Writers in the Storm

Kathryn Craft
Turning Whine Into Gold

The euphoria and self-respect of finally being paid for years of hard work will still be fresh on a debut author’s face when requests for her generosity will start to pour in. Never mind that the math may work out to less than a penny per hour invested. Once you are a published author, people will assume you are rich.

You too might now believe your life is rich—with meaning—even while struggling beneath the weight of marketing costs you hadn’t planned for, such as graphic design or video services, travel for a book tour, or an independent publicist.

I like to believe that being a published author is not simply a hobby for the independently wealthy, but I’ve seen financial ruin (sometimes stated as “quitting the day job too soon”) cited as the #1 reason authors leave the industry. They simply can’t afford to keep on.

If you fail to set clear boundaries about what you are willing to give away from the start, you could become one of them.

This issue is confusing because we want any chance to get our book out into the world— even if we are still struggling to survive while launching our careers. We want to be charitable; we are humanitarians who are sensitive to those in need. We want to use the platform that publication confers to make a difference. Yet in doing so we can forget that “tax deductible” does not equal “free.”

When such requests catch us off-guard, we are liable to whine, "Why do people keep asking me for more free stuff?"

Analyze your career goals and set reasonable boundaries

The only way we can negotiate this potentially emotional minefield is to draw firm boundaries ahead of time, so that saying no is a quiet defense rather than a reactionary blowout. We can start by deciding in advance:

• Will this request help me fulfill my career goals?
• How much can I afford to give away?

Have you ever thought in terms of budgeting your generosity? If you have limited resources, doing so can help you stay positive about your career. Here are a few suggestions about how to handle requests.

1. Will you donate books?

Consider purchasing a stash of books that represents what you can afford to give away each year. This physical representation of your budget will help you weigh decisions about its use.

If this is a charitable cause, is it relevant to your subject matter? If a giveaway, will it substantially increase exposure for your book? If your publication and marketing goals are supported, go ahead and send the books—out of the stack you have set aside for this purpose.

Once those books are gone for the year, your answer is a clear and easy “not this time.” If this sounds miserly, remember that early career growth is crucial to allowing more charity in the future.

2. Will you speak to our group for free?

I adore public speaking, so I’m a sucker for this one. My novels allow me a platform to talk about subjects that are important to me and have the potential to impact lives. But I have learned to say no.

Most lecture series and writers’ groups have a budget for such presentations, and I expect fair compensation. I do want to support libraries with free programming when I can, but it can’t cost me. I always ask for a modest honorarium to cover time and travel. No one has ever yet said no. For underfunded groups you can always weigh the exposure and the likelihood of selling a decent number of books against the cost of speaking for free.

3. Will you send our book club signed bookmarks?

Would I rather you had allowed me to offer them out of the goodness of my heart? Yes, but I’m not going to refuse the request. Of course I’ll send them. That’s one reason I had them made.

4. Will you write a series on our blog for free?

(Coincidentally, that one rang in while I was writing this post.) It takes me at least a half-day to write a cogent, polished blog post. Or, I could draft 2K words on my work-in-progress. You must convince me the exposure is worth it.

There is no one “right” answer to any of these requests. But it is the authors who have a clear vision for the distribution of their book income who will make the most difference with it, and who will not be thrown into a defensive stance when time after time they are asked for another donation.

Aspiring writers: Have you thought about this aspect of your author career yet, and can you see the benefits of giving it advance thought?

Authors: Where are your boundaries? What requests do you think are unreasonable?

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About Kathryn

Kathryn Craft is the author of two novels from Sourcebooks: The Art of Falling, and The Far End of Happy.

Her work as a developmental editor at Writing-Partner.com, specializing in storytelling structure and writing craft, follows a nineteen-year career as a dance critic. Long a leader in the southeastern Pennsylvania writing scene, she hosts lakeside writing retreats for women in northern New York State, leads workshops, and speaks often about writing.

Kathryn lives with her husband in Bucks County, PA.

Twitter: @kcraftwriter
FB: KathrynCraftAuthor

 

Top photo credit: 182/365 Sparkle (+2) via photopin (license)

Laurie Schnebly Campbell

We all want interesting characters. People who fascinate us. People who make readers feel intrigued. People who do more than sit in the garden and gaze at the grass. And we've all read books where, even if the characters aren't spending every minute gazing at the grass, they aren't doing much else to make the story exciting, either.

A brand new writer faced with such a scenario might decide, "Hey, I know what'll make this story exciting: a kidnaper jumps out of the rosebushes!"

Or "he gets bitten by a snake carrying some rare disease!"

Or "she falls in love with the gardener who's already married!"

Those could certainly start a story moving, all right.

But do you see what's missing?

If this character is the type of person who -- even when confronted by the danger of kidnappers or the trauma of a rare disease or the hopelessness of impossible love -- doesn't do anything to change their situation, the reader's going to get bored.

Picture this poor snake-bitten hero. His eyes are swelling shut; his skin is burning with fever; and after three days in bed staring at the ceiling fan...

...he's now feeling better. So he goes out to sit in the garden and gaze at the grass.

Or picture a heroine falling in love with the married gardener. She wishes he'd leave his wife, but she doesn't do anything to make that happen. She just plucks petals off the daisies and imagines now nice it would be if he loved her.

The story isn't GOING anywhere, right?

That's because it's missing something. Not just action, but the most important ingredient:

The character's driving force.

Our main characters need to be driven by something. Not simply an external mission like "escape the kidnaper" or "avoid the snake" or "murder the gardener's wife," although those are all perfectly understandable goals.

For that matter, so are goals like "win an Olympic gold medal" or "discover a cure for cancer" or "find where the stagecoach robbers hid the loot."

But those aren't enough. What's going to keep us interested the entire time a character is working to win that medal or find that cure or thwart those robbers?

What makes THIS character different from someone else who's ALSO driven by the desire for Olympic victory or medical discovery or recovered treasure?

Something vital -- their motivation.

Motivation is the heart of GMC.

You've heard about the magical trio of goal-motivation-conflict, right? Debra Dixon is the first writer I know of who used that phrase to describe the essential elements of a story. And the fact that motivation's in the center shows how vital it is.

Let's look at some character (say, named Chris) who wants to win the Olympic gold medal in swimming. What's driving Chris?

Maybe it's the desire to feel superior. Or to achieve fame. Or to honor a beloved coach.

Regardless of motivation, this character's ACTIONS aren't going to change. Chris is going to be training, practicing, working and straining and striving to be the very best swimmer at the Olympic Games no matter what caused the desire for a medal.

But each one of those motivations will make Chris a different person.

For instance, think about someone who wants to feel superior. Think about someone who wants celebrity. Think about someone who wants to reward a mentor.

Three different people, right?

Which one are you writing about?

That's crucial to know.

Or is it someone else you're writing about? For instance, how would good old Chris be different if driven by some OTHER reason for wanting the gold medal?

Suppose it's a quest for atonement. Or money. Or love.

Again, those three would be very different people, reacting to the same setbacks and triumphs in very different ways...depending on what drives them.

Motivation is not only a driving force, it also makes the character consistent.

The actions and beliefs and decisions of someone with a strong motivation will make sense to the reader -- even if there are times when fellow characters don't realize what's driving Chris way deep down. And that's okay. Chris might not (yet) realize it either.

That's because characters, just like the rest of us, don't necessarily know motivates them.

After all, they might be so busy working to win the Olympic swimming medal or cure cancer or find the stagecoach-robbery loot that they don't even stop to think about why they're doing this.

Which is fine.

They don't need to, right up front. 

But the author does.

Because as the plot unfolds and the character makes decisions, readers who wonder why they're driven to do X instead of Y or to value A instead of B are gonna need an answer. THAT's what keeps the story intriguing and believable, both at the same time.

If you've ever found yourself reading a story and thinking "That doesn't seem like something this person would do," you've come across a character whose motivation isn't well-defined.

The author never figured it out.

And we've all seen books where that's painfully obvious. Books where people act in whatever way the plot demands, even though it seems out of character.

For a plausible character, there's gotta be a driving-force motivation.

Do you know what it is?

By the way, that's a prize-drawing question. If at least 20 people post "a character in this book I'm reading or writing now or a few years ago is/was motivated by ____," one'll win free registration to my four-week Plotting Via Motivation class at WriterUniv.com in March.

So if you've got some character in mind, either one of your own or one in a book you've read, think about what lies behind this person's goal. What motivates them? You don't need to identify the book title / author unless you want to, but DO identify the character's driving force.

And we'll wind up with a fabulous collection of motivations!

~ Laurie
(who can't wait to see what those might be)

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About Laurie

Laurie Schnebly Campbell combines her advertising agency work with a background in counseling as well as writing fiction for Harlequin Special Edition -- where she won RT's Best Of The Year over Nora Roberts -- and non-fiction, like her book on using enneagrams to create characters.

She began teaching classes online every month at WriterUniv.com, and in person around the English-speaking world, after seeing a bumper sticker that changed her life: "Those who can, do. Those who believe others can ALSO do, teach."

 

 

Photo credits: www.FreeStockPhotos.biz

Sonja Yoerg

Lost in Space. Remember that TV show? No? Sigh. It aired in the 60s and featured a family in Jiffy-Pop space suits roaming the galaxy in an attempt to return to Earth. I mention it because, as fun as that show was, you don't want your characters lost in space. In fact, you want to pin them to a specific spot on the map, put them in a headlock and give them a noogie while you’ve got them there.

Settings aren’t just hang-outs for your characters. Let’s talk about ways to put your fictional places through their paces.

1. Relax your reader.

First and most obvious, readers will relax once they know where they are and what sort of a world to expect. Nail down the location with few accurate strokes and you’re one step closer to being able to lead your reader by the nose. (And that’s what you want, after all: dominion over readers!)

Unless the mystery of the setting is part of the story, it’s best to bang the stake in the ground right away. These words appear in the first paragraph of my latest novel, Middle of Somewhere: "Yosemite, wilderness, backpacking, adventure." Yeah, I’m subtle like that.

2. Use your setting for character arc.

Okay, so your readers know where they are, and when that changes, you let them know. Great. But there’s more your setting can do for you. It can reveal character. In her memoir, Wild, Cheryl Strayed staggers under an overstuffed backpack—a symbol of how she has no clue what she does and does not need in her life, and testimony to how little she comprehends about the journey she is undertaking.

My main character, Liz, is also embarking on a long backpacking trip. Liz, however, is an engineer. NASA packed the space shuttle with less precision than Liz applied to her gear choices. We only have to glance at Cheryl and Liz’s packs to know a lot about them.

Once Liz sets off, what’s in her backpack is all she’s got, not counting her boyfriend, Dante, who decides to tag along. Liz and Dante have to meet their challenges (i.e. the crap I sling at them) with a very limited inventory. The area is remote and without cell service. They can’t even phone a friend. And although the wilderness is vast, they have to stay on the trail, and they have to keep going. This setting has more constraints than a dance party in a phone booth.

And that’s a good thing. The more you restrict your setting, the more you force your characters to use their brains, or their brawn, or their connections, or whatever it is they have going for them. Or, conversely, the physical environment can expose character weaknesses, and goodness knows we all love the sight of human underbelly. Force your characters into tight spots, both psychological and physical. If you don’t, they will drown in a sea of possibilities. It’ll be harder for you to choose what they should do next, and harder for the reader to see the inevitability of your ultimate choice.

As I repeatedly put Liz and Dante through the ringer, they dug into their backpacks for solutions.  They made a slingshot, and put a handful of tent stakes and a length of twine to good use. The tent stakes also become part of the plot, and are ripe with symbolism. And the tent itself was a major constraint. When Liz and Dante fought, they had no place to go; “sleeping on the couch” would have meant freezing to death on a slab of granite.

3. Tug the reader's heartstrings.

Sticky situations also develop sympathy. Nobody likes being cornered or trapped. Remember in Gone Girl when Amy ends up in that grungy cabin in the Ozarks and the lowlifes take her money? She thought she had everything under control but once she was isolated and outside of her usual world, she caves and runs to her ex-boyfriend’s mansion. And is imprisoned. I felt sorry for her! That conniving little monster stole my sympathy, and all because Flynn stuck her somewhere she couldn’t handle—despite her smarts—then put her under the thumb of someone nearly as messed up as she was.

Or what about The Martian? The entire plot revolved around getting one poor slob off a planet where he didn’t even have air he could breathe. Weir showed us a man uniquely vulnerable, extraordinarily ingenious, and determined to survive. No wonder I was glued to the page and, despite having read the book, I was on the edge of my seat during the movie, too. (Plus, you know, Matt Damon.)

Consider your setting as more than scenery. Investigate ways the physical environment can limit your characters’ options, contribute to the plot, and reveal to readers the truth about who your characters are. We are all shaped by our environments, limited by our circumstances and, at times, blocked by something as tangible as a snowstorm, a broken lock, a lost wallet, or a mountain. They don’t call it the real world for nothing.

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What book or movie makes you think of setting before anything else? Can you think of examples where the setting made the story for you? Care to share a snippet where YOU used setting well?

About Sonja

 

Sonja Yoerg grew up in Stowe, Vermont, where she financed her college education by waitressing at the Trapp Family Lodge. She earned her Ph.D. in Biological Psychology from the University of California at Berkeley and published a nonfiction book about animal intelligence, Clever as a Fox (Bloomsbury USA, 2001).

Her novels, House Broken (January 2015) and Middle of Somewhere (September 2015) are published by Penguin/NAL. Sonja lives with her husband in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.

 

 

Lost In Space Photo credit: Lost in Space "Warning Will Robinson" via photopin (license)