Storytellers know that on the page, internal conflict is a writer’s best friend. But when that conflict emerges from voices inside the writer’s own head, where each wants to weigh in on the writer’s path and her way of walking along it, things can get confusing. Like a GPS whose discordant voices are offering multiple routes simultaneously, they may just slow you to a standstill.
Might we not say to the confused voices, which sometimes arise from the depths of our being, Ladies, be so kind as to speak only four at a time?
~Anne-Sophie Swetchine
We writers are sensitive to these voices because of the way they intrude upon the deep, solitary thinking our craft requires.
If you think about it, every single decision in a writer’s life must be coughed forth from some internal compass. There’s no one to tell you when to work, or how to tell if you’re getting better, or how much social media is enough. Those who work in a company talk such things over at a water cooler, where the extreme position of others allows you to take a stance. If Ed is the pessimist and Julie the timid risk manager, you are free to be the forward thinker, the one who pushes the others by saying, “But why not?”
Those who work alone engage in those same conversations—in their head, where the voices playing devil’s advocate don’t feel so helpful.
Some of our inner voices obsess over the tough truths of our lives and call it like they see it. A writer is an entrepreneur whose business may fail for a decade or more before seeing monetary return. While typing away late into the night, a writer is a student earning no degree; an intern with no mentor. A self-employed dreamer whose bitchy boss and recalcitrant employee both live inside her own skin.
Her left-brained half—lets call her “L”— is constantly putting new programs in place to re-organize, compartmentalize, and otherwise tame her unruly life so that the writer can make good use of her time. L is the boss. She fills all the lines in the planner. She has a get ’er done bent.
Her right-brained half is innately improvisational. Prone to breaking into song at inappropriate times, R flounders between blind faith and unrelenting pessimism. L wants to outline, but R gets lost in the flow of writing and misses turning points. L says to record life before forgetting its rich detail and R flits away from the computer to go out and live it. When L dictates exercise every morning, R says, “You can’t make me.” Some days L gets a workout just chasing R around the room.
But two halves don’t make a whole. Move over, L and R. Other voices want prominence. Fear of Success and Fear of Failure will not be squelched. Needs Validation wants to duke it out with Needs to Call the Shots. Demands a Book Deal tussles with Writing is its Own Reward. And no matter how loud the Cheerleader yells “You can do this!” we hear the dirge of the Statistician: “Do you even realize how small the chances are of success?”
Oh, we know inner conflict. We have enough characters in our own heads to people an entire novel.
But when you get to the point where you’ve written something that every single one of them is truly proud of, a miracle happens. For a moment they will stop fighting for prominence, look in the same direction—and weep like babies. Because every single one of them helped you get where you are right now.
Writers have no need for a water cooler at which to whine about their work. We chose this life because it suits our natures. Yes, all of them. They may have different strengths, and different ways of going about things, but after decades of working together, my inner natures finally realized that they’re all playing for team Kathryn, and that they’re all desperately needed.
Internal conflict need not be maddening. If we can keep our natures pointed in the same direction and harness their teamwork, they are perfectly suited to transcend the difficulties of the writing life.
And then, the warm glow that comes from self-love and the palpable impulsion of inner teamwork will drive us deep into the length of the creative night, making all aspects of our chosen path much less difficult.
K: Well done, team.
R: Let’s go celebrate with an ice cream sundae!
L: But it’s only 8 a.m. and I have you scheduled for another 2,000 words…
Okay, ’fess up—I can’t be the only one. What inner nature are you struggling to overcome? What used to stymie you, that you’ve now made peace with it? Let this, for one communal moment in a solitary endeavor, be our water cooler…
Kathryn Craft is a developmental editor at Writing-Partner.com. Her debut novel, The Art of Falling, will be released through Sourcebooks 0n January 28. To read more about her book, check out her author site, KathrynCraft.com. Pre-order links are live at bn.com and amazon.com! Her second novel, While the Leaves Stood Still, is due from Sourcebooks in Spring 2015. Long a leader in the southeastern Pennsylvania literary scene, she loves anything that brings writers together—conferences, workshops, retreats, and blogs like Writers in the Storm. She also blogs at The Blood-Red Pencil and at her personal blogs, The Fine Art of Visiting and Healing Through Writing. Connect with Kathryn on Facebook and Twitter.
Author of THE ART OF FALLING Coming from Sourcebooks January 28
I’ve read a lot of blogs lately about introverted writers, whining pointing out how hard it is for them, nowadays.
There are probably more introverted authors than extroverts. After all, it’s darned near a cliché - the writer living in seclusion, typing away in obscurity. That’s all you see in movies: As Good as it Gets, Something’s Gotta Give – even, dare I mention, The Shining? Misery? (don't throw tomatoes, I’m not judging!)
As an extrovert, it’s killing me that the introverts get all the press, even though they shrink from it!
But there are extroverted writers. The obvious ones that jump to my mind are: Kristen Lamb, Chuck Wendig, Jennifer Weiner . . . I’m sure you could add to the list.
Before I go farther, you know the difference between the two, right? In the simplest terms, an extrovert is a person who is energized by being around other people. An introvert is energized by being alone.
But which writer has the advantage– the extrovert, or the introvert?
Seems obvious, right? The extroverts love the promo, the press, the spotlight! They have it easier.
Not so fast. I’m here to point out some of the disadvantages the extroverts deal with.
Oh look! A bright shiny thing!
Since extroverts get their energy from the outside, we have a hard time putting in the solitary hours to write. It's lonesome in that writing cave!
Tools to cope:
Write in public. The library, the coffee shop, the mall
Make your own company. Write with the TV on. Listen to talk radio. Write in the kitchen, with the family around you.
T.M.I
Since we love to hang on social media and engage others, it's easy to get complacent - to forget that we're not having a conversation with our friends only. The world is reading over our shoulder. And making judgements about us and our writing, from the way we present ourselves.
Tools to cope:
Don't forget why you're there. It's not to reveal your political bent, your religion, your opinion about alternate lifestyles.
Never miss a good chance to shut up. If you're typing, and have that little tickle at the back of your brain, making you think twice - DON'T post!
Remember mom. "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."
Yeah, I know big-time authors who don't follow the above. But I'm not yet a big-time author. Are you?
Time Suckage
We LIKE Twitter, FB, Linkedin, Pinterest, email, Goodreads, Google, and . . .
I've done marathon sessions only to wake up four hours later, my butt aching. The only reason I stopped then was because I was about to wet my pants. Literally
Tools to cope:
Set an alarm - and then stop. (I can ignore it, too.)
Schedule phone calls, appointments, etc. to break up your computer time
Going through life, we are always in a state of suspense. Mmmmm…yummy, suspense! According to Oxford dictionary: a state or feeling of excited or anxious uncertainty about what may happen.
Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?
Life moments creating dramatic impact, small and large.
What will happen next? Is the question on a second to second, minute to minute, day to day loop in our human brain.
I watched my husband play with our baby yesterday. There was a lot of giggling going on, so I tore myself away from the computer to see what was happening. She was on the floor and my hubby was sitting at her feet as if she was getting her diaper changed. Hubby would lift one of her feet and slowly bend over with an open mouth, going in to nibble on her tootsies , but before he got his chompers on her foot, he would put the first foot down and start slowly going for the other foot and so on.
So, why was she giggling if he wasn’t actually biting her foot? Because she didn’t know he wasn’t going to bite. She was prepared for something to happen, but she didn’t know exactly what. She was watching her little story unfold from moment to moment and the anticipation was making her react. The anticipation was making her sit forward in her baby brain and pay very close attention to what was going to happen next, each second of foot-biting-drama bringing her closer to a the climax.
This is what we live for, the tasty moments surrounding authentic action and reaction.
What will happen next? Is also what drives readers through a novel. You may not realize it, but suspense flows through ALL GENRES of fiction. There are small and large levels of suspense in every novel.
Small - Your reader goes from one line to the next wondering how your character will react to what is happening.
Medium – Your reader moves from one scene to the next wondering how your character will handle the conflict and disaster, what conflict will be next, and will the character reach their goals with morals intact, with their lives?
Sounds easy, right? I mean there are plenty of books on the subject. I’m sure you have read them ALL. Those craft books refer to it as cause/effect, stimulus/response, motivation/reaction, action/reaction or scene/sequel. Writers should just be able to pick up a copy of Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of a Selling Writer, read it and, POOF! The most compelling fiction on the market will flow into the laptop with a wiggle of your nose.
But it’s not that easy, is it? Just because a writer knows this pattern exists doesn’t mean they know how important it is in their fiction. And knowing about a key element in fiction certainly doesn’t mean every writer knows how to apply it.
“…you can mess up stimulus-response transactions in three ways:
You can show a stimulus and then show no external response (or perhaps one that doesn’t fit or doesn’t make sense);
You can show a character response when no stimulus (or no credible one) for it has shown; or
You can put so much story time between stimulus and response that the logical relationship between events is no longer evident.”
So, what happens to your reader’s suspense when one or three of the above issues are implemented in your novel? It turns into frustration, confusion, or distrust for the author to provide the story in a compelling way. Why would anyone want to read in that frame of mind?
Authors aren’t the only writers paying attention to cause and effect. Playwrights and screenwriters live and breathe motivation and reaction. Why? Because if the audience sees an action that should affect a character and that character doesn’t react, then the story will cease to move forward until a reaction happens. The audience sticks on why there wasn’t a reaction and will then believe the story to be inauthentic, characters not as real, and mentally they will hit the speed bump and check out.
My point? Stimulation/response is a KEY ELEMENT IN FICTION.
Here is an example of compelling, well written, stimulus/response excerpt from #1 NYT bestselling author, Harlan Coben, in his novel, Six Years. For the first nine chapters of this story, the main character has been wondering to the point of obsession, the whereabouts of an ex-girlfriend. The love of his life. The reader’s state of suspense has been growing steadily with each new chunk of twisted mystery thrown in his path. And then this happens:
Then I saw the sender’s e-mail address:
RSbyJA@ymail.com
I stared at it until my eyes watered. There was a rushing in my ears. Everything around me was silent and too still. I kept staring but the letters didn’t change.
RSbyJA.
It took me no time to see what those letters meant: Redemption’s Son by Joseph Arthur—the album Natalie and I listened to in the café.
The subject was empty. My hand found the mouse. I tried to get the cursor over the e-mail so I could open it, but first I had to control my shake. I took a deep breath and willed my hand still. The room remained a hushed quiet, almost expectantly so. I moved the cursor over the e-mail and clicked on it.
The e-mail stopped my heart.
There, on my screen, were four words. That was all, just four words, but those four words sliced through my chest like a reaper’s scythe, making it nearly impossible to breathe. I collapsed back on the chair, lost, as the four words on the screen stared back at me:
You made a promise.
****
PRIME example of amplified stimulus/response. Obviously this is an emotional point in the story. Thick emotional reaction to a sliver of very sharp stimulus.
What did Harlan do to make it apparent to the reader that this was a BIG deal? He showed each facet of his character’s response.
What does that do for the reader? Their eyes fly over the words, taking in the full picture, reveling in the dramatic impact of what is happening and almost salivating to find out…what happens next.
Keeping in mind this character’s emotional investment in finding out where his ex-girlfriend is throughout the first 9 chapters, what if Harlan wrote this instead:
Then I saw the sender’s e-mail address:
RSbyJA@ymail.com
It took me no time to see what those letters meant: Redemption’s Son by Joseph Arthur—the album Natalie and I listened to in the café.
I moved the cursor over the e-mail and clicked on it.
The email read: You made a promise.
****
This is an example of showing a stimulus and then showing no external response. Skipping it all together. Not a good thing. Harlan’s readers would be screaming, “What just happened? Did Jake hit his head before he read this? An email, from her?! He should be going crazy right now! Man, I’m confused.”
Now, while I’m editing and teaching, more often than not, the issues I see getting in the way of reader suspense have to do with number three on Bickham’s list: “You can put so much story time between stimulus and response that the logical relationship between events is no longer evident.”
What if Harlan wrote it like this:
Then I saw the sender’s e-mail address:
RSbyJA@ymail.com
It took me no time to see what those letters meant: Redemption’s Son by Joseph Arthur—the album Natalie and I listened to in the café.
The café where we first met. She was showing some of her art and sat in the corner with sunglasses on. I thought that was really a pretentious way to sit in a café, especially when it was dark outside. But then hours later we sat in the corner table talking, laughing, eating Cookie’s famous scones and listening to music. Redemption’s Son was the one album that pushed us deeper into each other’s lives. I think the scones almost tasted better after we listened to that album. And then there they were, those letters. The abbreviation I wrote on the napkin to remember the name of the album, RSbyJA. She thought it was cute that I wanted to remember it.
I stared at the screen until my eyes watered. There was a rushing in my ears. Everything around me was silent and too still. I kept staring but the letters didn’t change.
****
Ack! His reaction doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Getting pulled into the mini-story about the café, the reader is forced to imagine different scenarios, forced to try and connect emotionally to another part of the story. And when we finally get back to the response, the words have lost all dramatic impact.
As Swain says in Chapter Three of Techniques of The Selling Writer, “When you start to sneeze, you snatch for your handkerchief right now. Not tomorrow. Not next week. The same way, think of each stimulus your focal character receives as a demand for immediate action. “
Thinking back to my hubby and baby playing “anticipate the foot munch.” What would she have done if he picked up her foot leaned in for a nibble and then started a conversation with me. Her game would have been over. The anticipation for her daddy’s next move would have vanished.
Disappointed baby.
When a writer commits that kind of crime in their novel, the same thing happens. Inauthentic drama. Your reader will stop wondering what happens next, and they will stop reading.
Disappointed reader.
Don’t let this happen to you!
One of my biggest pet peeves as an editor is the backwards stimulation response, “I turned my head toward the yard when my brother started screaming.” And the simultaneous stimulation response, “Margo laughed as I started to take off my shirt.” Annoying, isn’t it?
I want to thank all the writers at WITS for letting me jump on every month (sometimes twice a month) to blast you with some fiction know-how. I love teaching, and this is a way I get to do a mini-mini-lesson and be social with all of you! Toss me a Hello in the comments.
And no, I didn’t forget! Here is your mini-challenge for this post: Can you think of a backwards or simultaneous stimulation response that you have read lately? Maybe one you found in your own WIP? EEK! Show it to us! How did you fix it?
Tiffany Lawson Inman (@NakedEditor) claimed a higher education at Columbia College Chicago. There, she learned to use body and mind together for action scenes, character emotion, and dramatic story development.
She teaches Action, Choreography, Emotional Impact, Violence, and Dialogue for Lawson Writer’s Academy, presents hands-on-action workshops, and will be offering webinars in 2014. As a freelance editor, she provides deep story analysis and dramatic fiction editing services. Stay tuned to WITS to see Tiffany’s upcoming guest blogs, classes, contests, and lecture packets.
