Novelist as Character Beats Character as Novelist

Even writers tire of fictional protagonists enduring blocks, deadlines, and the humiliation of the one-shot-wonder syndrome. Writers can become almost as disenchanted with someone else’s pages reflecting a mirror image—whether witty, maudlin, or ironic—as other readers became long ago.

But using your non-novelist self as template, inspiration, or guru for a protagonist? That’s another story, quite possibly one which exquisitely blends truth with embroidery of it, genuine feeling with “recollection of it in tranquility,” as William Wordsworth put it.

Certainly that involves risk. Skimp on the tranquility component, and you might transform anyone who irks you into a melodramatic villain. Perhaps you’ll splash your politics all over your chapters, or compile scenes so syrupy with self-pity that pages stick together in interactions that seem endless.

For the lucky writer, though (and the lucky readers who get their hands on that novel), the synthesis of raw emotion with the objectivity of narration approaches closest to universal feelings and themes. After all, as Joseph Campbell put it, “You are the Hero of your own Story.” What a great foundation for the hero your imagination and craft create. Why not take that concept further? Shanon Grey believes that “Your life is a book; make it a bestseller.”

How might you infuse your fiction with personal emotions and experiences?

~ Articulate your reactions to events, whether trivial or monumental.

Using either a mental or written journal, consider how anger smells, what your stomach muscles do when you’re happy, or your personal metaphor for fear or passion or spirituality. Note these, again, either on paper or in your head, so they’re available when you need them.

~ Assess “ticking clock” anxiety in your daily world.

According to Sidney Sheldon, “Life is like a novel. It’s filled with suspense. You have no idea what is going to happen until you turn the page.” How does it feel to await the doctor calling you back, the results of the job interview, the tally of an election? That’s how your protagonist feels. Of course you can’t just “tell” readers that, or they’ll never turn the page to get the results. Instead? Translate your responses into imagery, body language, or metaphor.

~ Probe. Shamelessly.

“I think one of the appeals of suspense is to safely explore our innermost fears,” Lisa Gardner observes. Readers can’t do that unless the novelist does it first. Do you shout in rage whenever you’re actually hurt? Does sour grapes ever convince you that the unwanted outcome feels okay? What role does rationalization play in your interaction with others? With yourself?

~ Appraise the stakes.

Whatever worries or bothers one can escalate, even when insignificant as a thoughtless thing you said or heard. Concentrate on how hard you can grit your teeth over what to do. Now make your character feel that, so your readers can.

Tip: Be your own “artist’s model.” And it doesn’t cost a penny,

Many writers enjoy research, correctly believing that it can cement geography, history, and forays into sports or art, quilting or banking. But one area of emotions often goes unexplored: what the writer knows about suspense, emotion, and life. Why neglect that opportunity?

Fire and Ice in Fiction

Zeal and discipline. Spontaneity and rigor. In the preface to Lyrical Ballads, William Wordsworth defined poetry as “the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.”  That applies to lots more than poetry. Unrestrained passion followed by meticulous craft describes not only all writing, but probably all art.

The trick lies in the definitions of “passion” and “craft." In a well-known quotation from Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott claims that the only way she “can get anything written at all is to write really, really shitty first drafts.”

Perhaps. But the problem with writing “crap” is how hard, not to mention discouraging, it is to write past it later on. Besides, quite a substantial gap exists between the stench of dung and the flame of creativity. Maybe Lamott meant that first drafts must emerge impulsively. By all means. Better, though, write not because you have a deadline or think you should or hope to make lots of money. Write because you have to, because you have no choice. Fire like that usually ignites fire in whoever reads what you wrote.

But fire rarely accomplishes the whole deal. Yes, many of the most glorious lines are born without labor pains, like Aphrodite arising from the seafoam. But every serious writer knows that you’ve got to manage all those other lines. As Ernest Hemingway said about revising the ending of Farewell to Arms thirty-nine times, it’s about “getting the words right.” Or, as Joseph Pulitzer put it, “these ten or twenty lines might readily represent a whole day’s hard work in the way of concentrated, intense thinking and revision, polish of style, weighing of words.” And here’s Elmore Leonard on the climax: “If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it.”

Tip: There’s something magical about translating passion into language, then translating passionate language into words so startlingly clear and vivid that they sound effortless.

Except the sensation of effortlessness, like a fabulous musical comedy or garden or quiche or basketball game demands enormous effort. It just doesn’t show.

Are there strategies for accomplishing "emotion" + "tranquility"? For the fire:

·         Neither censor too much nor little.

·         Don’t try to sound like anyone but you.

·         Run a little wild: flirt, giggle, tease, endanger, glorify.

·         Take risks: pick a dangerous, glamorous, unlikely possibility. Follow it.

For the ice:

·         Be patient. Excellence is a slow uphill climb.

·         Be rigorous. Don’t talk yourself out of what you know you ought to fix.

·         Be aware of the rules. It’s great to break them, but only intentionally.

·         Be confident. If you want this badly enough, you can earn it.

Don’t let the ice douse the fire. Use it to temper the right amount of light and heat.