Writers in the Storm

by Lori Freeland

Avoid unlikeable main characters. Show don’t tell. Lock your character into character. Tell your story forward. Pass on passive verbs. Say bye-bye to backstory. Nix the omniscient narrator and dodge the dreaded head hop. Always remember adjectives are lazy, exclamation points are evil, and adverbs are from the devil. And for goodness sake, don’t forget to cover the mirror—main characters can’t ever describe themselves.

Those are just a few of the writing rules we’re taught to follow.  

Sometimes writing a story feels like stumbling through Dante’s Inferno. A lot of don’ts punctuated with a stern warning that you’ll be tossed into writer’s hell—an editor’s circular file—if you do.

Why the Rules?

People need rules. Otherwise life would be chaos. But like parents, we writers can drift away from the reasons behind the rules and take a because-I-said-so approach. Sometimes that works. Sometimes it feeds the chaos. Other times, it kills your creativity.

Let’s look at the real reason behind the writing rules. The key to hooking a reader’s attention is evoking emotion. In order to evoke emotion, you need a clear picture of what’s going on in the scene.  

Clarity Evokes Emotion  à  Emotion Hooks Readers

Readers need to understand what you’re writing. If they struggle to see the story, your message will get lost in translation. A few of us write for ourselves, but most of us write for other people. As storytellers, we want to create a mood, set a tone, mold a world. Often, we get so caught up in the excitement of sharing the magic unfolding in our heads that we forget a reader can only experience what we write.

Think about that for a minute. Not what we meant to write. Or wanted to write. Or should write. But what we actually write. The literal words we put on the page.

Clarity Outside and In

Paint the Outside of Your Scene

Before we dive into emotion, show us the physical, concrete aspects of the story. Think of this in movie terms.

• Where’s the location?
• What are the props?
• Who are the people?
• What are those people doing?

Close your eyes, conjure up that beautiful stage you’ve set . . . and write that down. Make sure you’ve given us a clear enough image that we see what you want us to see. This picture doesn’t have to be so detailed we get buried in the description. Sometimes less is more. If you say, “a crowd of teens at a mall,” we instantly get an illustration of both the place and the people. If you say nothing, we get unoccupied white space.

Paint the Inside of Your Scene

Think in terms beyond what your character wants to why she wants it. What’s her motivation? What’s she thinking? The internal journey of your character is as crucial as the external journey.

If you want us to know she struggles with intimacy because her mom abandoned her, you have to put it on the page. So many of my editing clients explain a character’s motivation to me after I question that character’s actions. Which is great. It then makes perfect sense. But when I ask them to point out where they’ve revealed that to the reader on the page, they can’t. It’s not there.

Writers, believe it or not, we can’t read your minds. Ridiculous, right? I mean, it would be so much easier if we could. But since we don’t live in a dystopian society where mindreading is as common as sleeping, that’s where the rules come in. They serve as a guide for clarity.

Why Not the Rules?

So . . . when do you use writing rules and when do you ditch them?

There’s a difference between being mysterious and being vague. I’ve had many writers tell me they don’t want to reveal everything upfront. Well, good. You shouldn’t. The unfolding of a story is part of what keeps your reader turning the pages.

But if John’s standing at the top of the stairs and he’s about to fall and break his legs, we first need to see him standing at the top of the stairs. That’s not a mystery. That’s what’s physically happening in the scene. The mystery could be why he’s there. Or who pushes him. As long as you hint that the why is important to the plot, and that it will eventually be revealed, we don’t need to know upfront.

If you break a rule, make it count. Make sure it works. Make sure you haven’t sacrificed clarity. In other words, do it right. Have a reason. A real reason.

Let’s go back to the rules I listed in the beginning and break them.

• Avoid Unlikeable Main Characters

Some of our favorite characters do bad things. Think Darth Vader in Star Wars, Voldemort in Harry Potter, Negan in The Walking Dead, and Joffrey in Game of Thrones. They’re evil. But they’re also interesting. And interesting evokes emotion.

Go ahead and write that unlikeable main character. But make us love to hate him. Or, even better, make us want to root for him. Slip in a redeeming quality or moment of weakness. Show a compelling motivation for otherwise reprehensible actions. Let someone we do like care about him.

• Show Don’t Tell

If you showed everything that happened in your book, you’d end up with 300,000 pages. When you need to keep moving forward, telling is okay. But understand that telling doesn’t usually evoke emotion. If you want something to be important to the reader, it needs to be important to the character and stand out. We want to see it, not hear about it. That’s where showing shines.

I love this quote from Mark Twain. “Don't tell us that the old lady screamed. Bring her on and let her scream.”

• Keep Your Character in Character

Your character can do anything you want—including act out of character—with the right motivation. That’s real life. A moral and upstanding citizen will commit a crime to save his family. A criminal will reform to have a family. Pushing your character out of his comfort zone creates conflict. And . . . you guessed it . . . conflict creates emotion.

• Tell Your Story Forward

Except if that isn’t the kind of story you’re telling. Do you have a dual past/present storyline like The Notebook? Do you open with the end and work back to the beginning like Memento? Do multiple characters each share the story from their point of view like Vantage Point? Use this technique on purpose as a device to frame your story. Don’t skip around just because.

• Pass on Passive Verbs

While strong verbs are usually best because they strengthen your writing, sometimes you just need to state something that’s not very important and move on. Other times, you want the action to be passive. Your description of the subtle, soft dripping of a faucet in the background won’t be loaded with power verbs.  

• Say Bye-Bye to Backstory.

We need backstory, just not in huge dumps that interrupt, slow the pacing, and pull us out of the present story. Get creative. Use previous events to draw us deeper into your character’s head. Show how the past impacts her feelings and her future.

Example: Up until today, I hadn’t said much about my sister’s Josh addiction. Not last summer, when she started lying to Dad. Not last fall, when she slid homework into the optional category. Not even last month, when she gave up being cheer captain.

• Nix the Omniscient Narrator and the Dreaded Head Hop

Gone are the times of a narrator looking down on the world and filling the reader in on what everyone was thinking. Readers want to be in the story. And the way they do that is to become your main character and experience his world. Omniscient narrators make that connection almost impossible.

In certain cases, like The Book Thief, it works. But use this technique for a reason. Does it build emotion? Add to the tension? Do we get a glimpse of a serial killer you want to keep in the shadows that has us jumping up to turn on all the lights?

• Adjectives are Lazy. Exclamation Points are Evil. Adverbs are From the Devil.

I kind of agree on this one but only because there are so many better ways to paint a word picture that strengthen rather than weaken your story. Adjectives can be helpful if you watch out for overload. Every so often, you might need an exclamation point as a quick way to show someone yelling. But keep in mind that if you emphasize everything, nothing will stand out. And yes, on the rare occasion, an adverb might be called for. Make it a great one.

• Cover the Mirror

Main characters can describe themselves if they do it right. We tend to think about ourselves in relation to the world around us. I think about my hair being blonde when it starts to go gray. I think about the clothes I’m wearing when they’re too tight. I think about my makeup when everyone I pass on the street stares. Go ahead. Put your character in front of a mirror. But make it a funhouse mirror that emphasizes her faults and grows them larger than life.

The Take-Away

Straying from the rules can take more skill than following them. Don’t accidentally break them, decide to break them. But before you do, think of them in terms of clarity and emotion.

Ask these three questions:

1. Is what’s going on in the scene still clear, or did you blur the visual too far outside the reader’s focus so they can’t see what’s physically happening?
2. Are you ramping up emotion or watering down your craft?
3. Does the integrity of the story hold, or are you manipulating it to fit your plot?

Thoughts on breaking the rules? Great examples? Share them in the comments.  

About Lori

An encourager at heart, author, editor, and writing coach Lori Freeland believes everyone has a story to tell. She holds a BA in psychology from the University of Wisconsin and currently lives in the Dallas area. She's presented multiple workshops at writer's conferences across the country and writes everything from non-fiction to short stories to novels—YA to adult. When she's not curled up with her husband drinking too much coffee and worrying about her kids, she loves to mess with the lives of the imaginary people living in her head. You can find Where You Belong, as well as her young adult and contemporary romance, at lorifreeland.com and her inspirational blog and writing tips at lafreeland.com. Her latest release, The Accidental Boyfriend, is currently up on the Radish app. Download the app for free. 

Lori Freeland Author/Editor/Writing Coach
lorifreeland.com (young adult website)
lafreeland.com  (inspirational blog)

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Laurie Schnebly

Why do the first 10% and the last 10% of your book deserve far more than attention than what you give the remaining 80% of the story? That doesn’t seem fair.

Especially when we look at those lucky writers who are continuing various series which already have millions of fans. THEY don’t need to worry about making their next opening and closing incredibly wonderful!

Nope, drat it, that task is solely for authors who want to grab brand new readers from the very first paragraph of a book -- and then leave 'em so satisfied with the ending that they’ll immediately buy whatever this author writes next.

Boffo beginnings are the most effective way of ensuring that anyone who glances at page 1 will keep reading…and reading…and reading.

What else keeps them reading?

Sure, they might ALSO continue through the story if their best friend insisted “you’re gonna love this book even though it seems kind of dull at first.”

Or if the cover model looks so much like their dream hero that they’ve got to see what happens.

Or if they’re stuck on a six-hour flight and have already finished their only other reading materials.

But why go after readers like those? It’s better if you can get their best friend insisting, “I couldn’t put it down,” because that way they’ll keep reading no matter how short the flight is or how uninspiring the cover model might be.

Regardless of what got a reader started on your book, it’s ideal to have someone take in the first sentence

…then the first paragraph…and immediately want to keep going.

That means you’ve grabbed 'em. You’ve found the right answers to questions like:

• Which is more entertaining, dialogue or narrative?
• Which is more engrossing, action or emotion?
• Which is more engaging, characters or situation?

You probably already know what works best for drawing YOU into a story you want to keep reading…or writing.

How can you build on that interest and make it even more compelling?

Once you’ve done that, you’ve got a boffo beginning.

Think about the books whose opening you still remember vividly.

It’s surprising how often people can quote the first line of something they read years ago, and yet how seldom they can describe an entire opening scene.

Yet it’s the first scene, not the first line, which will keep your readers moving onto Chapter Two.

So what does your first scene need to do?

• Tell the readers what’s going on, or just give them a hint?

• Put us right in the viewpoint of a major character, or open with a secondary character in a more dramatic situation?
• Reveal what’s at stake now, or save that news for when the character learns it?

And once the main character/s and their plot are introduced, you’re still not finished with the beginning. In order to make sure the reader won’t turn away once they’ve reached the first scene break, you need to establish:

• What kind of action we can expect
• What kind of emotion we can expect
• What the overall tone will be like

• How much dialogue and description there’ll be

And, most important of all:

Why these characters will stay interesting

• Is it their mission / goal?
• Is it their personality / motivation?
• Is it their situation / conflict?
• Is it all three?

Your blend will be different, of course, depending on the story you’re writing. Your audience will have its own expectations, and they need to feel confident you can deliver the kind of experience they wanted when they picked up your novel.

That’ll be your job throughout the next 80% of the book, which -- although it’s what keeps 'em reading -- doesn’t count as part of your opening or your closing.

But speaking of closing, let’s move onto the fabulous finale.

Are you keeping the promise of the beginning?

That’s only the first question to address, but it’s a big one. The reader who picked up your book might have had some generic expectation of “a cozy mystery” or “a historical romance” when they opened to page 1, but your beginning promised a lot more than that.

It promised a certain level of tension, from relaxing to nail-biting.

It promised a story that would keep this reader engrossed all the way through.

It promised some compelling twists and turns, whether gentle or abrupt, before the final chapter.

It promised a world that the reader would enjoy discovering more of, whether the setting is comfortably familiar or excitingly different.

And it promised a style of story telling that resonated with this person -- something they already know they love, or something that has them anticipating a whole new discovery.

You delivered all of that with your beginning.

So you need to deliver it with the ending, as well -- plus whipped cream and a cherry on top.

There are tricks for accomplishing that, both in your opening and closing. But rather than get into a whole two weeks of material, let’s look at the openings and closings you’ve liked especially well.

Because that’s the prize-drawing question.

Someone who sends in a description of whatever made some book’s first or final words (whether a sentence or an entire scene) resonate with them will win free registration to Boffo Beginnings & Fab Finales at WriterUniv.com, starting a week from Monday.

So here’s your chance to share with other WITS readers:

What comes to mind when you think of a story whose opening you loved?

What ending made you want to read every single other book this author has ever written?

I’ll draw names from the next 24 hours’ worth of comments (even if you can’t decide on your favorite beginning or ending) so I can notify the winner tomorrow morning.

And I’ll look forward to hearing the names of some old favorite books along with some new TBRs!

After winning Romantic Times' "Best Special Edition of the Year" over Nora Roberts, Laurie Schnebly Campbell discovered she loved teaching every bit as much as writing…if not more. Since then she's taught online and live workshops for writers from London and Los Angeles to New Zealand and New York, and keeps a special section of her bookshelves for people who've developed that particular novel in her classes. With 43 titles there so far, she's always hoping for more.

Tiffany Yates Martin

Hello, dedicated author of great worth. Yes, you.

I already know these things about you—I know many things about you, actually. I know that you have a story to tell—lots of them, most likely. I know that you care passionately about your craft. I know that you love words, and language, and the magic of creating new worlds and new people who didn’t exist anywhere outside your head until you gave them the spark of life and brought them into the world. I also know that you care about other people, and part of wanting to share your stories with readers is because these ideas that live so vividly in your head entertain and affect and move you, and you want to share those experiences with others, to connect through the holy, transformative medium of story.

I know these things because you are reading a blog like this. Because when you aren’t immersing yourself in all things writerly, you are writing, or thinking about writing, or maybe just dreaming about writing, a bass note of longing that underlies the melodies of all your days. I know it because you carve out time from your already packed schedule to sit alone in a room or a coffee shop or a hidden corner of your house and you painstakingly put words on the page, looking to give voice to all the ideas and pictures and populace teeming in your head, to actualize your magnificent vision. I know it because most days you probably feel as if somehow you’ve fallen short, that what appears on the page lacks the depth and scope and impact of your grand mental version. But you try again, and again, and again, and some days you even marvel at what you have wrought, thinking you are finally getting the hang of this ephemeral art. Until you reread those same pages the next day and wonder who the hell you were kidding, thinking you had something to say and the talent to say it.

If I—a total stranger to many of you—already know all these things about you, then surely you must know them at an unshakable soul-deep level that nourishes and sustains you in the endless vicissitudes of the creative life—the ups and downs, the voluminous rejections, the painful silences of being lost in the slush pile, the long wait for an agent or publication or the sales of your dreams. Yes?

What, no?

You have chosen a difficult road—the path of the creative always is. Your confidence and self-esteem will probably travel a violent sine wave of highs and lows. You’ll struggle with motivation. Well-meaning family and friends may ask you why you put yourself through so much suffering for a pursuit where you have such a minuscule chance of “success,” as they (and perhaps you) define it. Beta readers and crit partners may slam on your beautiful baby and make your pride in your work feel foolish. Your editor may return your finally-anointed, soon-to-be-published manuscript with pages of notes and daunting stacks of comments in Track Changes. Even in the industries that reap great rewards from artists’ output, with a few headline-catching exceptions the person with the least influence and the least direct benefit from it is the creator.

This business can be so harsh--you can create the most magnificent piece on the planet and still not find a publishing home for it (some of the best and most original stories I’ve ever worked on were ultimately rejected by agents and publishers). The industry is driven almost entirely by marketing departments these days, and what they believe will sell doesn't always have any bearing on what's great storytelling and writing.

In exchange for digging deep into your most vulnerable soul and bravely sharing what you may find there, you will receive countless painful rejection letters (which you probably have counted, actually) or perhaps worse, indifference; you will endure long stretches of waiting to be chosen: by an agent, by a publisher, by review sites and publications, by the readers who can put you on the coveted New York Times bestseller list.

Here is the open secret that somehow doesn’t often register with artists as they wait to be chosen so their “real careers” can begin: When you get the “yes” it is utterly random.

You hit the right editor on the right day in the right market. Or an agent plowing diligently through her slush pile stumbled onto your manuscript at the very moment she was in the right frame of mind and the right mood looking for your very genre. Or some constellation of coincidence and luck and perhaps contacts got you the right review in the right publication that made your book take off.

So much of all of this is arbitrary, friends. Your writing has no more nor less worth on the day after all that magic happens than it did on the day before. That’s not to denigrate your talent, your hard work, your originality, the scintillating power of the gorgeous story you created. But it could’ve been you—or it could have been a thousand other authors and manuscripts, depending on a myriad of utterly random factors over which none of us has any control.

Considering that perhaps depressing reality, how is a writer supposed to carry on?

You have a superpower. In all of this, there is in fact a magical wellspring to which you can perpetually return, a holy font of fortitude—a single constant, one source of inspiration and support and dauntlessness: you, worthy author. You choose you.

Choose yourself and your craft—every single day, every single moment. Surround yourself with what helps nourish and strengthen you for the difficult moments—that same eternally fertile seedbed you draw on when your child is devastated or defeated, when your significant other or your dearest friends or family face crises and self-doubts and pain. Hold yourself, as the yogis say, in the highest possible regard. You don’t need to wait for validation: you have arrived already. Every day you dedicate time to your creative art, you have added something precious and unique to the world: your story, your voice, your “right effort,” to quote the Buddhists.

Find ways to stoke your own creative fires even when they begin to bank. I promise you that your writing has worth—you have worth. If you have kids (or pets!), sometimes it can help to think of your writing as a child—you'd never give up on that kid, even if everyone else on earth kept rejecting her. You'd always believe in her.

I'm not trying to make this sound easier than it is—I know firsthand how it feels when your self-worth flags and you wonder what the hell you were thinking trying to have a career with words. But this is the most normal thing I know about writing—the most universal, sadly: that writers seesaw between utter delight in the craft and their efforts and utter despair. I think it's the price of getting to live a creative life. So for what it's worth, if it helps, what you may be feeling is very, very normal. You are normal, cherished author.

Surround yourself with your people—creative souls like you who understand the capriciousness of inspiration and conviction. Find the “helpers,” as Mr. Rogers says—those people who believe in you and remind you to do the same when your resolve flags.

But more than that, find the champion, the warrior, inside you—the one person who will always, always be there for you. Read Jennifer Weiner's story about getting her first novel, Good in Bed, published—every publisher either passed because her heroine was overweight or asked her to make her skinny—and Weiner refused, knowing there was a readership for a plus-size heroine. And she started a whole movement in books. Read Big Magic, by Elizabeth Gilbert, which addresses the challenges of creative life in such a lovely and inspirational way. Read Brenda Ueland's beautiful paean to creativity, If You Want to Write. Books like these will nourish your creative core. Watch Waiting for my Real Life to Begin, the documentary about former Men at Work frontman Colin Hay, a moving portrait of artistic self-sustenance even in the face of failure. Listen to these uplifting lyrics from James Taylor! The chorus fills my soul.

I often ask writers this question: If someone told you right now that you would never, ever be published, that what you were doing with your writing now was all you would ever do, would you stop?

I hope you get your random “yes,” author friend. I hope the picture of your success that you’ve cherished for years comes to pass just as you always dreamed. But if…! If it doesn’t, here’s my most heartfelt hope for you: that you will come to the end of your days with nothing but fulfillment and gratitude for your life because you were brave enough, true enough to your deepest soul to follow a creative path, rocky and uneven and even solitary as it may have been. Not everyone holds on to that holy creative spark we’re all born with, and what an inestimable loss that is for our spirit.

Tiffany Yates Martin is privileged to help authors tell their stories as effectively, compellingly, and truthfully as possible. In more than 25 years in the publishing industry, she’s worked both with major publishing houses and directly with authors (through her company FoxPrint Editorial), on titles by New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestsellers and award winners as well as newer authors. She presents editing and writing workshops for writers’ groups, organizations, and conferences and writes for numerous writers’ sites and publications.