tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75533937542661270012024-03-12T23:41:25.697-07:00Novel Tips“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.” -- Jane Austen Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.comBlogger302125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-64507692692874006632018-10-21T11:00:00.000-07:002018-10-21T11:00:23.596-07:00Creativity and ConstraintWho likes rules? Who wants to be curtailed by limits? Or constraints. Most of us began rebelling against such things at about twenty-four months. And writers have spent years encountering commandments on everything from how often you “should” write to how often you “should” use a hook.<br />
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<span class="s1">The smartest writers among us realize that there’s an exception to every rule. Because there definitely is. In certain instances, you absolutely need to “tell.” Sometimes more detail is better, sometimes not. Reader expectations about point of view have changed radically and dramatically—even from what seemed acceptable a few decades back. Lots of exceptions.</span></div>
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Still, if you’d like to be an original and “good” writer, as opposed to being someone who writes, consider who benefits when you rebel. Yes, sometimes those exceptions are exactly what’s needed. More often, though, enormous opportunity lurks in addressing issues rather than disregarding them. When writers ignore this source of serendipity, readers pay.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: The best brainstorming you’ll ever do comes from solving an apparently insoluble problem.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Consider this example.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Louella imagined popping the necklace that wasn’t pop-it beads while shrieking, “Don’t you dare comment on me or my kids ever again.”</span><br /><span class="s1"></span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">“Easy there, girlfriend,” Hortense advised, as if reading Louella’s mind.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">Is there a constraint here? You bet. The quotation marks in what Louella </span><span class="s2">thinks</span><span class="s1"> precede identical quotation marks in what Hortense</span><span class="s2"> says aloud</span><span class="s1">. Particularly back to back, two uses of one kind of punctuation are at best distracting, at worst, confusing.</span><span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">A writer faced with this issue can choose from several options.</span></div>
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<li class="li1"><span class="s1">Assume that most readers will get it, even if it stops them just for a minute.</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s1">Cut the two sentences and make the point some other way.</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s1">Decide that the creative response is addressing the issue rather than ignoring or deleting it.</span></li>
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Want to choose # 3? Here’s one alternative: <span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Louella wanted to shriek, “Don’t you dare comment on me or my kids ever again.” She wanted to pop the necklace that wasn’t pop-it beads. She wanted to wreck Hortense’s sleek hairdo. She wanted to…</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">As if reading Louella’s mind, Hortense advised, “Easy there, girlfriend.”</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">More often than not, there’s an innovative way to follow the rules. So. Why not limit any rationalizing to what your characters say or think. Because the best writers follow very few rules all the time. Those same writers follow all reasonable rules a lot of time. And every writer needs to know those rules—and be able to justify precisely when and why it’s okay to break them. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">After all, as Anne Enright observes with painful candor: “Only bad writers think that their work is really good.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Respect for constraints is among the best ways to make any writing better.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">**** Laurel's new book, <i>Beyond the First Draf</i>t, is now available from Amazon or Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing. ****</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-80625661282407533432018-08-12T12:53:00.000-07:002018-08-12T12:53:58.556-07:00Resonance in the Novel<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">What’s resonance? <a href="http://dictionary.com/"><span class="s2">dictionary.com</span></a> calls it “the quality in a sound of being deep, full, and reverberating” or “the reinforcement or prolongation of sound by reflection from a surface or by the synchronous vibration of a neighboring object.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">At least metaphorically, though, resonance isn’t limited to sound. In photography, we might consider resonance a layering (that “deep, full, and reverberating” aspect) and a connection through “a surface or by the synchronous vibration of a neighboring object.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Obviously, undoctored photos capture only what’s there. But it’s all about the angle. Juxtaposition and reverberation reveal what isn’t immediately visible. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieG1VRq5bw0awpNg6TU-I2zftT7E9PyQFZiA2RIYVBXYNIf9VeQ70yo4a4BDvvosvM05H9WWOp_fQdykIdPEs-NQnejY1wQzOAqwyCKhYSuKwmO5Xx3xhnwA0vYaIBcG7wn8C3gmbOajuf/s1600/IMG_4261.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieG1VRq5bw0awpNg6TU-I2zftT7E9PyQFZiA2RIYVBXYNIf9VeQ70yo4a4BDvvosvM05H9WWOp_fQdykIdPEs-NQnejY1wQzOAqwyCKhYSuKwmO5Xx3xhnwA0vYaIBcG7wn8C3gmbOajuf/s400/IMG_4261.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEeDQTC5GdncNmUqDGZrssl-DFZyO4dlOgW4xx8cIL1dHkyFnfItaBiyaTIOTs6g4bWL64-RjNcwUJqpSsr5rWq-2YjlQbE1l0gG7TbyYaP_UGcDWp-eHPpxMWAbBfCosY6RZzLYsvedQW/s1600/IMG_4261.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieG1VRq5bw0awpNg6TU-I2zftT7E9PyQFZiA2RIYVBXYNIf9VeQ70yo4a4BDvvosvM05H9WWOp_fQdykIdPEs-NQnejY1wQzOAqwyCKhYSuKwmO5Xx3xhnwA0vYaIBcG7wn8C3gmbOajuf/s1600/IMG_4261.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgaWmrEc5VBtDltZdpskEM0H-WtVtivWpDmhCyAmBTRGLVn_Q7bdXZisNTHCII_7xDP6AvB-ne9NSl_PxNbP23BsPWxgLYPMlFXvZ8-9xIQ8J_wgUQJIAN74Q5cpO9OfhRwb6bYPdh3q3U/s1600/IMG_4589.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgaWmrEc5VBtDltZdpskEM0H-WtVtivWpDmhCyAmBTRGLVn_Q7bdXZisNTHCII_7xDP6AvB-ne9NSl_PxNbP23BsPWxgLYPMlFXvZ8-9xIQ8J_wgUQJIAN74Q5cpO9OfhRwb6bYPdh3q3U/s400/IMG_4589.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">This introduces the potential to see and perhaps feel something we hadn’t previously. Fiction does its work this same way. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">To “resonate” literally means to bounce back and forth between two states or places. Resonate comes from the Latin word for “resound.” In sound, resonance is a prolonged response to something that caused things to vibrate…. </span><span class="s1"> Resonance in writing is something that affects us the same way. It’s an aura of significance, significance beyond the otherwise insignificant event taking place. It’s caused by a kind of psychic reverberation between two times, places, states, or spheres… — “Literary Resonance in the Art of Writing,” Lighthouse Writing Tips</span></blockquote>
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Language and description are tools for layering comparison, contrast, texture, insight, and, above all, empathy—that “faculty to resonate with the feelings of others” (Matthieu Ricard). <span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">To illustrate, here’s a sentence without resonance: </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Her undiagnosed dementia only affects current recollections. </span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">The language is clinical. You encounter this character without much noticing, much less feeling, and as George R. R. Martin observes, </span>“fiction is about emotional resonance, about making us feel things on a primal and visceral level.” </div>
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<span class="s1">How does that happen? Resonance. In Dean’s novel, individual loss reflects the broader cultural one, because the primary plot merges with the subplot. Instantly comprehensible metaphor transforms an intellectual understanding into an empathetic one. Here’s the original sentence:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Whatever is eating her brain consumes only the fresher memories, the unripe moments</span><span class="s1">― Debra Dean, <i>The Madonnas of Leningrad</i></span></blockquote>
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This no longer describes the plight of an individual. The portrait has become universal. Resonance accomplishes that via a metaphor that causes us to look differently, which is a primary purpose of fiction. Without losing focus on the protagonist, complete the picture by introducing reflection, background, or unexpected emphasis. What can you reveal to make readers stop and take notice? How can you make this feeling, this moment resonate?<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Construct a fictional world that's fully dimensional rather than predictable and flat. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">**** Laurel's new book, <i>Beyond the First Draf</i>t, is now available from Amazon or Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing. **** </span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-44737426185472322852018-08-05T11:56:00.000-07:002018-08-05T11:56:53.422-07:00Verbless in Montreal<div class="p1">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcCoeYQE0dkhHWcY4AdBQ0jgqnQB7rx1xAJUfgv0JkqY2HwVcI7Vs2zxr46ni40-yp7Sp7TB30SNHrvfxPtTA0mGDNgqVYONNPA_WTNbvughP8dwy1DMVzKiJZM44hIcu3IPMFIec5MhjX/s1600/IMG_4240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcCoeYQE0dkhHWcY4AdBQ0jgqnQB7rx1xAJUfgv0JkqY2HwVcI7Vs2zxr46ni40-yp7Sp7TB30SNHrvfxPtTA0mGDNgqVYONNPA_WTNbvughP8dwy1DMVzKiJZM44hIcu3IPMFIec5MhjX/s400/IMG_4240.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocJYdnCUo54qIKqPOxp_b7ETF7DXz9vpse58-xrFm1WkoFq-vSHHmw3go1O_wIOLqLAbC8NsYOZb00rjsWx6539vQLCmYe-NIPJeESvupU-yRqMYyWN4BVE1HthLuMk3eig8iaQmrWncN/s1600/IMG_4397.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocJYdnCUo54qIKqPOxp_b7ETF7DXz9vpse58-xrFm1WkoFq-vSHHmw3go1O_wIOLqLAbC8NsYOZb00rjsWx6539vQLCmYe-NIPJeESvupU-yRqMYyWN4BVE1HthLuMk3eig8iaQmrWncN/s400/IMG_4397.jpg" /></a></div>
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On a recent vacation, surrounded by French, I recovered bits of the language I’d considered lost forever. Amidst my gratified astonishment, I realized I could translate tons of nouns. Hardly any verbs. </div>
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<span class="s1">I pondered this. How do nouns and verbs influence perception of the world? And then, of course, how do parts of speech control the journey of readers through a novel’s world? </span></div>
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<span class="s1">People adore verbs. Stephen Fry claims that “We are not nouns, we are verbs.” Look up quotes on verbs and you’ll discover a lengthy list of nouns people transform into verbs: mother, paintings, NY, jazz, honesty, art, help, love, marriage, spirituality, and a whole lot more. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">What’s behind this? Appreciation of the dynamic, or—action. Because most of us learned this definition back in elementary school, it seems elementary. It’s anything but.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Verbs move people and things, and who wants a static world? Give readers verbs.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Verbs capture.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Ramon cooed at the infanta.</span></blockquote>
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~ Verbs insinuate.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The knife grazed Esmeralda’s elbow.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">Prudence will remember that storm forever.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">“She longed for cutlasses, pistols, and brandy; she had to make do with coffee, and pencils, and verbs.” — Philip Pullman</span></blockquote>
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~ Verbs distill.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Can one invent verbs? I want to tell you one: I sky you, so my wings extend so large to love you without measure.” — Frida Kahlo</span></blockquote>
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~ Verbs expose.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Mirabelle eyed him from under her lashes. </span></blockquote>
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~ Verbs capitulate. </div>
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As Michel Thomas put it, “If you know how to handle the verbs, you know how to handle the language. Everything else is just vocabulary.” So if you’re struggling with a language, grasp whatever you can get. But unless you want readers struggling (or disappearing), verbs triumph. Find them. Use them.</div>
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<span class="s1">**** Laurel's new book, <i>Beyond the First Draf</i>t, is now available from Amazon or Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing. **** </span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-42951984965814173172018-07-22T12:58:00.000-07:002018-07-22T12:59:54.923-07:00The Novel World: Deep rather than Broad<div class="p1">
Novelists have numerous reasons for spreading out instead of digging down. For a start, it’s easier. More available territory lessens anxiety about lacking sufficient tension, or even lacking sufficient material. Perhaps novelists haven’t completed their homework—and everything they know about the character and plot is already on the page instead of supporting what appears there. But that world will be a shallow one—the opposite of what readers anticipate.</div>
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<span class="s1">Instead, explore what you’ve already introduced rather than blissfully introducing more and more. And more.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Superficial plotting and characterization yield unoriginal plotting and characterization.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Originality can come only from what you bring of yourself to your story. In other words, originality is not a function of your novel; it is a quality in you.</span><span class="s1"> Where so many manuscripts go wrong is that if they do not outright imitate, they at least do not go far enough in mining the author’s experience for what is distinctive and personal. So many manuscripts feel safe. They do not force me to see the world through a different lens. — Donald Maass, <i>The Fire in Fiction: Passion, Purpose and Techniques to Make Your Novel Great</i></span></blockquote>
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In <i>Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook</i>,<i> </i>Maass emphasizes the need to reject the first two or four or even five twists and traits that come to mind. Why? Because they’re obvious; they stem from the surface rather than the depths. To counteract this, he offers a series of exercises geared to reveal the astonishing pleasure of the unexpected. <span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Alternatively, you can increase the probability of surprise by asking yourself what is possible without being improbable. Nor is that a one-time question. Have you pushed each moment, conversation, scene, and confrontation as far as you can? On every page, do you give readers at least one apt yet refreshingly new detail or occurrence?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Too often, life feels predictable. Motives and responses, choices and obstacles seem redundant, mundane. Not only is the real world familiar, it’s unfocused. People and obligations compete for our attention. Few days offer any focal point, and most of us face not only significant concerns but inconsequential ones like will the milk make it one more day.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Such is life. In fiction, though, the last thing anyone wants is tedium or blur. After all, we read fiction to leave that behind. And fiction won’t provide escape when muddled with slow pace, tenuous tension, or panorama so sweeping that readers forget what’s at stake and for whom.</span></div>
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Any time story issues don’t contribute to the true challenges and conflicts of the main character, you’re directing a story’s energy and passion away from that character and her story. — The Editor’s Blog</blockquote>
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<span class="s1">However implicitly, this observation dispenses some friendly warnings:</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<ul class="ul1">
<li class="li1"><span class="s1">Limit the number of characters.</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Imply (rather than state or ignore) the focus of each scene.</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Link subplots to issues that reflect or enhance the protagonist’s arc.</span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s2"></span><span class="s1">Let readers follow the character they’ve invested in.</span></li>
</ul>
<div class="p2">
Give your story resonance and focus by developing its primary ideas and characters. <span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">(**** Laurel's new book, <i>Beyond the First Draf</i>t, is now available from Amazon or Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing. ****</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-46365736508622188352018-07-08T13:41:00.000-07:002018-07-08T13:42:31.999-07:00Self and Story<div class="p1">
The relationship between them is ironic. Without sufficient ego to believe you have something to say, you can’t write a word. Yet value self over story, and you might be fine. But your story won’t be.</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">For one thing, if your ego transcends everything else, you’ll disregard legitimate feedback. And few writers succeed, either materially or artistically, without a courageous, creative response to insightful critique.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Curtailing your ego also reminds you who controls your story. Though the obvious answer is “You, of course,” it’s actually more complicated. The author (you) generates a cast of characters to dramatize the fiction and a narrator to guide readers as they follow those characters. Even in memoir, a persona, rather than an author, delivers the story.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">What makes for a successful persona? Focus on the readers. In both fiction and nonfiction, guiding readers is the narrator’s purpose. But if ego drowns out everything else, the author begins upstaging the more audience-oriented narrator.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Here’s Katerina Cosgrove on that subject:</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">I've found, over the fifteen-plus years of being a published writer, that I suffer intensely every time if I let my ego get in the way. Even if I give it permission to stick its tiny little toe out. It always trips me up. In fact, the only way for me to write at all is to let go of any expectations entirely. Otherwise, the disapproval of others, the hot shame of not being enough, the squirmy feeling of not making the grade—or of being simply ignored by the critics, pundits and gatekeepers—is enough to make me want to give up. — “Removing Your Ego From Your Art”</span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
Ah. Though ego might seem to be one’s best ally, that’s rarely true. In “Art and the Ego,” Emma Welsh reminds that as writers<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">We’re seeking our true voice, our power, our authenticity as artists. We realize—through blood, sweat and tears—that betting on the ego is not going to get us there.</span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
She feels strongly enough about this to pose an extremely challenging question about priorities:<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">To find out, check out this ultimate test to measure your ego—one that even I can’t pass yet. (Truthfully it may be impossible.) Ask yourself this: if your story was one day incredibly well-loved and highly regarded, would you care whether or not your name was on the project? </span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
How do you feel about your answer? Maybe you dislike the question, perhaps consider it unfair. Maybe you dislike your answer even more. Fortunately, this isn’t up to any fictitious narrator(s) or characters. You control your own ego. Maybe a little scary, but also mighty satisfying. It’s your call.x<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /><span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Value story over self.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span>
<span class="s1">
</span><br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">**** Laurel's new book, <i>Beyond the First Draft</i>, is now available from Amazon or Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing. ****</span></div>
</div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-59295201460796197252018-07-01T10:58:00.000-07:002018-07-01T11:00:00.844-07:00Your Characters and Their “Old Tapes” <div class="p1">
Not those you insert in some machine, but the ones that, waking or dreaming, play incessantly in one’s head.</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">You have your own. There’s the sports one: instead of making a double play in the last inning of a tied game, you drop the ball. Or you’re an unprepared teacher, and, one by one, the students exit a classroom with multiple doors. The list goes on: you are—or aren’t—really pregnant. They’re taking your PhD back. You’ve lost your home, job, partner, etc.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">If all that’s farfetched, why would you—or your character—fear it, consciously or otherwise? According to neurosurgeon Wilder Graves Penfield, most of us at least occasionally replay tapes from childhood that remain intact—without benefit of the experience and insight that’s happened since. So this syndrome in a character feels instinctively credible. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Further, if those tapes surpass the superficial or trite, they engage readers quickly. Here’s why:</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Characters must have emotional needs, wounds and skeletons in the closet. Factors like these will cause tension and keep the reader interested until the end.</span><span class="s1"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Readers are nosy; they want to delve into a character’s private affairs. In the real world, we’re rarely able to snoop to our heart’s content. In fiction, we have a license to look around, to open up the secret drawers and hiding places. Be sure to give your readers a chance to do just that. — Jessica Page Morrell, <i>Between the Lines</i></span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
In “A Character's Fatal Flaw: The Vital Element for Bringing Characters to Life,” Coach Dara Marks analyzes why people hang on and how this drives story: eves<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">This unyielding commitment to old, exhausted survival systems that have outlived their usefulness, and resistance to the rejuvenating energy of new, evolving levels of existence and consciousness is what I refer to as the fatal flaw of character….</span><span class="s1"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">The FATAL FLAW is a struggle within a character to maintain a survival system long after it has outlived its usefulness….</span><span class="s1"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">As essential as change is to renew life, most of us resist it and cling rigidly to old survival systems because they are familiar and "seem" safer. In reality, even if an old, obsolete survival system makes us feel alone, isolated, fearful, uninspired, unappreciated, and unloved, we will reason that it's easier to cope with what we know than with what we haven’t yet experienced….</span><span class="s1"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Identifying the fatal flaw instantly clarifies for the writer what the internal journey of the character will be. This is no small thing, because once the writer is clear about what the protagonist needs in terms of internal growth it will clarify the external conflict as well.</span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
To delve deeply into the “Old Tapes” your characters play, explore your own. What do you cling to what’s no longer useful or relevant? Then ponder what freezes your character(s) in the past. How does that compulsion manifest in bad choices, misspent energy, and unattainable goals? In other words, what’s the “Fatal Flaw,” and how does it escalate both tension and microtension?<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<b>Tip</b>: The “Old Tapes” your characters play propel plot, evoke emotion, and transmit theme.Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-70400978191797737672018-06-24T12:26:00.000-07:002018-06-24T12:29:49.289-07:00Poetic Language for Novelists<div class="p1">
Some poets disdain fiction writers, who, in turn, are too often fazed by a genre that seems distinct and distant.</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: As in the natural world, cross-pollination is good: for every writer in every genre.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">To illustrate, a poem might open like this:</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Blue vases of small flowers that don’t die sadly</span><span class="s1">claim the sun, hold it—defy the notion of death.</span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtRLBv25Vq8lrdKMEEeSTuPoW1VGiMsiGMDHWbTSfvd9EPCM9-g6cHkBVMN675KM67RsC7bZds6qzVnkvXhvlACwrqxrmIZ-x2ngTXAsJREnQ_zvU0wmZDVCsp0M2dkCmQp0b2Pq8YCLz/s1600/IMG_3044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtRLBv25Vq8lrdKMEEeSTuPoW1VGiMsiGMDHWbTSfvd9EPCM9-g6cHkBVMN675KM67RsC7bZds6qzVnkvXhvlACwrqxrmIZ-x2ngTXAsJREnQ_zvU0wmZDVCsp0M2dkCmQp0b2Pq8YCLz/s400/IMG_3044.jpg" /></a><span class="s1"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtRLBv25Vq8lrdKMEEeSTuPoW1VGiMsiGMDHWbTSfvd9EPCM9-g6cHkBVMN675KM67RsC7bZds6qzVnkvXhvlACwrqxrmIZ-x2ngTXAsJREnQ_zvU0wmZDVCsp0M2dkCmQp0b2Pq8YCLz/s1600/IMG_3044.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtqsNII4QqCE4o9_PVSq_iDqFeBODi386UvSkGTV131f5EQ8kK_PjYAdohdr2SqNmhy3zJ-N7tSXoSG1Z80EmU0HdumruOC2EHiYGka7mHW6nw6l_liI4FzpZdEeewsmDY77MnXwbLfju6/s1600/IMG_3043.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtqsNII4QqCE4o9_PVSq_iDqFeBODi386UvSkGTV131f5EQ8kK_PjYAdohdr2SqNmhy3zJ-N7tSXoSG1Z80EmU0HdumruOC2EHiYGka7mHW6nw6l_liI4FzpZdEeewsmDY77MnXwbLfju6/s400/IMG_3043.jpg" /></a></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The novelist might say, “Pretty, but not for my readers,” or “Interesting, but not in a novel,” or “I like it, but I couldn’t write that way even if I wanted to.” Couldn’t you? Here’s a prose example:</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Staring at the image, Francine looked wistful, and turning away from him, whispered, “I really like blue vases of small flowers that don’t die sadly. Aren’t they wonderful?”</span><span class="s1"> They were in for it again. Pete could tell. Realizing he had to say something, her husband mumbled, “I guess.” </span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
Lines that sound poetic, but blend smoothly with prose, can enhance tension by setting up a lyrical mood with rhythm and language—then undercutting it with subtextual confrontation.<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Or, especially if your voice and reputation are equally strong, you might try a passage something like this:</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">The candleflame and the image of the candleflame caught in the pierglass twisted and righted when he entered the hall and again when he shut the door. He took off his hat and came slowly forward. The floorboards creaked under his boots. In his black suit he stood in the dark glass where the lilies leaned so palely from their waisted cutglass vase. Along the cold hallway behind him hung the portraits of forebears only dimly known to him all framed in glass and dimly lit above the narrow wainscoting. He looked down at the guttered candlestub. He pressed his thumbprint in the warm wax pooled on the oak veneer. Lastly he looked at the face so caved and drawn among the folds of funeral cloth, the yellowed moustache, the eyelids paper thin. That was not sleeping. That was not sleeping. — Cormac McCarthy,<i> All the Pretty Horses</i></span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
Sounds like poetry, doesn’t it? The intentional rhythm and repetition reinforce each other, further enhanced by strong, visual verbs. The way McCarthy’s protagonist observes and moves intensifies the sensation of shock, delivering the characterizer’s emotion in a way readers experience themselves And it’s the poetry in prose that creates this.<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Still, this wouldn’t work for every writer in every novel. Style mustn’t overpower content. Inadvertent repetition annoys. Overblown language fatigues. Self-conscious wording—whether in poetry or prose—drains suspense, emotion, and surprise.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br />
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The trick is a happy balance between lyricism and tension, language and momentum. Is this achieved easily? Probably not. Is it worth the effort? You bet.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span>
<span class="s1"><span style="background-color: #f8e1e1; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 13.2px;">**** Laurel's new book, </span><i style="background-color: #f8e1e1; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 13.2px;">Beyond the First Draft</i><span style="background-color: #f8e1e1; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 13.2px;">, is now available from Amazon or Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing.</span><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 15.3216px; text-align: center;"> ****</em></span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-60714600197195822192018-06-10T11:25:00.000-07:002018-06-24T12:31:21.031-07:00Composition: Harmony and Variety<div class="p1">
In paintings or photos, balance creates attention and beauty. No single element should overwhelm any other, while those individual components echo, contrast, and complement. Finally, monotony of form, color, or anything else, muddies. Where’s the focal point?</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4J148hcfu6kP9YSpxyv6n1nkvtLNiKug-l3idyvxE-7caslKaTZsPkeM8YunRm3xaSOc3FxN1bSX0oQuFxOLzGW-qIEPFhjBUPnhdM6JJMCYPd4XX6F-Wcmd1ffUY9oz3NZGIVqL7kKh/s1600/IMG_2921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4J148hcfu6kP9YSpxyv6n1nkvtLNiKug-l3idyvxE-7caslKaTZsPkeM8YunRm3xaSOc3FxN1bSX0oQuFxOLzGW-qIEPFhjBUPnhdM6JJMCYPd4XX6F-Wcmd1ffUY9oz3NZGIVqL7kKh/s400/IMG_2921.jpg" /></a><span class="s1"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCBdfbgAzjpgQ8w0kx6xO_4xy8f4v2Qu6neZ48XoGDXAXpiRPVp3-bGiiRVpXSOv4ElHjnKpTBsJ7nI61IS_H5-pm01TbhYnEEKkUgpTtvIFZh2ED-DqlASnk823bsRi1g_nzZyD0YRIE/s1600/IMG_3026.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCBdfbgAzjpgQ8w0kx6xO_4xy8f4v2Qu6neZ48XoGDXAXpiRPVp3-bGiiRVpXSOv4ElHjnKpTBsJ7nI61IS_H5-pm01TbhYnEEKkUgpTtvIFZh2ED-DqlASnk823bsRi1g_nzZyD0YRIE/s400/IMG_3026.jpg" /></a></span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span>
These precepts also pertain to the novel, though, obviously, not in terms of color or shape. The fundamentals of fiction include:</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">* <i>Action</i>: Dramatization of cinematic scenes.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">* <i>Dialogue:</i> Two or more characters conversing.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">* <i>Narrative:</i> Transition and context grounding action and dialogue.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">* <i>Information</i>: Backstory, exposition, facts, or intellectual stimulation.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Good fiction varies and harmoniously balances its components.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">~ No one element should overwhelm the other</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Unless sufficient narrative supports the action, you’ve dumped the reader in the stream without a life preserver. </span><span class="s1"> Everything in fiction serves story. So even if this is an informative moment, it mustn’t overwhelm the characters’ journey. Still, too much action resembles a few crumbs of cake slathered with a quarter-can of frosting. In fiction and everything else, too much of a good thing remains—too much.</span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
~ Individual components echo, contrast, and complement.<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Fiction immerses readers when the whole’s more than the sum of its parts. The narrative adds irony or clarity to the dialogue. If the stage business simply repeats, such as “‘Get Out!’ Marge shrieked angrily,” you’ve neither contrasted nor complemented.</span><span class="s1"> But, for example, if setting affects the action, or intensifies the dialogue, one element enhances another. </span><span class="s1"> Contrast matters, too. When suspense is high, tease readers with an information break. Conversely, if you’ve just explained at length, appeal with humor, lyricism, or tension.</span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
~ Monotony of form, color, or anything else, muddies.<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Some writers treat dialogue like a faucet that stays off or on. Characters don’t say a thing for pages, but then talking floods everything else. A mess in either a novel or a painting.</span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
Whether with fiction, photos, or paintings, audience satisfaction springs from balanced elements that each contribute without any one overpowering.<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p2">
**** Laurel's new book, <i>Beyond the First Draft</i>, is now available from Amazon or Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing.<em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 15.3216px; text-align: center;"> </em></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-21276946690696827322018-06-03T10:59:00.000-07:002018-06-03T10:59:01.394-07:00Ambiguity versus Blur
<div class="p1">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5vvdEHaf8jbIuDtRJz6_5Tk155N4VMDsRWL1k_d8kVliUsb-KnvjuKV134hLxV1MZJMNJ-7jcrfXRAuaQQtIU8YnkZ_d_KcB2M4UAnE9edWjGHFF2Vbi_BYFtiZEAf3Gm1CWHDzEGlJqB/s1600/IMG_1320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5vvdEHaf8jbIuDtRJz6_5Tk155N4VMDsRWL1k_d8kVliUsb-KnvjuKV134hLxV1MZJMNJ-7jcrfXRAuaQQtIU8YnkZ_d_KcB2M4UAnE9edWjGHFF2Vbi_BYFtiZEAf3Gm1CWHDzEGlJqB/s400/IMG_1320.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5vvdEHaf8jbIuDtRJz6_5Tk155N4VMDsRWL1k_d8kVliUsb-KnvjuKV134hLxV1MZJMNJ-7jcrfXRAuaQQtIU8YnkZ_d_KcB2M4UAnE9edWjGHFF2Vbi_BYFtiZEAf3Gm1CWHDzEGlJqB/s1600/IMG_1320.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2nPsKc5u3X5KU4yNSSFruWgEBXkrJ3k90FTTS-hsCkLSVwWlEvcGlRYPpb04YmcAC1BKBi2Ek3Ht4cQzLXPwvHuGCHn8l8WA8pvPiPd-RLU6eDcy5twhjikwR-cIScaKd2FNBiAWKzYOm/s1600/IMG_2841.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2nPsKc5u3X5KU4yNSSFruWgEBXkrJ3k90FTTS-hsCkLSVwWlEvcGlRYPpb04YmcAC1BKBi2Ek3Ht4cQzLXPwvHuGCHn8l8WA8pvPiPd-RLU6eDcy5twhjikwR-cIScaKd2FNBiAWKzYOm/s400/IMG_2841.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
The distinction between them is largely in the mind of the reader. Still, one might call it teasing, pleasing uncertainty versus irritating, dispiriting confusion. Gregory Ciotti (“How to Write with Substance”) offers a useful way to view this: “Write to express, not to impress.”</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">He goes on to suggest that you </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Brainstorm horizontally, revise vertically.</span><span class="s1"> What makes for a boring novel is the same as what makes for boring non-fiction: the story grows horizontally instead of vertically.</span><span class="s1"> Writing that is “too wide” tries to explain everything but ends up saying nothing. </span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
In other words, it’s okay (though not necessarily optimal) to play with every possibility as you begin. But once you start to consider reader needs, which is what revision’s really about, then it’s time first to narrow and cut, then to develop not with glaring clarity, but enough of it so readers can feel intrigued rather than lost.<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Lack of context loses readers faster than anything else. To the novelist, it’s always obvious how the story moved from one room to another, from one mind to another, or from one issue, connection, or symbol to another. But how obvious are those to anyone else? </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The potentially worst sources of blur include:</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p2">
* Failing with setting.<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> This is a fertile breeding ground for cliche and vagueness. Be swift and original.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">* Introducing a new character.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> Pay special attention to characters who echo others in terms of roles, names, traits,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> or obstacles.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span>* Jolting readers by abruptly altering time, place, physicality, symbolism.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"> Provide clear but subtle transitions.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Great novels are rarely immediately accessible. Establish essential guideposts. Then seek subtext.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
~ Subtext is the unspoken but revealed feelings and history and dreams of your characters.<br /><span class="s1"></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">~ Subtext is strong because it reveals truth—true emotions and true thoughts and unfeigned motivations.</span><br /><span class="s1"></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Subtext that runs through a story brings depth and dimension. It ramps up tension and conflict. It’s much deeper, more fundamental to a character’s traits or personality than is surface revelation. Because what underlies the text is not explicitly stated, the reader might have to look harder, listen closer. ~ Beth Hill, “Subtext—Revelation of the Hidden”</blockquote>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<b>Tip</b>: The optimal level of clarity is less obvious than it seems. Pun intended.<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-10885221517866896202018-05-27T12:02:00.000-07:002018-05-27T12:02:11.767-07:00Spring and the Novelist <div class="p1">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8eJEe2TfuWGGobasyuraA9KgSqid169ivkq5H3Imj0CDcdQA2sbN3jTQFBw8t91rvgE2Z_C2nC6woDsVUbtgrQcQaN1syLMJu7EDT6Fuin4mxP0az_zNQ434WRKHx7RtFOrue0w7SRZZZ/s1600/IMG_2787.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8eJEe2TfuWGGobasyuraA9KgSqid169ivkq5H3Imj0CDcdQA2sbN3jTQFBw8t91rvgE2Z_C2nC6woDsVUbtgrQcQaN1syLMJu7EDT6Fuin4mxP0az_zNQ434WRKHx7RtFOrue0w7SRZZZ/s320/IMG_2787.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Spring. Lots of possibilities there. The season of hope and rejuvenation. To grow leap, originate, open, force. A renewal, an opening, a flexibility. And those are only the basics. Might a fiction writer put any of this to use?</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">~ Renewal.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">I can shake off everything if I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn. But, and that is the greatest question, will I ever be able to write anything great… — Anne </span>Frank</blockquote>
<div class="p2">
Why not use the awakening of the landscape to wake your passion for your own novel?<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpFdQ-QKKjtNg0K8CFQi1tFH-1Yg-2Ra_T2Dt9Yzh8O9Puvz_Txolk1I9zG48kCanXsIRrYH3C6TiXeqPJbsCepW0gTay8nlYGEr8_ZQA-XdUHI3qtf64Fo7G4WOQ5M76LsgSWmX5f1T8/s1600/IMG_2827.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpFdQ-QKKjtNg0K8CFQi1tFH-1Yg-2Ra_T2Dt9Yzh8O9Puvz_Txolk1I9zG48kCanXsIRrYH3C6TiXeqPJbsCepW0gTay8nlYGEr8_ZQA-XdUHI3qtf64Fo7G4WOQ5M76LsgSWmX5f1T8/s320/IMG_2827.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">~ Serendipity</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">No tears in the writer</span><span class="s1">No tears in the reader.</span><span class="s1">No surprise for the writer,</span><span class="s1">No surprise for the reader. — Robert Frost</span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
Why not use the startling nature of spring to discover something new about your scenario, protagonist, opening, ending, or even your own writing process?<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /><span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbEGVIMt58e2OBjS-_lvIvdRoVjpBMGdYZ-BCeVVv89qpMIxQNDemPVr4Kp5lGYypOtUetiE7zCovfW9xWnTQKZ_UKCXPfKYyzVy4UHGeoS6kjxzeM5jQXLrPixQJIO1rgnWnrGWU5nuWG/s1600/IMG_2847.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbEGVIMt58e2OBjS-_lvIvdRoVjpBMGdYZ-BCeVVv89qpMIxQNDemPVr4Kp5lGYypOtUetiE7zCovfW9xWnTQKZ_UKCXPfKYyzVy4UHGeoS6kjxzeM5jQXLrPixQJIO1rgnWnrGWU5nuWG/s320/IMG_2847.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">~ Leap.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Characters only grow by sprinting out of lethargy and into the fray.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Why not try cornering them even more than usual?</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">~ Launch.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Without urgency, fiction falters. Readers seek propulsion, over and over: the start and end of each scene, the first chapter, the midpoint, and so on.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">At your recent talk titled “Urgency and Momentum” you introduced a new theoretical framework you’ve been exploring, that you called “request moments.” You spoke about how much of the time, most if not all of us are doing not what we want to do but what other people ask of us either directly or indirectly. Your point was to arrive at a type of necessity, that creates, as you put it, “forces in narrative that make characters do what they do.” Many stories with real urgency and momentum grow out of a simple request; someone says to someone else, “There's something I want you to do.” — Susan Tacent Interview with Charles Baxter </span></blockquote>
<div class="p1">
Why not seek techniques that entice your readers?</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Of course like other people, many novelists find spring addictive. Time to be outside—to row, or hike, or garden. But no matter how seductive that call, don’t let it overpower your muse.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Be ruthless about protecting writing days… — J. K. Rowling</span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
<b>Tip</b>: Spring isn’t just a season or a verb. It’s a process.<span class="s1"></span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-23933069274949019082018-05-13T06:40:00.000-07:002018-05-13T06:40:59.866-07:00Plan to Keep the Plot Pot Boiling<div class="p1">
If only you could add the right ingredients and without watching the flame, maintain a roiling, steam-producing rhythm without the flame rising too high or sinking too low. But more cooks can smoothly simmer spaghetti than writers can instinctively reach The End with optimal heat.</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Fortunately, there’s a straightforward (though not necessarily painless) method every writer can use. And it’s easier than boiling an egg.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The answer is an outline, but a unique one. Novelists frequently associate outlining with the first draft, since a plans promotes credibility and causality from the start. Besides, if you get stuck, as often afflicts the novel’s middle, at least you know where you thought you were headed.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Useful as such can outline is, it won’t help you assess tension. Here’s something that will:</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">For each scene, complete first I then II. Because you want to focus on conflict, it’s crucial to start with the obstacle, desire, force, or change driving the scene. Hint: verbs best express that.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I. Write one brief, non-detailed, super-short sentence that captures what the scene’s point of view character wants—or doesn’t. Here are a few examples:</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"> Abe covets Beth’s reassurance that their marriage remains sound.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> or</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"> Carol fears humiliation if Don dismisses her flirtation as ridiculous. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"> <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span> or</span></div>
<div class="p1">
</div>
<div class="p1">
</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"> Ed agonizes over Dr Fred sharing only part of the medical truth.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">* Part I reflects tension and suspense. Passion, sexual or otherwise, is always involved. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">2. A brief contextual statement of where the characters are and what happens. Such as:</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"> Beth arrives late at the restaurant she reluctantly agreed to and leaves Abe there alone.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> or</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"> Don ignores Carol rubbing herself against him during a study session at the college library.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span> or</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"> Dr Fred admits that Ed is ill but refuses details even when Ed insists.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">* Part II is context. It’s where the characters are and what happens to them.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Like most things, this technique gets faster and easier with practice. Stick with it, though, and you’ll have a way to evaluate whether each scene possesses the oomph to be a scene. More important, you’ll not only know what happens, but what matters. Readers choose fiction for the emotion it evokes, and that comes from—high stakes.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Whichever method you choose, assess the tension in every scene of your novel.</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-9705847291469260622018-05-06T13:02:00.000-07:002018-05-06T13:08:00.552-07:00The Plot Pot<div class="p1">
Writers and writing coaches can argue passionately about whether story springs from plot or characters. The divide has become particularly pronounced since the appearance of “literary” fiction, a genre which implies it might be okay to write a novel where a gorgeous voice and memorable characters compensate for lots of stasis. </div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">On the opposite end of the spectrum, some novels offer escalating danger, but it befalls characters whom readers can’t relate to and don’t care about. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Isn’t it the mesh of character and plot that propels story? After all, adversity is the best way to meet characters—to test their mettle. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As K.M. Weiland puts it in “Plot vs. Character: Which Is More Important?”:</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Fiction is about balance—in so many ways—and certainly nowhere more so than in the matter of plot vs. character. Good writing should not be about pitting plot against character, but rather about finding the harmony between them. </span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The indivisible integration of plot + character has always built narrative. And isn’t that still, despite numerous experiments, what the novel is for? After all,</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">In our modern age, there are writers who have heaped scorn on the very idea of the primacy of story. I'd rather warm my hands on a sunlit ice floe than try to coax fire from the books they carve from glaciers. ― Pat Conroy, <i>My Reading Life</i></span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Story comes from what happens to characters readers are invested in.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">You probably agree. But what if, like many novelists, you’re either fantastic at tension-rich events or fantastic at characters sufficiently full-fleshed to cast shadows. Perhaps you worry that you'’ll never be equally skilled at both. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The remedy? Quit viewing character and plot as separate entities. Happily, this works whether you’re starting a first draft, halfway through it, or at any point in the revision process. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Perhaps the best way to visualize characters in context is some version of a Scene Goal Outline. So what’s a Scene Goal, anyway? An “Intense, explicit character desire that impels choice and action” (Laurel Yourke, <i>Beyond the First Draft).</i></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">For each scene, distill the goal down into as few words as possible. How else can you assess whether you’re revealing characters and propelling the story forward causally rather than causally?</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Watch your verbs. Contrast “was worried about the next hour” versus “terrified about the phone ringing.” The latter verb reflects character emotion and thus causes action. Since scenes are about tension, a Scene Goal always involves forcing characters to act rather than think or react.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">How many Scene Goals do you need? Ideally, one for each scene. Keep those goals super-short and harness verbs to reveal character feelings, since that’s what connects readers to story.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Use the Scene Goal Outline to make the plot and dramatic personae intertwine inseparably. Because, as Heraclitus put it, “Character is fate.”</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-88398593522605215642018-04-22T07:15:00.000-07:002018-04-22T07:15:37.657-07:00Writing: Solitude and Sociability<div class="p1">
Thanks to Wyatt-Mackenzie publishing and Purcell Agency. Equally important, here’s a thank you note to every writer I’ve worked with, whether online, over a weekend, during a retreat, or in a university department or critique group. Maybe you and I barely remember each other, but still I thank you. Because however much I taught you, you taught me much more. Each of you contributed to realizing the dream of composing, then publishing <i>Beyond the Fist Draft: Deep Novel Revision</i>.</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Around the time I published my first book—<i>Take Your Characters to Dinner</i>—my colleague, Marshall Cook joked that “It takes a village to publish a book.” He was kidding, as he often did. But at the time neither of us realized how many sources of wisdom and inspiration contribute to the completion of any book.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJVV5NpyrHtm9WsJsacNZDXLFiZ9S65C-yNwf7c15P-3vKJTr4Kvm6pRUIRkllfL7rfr_45B-ibYr5zsXOyzObze7Afmi0WM2of-SFrA1AzXeMGE4kohrbylRuv-CrNwOsdNUE-KliFZD/s1600/IMG_2691.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJVV5NpyrHtm9WsJsacNZDXLFiZ9S65C-yNwf7c15P-3vKJTr4Kvm6pRUIRkllfL7rfr_45B-ibYr5zsXOyzObze7Afmi0WM2of-SFrA1AzXeMGE4kohrbylRuv-CrNwOsdNUE-KliFZD/s320/IMG_2691.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p2">
That may seem counter-intuitive, because writing is customarily associated with seclusion. And it’s certainly true that when you’re at the notebook or keyboard, there’s only you and the space you hope to fill. Numerous complaints about this syndrome exist. Here’s Ernest Hemingway:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer's loneliness but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day.</blockquote>
<div class="p2">
Isaac Asimov agrees<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Writing is a lonely job. Even if a writer socializes regularly, when he gets down to the real business of his life, it is he and his type writer or word processor. No one else is or can be involved in the matter.</span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
Rachel Carson concludes that solitude is a phenomenon writers must embrace:<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">A writer’s occupation is one of the loneliest in the world, even if the loneliness is only an inner solitude and isolation, for that he must have at times if he is to be truly creative. And so I believe only the person who knows and is not afraid of loneliness should aspire to be a writer.</span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
So it’s not whether writing is lonely, but whether you can mitigate that. Of course you can. <span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Everyone agrees that writers must market. At a recent conference, Laurie Buchanan said to me, “Getting people to know about your book is a way of honoring it.” So whether you’re published or hope to be, make connections. Meet not only authors, but also agents, publishers, booksellers, bloggers, readers, and fans. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Networking isn’t just for marketing; it’s for inspiration. Get yourself a writing partner. Join a critique group. Attend conferences, weekenders, and retreats. The support you’ll find there helps you write the best book you can.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">My own antidote to loneliness is the blessed experience of working with writers in numerous venues. What could do a writer greater good than nourishing an addiction to books on writing, pondering the questions writers pose, and providing on the spot illustrations of technique. What better way to study the craft? What better way to become a better novelist? So thank you!</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Keep the good company of writers so your own writing dreams can come true.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3IlxlNyp7myX6dQJGUM9rMP5syCZw1wUMJCySZoT28miepx8BqyvGKD2Ovs7SAY94IA26P10wtIiK3wxhx2VFx_C7MZNU4nVYgU5HFZY5-SFG30kWfU3YxljszsLqh_ufo5oEIDlHGvz/s1600/IMG_2647.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3IlxlNyp7myX6dQJGUM9rMP5syCZw1wUMJCySZoT28miepx8BqyvGKD2Ovs7SAY94IA26P10wtIiK3wxhx2VFx_C7MZNU4nVYgU5HFZY5-SFG30kWfU3YxljszsLqh_ufo5oEIDlHGvz/s320/IMG_2647.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-48680117464561045122018-04-15T10:58:00.000-07:002018-04-15T10:59:32.603-07:00Revision: Rigor and Riches<div class="p1">
Hard. Boring. Exhilarating. Scary. Inspiring. Painful. Transformative. Mention the word “revision,”and each novelist will respond differently. With one exception: writers either love revision or loathe it.</div>
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<span class="s1">There’s plenty of reasons, many legitimate, why you might dislike the process. Writers don’t always know where to start or how to fix what they find. When novelists accept the questionable advice to just spew out first draft, the result can be pretty awful. And then the fun’s over. Now it’s time to concentrate, to work. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Besides, cutting can be painful. The expression, “Murder your darlings,” which has a long, complex history via such greats as F. Scoot Fitzgerald and William Faulkner, sums up the way writers often feel. It takes energy and effort to get the words down. What do you mean I have to discard them?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">And yet, you do. Here’s why:</span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">In my experience, cutting back is the crucial act that allows the vitality, precision and emotional heart of a piece of writing to emerge. ― Pamela Erens</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">So, usually, the first act of revision is eliminating everything you can willingly discard, and then a bit more. After all, if the great moments and sentences are buried, how can you know what to keep?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">How to start cutting:</span></div>
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<ul>
<li>Repetition of words, details, and information readers already know</li>
<li>“Telling” and then “showing” or “showing” and then “telling”</li>
<li>Excessive or familiar description</li>
<li>Long set-ups before you reach “the good part”</li>
</ul>
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<span class="s1">The great news? Once you pare down, you can see how to proceed. These questions might help you get started:</span></div>
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~ Is the scenario original and substantial?<br />
~ Do the characters seem both consistent and alive?<br />
~ Is enough at stake?<br />
~ Do chapters and scenes begin and end with hooks?<br />
~ Do you capitalize on your novel’s point of view?</div>
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<span class="s1">After addressing the fundamentals, you can smooth sentences and perfect word choice.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Is this hard work? Absolutely. Is it worth it? As Stephen King put it in a <i>Writer's Digest i</i>nterview</span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">The writer must have a good imagination to begin with, but the imagination has to be muscular, which means it must be exercised in a disciplined way, day in and day out, by writing, failing, succeeding and revising</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">There you go. First rigor, then riches—at least in terms of craft, if not royalties.</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-52305702128064983082018-04-08T07:02:00.000-07:002018-04-08T07:02:48.533-07:00The Physics of Emotion<div class="p1">
Physics explores the essence and behavior of matter and energy. In terms of fiction, this parallels the distinction between how characters feel and what they do or say. The difference is crucial, because when you say that Nancy is “angry,” or worse, “incredibly angry,” you’re not saying much. You’re simply “telling.” To “show,” readers need to participate in what you want to convey. For that, you need subtext or physicality, whether literal or symbolic. </div>
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<span class="s1">Instead of abstractions like “rage” or “frustration,” let readers hear how a character via what she doesn’t say. For example, “I see. That’s all you have to say about it.” The two sentences subtly capture an entire history.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Alternatively, reveal Nancy’s fisted hands, fiery scowl, squinted eyes, or her tone—that whisper thinly veils the urge to shriek. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Make emotion tangible.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">In “Showing–and Telling—Emotion in Fiction,” Dave King observes that “All good writing starts with good watching,” and, yes, that’s a terrific place to begin. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Waiting in line, passing time in the airport, or nibbling in a restaurant, subtly, of course, check out body language. Can you guess how people are feeling even if you can’t hear what they’re saying? And if you can, why? What did you observe?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">For further revelation, consider the work of Auguste Rodin. According to Nicole Myers, associate curator of European Painting and Sculpture, </span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Rodin’s capacity to capture the human spirit in all its nuances was unrivaled. He was one of the first artists to consider fragments and partial figures to be complete works of art capable of expressing even the most complex thoughts and emotions. </span></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgid_0ZlMKVIRF474BkZNrlyU12hD5AW8yyIohpG55UvFJLtCL2uyb_uajrh5ce0vdqotkAuvh7Sf-wRht1xiqt5eNmlO280gtdaXk-5GwSa0AWAFAJvEMtPz-8wdTPc_WZjuttzff8vzhV/s1600/IMG_1871.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgid_0ZlMKVIRF474BkZNrlyU12hD5AW8yyIohpG55UvFJLtCL2uyb_uajrh5ce0vdqotkAuvh7Sf-wRht1xiqt5eNmlO280gtdaXk-5GwSa0AWAFAJvEMtPz-8wdTPc_WZjuttzff8vzhV/s320/IMG_1871.jpg" width="240" /></a><span class="s1"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgid_0ZlMKVIRF474BkZNrlyU12hD5AW8yyIohpG55UvFJLtCL2uyb_uajrh5ce0vdqotkAuvh7Sf-wRht1xiqt5eNmlO280gtdaXk-5GwSa0AWAFAJvEMtPz-8wdTPc_WZjuttzff8vzhV/s1600/IMG_1871.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvYbisMCXJMNfqlmHHfUZuXcPlEIM_LornHkkzfcN5MJt-QdI9YQZstsq2eoU71HUQFHN_saSYgqMpE_ALglLvhhJzcIS7hqjSokWanK-mpRhE8epIfzsB7jxOLu61sYDuczN-JhoSrTYW/s1600/IMG_1863.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvYbisMCXJMNfqlmHHfUZuXcPlEIM_LornHkkzfcN5MJt-QdI9YQZstsq2eoU71HUQFHN_saSYgqMpE_ALglLvhhJzcIS7hqjSokWanK-mpRhE8epIfzsB7jxOLu61sYDuczN-JhoSrTYW/s320/IMG_1863.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">Even without knowing the titles of these two works from the current Rodin exhibit at the Art Institute in Chicago, we can guess which emotions the artist wanted to convey. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">But how does that work in fiction? Actually, with remarkable similarity. Discard the notion that anything intangible, straightforward, and intellectual can capture feeling. In <i>Middlesex</i>, Jeffrey Eugenides describes this phenomenon:</span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Emotions, in my experience, aren’t covered by single words. I don’t believe in ‘sadness,’ ‘joy, or ‘regret.’ Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, ‘the happiness that attends disaster.’ Or: ‘the disappointment of sleeping with one’s fantasy.’</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">When we’re feeling emotions rather than writing about them, the event happens in a body. It needn’t even be a human one. There’s no question about whether cats are bored or irritated or dogs grateful. No words needed.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Words, of course, are the writer’s only tool. But some words don’t do what they’re supposed to. A lot of fiction is summary, often quite abstract. Emotions, though, are born in the realm of sensation. So if you want readers to feel them, you can’t describe. You must make feelings live.</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-28249668917646140572018-04-01T07:54:00.000-07:002018-04-01T07:56:06.096-07:00Compress it! Pace It!<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">For the fiction writer, repetition is a trap, and a tough one to avoid. Later events must be set up, new characters need to know what readers already do; and sometimes it takes a few mishaps—possibly in the same setting—to get the protagonist properly cornered. Writers often hope that so long as something’s slightly different, such as the same anger for the same reason but more intently, readers will find it new. Sadly, that’s rarely the case.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Nor will scene versus what’s known as summary/sequel/narrative entirely solve the redundancy problem. Summary can magnificently foreshadow or dispense information. But the high stakes that fiction needs frequently originate in scene rather than summary. Or between them.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Exploit the underused territory between scene and summary.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The mixture of narrative and scene creates the illusion of “live” fictional time, just at a faster pace. </span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Because she hadn’t contacted him since returning to New York, Ed reared back when Anna tried to hug him.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">That’s a really brief, somewhat oversimplified example of the landscape between a full-blown scene and an entirely collapsed summary. Yet the sentence illustrates a swift summary (the dependent opening clause) preceding the start of a scene (the independent final clause).</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Combine scene with summary, and you can accelerate the pace, or speed at which events pass readers. Instead of revisiting what readers have already seen (she hasn’t contacted him since returning to New York), modify something. Did Anna start to call Ed? Did Anna run into her former fiancé? Did Ed’s voice mail quit functioning? Change helps pursue not only the original source of tension and perhaps something else entirely.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">That’s because novelty is not only what readers want but what novelists need. Bypass the parallel or similar by shaking things up. That’s a boundless source of tension, emotion, and originality, not to mention the potential for symbolism, suspense, and complex characterization.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">What kinds of questions shake things up so that nothing ever feels exactly the same?</span></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li>If the location feels identical, how has the place changed?</li>
<li>Could an email or phone call let you summarize part of a scene?</li>
<li>If the character’s emotion is similar, how can you add a contrary nuance or dimension?</li>
<li>Depending on your novel’s point of view, can you revisit a moment from another perspective?</li>
<li>Can the scene end very differently this time? </li>
<li>Can you add a “ticking clock”?</li>
<li>Can you develop rather than merely repeat any symbolism?</li>
<li>What’s the effect of a similar place at a very different time?</li>
</ul>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">These questions suggest ways to manage momentum. And in “5 Ways to Pace Your Story,” K.M. Weiland observes that</span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">Pacing is like a dam. It allows the writer to control just how fast or how slow his plot flows through the riverbed of his story. </span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">Pace originates not just from syntax and rhythm, but also scene and summary. Explore the fertile territory between those last two.</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-51670110146055988842018-03-24T07:07:00.000-07:002018-03-24T07:07:22.100-07:00Scene: The Big Picture<div class="p1">
In a way, every scene resembles a bouquet. Individual elements compose both. The end result must offer a coherent whole with a clear yet unobtrusive focal point. When the elements complement each other, the totality becomes far more effective than a single contribution. It’s the difference between this:</div>
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<span class="s1"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtvcl0u_UcJDB9IyxdE_i071iwBdw7KrHBZm7CPM67YMeeVsC4cPGxpxcJ4isZ9Bj3pfkSz8wWiBwLeJS_71oMCxlFYwZcYmKH6aL3I7yw6lXWxgxtWOKyLW9l0u6f-fMxkmhQlw3tv4aO/s1600/IMG_1615.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtvcl0u_UcJDB9IyxdE_i071iwBdw7KrHBZm7CPM67YMeeVsC4cPGxpxcJ4isZ9Bj3pfkSz8wWiBwLeJS_71oMCxlFYwZcYmKH6aL3I7yw6lXWxgxtWOKyLW9l0u6f-fMxkmhQlw3tv4aO/s320/IMG_1615.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1">and this:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEing4lA2_kHLDi3vPRB8bsfxPZfWPS9HDGZ_dZ047U632tQIT1Hqj_WRZU9hNGic7GHDe2abfaMUFNZ5cd8LaCvcLnnHBz96e0e61nnojf7sCKhs4oMQEHgrOw52ljFS804LMOnmVVvrMRg/s1600/IMG_1617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEing4lA2_kHLDi3vPRB8bsfxPZfWPS9HDGZ_dZ047U632tQIT1Hqj_WRZU9hNGic7GHDe2abfaMUFNZ5cd8LaCvcLnnHBz96e0e61nnojf7sCKhs4oMQEHgrOw52ljFS804LMOnmVVvrMRg/s320/IMG_1617.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">No one would mistake a couple of flowers for a bouquet. With scenes, though, it’s less clear. Precisely what constitutes a scene?</span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">A scene is a sequence of events that happens at a particular place and time and that moves the story forward. — Randy Ingermanson, “The Art and science of Writing Scenes”</span></blockquote>
<div class="p2">
Another slant on the scene comes from Jane Friedman:<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">A scene is a stylized, sharper simulacrum of reality.</span></blockquote>
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Ideally, the scene integrates everything from both definitions. So a scene needs:<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Tension.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span>Unless there’s substantial suspense, summarize instead.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Momentum.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>The scene must contribute to character arc, or, again, wouldn’t summary be better?</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Setting.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Although locale mustn’t dominate, characters need grounding. Always.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Artistry.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Along with drama, scenes need causality, propulsion, originality, and grace.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Credibility.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Only plausible characters and events evoke reader emotion. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Focus.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Regardless of style or voice, tension is the crux of every scene.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Yet novelists conceptualize scenes differently. Drawn to setting or symbolism? You might disregard tension. Maybe you’re an action sort of gal. Will your characters be disembodied? Will you emphasize what they do and ignore why they do it?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Scenes work when novelists disregard personal predilection to provide the whole picture. Who wants a lopsided bouquet? </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Readers enjoy scenes that balance their elements—that complete the picture.</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-10402894648364173462018-03-18T08:30:00.005-07:002018-03-18T08:30:51.340-07:00Your Voice, Please <div class="p1">
The issue most novelists face isn’t a career like tinker, tailor, sailor, or spy, but, more likely, the residual from being or having been doctor, lawyer, or teacher. What might those last three share in common? A style slanted toward instruction coupled with “the curse of knowledge.”</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_bbHTOzDd5gGOGdY_UZwhjG1j423yuQFW77jc-IkieyUxDUTwonqwuyX-2K84WPpLGl1yZp3kk8TPH-5y4-srRJUON_3avluJwUT0PHmdjyEyh2Tj6g12eDTDOr_xWW-TrEdrp_Wd2fb/s1600/IMG_1597.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_bbHTOzDd5gGOGdY_UZwhjG1j423yuQFW77jc-IkieyUxDUTwonqwuyX-2K84WPpLGl1yZp3kk8TPH-5y4-srRJUON_3avluJwUT0PHmdjyEyh2Tj6g12eDTDOr_xWW-TrEdrp_Wd2fb/s320/IMG_1597.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">First about that style. At least somewhat academic and professorial, there’s a plethora of multi-syllabic verbiage, as opposed to “lots of big words.” The lofty tone is often characterized by passive voice, rather than “passive voice occurs frequently.” Contractions, unfortunately, are usually avoided. Sentences are long and complex but not necessarily rhythmic.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Determined to foster the meticulous understanding that previous professions demanded, novelists sometimes “tell” and then “show,” or “show” and then “tell”—just to make sure. Finally, educators and professionals often applaud this structure: Here’s what I’ll say, now I’ll speak my piece in detail, and, oh, since you perhaps missed it (possibly because you spaced out due to the endless repetition), I’ll just go over it one last time. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">First of all, novels need storytelling, suspense, and secrets. Edifying isn’t part of the recipe. In fact, what E.B. White said about poetry applies equally well to the novel: </span></div>
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<span class="s1">A poet dares be just so clear and no clearer... He unzips the veil from beauty, but does not remove it. A poet utterly clear is a trifle glaring.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">And yet, ironically, the novelist obsessed with being clear at any cost might misstep anyway. Sadly, “the curse of knowledge” often interferes. As Steven Pinker explains,</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I think the curse of knowledge is the chief contributor to opaque writing…It simply doesn’t occur to the writer that readers haven’t learned their jargon, don’t seem to know the intermediate steps that seem to them to be too obvious to mention, and can’t visualize a scene currently in the writer’s mind’s eye. And so the writer doesn’t bother to explain the jargon, or spell out the logic, or supply the concrete details—even when writing for professional peers.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">Although Pinker’s emphasis here is nonfiction, the task of guiding readers through a fictional world can present an even greater challenge. After all, to compose a scene, novelists must know tons about setting, background, arc, motive, stage business, and conflict. No scene will be successful unless writers collect far more than will ever make it into the book. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">But here’s the problem. The prepping that helps a novelist create a better page increases the difficulty of assessing what readers don’t know or can’t follow.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">So what’s the solution? You can’t undo the fact that you used to win cases or still consult or occasionally volunteer to teach here and there. You can remember that a novel isn’t a brief, a lecture, a lesson plan, or a diagnosis. So.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Walk in your reader’s shoes as often as you can.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Informalize your voice. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Build bridges.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Provide grounding.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Great storytellers neither teach nor preach.</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-59993070694269531592018-03-11T07:10:00.000-07:002018-03-11T10:20:44.907-07:00The Arithmetic of Fiction <div class="p1">
Few novelists ponder the addition and subtraction of storytelling. But writers can gain a lot from doing so.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8unloUdf1Y7CEzgzbBPk-_50Bzy7eKpYbYjQz1qT3cEYJ3z9hFGaoUT7gIbat-Hd_Iyqye_fie15qHjlZlUk2xTPY52jz24twkUZ-n9zIAa3aOYCXP1BgtctGmvYzQxEIZmK4Sc8KajY/s1600/IMG_1577.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8unloUdf1Y7CEzgzbBPk-_50Bzy7eKpYbYjQz1qT3cEYJ3z9hFGaoUT7gIbat-Hd_Iyqye_fie15qHjlZlUk2xTPY52jz24twkUZ-n9zIAa3aOYCXP1BgtctGmvYzQxEIZmK4Sc8KajY/s320/IMG_1577.jpg" width="240" /></a><b>Tip</b>: A novelist’s single best editing tool is a metaphorical scissors.</div>
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As Louise Brooks puts it, "Writing is 1 percent inspiration, and 99 percent elimination."</div>
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Anton Chekhov agrees: "Brevity is the sister of talent."</div>
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Dozens of writers have commented on economy, so this blog could offer endless examples. Since that seems painfully ironic, on to the next topic.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: A novelist’s second best editing tool is adding metaphorical bridges when needed.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Those bridges are called transitions.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4MTqwQIzQr3mu-RJ0WrZrNklfBDbYeXzgeL9-ctLkT6IotocF4rbOm9ICWvMlhBaqmec4CcOoldBqN4ftmp9CO3d_xOQmYj7tT2Gu4NG8KKQHoxwGK2p2zUZOguo-MbRG-IAJ9zKpHxM6/s1600/IMG_0562.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4MTqwQIzQr3mu-RJ0WrZrNklfBDbYeXzgeL9-ctLkT6IotocF4rbOm9ICWvMlhBaqmec4CcOoldBqN4ftmp9CO3d_xOQmYj7tT2Gu4NG8KKQHoxwGK2p2zUZOguo-MbRG-IAJ9zKpHxM6/s400/IMG_0562.JPG" /></a></div>
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Transitions are words or phrases that carry the reader from one idea to the next. They help a reader see the connection or relationship between ideas and, just as important, transitions also prevent sudden, jarring mental leaps between sentences and paragraphs. — Leah McClellan, “Why transitions are important in writing”</blockquote>
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Novelists want readers to savor the story without the unpleasant reminder that they’re reading one. So not just any transition will do.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">transitions move the story forward cleanly and seamlessly. Done skillfully, your reader will hardly notice the breaks. — “All Write Fiction Advice”</span></blockquote>
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Few of us build those bridges instinctively. How to accomplish that? First, identify the connection that never got onto the paper. Second, integrate that transition into the narrative.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Excess disguises what matters, not only for the reader, but also for the novelist.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">In an odd psychological quirk, novelists often assume that the fictional journey needs whatever they wrote. Why else would they record it? This takes a lot for granted. Details might repeat, wander off topic, waste words, or explain the obvious. In a cluttered passage, how would you know? Inefficiency masks significance.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">If clutter buries, you won’t notice the leap you require readers to take between one scene or moment or paragraph or sentence and the next. Cut superfluous dialogue or description, and the landscape of your fictional world becomes visible. Now you’re ready to build bridges.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Subtract enough, and it all adds up.</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-27218338173829189922018-03-04T07:27:00.000-08:002018-03-04T07:27:15.977-08:00Pattern and Surprise in Fiction<div class="p1">
The relationship between convention and deviation, expectation and revelation drives fiction. That’s exhibited in the pattern of story that’s remained stable for centuries: conflict…development…resolution. Obviously, though, tweak the specifics and that pattern feels different every time. </div>
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<span class="s1">Dozens of other patterns also underlie fiction: the structure of the paragraph, the alternation between scene and narrative, the major character arcs, and the moods, moments, or memories that echo each other. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">All those components of fiction involve reader expectations, whether fulfilling them or adding tension and suspense by credibly failing to fulfill them. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Lisa Cron’s superb blog—“A Reader’s Manifesto: 12 Hardwired Expectations Every Reader Has” (October 9, 2014)—identifies the most crucial reader expectations. What could be more important than how writers handle focus, empathy, pace, and plot? </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Yet, in every instance, the presentation of setting or symbol affects reader response to those critical aspects of fiction that Cron lists.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Revisit without merely repeating. This satisfies the desire for recurrence plus change.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">So if you return readers to a completely parallel or symmetrical exchange, issue, or location, you’ll defeat reader expectations every time. If Taffy again confers with her mom about her husband’s unemployment, something must differ. Maybe Mom thinks it’s time to leave him, or hire him in dad’s factory, or have Taffy work there herself. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Otherwise, the story feels static. And Jessica Page Morrell is exactly right that every scene captures a progression toward fulfillment of arc. How can that happen if the characters simply repeat what they said before with the same objects in the same place?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Nor can even a conversation with higher stakes occur in an unaltered location. Maybe Ernesto proposes to Tamilla--his gorgeous, ambivalent girlfriend—in a rowboat drifting on moonlit Lake Emerald. However magnificent Lake Emerald, readers will balk at returning there if everything looks identical. Instead, maybe thick storm clouds now hide the moon. Is this boat too old and creaky to be safe? Disgusted with Tamilla’s affairs, perhaps Ernesto’s ready to drown her? Or maybe she’s the one who wants to send a body somewhere the police won’t easily find it.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The need for modification also applies to symbolism. If Gram gave Ernestine an exquisite hand-woven shawl, don’t simply over and over mention the shawl—or the chandelier or the tennis racket. Instead, use symbolic objects to represent how the plot thickens. Does the wood stove scorch the shawl? Must the impoverished family sell their chandelier? Despite the racket that belonged to Albert's renown uncle, does the boy still lose the state championship? </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Things don’t stay the same, though in life, it might feel as if they do. Fiction readers seek the credibility and pleasure of experiencing both the pressure of time and the possibility of growth and catharsis. Meeting those apparently conflicting expectations of familiarity and evolution may not be as difficult as it seems. As Susan Dennard reminds, </span></div>
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<span class="s1">You’re a reader too, so when you go back and read your story from start to finish, you’ll be able to sense if you’re meeting expectations or not.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">And variation is a terrific tool for accomplishing that.</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-29056110460115225282018-02-25T07:12:00.000-08:002018-02-25T07:12:58.399-08:00Micro-tension: What Is It and Why You Care<div class="p1">
Many novelists know about the need for “tension on every page.” How do you get that? Micro-tension, as Donald Maass explains in The <i>Fire in Fiction:</i></div>
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<span class="s1">Keeping readers constantly in your grip comes from the steady application of something else altogether: Micro-tension. That is the tension that constantly keeps your reader wondering what will happen—not in the story, but in the next few seconds. </span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">The April 19, 2009 “wordswimmer” blog adds</span></div>
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<span class="s1">the term alone–-micro-tension–-implies a larger tension in a story, say, macro-tension, which in turn suggests two levels operating within the story simultaneously.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">So the novelist is juggling, but juggling more than pure action. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">In a December 13, 2012 interview with Michael A. Ventrella, Maass elaborated on micro-tension:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Tension is not about action, explosions and shouting. It’s about generating unease in the mind of the reader. There are many ways to do that, many of them subtle. Even language itself can do it. When tension exists in the mind of the reader there’s only one way to relieve it: Read the next thing on the page. Do that constantly, on every page, and readers will read every word—you have a “page turner,” no matter what your style, intent or type of story.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">Clear now? But of course you need to not only to understand the concept but apply it. Here are some strategies for accomplishing that.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Crisp details.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Less is more. Give readers lots of information, particularly at moments of high suspense, and you elicit thinking when feeling is the goal. Watch where you position your exposition.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Hard-working dialogue.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">If characters talk the way people do, you get the same lack of tension that often fills daily life. Also, as Sol Stein puts in <i>Stein on Stein</i>, give your characters “different scripts.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Time crunch.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The ticking clock keeps readers as worried as characters. What if it’s too late?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Internal dilemma</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Little is more suspenseful than a cornered character unable to choose between two impossible options. Torment your characters. Readers will love you for it.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>TIP</b>: Novels need both broad overall tension and incessant, immediate edginess.</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-15604382241659667922018-02-18T07:02:00.000-08:002018-02-18T07:02:58.382-08:00Time It<div class="p1">
Who wants to snap the photo after the sun’s risen or the gull flown? Whether photography or proposal, wrestling or writing, it’s all about finding the moment.</div>
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<span class="s1">At its best, fiction gives both writer and reader the astonishing power to control time. Boring moments whizz by while anticipation becomes thrill instead of anxiety. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">But like everything else about storytelling, time management requires a deft hand. Here’s why:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A work of literature can be thought of as involving four different and potentially quite separate time frames: author time (when the work was originally written or published); narrator time (when the narrator in a work of fiction supposedly narrates the story); plot time (when the action depicted actually takes place); and reader or audience time (when a reader reads the work or sees it performed). — Beth Hill, “Marking Time with the Viewpoint Character”</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">Of these categories, audience perception matters most. So if you want readers to grasp significance, proceed as if </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Length is weight in fiction, pretty much. —Joan Silber, <i>The Art of Time in Fiction: As Long as It Takes</i></span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">~ Don’t linger over detail that contributes only to this moment rather than the big picture. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Ideally, that big picture divides the characters’ journey between time collapsed into summary or savored within scenes.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Time perception refers to the subjective experience of the passage of time, or the perceived duration of events, which can differ significantly between different individuals and/or in different circumstances. Although physical time appears to be more or less objective, psychological time is subjective and potentially malleable. — “Exactly What Is Time” Blog</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">~ Manage pace by speeding or slowing to maximize suspense and emotion.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">How long events last matters as much as how quickly the plot proceeds.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Always start the scene at the last possible moment.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The best scenes and chapters begin when something’s at stake—immediately at stake.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">And control of fictional time also involves when scenes end. Too soon, and readers might feel bewildered or disappointed. But too late, and neither writer nor reader has the oomph for what’s next.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">~ End every scene except the final one with the next obstacle the protagonist faces.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: In fiction, time should offer the opportunities that reality lacks.</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-11322401198459871802018-02-11T06:46:00.000-08:002018-02-11T06:46:48.437-08:00<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Hard-wired for Story</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The organic world is mostly phototropic. Like plants and moths, people gravitate toward the light. In fact, the longing to stare at the sun can risk sunburned eyeballs, even damaged retinas. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9wEPYi91TkK1fd7i8fw_8h1RaL9YOB22r-R0IrrWAM7R8GKVDIiHnLCv9_7YMgovizp6aL9Xj4h_9IisGh8q_NSP6ejzn8GqgtfymFNq6sW9EG1NafypbkfGBwcLXjJ-pSsSeqQbYzLFQ/s1600/IMG_1068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9wEPYi91TkK1fd7i8fw_8h1RaL9YOB22r-R0IrrWAM7R8GKVDIiHnLCv9_7YMgovizp6aL9Xj4h_9IisGh8q_NSP6ejzn8GqgtfymFNq6sW9EG1NafypbkfGBwcLXjJ-pSsSeqQbYzLFQ/s320/IMG_1068.jpg" width="240" /></a><span class="s1"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9wEPYi91TkK1fd7i8fw_8h1RaL9YOB22r-R0IrrWAM7R8GKVDIiHnLCv9_7YMgovizp6aL9Xj4h_9IisGh8q_NSP6ejzn8GqgtfymFNq6sW9EG1NafypbkfGBwcLXjJ-pSsSeqQbYzLFQ/s1600/IMG_1068.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6I9a-EgR0YOsRoM0ZFl3l0SqYKNy4RommgFeyrd6l-81NCuqGnQsyywLwn2hzLVE4P_Ywz-3x7E2H4TPnFpyaqCWEin_BWRtV9ZMeIF3bfFRJl93mQm3jA3CO7pwmeErWdYTiEBzrVZ5/s1600/IMG_0963.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6I9a-EgR0YOsRoM0ZFl3l0SqYKNy4RommgFeyrd6l-81NCuqGnQsyywLwn2hzLVE4P_Ywz-3x7E2H4TPnFpyaqCWEin_BWRtV9ZMeIF3bfFRJl93mQm3jA3CO7pwmeErWdYTiEBzrVZ5/s320/IMG_0963.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Without the deleterious side effects, storytelling has always wielded similar magnetism.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"> Since humans have been humans, they’ve told stories. That’s because</span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">According to Uri Hasson from Princeton, a story is the only way to activate parts in the brain so that a listener turns the story into their own idea and experience. — Leo Widrich,“The Science of Storytelling: Why Telling a Story is the Most Powerful Way to Activate Our Brains”</span></blockquote>
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You’re a novelist in a world crowded with obligations and distractions competing for attention. When children—and grownups—beg “Tell me a story,” they want to hear a great one. How can the storytelling instinct help you attract readers and keep them engaged?<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">~ Tension.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">It’s no accident that any writing coach will insist that it’s needed on every page. Interrupt the story, and you interrupt reader connection with it. That connection, of course, is why readers care about characters and why fiction has always been a means for cultural instruction: </span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">in order to motivate a desire to help others, a story must first sustain attention–-a scarce resource in the brain–-by developing tension during the narrative. If the story is able to create that tension then it is likely that attentive viewers/listeners will come to share the emotions of the characters in it, and after it ends, likely to continue mimicking the feelings and behaviors of those characters — Paul J. Zak, “Why Your Brain Loves Good Storytelling”</span></blockquote>
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~ Causality<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Unless each—each rather than some or most!—event in the novel determines what follows, the novelist offers the randomness of life rather than the meticulously shaped progression of story.</span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1">A story, if broken down into the simplest form, is a connection of cause and effect. And that is exactly how we think. — Leo Widrich</span></blockquote>
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~ Universality<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Different cultures certainly express human emotions differently. But the emotions themselves remain constant. That’s why stories let people vicariously bleed under the lash of slavery, recoil at the stench of a dragon’s breath, shiver in the trenches of a battlefield, or bask in the awe of a kiss from the spouse you’ve loved for fifty years.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip:</b> The greatest stories spring from capitalizing on the human instinct for narrative.</span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-45116708874096066802018-01-28T07:24:00.000-08:002018-01-28T07:24:04.800-08:00Fiction Loses a Legend<div class="p1">
Last week, at age 88, beloved author Ursula K. Le Guin, died. It helps a little to know that she had as healthy a perspective on mortality as everything else:</div>
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<span class="s1">You will die. You will not live forever. Nor will any man nor any thing. Nothing is immortal. But only to us is it given to know that we must die. And that is a great gift: the gift of selfhood. For we have only what we know we must lose, what we are willing to lose…That selfhood which is our torment, and our treasure, and our humanity, does not endure. It changes, it is gone, a wave on the sea. Would you have the sea grow still and the tides cease, to save one wave, to save yourself? — <i>The Farthest Shore</i></span></blockquote>
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That book is fantasy, so maybe you’d think, “I don’t like that wizard, fairy, dragon stuff.” But, take care, because here’s what she said about the realm of imagination: <span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">People who deny the existence of dragons are often eaten by dragons. From within.</span></blockquote>
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What did she mean?</div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Tip</b>: Possibility is among our greatest creative gifts. Why reject it?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Her work gloriously intertwined myth, imagination, defiance, and poetry. You’d find a glimmer of revolution in everything she wrote or said. Here’s part of a speech at Bryn Mawr:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">When women speak truly they speak subversively—they can’t help it: if you’re underneath, if you’re kept down, you break out, you subvert. We are volcanoes. When we women offer our experience as our truth, as human truth, all the maps change. There are new mountains. That’s what I want–-to hear you erupting. You young Mount St Helenses who don’t know the power in you – I want to hear you.</span></blockquote>
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Quite timely in January, 2018. But gender issues have filled her books from the beginning, particularly the most famous one: <i>The Left Hand of Darkness</i>. It creates a fantastical world rich with suspense and some of the loveliest language ever put together. The novel raises questions about identity, society, and culture. How do we resist? What does it mean to love? How do we know who we are? <span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">She was a master of irony, as well. <i>The Dispossessed</i> is also more anthropological than supernatural. One of the worlds she creates prides itself on the wall that opens the book. What’s the big deal about a not particularly sturdy barrier? The people of Anarres don’t believe they’re hemmed in—they insist they’re protecting themselves from the outside. Voluntarily.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Le Guin’s talent combined keen understanding with enormous skill at expressing that understanding as no one else could. She was wonderfully modest and totally accessible to those who approached her at conferences. Not just a rare writer, but a rare human. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">And because of that, a great teacher.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Thanks to “show don’t tell,” I find writers in my workshops who think exposition is wicked. They’re afraid to describe the world they’ve invented.…This dread of writing a sentence that isn’t crammed with “gutwrenching action” leads fiction writers to rely far too much on dialogue, to restrict voice to limited third person and tense to the present.</span></blockquote>
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She disliked misconceptions about writing as much as she disliked injustice or greed. This award-winning author devoted her life to nurturing the human capacity to create a reality more credible and moral than the actual one, saying, <span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">There have been great societies that did not use the wheel, but there have been no societies that did not tell stories.</span></blockquote>
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At least we’ll always have hers.<span class="s1"></span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7553393754266127001.post-76533668131791020592018-01-21T08:07:00.000-08:002018-01-21T08:07:01.618-08:00The Power of Richard Powers: Act II <div class="p1">
Maybe you don’t read literary or experimental novels. Or you think novelists should leave poetry to the poets and lectures to the nonfiction writers. But. If you care how your sentences sound, or have facts or beliefs to convey, Richard Powers can teach you lots. While you read.</div>
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<span class="s1">All his novels have heft, but some are more digestible than others. Here’s why:</span></div>
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<span class="s1"> One of my pleasures as an artist is to reinvent myself with each new book. If you’re going to immerse yourself in a project for three years, why not stake out a chunk of the world that is completely alien to you and go traveling? — from a Kevin Berger interview with Richard Powers, <i>The Paris Review</i></span></blockquote>
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What a great way to think about the writing of books, and what variety his readers get. Why not start with <i>The Time of Our Singing?</i> It links music with race relations and physics<i>. </i>At a concert on the Washington Mall by the black diva Marian Anderson, German Jewish physicist David Strom falls in love with Delia Daley, diva in training. In the racist world they inhabit, can music keep them united? Who will their three interracial children become? And, most crucially, what didn’t you know about your own racism? Not to mention physics.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>The Echo Maker </i>is also fairly conventional—except for its huge themes and heavenly voice. Here’s the opening:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Cranes keep landing as night falls. Ribbons of them roll down, slack against the sky. They float in from all compass points, in kettles of a dozen, dropping with the dusk. Scores of Grus Canadensis settle on the thawing river. They gather on the island flats, grazing, beating their wings, trumpeting: the advance wave of a mass evacuation. More birds land by the minute, the air red with calls.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1">This novel explores the brain injury resulting from an automobile accident, a plot which raises questions about “real” or “natural.” Then why cranes? As Margaret Atwood observes in “The Heart of the Heartland” from <i>New York Review of Book</i>s, Native Americans named these birds “echo makers” because of their call. For the protagonist’s brother, who thinks a stranger inhabits every familiar person, only an echo of the past remains. The novel conveys a moving story interspersed with psychology, neurology, and larger-than-life symbols. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>Orfeo</i> has less plot. But if you’ve ever wondered why music affects us as it does, this is where to find out. The novel plumbs the mystery of music, the impact of silence, and the secret of creativity. Typically, Powers can’t restrain his sense of humor:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Bonner leans his forehead against hers. </span>Zig when they think you’ll zag. Creation’s Rule Number Two.<br /> What’s Number One? Els asks, willing to be this bent soul’s straight man.<br /><span class="s1"> Zag when they think you’ll zig.” </span></blockquote>
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So many brilliant novels by Richard Powers, so little space. <i>Galatea 2.2 </i>tackles Artificial Intelligence. Can a computer produce an essay indistinguishable from a scholar’s? As that computer becomes increasingly human, how does it feel? And what about the human teaching the computer to be something other than itself?<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>The Gold Bug Variations </i>is the Powers novel I love best. Not much plot, but enough story and suspense to enliven passages about DNA, philosophy, and the history of science. Who wouldn’t love the synthesis of Bach’s Goldberg Variations with Edgar Allan Poe's “The Gold Bug”? Here’s a sample. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The loss of a great library to fire is a tragedy. But the surreptitious introduction of thousands of untraceable errors into reliable books, errors picked up and distributed endlessly by tireless researchers, is a nightmare beyond measure.</span></blockquote>
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<b>Tip</b>: Want to stretch your horizons as a writer? Stretch your horizons as a reader.<span class="s1"></span></div>
Laurel Yourkehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08705160251755579599noreply@blogger.com0