Writers in the Storm

 Piper Bayard

A character arc in fiction, as in life, is the path by which a character transcends his deepest fear to achieve greatness. Without this evolution, the reader has no reason to travel with that character through the story.

 

 

To create this character arc, we must know our character’s greatest fear. According to Psychology Today, there are only five basic fears, from which all other fears are born:

• Fear of Extinction – This is the fear that we will cease to exist, or, more simply put, the fear of death.
• Fear of Losing Autonomy – This can also be viewed as the fear of losing control. It includes the fear of not being in control of situations or people, the fear of being absorbed or overwhelmed by relationships, and the fear of being physically entrapped.
• Fear of Mutilation – It is fear for the integrity of our bodies, which includes phobias of snakes, fire, spiders, etc., as well as the obvious, which is fear of actual bodily mutilation.
• Fear of Separation – This is the fear that we will be abandoned, rejected, unwanted, or disconnected from others.
• Fear of Ego-Death – This fear is that we will suffer shame or humiliation. It could also be termed as losing face or suffering damage to dignitas.

In the character arc, we identify our character’s fear and then beat him up with it. His fear provides the internal conflict throughout the journey. The process of beating him up is the external conflict. The external conflict challenges the fear and teaches our character things he did not know when the story began. This new knowledge gives our character the power to change and overcome.

Charles Dickens gives us an outstanding example of character arc with A CHRISTMAS CAROL. There are several versions of this classic, but for our purposes, we will look at the movie SCROOGED.

 

Bill Murray plays Frank Cross, a cynical TV programming executive. In the first few minutes of the movie, he fires an employee for disagreeing with him, has his secretary give each person on his Christmas list a towel as a present, and tricks an old lady in order to steal her cab. He even orders antlers to be stapled to mice as an addition to a live Christmas Eve production of A CHRISTMAS CAROL to please his boss.

However, as merciless as Frank is with others, he is just as merciless with himself. He turns down Christmas Eve dinner with his brother to work. Also, he is given the Humanitarian of the Year award at a banquet, and it means so little to him that he leaves it in a cab and heads straight back to work. He makes no time in his life for love or joy.

Frank Cross’s greatest fear is ego-death and shame. He pushes everyone away, including himself, in his quest for the top of the ladder. This is where his character arc begins.

After the awards banquet, the ghost of Frank’s former boss and best friend visits him to tell him he is headed for doom, but he can still be saved if he changes. Frank repels him with jokes and denial, but his fear of ego-death is challenged by the idea that he needs to change – that he will need to let his ego die if he is to live. Frank is momentarily panicked.

The next day, the Ghost of Christmas Past in the form of a cab driver pulls Frank off the street and takes him back in time to Christmas Eve when he was four years old. Frank’s father comes in late and tosses him a package of veal as his only Christmas present. He tells Frank that if he wants a train, he can go get a job – that being four is no excuse. Frank sheds tears of sympathy for himself.

The Ghost of Christmas Past pricks Frank’s character arc by challenging his fear of ego-death – reminding him that he was once a child who wanted something other than material success.

Frank’s next stop is Christmas Eve with his young love, Claire, a woman who works at a homeless shelter. He enjoys these memories, only to have them followed up with a later Christmas Eve, when he chooses his work over her, telling Claire that she should not be so selfish. Claire walks, and Frank realizes what he lost.

In this phase of the character arc, the Ghost of Christmas Past challenges Frank’s fear of ego-death with the memory of the love and happiness he shared with Claire. Frank begins to question his choices.

Shaken, Frank goes to the homeless shelter to find Claire. While there, a homeless man asks him for two dollars, and Frank says no. He invites Claire to lunch, and she asks him to wait a moment while she makes a phone call. Frank’s fears have the opening they need to reclaim him. His arc is not complete. He tells her to forget it, and, referring to the homeless people, he says, “Scrape them off, Claire. If you want to save someone, save yourself.” He returns to his office.

The Ghost of Christmas Present appears in the form of a sadistic fairy that enjoys smacking Frank around. She takes Frank to his secretary’s home, where her family is laughing and playing together in spite of their poverty. Frank learns that his secretary’s son has not spoken since seeing his father killed five years earlier.

Frank’s next stop is his brother’s house, where he discovers his secretary sent his brother a VCR instead of a towel. He plans to fire her until he hears his brother speaking kindly of him in spite of how negligent he has been. His brother gives him unconditional love. Frank revises his opinion about the VCR, saying, “It’s only money.”

The Ghost of Christmas Present then smacks Frank with a toaster, and he falls through the floor to land underneath a bridge. There, he finds the homeless man that had asked him for two dollars earlier that day, frozen to death beside a tiny Christmas tree. Frank learns that money it isn’t only money to those who have none.

During this stage of the character arc, the Ghost of Christmas Present challenges Frank’s fear of ego-death with experiences of family and unconditional love, as contrasted with the consequences of Frank’s own lack of compassion. Frank begins to question his values.

Back in his office, the employee Frank fired gets off the elevator with a shotgun and tries to kill him. Frank escapes to the elevator and lands at the feet of the Ghost of Christmas Future – the grim reaper.

Frank’s first stop is an institution where his secretary’s traumatized son is now a young man, tied into a straitjacket and imprisoned in a padded cell. Frank is horrified and begins thinking of ways he can help the child before it’s too late.

The elevator next opens on a decked out Claire having dinner with high society friends, telling the waiter to get rid of some begging children. Cold and soulless, she quotes Frank as telling her, “Scrape them off, Claire. If you want to save somebody, save yourself.” Frank experiences true regret.

Then the elevator opens on Frank’s funeral. Only his brother and his brother’s wife are present. When the casket is fed into the fire, Frank finds himself inside it, burning.

The Ghost of Christmas Future challenges Frank’s fear of ego-death by showing him the consequences to himself and to others if he does not face this fear and change.

Frank is convinced. He has learned the lessons he needs to allow his ego to die and to become the person he needs to be to survive. He is ready to complete his character arc.

He pounds the casket, and the lid opens, along with the elevator doors, and he’s back in his office. He hugs the fired employee and re-hires him with a promotion. Then he runs onto the set of the live Christmas Eve production of A CHRISTMAS CAROL and shares his newfound humility with the live TV audience, believing he will lose his job and all of the status he clung to so dearly only a few hours before. Claire sees him on TV and joins him, and his secretary’s little boy speaks for the first time. Frank shares the miracle of his redemption and encourages everyone to pass on the love of the season every day of the year.

Frank transcends his greatest fear to achieve personal greatness – the character arc.

Happy Holidays to all, and God bless us, every one.

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My thanks to bestselling authors Vicki Hinze and Kristen Lamb for teaching me the nature and value of character arc.

Have you used fear to propel a character arc? do you have a "preferred" fear that works best for your writing?

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Piper Bayard is an author and a recovering attorney. Her writing partner, Jay Holmes, is an anonymous senior member of the intelligence community and a field veteran from the Cold War through the current Global War on Terror. Together, they are the bestselling authors of the international spy thriller, THE SPY BRIDE, now available on kindle and in paperback at Amazon and on nook and paperback at Barnes & Noble.

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Susan Spann

The year is drawing to a close, but our series on anthology contracts is going strong. Today, it’s time to say “show me the money” - and look at some of the different royalty structures in the anthology world.

Some anthologies pay the contributors royalties, while others offer a flat fee, and still others pay contributors nothing. Some give profits to charities, or non-profit organizations; other anthologies are organized for private profit. Only you, the contributing author, can decide which structure(s) work for you—and often, the acceptable royalty structure will vary with the work and the anthology in question. The keys are:

1. When it comes to royalties, anthologies vary
2. Know, and evaluate, the royalty terms before you commit.

Always ask--and get a clear answer--about the royalty structure before you contribute your work to an anthology. Make sure you have a written anthology contract, and that it states, with clarity, how the publisher will handle the sales proceeds and who will receive them.

Even if the anthology doesn't pay royalties to contributing authors, the contract should state who receives the money earned on anthology sales.

What Does it Mean if the Contract Says Authors Receive "Consideration"?

"Consideration" is the legal term for value a person receives in return for entering into a contract. By law, every contract must have consideration, but it doesn’t have to be money. Consideration can take the form of money, rights, an exchange of promises, or a unicorn—it’s any (legally permitted) thing of value (physical or non-physical) that the person signing the contract agrees to accept. One court famously stated that "even a peppercorn will do" if that's what the signatories agree on.

In many publishing contracts, the "consideration" is money. In anthology contracts, consideration can be money, or it can be the fact that the story appears in the anthology (with or without some free author copies too).

What should an anthology consideration or royalty paragraph look like?

If the author does not receive payments or royalties on sales of the work, the anthology contract language will probably look a lot like this:

CONSIDERATION. Consideration of the Author’s Work for possible publication in the Anthology and, if appropriate, inclusion of the Work in the Anthology constitutes the full and complete compensation due to Author by [Publisher], under this Agreement or otherwise. No additional compensation is due Author whether or not [Publisher] ever Publishes, distributes, markets, or sells any copies of the Anthology. If the Author’s Work appears in the Anthology, [Publisher] will also provide Author with [some real number of] complimentary copies of the first edition of the Anthology, in printed format, after publication. Author acknowledges that no royalties are due, payable, or owed to Author on sales of the Anthology, regardless of the number of copies of the Anthology produced, printed, and/or sold. All receipts from Anthology sales will be received by Publisher, and all profits will be donated to Charity X.

Note that the language includes the important elements relating to royalties:

1. It explains what the author receives: "inclusion in the Anthology (if appropriate)” and “author copies." This is the author's consideration.
2. It states whether or not the author will receive royalty payments: "no royalties are due, payable or owed to Author..." So, in this case, the author gets no royalties.
3. It states who gets the money earned on sales of the anthology: "All receipts from Anthology sales will be received by Publisher, and all profits will be donated to Charity X."

If the author does receive payments or royalties, that language must appear in the contract. Often, with paying anthologies, the paragraph is titled “Royalties” or “Author Payments” instead of “Consideration.”

The contract may also allow the author to purchase copies of the anthology at a reduced price, and may specify whether or not the author can re-sell those copies at a profit.

Whether or Not to Participate in Non-Royalty-Bearing Anthologies is a Business Decision for the Author Alone.

Ask three different people whether or not you should publish your work in non-royalty bearing anthologies, and you'll get at least three answers (more, if you ask a lawyer).

Sometimes, it makes business sense to participate in a non-royalty-bearing anthology.

People do die of "exposure," but for authors seeking to increase their publishing credits, anthologies often offer a chance for good exposure—the kind that generates revenue by introducing other authors’ readers to your work.

Non-royalty-bearing anthologies may also provide financial benefits to nonprofit organizations and charities, allowing contributing authors to "give back" to groups that benefit a larger community, without directly costing the author money.

Finally, non-royalty-bearing anthologies may offer a chance to participate in a project that was never designed to generate a profit. Some anthologies sell at cost, or get distributed free of charge, as a service to certain communities or to readers. Here, the author knows from the start that the anthology is not intended to generate profits. (Note: even here, the contract should state what happens to profits or proceeds the anthology does generate.)

Some authors don’t contribute to projects unless the anthology offers royalties. Others elect to publish in non-royalty bearing projects aligned with their personal goals. As long as you know up front what kind of situation you're entering into, the choice is yours--and yours alone--and you should treat it as a business decision, taking all of the relevant facts and circumstances into account.

Ultimately, the choice to participate is less important than making sure, if you do participate, that you have a proper contract and that the publisher is direct and up-front about where the money is going.

How do you feel about royalty payments for anthologies?
Susan Spann writes the Shinobi Mysteries, featuring ninja detective Hiro Hattori and his Portuguese Jesuit sidekick, Father Mateo. Her debut novel, CLAWS OF THE CAT (Minotaur Books, 2013), was a Library Journal Mystery Debut of the Month and a finalist for the Silver Falchion Award for Best First Novel. The fourth Shinobi Mystery will release from Seventh Street Books in August 2016. Susan is the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers’ 2015 Writer of the Year, and also a transactional attorney whose practice focuses on publishing law and business. When not writing or practicing law, she raises seahorses and rare corals in her marine aquarium. Find her online at http://www.SusanSpann.com, on Twitter (@SusanSpann), and on Facebook (SusanSpannAuthor).

 

Writers are all about the process. Whether you’re a pantser or a plotter; if you write early in the morning or whenever and wherever you can; to music or in silence; with your favorite duck PJs on inside out and the must-have mug of coffee, we all have our quirks. And we swear by those quirks. After all, if the quirks come together and result in a completed manuscript (triple bonus points for manuscripts that sell), they’re worth gold, or your first born, or both.

So yeah, I’ve been kinda smug with my process. I “meet” my characters in fits and spurts then let them loose to run the asylum until the story is done in a messy, chaotic first draft. Then I start organizing and plotting, complete with color coded index cards taped on the wall and color pens marking up the hard copy. I call it the pantser with suspenders approach. I pants the first draft but I’m a methodical plotter after that.

Imagine my dismay when I started on the new project and the process. Did. Not. Work. Instead of twirling around and sharing their stories, the characters sat quietly in their chairs waiting for me to tell them who to dance with. So I turned up the music and waited. And still they sat.

My process was broken. Not even my Minion duct tape could fix this. Oy!

Now what? I tried outlining once and became so completely word-constipated that I swore I’d never do it again. But desperate times and such … nope, that didn’t work. I sat and stared at the stinking blinking cursor for two full days. Then tapped a pen to notepad for another two days.

I did what any card-carrying, neurotic writer would do at this point—consult every author I know for tips on their process and practically spit-shined my toilets and kitchen.

Step one was to figure out why this manuscript wasn’t flowing the way the others had. Somewhere between evicting dust bunnies and wrestling the vacuum cleaner, it came to me.

For starters, this one has a historical element that requires research. While other stories may have had flashbacks to days of old, they were fleeting and easy to pull out of my imagination. This story requires me to go to a time and place I’m not familiar with. Not to mention a time and place that’s highly emotional.

Then there’s the structure of the story. The manuscript that just sold has chapters that jump back to the main character’s childhood. But it was still her POV. This one jumps back two generations. In the previous book, I added the flashback chapters in the second draft. It was easy to see where I needed them to help move the story forward. But in order to write this book, I need those chapters NOW.

The solution—at least for now—seems to be index cards. And duct tape keeping those cards in order on my office door. I brainstormed each chapter on a card and moved them around until the flow felt right. The cards don’t feel as permanent as an outline (it’s all in my head, I know that, but it’s a happy place for now so give me that small win) and by keeping the notes focused on specific elements rather than spelling out everything in that chapter, I don’t feel like they encroach on the freedom of the story to unfold.

My broken process has been successfully patched together. Slap on the smug mug again.

Except it didn’t last long. Because in addition to the WF manuscript, I also just started a middle grade book. And the process that seems to now be working for the WF is causing major word-hiccups with the MG book. And pantsing that one has turned up negative words (it’s possible, trust me). Looks like I’m a MG plotter. Go figure.

What I learned—in addition to stellar toilet cleaning techniques—is that it’s okay for my process to morph. And that if my usual method isn’t working, there’s a reason for it. Analyzing what about the story is stumping forward progress is critical to figuring out how to patch a new process together.

What about you—didn’t your process fail you on a given project? Has it changed over the years or been consistent? If you write in multiple genres, does one approach work?

About Orly

After years of pushing the creativity boundary in corporate communications, Orly decided it was time for a new challenge. Three women’s fiction manuscripts later (plus a handful of picture books), it’s safe to say she’s found her creative outlet. When she’s not talking to her imaginary friends, she’s reading or at least trying to ignore everyone around her long enough to finish “just one more paragraph.” Orly is the founding president of the Women’s Fiction Writers Association. She is rep’d by Marlene Stringer, Stringer Literary Agency LLC.

Orly’s debut novel, The Memory of Hoofbeats, will be released by Forge in 2017.

You can find her on Twitter at @OrlyKonigLopez or on her website, www.orlykoniglopez.com.