quick wrap-up that can end the story, and you weren't given much direction on how to do that in a satisfying way. But when crafted well, the denouement can sometimes feel like the most powerful part of a story--not because it has heightened tension and conflict, like the rest of the novel probably has, but precisely because it's the emotional release of all that.

Here are some things to keep in mind when working with denouements.

The Proper Length

Denouements are often short, and in fact, I've been in some creative writing classes where we were told that you can even cut them off completely, and while that might work for some rare stories, I argue that almost every story is better with a strong denouement than without. My advice? Don't skimp on it. (Usually.)

Because some of us were taught that the purpose of the denouement is to get out of the story quickly, some of us actually make them too short. You might be able to get away with that, but you miss out on ending your story on a more powerful note.

So what length should they be? Well, long enough to cover the important parts but short enough to keep them interesting. So let's talk about what they need.

Its True Purpose: Validation

A powerful denouement doesn't just "end the story." It validates it. This means validating changes that happened during, or maybe rather, because of the story. Show evidence of what has been lost, defeated, gained, or won. So after a romance conflict, you may show the couple getting married. If someone died in the climax, you may show a funeral. If the protagonist completed a character arc, we need to see him acting as a changed person. Was the antagonist defeated? Show that he, she, or it is now gone from the world.

Powerful validation, especially one after another, is what can often bring an audience to tears--it's the release and outcome of all the previous hardship. It can also cement the theme into their hearts.

Validate what has changed, and sometimes, what hasn't changed. A lot of powerful denouements do some of both, which is why you'll notice it may be similar to the beginning of the novel, but different.

Tie Loose Ends (and Maybe Add New Ones)

This is usually what people think of when thinking of denouements, but when you validate changes, you are often tying up any loose ends in the process. Still, there may be some elements that need to be mentioned and addressed directly. If there was a side mystery, we may need to still get that resolved in the falling action. Any information that we are lacking, should probably be in the text. Smaller conflicts that weren't handled in the climax, may be concluded here.

And in some stories, you may actually be adding loose ends in addition to tying off others. This is particularly true for a book in a series. Maybe what happened in the climax opened up more questions and potential conflicts. Some denouements close all the conflicts of the book, and then at the very end, add a few loose ends. Installments in a series may acknowledge any ongoing loose ends that haven't yet been resolved.

Convey a New Normal

In the beginning of the novel, you probably conveyed a sense of normalcy to the audience--what was normal for this character, this setting, this society. Most satisfying denouements establish a sense of what the new normal may be. This can be big and obvious, like a couple being married. Or it may be more subtle, like what a changed character is planning to do next in life. In some cases, you may be "hinting" at the future more than "establishing" it.

Sometimes, the "new normal" may actually be the old normal you opened up with, but in most stories, that would probably undermine all the changes that took place. Still, it can work for the right kind of story. But even if the new normal is almost the same as the old normal, typically it's a good idea to at least give us a hint of how the protagonist changed, internally.

Pick the Right Ending

Author David Farland has talked about how satisfying endings will fit into one of these three options:

Happily Ever After - All of the "good guys" are happy and satisfied, and they successfully defeated the antagonist.

Sadder, but Wiser - The good guys may not have won the big external conflict, but they learned something profound and valuable from it, and will be better people because of it. Alternatively, maybe the characters didn't get wiser, but the audience did.

Much was Won, but Much was Lost - Much of the antagonistic forces were defeated, but it was costly. Good guys may have had to sacrifice things they will never get back. But it was probably worth it.

Usually certain genres lean toward one type of ending. The tone and theme and plot of your story will also likely lean toward a specific one. Demonstrate your ending model in the denouement for a powerful impact.


Monday, July 20, 2020

Writing the Influence Character





Much has been written about the protagonist, but few talk about what's called the "influence character." This is a character whose power comes from his or her influence/impact on the protagonist. The influence character has a different worldview than the protagonist, which helps explore the story's theme. This is often who the protagonist is in an important relationship with, in the B story, or perhaps, viewed as a lead role in the B story. It might be a love interest, mentor, friend, sibling, rival, ally, parent, classmate--almost anything. It's someone who has power based on impact. They will challenge the protagonist's perspective, directly or indirectly, either testing the protagonist's resolve or getting them to change. Typically the influence character and protagonist are linked together, usually by a similar goal.

Here are some examples.

In Moana, Moana is the protagonist, and Maui is the influence character.

In The Hunger Games, Katniss is the protagonist, and Peeta is the influence character.

In The Greatest Showman, P. T. Barnum is the protagonist, and Charity is the influence character.

In Hamilton, Hamilton is the protagonist, and Eliza is the influence character.

In Songbirds and Snakes, Coriolanus is the protagonist, and Sejanus is the influence character.

In Legally Blonde, Elle is the protagonist, and Paulette is the influence character.

This doesn't mean the protagonist isn't influenced by other characters, of course, but these are the (or rather, "primary") influence characters--their relationship with the protagonist influences the outcome of the story in significant ways, and for at least part of the story (if not the whole thing), these two people are usually bound together on a similar course or by a similar end goal. This creates a "we" perspective within the audience. We are trying to do X. We are stuck in the same situation. We need to work together. We need each other.

But this relationship is about more than . . . well . . . just being in a relationship. The protagonist and influence character mirror and foil each other in key ways. Often by the time a writer finishes a professional-level story, he or she will have done this (to some extent), even if he or she isn't aware of it.

Let's talk about the key components of this relationship (concepts courtesy of Dramatica).