Writers in the Storm

by Lisa Hall-Wilson

Many of us love to create female characters who are in charge. They are the boss, the leader, the take-charge and kick ass types who keep everything from the local PTA to an entire country running just the way they like it. They don’t ask permission, they act.

The alpha female character often comes off as bossy, bitchy, too masculine. Whether they start off that way or circumstances force them into the role of an alpha female, characters like Princess Leia (Star Wars), Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games), Cat Crawfield (Night Huntress Novels), Kara “Starbuck” Thrace (Battlestar Galactica), Lisbeth Salander (The Millenium Trilogy), Sansa and Arya Stark or Cersei Lanister (Game of Thrones), and Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables) are fun to read (and write) about, but we wouldn’t always want to hang around with them in real life! 

Common Ground

The path to like-ability is common ground. What do your readers have in common with your character who may deny many traditional female qualities?

Do they bottle up their feelings? Do they feel like a fraud, an outcast, like they don’t belong? Do they hate being alone? Do they overthink things? Are they overlooked? Forced into a role they hate to get ahead?

K.M. Weiland, in her critique of the Avengers: Infinity War movie, pointed out that we come to love Gamora even more because we get a much bigger glimpse of her past, how her relationship with Thanos began, how she can both love and loathe her adopted father.

Ever been in a situation where you hate the things someone does, but can’t help yourself from loving who they are because you see their true heart?

Are They Lovable?

Everyone loves something and someone. Katniss loves her sister Prim. Anne Shirley loves Gilbert Blithe. But do they exhibit qualities that others find worthy of love? Let them be loved by someone else.

Marcy Kennedy writes, “In The Hunger Games, Katniss furiously attacks Peeta after the interview where he confesses his crush on her. Haymitch (their mentor) tells her that Peeta did her a favor—he made her desirable.

"In loving her, Peeta sent the implicit message that she’s worth loving. If he loves her, maybe the reader should love her too. (And so should the sponsors who could make the difference between Katniss living or dying.)”

Pit Them Against Impossible Odds

Katniss is fighting the Capital. Jane Eyre is fighting society and a vindictive aunt. Lisbeth Salander is fighting corruption in the secret police and the Russian mob. Everyone cheers for the underdog because they’re fighting for something the reader can cheer on.

Now, all my romance-writing friends are rolling their eyes. There are no impossible odds in our genre. Not true my friends, not true. The hero is not the antagonist in romance.

The bank is foreclosing on the farm if she can’t get the crops off and sold—FAST. The hero, rock-hard-abs farmhand might be a pain in the you know what and limitlessly lovable by the end; however, the heroine gets to be the David to the unfeeling bank (or bank manager’s) Goliath. Because the hero loves her, readers get to see why she’s worth loving too.

Overlooked Truths Of Female Alpha-hood

Being a female alpha isn’t a “you are or you aren’t” thing. It’s not like being pregnant. Alpha-ness is a spectrum, and where your character finds herself on that spectrum will vary by circumstance, location, setting, even groups of people.

A woman could be the alpha in the home but be a subordinate in the office or vice versa. She may be the alpha only with a particular group of people or a particular circumstance (her area of expertise perhaps).

A character can grow into her alpha role in any situation either by default or opportunity.

Female alphas are social glue and grease. Women navigate social situations better with an alpha female around (aka, there’s less drama). Everyone relaxes and gets along because she keeps things moving and people connected. Female alphas are like a queen bee.

When a subordinate leaves a conversation, the other women fill in the gap like she wasn’t there. When the alpha leaves, there’s a lull in the conversation, people stare awkwardly up or down, nervous laughter might follow, and eventually the group disperses if a new alpha doesn’t step in. High school or teen rom-coms are maybe the best places to see this in exaggerated forms.

Body Language Of Alpha Females

In a group of females, the alpha female will use the same power poses as men do. I wrote about dominant men here. However, in a group of mixed genders, often the alpha female loses her power.

Alpha females are often attracted to alpha males if they’re seeking excitement or protection. In order to attract an alpha male, females will often adopt submissive body language (make themselves small, scrunch, round shoulders, pull arms and legs in, expose their neck *cough* hair flipping *cough* etc.). It’s socially conditioned, so even alpha females will do this without realizing it.

Where alpha females are happy to let the alpha male be in charge at home, they don’t want to be rescued, instructed, fixed, or stroke egos. However, alpha males aren’t often attracted to alpha females (according to research) because they want to be the dominant personality in a relationship. More commonly, opposites attract.

If you’re writing an alpha female/alpha male romance, be sure the reader knows why they’re attracted to one another.

Do you have a favorite alpha-female character, either in your book or someone else's? If you’re writing one of these characters, how are you making them like-able?

About Lisa

Lisa Hall-Wilson was a national award-winning freelance journalist and author who loves mentoring writers. Fascinated by history, fantasy, romance, and faith, Lisa blends those passions into historical and historical-fantasy novels.

Find Lisa’s blog, Beyond Basics for intermediate writers,  at www.lisahallwilson.com.

The 5 Day Deep Point of View Challenge is coming back! It was super popular last time I ran it, so I’m doing it again. It launches March 4 and runs until March 8. Sign up here to get an invite to the closed group on Facebook where all the magic happens!

I read a blog the other day that taught me a new writing craft term: Countersinking. This is how Rob Bignell defines it in his article:

One way for an author to slow a story is to employ “countersinking,” a term coined by science fiction writer Lewis Shiner. Countersinking involves making explicit the very actions that the story implies. An example is: “We need to hide,” she said, asking him to seek cover. 

Countersinking is also known as “expositional redundancy” and for good reason; in the above example, the character’s dialogue already directly states that she thinks they should hide. So why repeat it? 

Besides slowing the story’s dramatic momentum, countersinking suggests the author lacks confidence in his or her storytelling ability. 

The solution is simple: Cut the redundant wording to tighten your writing. The above example could be rewritten as: “We need to hide,” she said.

Yes! This always bothered me in writing (including mine), but I didn't know there was a name for it. I agree with Shiner - it's due to the writer lacking confidence, but the result is worse than simply slowing the read. It can insult the reader. It makes them feel like the writer is 'talking down to them'. Like you think they're too dumb to get it the first time.

Wait, you say, repetition is obvious, and though irritating, but it's easily edited. I Beg to differ. Because it's a lot more to it than simple repetition. It's sneaky; it comes in ways that are easy to miss. The brilliant Margie Lawson taught me that the best way to explain is with examples, so here goes. And a huge thank you for a brave writer who gave me permission to use her words.

Simple Repetition:

"Miss Fairchild?" A man called out my name. The first shows - the tag tells.

I had no idea what to say to that. "Um...thank you?" The dialogue line shows, the beginning is redundant.

Ethan didn't look after her. He was still looking at me. We need one or the other, but not both. The second tells us more than the first.

I walk on, dragging the clattering contraption behind. This one was mine. If you're walking, you have to be moving on, right? 'On' is redundant. See how small, but irritating this can be?

And I hurt. My whole body felt like a giant living bruise. The right side of my face throbbed. Both my hips and my left shoulder were bone-deep aches. You told, then did a great job of showing. You don't need the tell.

Info we don't need: This is subtler. I call this, 'trust your reader to get it'

I knocked a couple of times to get their attention. That's what a knock is for.

I shook my head. Get a grip, Summer.

"Everything okay?" Ethan had noticed the head-shake. His dialogue line makes it obvious that he noticed.

"I don't know any other Ethans." My attempt at a joke. Telling the reader it's a joke, ruins the joke!

I looked down at my hands and picked at my chipped nail polish. Where else would nail polish be? Okay, I'll give you that it could be on her toes - but picking at your toenails when you're talking to someone in public? My brain doesn't jump there (and that's just, ewwwwww).

Sentence is out of order: Maybe not exactly repetition, but it's close. This is another lesson I learned from Margie. We read linearly; so you can't give us a reaction before the reason for it.

I jumped. One of the waiters had come up beside us without me noticing. The jump can't come first.

I tore the plastic seal free and swung the bottle in a wide arc.

I got lucky. Clear, toxic, paint stripper caught Kai full in the face and Tak in one eye. You can't say, 'lucky' until we know how. You could put it at the end, but I'd make the case that you don't need it at all. The sentence 'shows' us she was lucky.

Name repetition:  A pronoun should be your go-to.The only reason you need to type the person's name is at the beginning of the scene, and if there are more than one of that gender in the scene, and the pronoun won't tell us whom is speaking. How often do you say someone's name in a conversation with them? Not often, I'll bet. Dialogue in fiction is real world, without the boring stuff. It's even more painful if the person has an odd, or difficult name--it gets obvious/irritating, fast.

"Thank you, Lara." Lieutenant Spadinski's lips parted in a polite smile. Something about the hard set of his chin and the harder set of his eyes made me think of a dog baring his teeth, but he sank into the seat.

I guessed Lieutenant Spadinski wasn't thrilled to be summoned to the Kane mansion, first thing on a Sunday morning. Outside his jurisdiction. Over a piece of graffiti. Besides, doesn't just typing that name get irritating?

“Do you want a coffee?” Eve asked. “You’re looking a little pale.”

Even Ethan’s hand, warm on the small of my back, wasn’t enough to distract me from the doubt churning in my gut. “Coffee sounds great, Eve. Thanks.”

Repetition is a sneaky little error, easily overlooked in editing. But if you do this a lot, the reader may never recognize it's bothering them--they'll just put your book down (and may never pick it back up). Once you get used to watching out for it, I promise, the repetition will jump off the page at you.

Is this something you're guilty of? (Hint: we all are). Will you share some of your repetitions with us in the comments?

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by Tasha Seegmiller

Last month, I attended my first residency for an MFA in Writing from Pacific University. While there was some trepidation about going back to school at 40, and a bit about how the workload is all going to fit into my life, the main nervousness was surrounding how the instructors and members of my critique group were going to respond to my writing.

This isn’t the first time that I’ve sat live while people talk about my work – I have the good fortune to be a member of a critique group that meets in person every two weeks, each of us critiquing 15 pages for the others and receiving feedback in return. I’ve come to understand that logic and reality don’t always mesh.

Very quickly, it was clear that the critique I thought I was going to receive was not what the instructor wanted to talk about. And I’m of the very strong opinion that when someone takes time to talk about and work through your writing, your job is to listen, take notes, ask for clarification, and then allow time to process.

Still, sitting there, I could feel all the defenses within me clamoring to jump out, to rescue, to protect.

This is a lesson that almost all writers are aware they need to learn. They are probably also aware they have learned it. But I also think learning to sit with the discomfort of a critique is not a lesson we grasp after the first instruction. With that in mind, I’d like to offer a few suggestions on how to be okay with this difficult part of being a writer:

1. Try really hard to remember the critique isn’t about you.

I get it. You have put effort into creating something you feel strongly about, characters you dreamed up, a setting that feels just right, a plot that is balancing all the things. But when someone is talking about your work, they are talking about just that – the work. Not the creator, not the idea, but what they can read on the page in front of them as it has been presented to them.

Critique partners and beta readers don’t have access to how the whole story unfolded in our head, they can just see what is on the paper, and they are taking time to provide insight into their reading experience to help the story be better.

2. Take lots of notes

When a critique starts taking a path we didn’t expect, when we thought the story was just right and then it wasn’t, our bodies often perceive this as a threat and then we enter fight/flight/freeze mode aka the moment when our body is responding and our mind is no longer totally in control.

When this happens, just keep writing down what people say. Seriously, you’ll get to the manuscript a day or two later and not remember anything that was said, let alone what you might be able to do to fix it. Just remember that the way you feel will generally relax a bit as you step away from the situation and you want to still tap into those benefits.

3. Get back into your window of tolerance

This is a term I learned lately, which is a place where you can sit with things that you don’t necessarily like without amping up or checking out. This is the part where the passionate physical response we may have had gets a chance to recognize that we aren’t in danger, that we don’t need to be ready for a rumble or a run.

For some people, returning to this window is really easy. For others, deep breathing, a walk, or just time is necessary to convince all the systems within us designed to keep us alive that it’s a critique, not a sabretooth tiger, and we are okay.

4. Be objective

This is why the window of tolerance is necessary. After receiving a rough edit or critique, and getting back to a safe space, pull out those notes, revisit your own, and see the piece as they did.

You might have to chant to yourself that the critique is about the writing, not you. You might need to break out what a colleague of mine calls emotional-support Oreos. But then read, listen, study, and learn from your own writing.

5. A caveat

There are times when, good intentioned as they may be, a critique partner, beta reader, agent or even editor will make a suggestion that after you’ve gone through all these steps, still feels wrong. Okay. You are the writer. It’s your story. And just because someone suggests something doesn’t mean you have to do it. Honoring every single suggestion will lead to a story you don’t recognize. But I would recommend if you don’t want to accept a suggested change, you take the time to write or talk out why. Even if it is just to yourself. If you are going to write something a certain way, you should be keenly aware of the reason.

So what about that hard critique I got?

Surprise!

Just kidding, it’s not. The readers were right. Their complaint was that the story started too slowly, that they couldn’t see the conflict, that they weren’t sure how to connect with the character.

I needed to write those pages to get her in my mind, but the reader doesn’t need them to join the story where the book starts. So I opened a new document, did a quick outline of how I’d like the scene to progress, what I want the reader to feel about the character, and then I started writing it, pulling in some of the lovely images I’d created before.

Because of intentional feedback from others, I had my attention drawn toward a blind spot that (surprise) I didn’t know I had. A blind spot I might have continued crossing into, unknowingly.

And you know what?

The story is better.

How do you go about processing, editing or revising your work after a critique?

About Tasha

Tasha Seegmiller believes in the magic of love and hope, which she weaves into every story she creates. She is the current president of the Women’s Fiction Writers Association and studying in the MFA in Writing program at Pacific U. The former high school English teacher now assists in managing the award-winning project-based learning program (EDGE) at Southern Utah University. Tasha married a guy she’s known since she was seven and is the mom of three teens. She is represented by Annelise Robey of Jane Rotrosen Agency.