Writers in the Storm

James Preston

Once upon a time my wife and were doing our second-favorite thing, sitting up late at night reading. Suddenly she yelled something like ARRGH or UGH and threw the book across the room, where the poor thing bounced off the wall and landed on the floor. The cat wisely jumped up and took off for parts unknown, while I was thinking, “She’s between me and the kitchen where all the sharp objects are.”

“Uh, honey, is something wrong?”

“At the end, an atomic bomb went off and they all died.”

“Uh, why did the bomb go off?”

”No reason. Just because.”

She wasn’t kidding. The End. And they all died unhappily ever after.

And I know how she felt because when I was in Junior High I read a novel about hot rodders where, at the end, the hero drives off a bridge, his head collides with his girlfriend’s with a “bone-shattering crunch.” The End. I felt cheated. I went back and read the end again. Yep. Dead as can be. Let that be a lesson to you kids — no racing around in souped-up jalopies. 

Let’s talk about what most of us do, and that’s genre fiction. Let’s talk about “. . . and they all died.” Maybe indulge in a little compare and contrast between tales that do not end with everybody dying, that say, yes, Virginia, happiness is possible.

• Popular memes about genre fiction and how to fight them

Meme Number One — grim stories about the futility of modern life are more true-to-life and realistic because the world is going to Hell in a hand basket.

Meme Number Two — stories about miserable characters trapped in meaningless lives who stay miserable and do nothing about it are somehow more important than a series of paranormal romances.

At their dark, bleeding hearts these memes would have you believe that a happy ending is easier to write, and therefore less worthy. “He stood over the heroine’s body, holding the knife, laughed maniacally and went back to the castle.” That Stephanie Plum is less valuable to readers than the woman at the heart of Gone Girl. 

Don’t you believe it.

• The world is going to Hell In a hand basket 

If it is, people have been saying that for generations. In Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1955) starring Kevin McCarthy, the hero talks to a psychiatrist about the people in Santa Mira who believe their friends or family members have been replaced by doubles. The shrink replies, “It’s mass hysteria. Worry about what’s going on in the world, probably.” That was 1955 and we’re still here. Remember the kids driving their hot rod off a bridge? First it was juvenile delinquents, then hot rodders, followed by surfers, then hippies and later, slackers, each iteration of youth marking the end of civilization as we know it. If anything, the Jayne Ann Krentz ending, with relatively happy protagonists, is more realistic because we’re still here; Charon is still waiting to take that hand basket across the River Styx.

• Dark and brooding is more important 

Oh, really? Okay, sales numbers do not always relate to quality — Valley of the Dolls was a huge seller — but you want meaningful numbers? Romance novels account for 29% of all titles sold.¹

That’s right, almost one in three books, including e-books, has a lady with cleavage, or a guy on the cover who makes me feel inadequate. Add in thrillers and mysteries and it’s over half of everything sold. That number has held steady for years, and to me that says something. It says that a good story can end happily, and that such stories fill an important need. Note that here I am including a typical Stephen King ending where victory is obtained, but at a cost. This attitude isn’t new, either. Barbara Tuchman’s brilliant The Guns of August was praised, sort of, by scholars as “popular history.”² It was an instant best seller and continues to sell to this day.

I believe in Story. I believe in laughter. For my money there’s not enough of either one in the world. 

First, Story, with a capital S.

The world around us is often chaotic, we humans have a hard time figuring out why things happen and often the answer is simply, “because.” The cliche of the woman holding the body of her husband and shrieking at the heavens, “Why? Why?” is constructed like a flawed pearl around a pebble of wisdom, because often the answer is — just because.

Art, Story, provides a respite from the unrelenting randomness of real life. “Just because” doesn’t work in a novel. How random is life? The chain of causality that led me to writing this essay goes like this: I was in high school, headed for UCLA with my best friend Mark. When he was killed I lost interest in UCLA, went to Cal State Long Beach instead, where I met my wife (the book-thrower) and through her the lady who invited me to contribute to WITS. But is that a story? Of course not. It’s "just because."

Our job is to layer on structure, to remove the extraneous. (And as a side note, wouldn’t that be a good topic for one of these essays? Do we as storytellers create the structure, or is it always there, waiting for us to reveal it? In a possibly apocryphal story Michelangelo once said the statue was always in the piece of marble; he just had to chip away the part that wasn’t David.) We either make or reveal the structure, and provide a tale to entertain.

Humor, happiness, is hard! You want tragedy? Just open your AP news feed.

Jerry Lewis said in the documentary “No Apologies,” “I see people all over the world desperate for laughter.”³ He was right, and I would add to that they are desperate for simple joy.

He described a plaque given to him by John F. Kennedy that reads:

There are three things which are real:
God, human folly and laughter.
The first two are beyond our comprehension
So we must do what we can with the third.

Here’s the point. It’s important how you feel about your work, and if you’re writing a series about a shape-shifting alien prince, or a detective who indulges in self-deprecating humor, you may feel a nagging sense that literary writers are somehow “better.” Fight it.

In the final analysis, what I’ve always wanted to do is what Don McLean says in, “Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie” — “maybe they’d be happy for a while.” What I’ve learned, no, what has been driven home to me recently, is just how important that is.

 

Do you write genre fiction? Do you feel that it gets the respect it deserves? Here’s to us ink-stained wretches. Type faster!

Sources

¹           Data as of 2013. Bustle.com
²           See the Introduction to the electronic edition. 
³           Available on the Blu-ray of The Nutty Professor. 

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About James

James R. Preston is the author of the award-winning Surf City Mysteries. Last year he branched out and launched two novellas, Crashpad and Buzzkill. These short thrillers are set on a college campus in the turbulent sixties. He can be reached at www.jamesrpreston.com, on Facebook, Twitter, and at james@jamesrpreston.com. His next release will be Remains To Be Seen, the sixth Surf City Mystery.

Elizabeth Essex

My favorite things about any book is always the CHARACTERS—I like Pride & Prejudice more than Northanger Abbey, because I like forthright Lizzie Bennet more than I like silly but well-meaning Catherine Moreland. But I love Persuasion best of all because I LOVE sweet, kind, thoughtful, long-suffering Anne Elliot.

 That is why I believe every word in your novel should serve two purposes:

            — to move the plot forward,

            — and give greater insight into the characters

so our readers have an authentic and immersive experience—that is, a unique experience that they witness through eyes, ears, sensory experiences and emotions of our characters.

We can achieve this by using “power words,” “scene-themed words,” but more especially “character-themed” words.

Power Words give strong images & associations and drive up tension

Scene-themed words give us the vital information to tell us where and when we are in the story and what’s going on.

Character-themed words give us insight into the mind and thoughts of our characters

But the MOST POWERFUL WORD is one that does double or triple duty in combining all three of these concepts together.

In my first drafts, I give myself permission to write lazily—to give an easy, generic  description, or fall back into cliché—just to get the action of the story down on paper. But once I can see the through-line of the plot, then I like to go back and find opportunities to inject as much POWER, SETTING and CHARACTER into my work as possible.

Let’s look at six specific examples from my latest Highland Brides novel, Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Marry.

 Ewan Cameron, 5th Duke of Crieff’s joy was a rare and pleasantly exhilarating thing, like the hot tot of strong Scots whisky he tossed back to celebrate the good news—he was going to be married.

In this passage the character-themed phrase is “hot tot of strong Scots Whisky.” I could have said “he took a strong drink,” or “tossed back a bolt of brandy.” But I chose power words that would also place us strongly in the setting—the highlands of Scotland—and tell us more about the hero’s character—he’s a strong Scotsman through and through.

Note also: I’ve made this phrase punch over its weight by adding rhyme (hot tot) and alliteration (strong Scots) for cadence.

He slitted one eye open to see an auld fellow wearing a weather-beaten face leaning over him, inspecting him like a gralloched deer on a game larder hook.

Our character-themed phrase is Our character-themed phrase is like a gralloched deer on a game larder hook. I could have said (and probably did in my first draft), “like meat on a butcher’s counter,” which was a good, vivid description, but did little to punch up the setting and make the circumstances unique to the hero’s world. You don’t even have to know the Scots colloquial power word “gralloched” (gutted) to get a very visceral, vivid picture that is specific to this hero’s life in the Scottish countryside.

Greer knew she was no conventional beauty—she was too ordinary, too sharp-jawed, too flame-haired to be considered bonnie anywhere but Scotland—but she knew she was loved. Which gave one a different sort of beauty—a beauty that came from confidence in one’s merits instead of solely one’s looks.

In my first draft, I had used the rather ordinary phrase “considered pretty anywhere but Scotland.” But I made the phrase work a little bit harder with the simple use of a setting and character-specific colloquial word, ‘bonnie’ instead. It was a small change, but one that deepened both character and setting.

The lass came over the lip of the ridge like the sunrise—sweeping the glen with light and warmth. Not that he had been watching for her, but the peregrine falcons high on the cliff tops had nothing on him for sharpness of eye.

I could have said ‘the girl’ came over the ridge, but I chose the more colloquial, scene and character-specific word ‘lass.’ And then to describe the way the hero had been watching for her, I visualized his world in the highlands of Scotland, and decided that the sharpest eyes in his world would be peregrine falcons, which are native to the highlands. If this book had been set in the slums of London, I might have said the “cutty-eyed kid men of Covent Garden had nothing on him for sharpness of eye.”

[He was] afraid he would startle her into flight like a deer at the sound of a gunshot.

This character-themed phrase is specific to this hero’s life and surroundings. If this were a contemporary-set thriller, I might convey someone’s startlement differently: “the backfire made her hit the deck faster than a combat medic,” or something that would convey an instantly vivid picture of the character’s world and experiences. And this image from the hero’s background—he has stalked deer in these mountains—gives the strong, power word “gunshot” at the end of the sentence foreshadows that very soon in the book, someone is going to take a shot at this lass. 

 Her heart leapt like a highland dancer.

I could have just said her heart leapt—that would have given me a good visceral reaction. But I wanted to go deeper, and convey that this was a joyous reaction, not a fearful one. So I chose “highland dancer’ to create an uplifting image—all that colorful, pointed elegance—that is specific to the characters and the setting of the novel.

Lesson learned: We use a great many words over the course of a full-length novel—but we want to make them do more heavy hitting, but doubling, and tripling their power by adding scene-themed or setting specific words along with character-themed words that are specific to the hero and heroine’s experiences in their world.

Think about your own work in progress—what unique experiences does your character have that you can use in your story to give your readers an authentic experience? Please use the comments to share an example of before and after from your own work!

If you have questions or comments, I’ll be around to answer them, or you can write me at elizabeth@elizabethessex.com, or find me on Facebook, or Twitter and Instagram as @essexromance.

Wishing you all happy, powerful writing!

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If you have questions, need clarification or want more examples, I often teach my “All About Character” class at Lawson’s Writer’s Academy, and do presentations on “Word Choice for Character” to writing groups.

You can reach me at elizabeth@elizabethessex.com or on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.essex.94 , Twitter and Instagram at: @essexromance

Lori Freeland

Does the blank page cause you anxiety? Do you have a scene that’s just not working? Do readers miss what you’re trying to get across? Using essay structure can help you start and finish clear, purposeful scenes.

When we wrote essays in school, there was always a basic format to follow—OPEN with an intro, move into the BODY, and close with a CONCLUSION.

That made it easy for us to write and for the teacher to evaluate. From the first paragraph, she could tell what to expect. By a few lines in, she was already forming an opinion about your grade.

The same idea holds in fiction. From the first paragraph, readers can tell what to expect. By a few lines in, they’re already forming an opinion about your story.

The Opening

An essay OPENS with what will be discussed. In fiction, this is where we SET OUR SCENE and HOOK our reader.

First lines are important—not just for the book, but for every scene. They drop us into the story.

Example: Tuesday was a fine California day, full of sunshine and promise, until Harry Lyon had to shoot someone at lunch. Dean Koontz, Dragon Tears.

Clarity in building a scene is crucial. If you remember these Four W’s (who *we are, when we are, where we are, and who’s with us), you’ll hit the information readers need to know up front.

*We because readers like to become your characters. It’s a way to escape our lives to experience someone else’s.

Who We Are

Open with the POV character—the character telling the story in a scene. Readers experience the world through one perspective at a time. We only see what that POV character sees, hear what he hears, feel what he feels, and know what he knows.

POV Opening Example: Taking a ride through backwoods Kentucky wasn’t George’s first choice.

In this scene, our perspective will be through George’s eyes.

Where We Are

This is your setting. Use at least a few words of description. Until you show a reader differently, they see a white room. Remember to weave in setting so it doesn’t feel like an information dump.

Example: I pulled my ’69 mustang along the curb behind David’s boring black sedan. That was where I locked my gaze. Not on the iron gates to my right or the sprawling estate behind them that could be a fancy bed-and-breakfast—but wasn’t. 

If you’re picking up from a previous scene, remind the reader where they are. We bookmark at the end of chapters.

When We Are

If relevant, tell us the time-period, time of day, or how much time has passed.

Example: Chicago in 2096 wasn’t the safest city to commit a murder.

Example: There wasn’t an hour over the next few days I didn’t spend wondering if I’d ever see him again.

Who's With Us

Who else is in the scene? Don’t let lurking characters “beam in” with no warning.

Example: The crowd from the diner showed up, and the drone of loud conversation kept Jill in the corner.

You don’t have to list each person, but we know Jill’s not alone.

The Four W’s don’t have to be in order. Watch for them in the scene opening below.

Example: Kim (who we are) stretched her legs under the table, bumping Jason’s (who’s with us) foot with her sandal, and tried to distract herself with the early-morning (when we are) conversation buzzing through the congested coffee shop (where we are).

The Body

The BODY of an essay is filled with information. In fiction, this is our STORY.

Each scene needs to add something new and move the story forward—a piece of the story arc, a clue to a mystery, a character’s introduction, his internal growth, relationships, or obstacles.

Don’t repeat what you’ve already done. In scene three, if your character plays a hockey game, don’t have him give an interview in scene four that recaps what the reader already saw.

Helpful Hint: Ask yourself—If I deleted this scene, would the reader notice? Would the story suffer?

The Conclusion

The CONCLUSION brings the essay together. In fiction, this is our TAKE AWAY from the story and our LURE to turn the page.

Unlike an essay, we don’t summarize the current scene, we dangle the next. While the first line drops us into the story, the last line keeps us reading.

Example: I trained the light on the lump floating on the water. The chill in my spine wove a web of ice around my ribs and through my heart, my lungs, my throat. I opened my mouth and screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

Helpful Hint: Don’t fortune-tell.

Example: If Jim had only known the meat was spoiled, he never would’ve made it his late-night snack.

Not only does fortune-telling kill tension, unless Jim’s psychic, he isn’t going to know the decision he made today will ruin his tomorrow and neither can the reader.

Now that you’ve seen essay structure in action, let me add one more helpful hint.

Before you begin a new scene, write a summary of what needs to happen. This gives you your scene goals.

I prefer a short paragraph at the top of the page where I delete things as I use them. I also ask myself questions. Sometimes I don’t know what I need to include until I’ve started writing.

Example: Beth stops over to see John unexpectedly and sees him kiss Mary. That pushes her to return Liam’s phone call. Add picture of Beth and John’s daughter, Chloe. Do I need to intro her here or in the next scene?

If my way doesn’t work for you, play around with what does. Maybe you’re a bullet-points person or someone who likes longhand. Find your scene-goal happy place. Writing tools don’t work if you’re not comfortable using them.

Next time you’re frustrated by a blank page or a confused reader, try using essay structure.

Leave me a comment and let me know what you think.  

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Lori Freeland, author, editor, and writing coach holds a BA in psychology from the University of Wisconsin and currently lives in the Dallas area. She’s written numerous blogs for writers and presented at multiple writing workshops. When she’s not snuggled up with her husband or worrying about her kids, she spends her days dreaming up romance and messing with the lives of imaginary people. You can find her Young Adult and Contemporary Romance at lorifreeland.com and her inspirational blog at lafreeland.com.