Jennifer R. Hubbard's Blog, page 113
October 21, 2010
Plotless fiction?
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aprilhenry
linked to a Buzzfeed feature on "unusual bookstore sections," featuring shelves with such labels as "Painful Lives," "Comparative Slavery," "Geek Chic," etc. But it was the picture April posted on her blog, of a shelf called "Plotless Fiction," that got me thinking about that age-old debate: Plot or Character, which is more important?Ideally, a story will have both: believable three-dimensional characters, and a riveting plot. But often, one element tends to drive the story a bit more. And while I think plot-driven work is more popular, I tend to prefer character-driven work. If a book has a strong plot but cardboard characters, I will read it once, as quickly as I can, just to find out what happens. Then I will never read it again--or think much about it, frankly. Character-driven books are the ones I curl up with, reread, rave about, recommend.
Some of my favorite books are heavy on character and voice, and relatively light on plot. The Catcher in the Rye, for example: Kid drops out of prep school and spends a couple of days wandering around New York. Main Street: Young woman marries small-town doctor and struggles with persistent feelings of being a square peg. And I LOVE these books. I'll be honest: if a character's voice is engaging enough, I'm willing to read his grocery list.
But I'm probably not a typical reader. And, as I said above, ideally a story will have both. Because as awesome as an engaging character's grocery list can be, imagine how much more awesome it would be if the engaging character went somewhere and did something!
October 20, 2010
Different voices
Each writer has a voice, but then characters have voices, too. Once upon a time, after I first sent The Secret Year off to my editor, I worked on other projects. When the novel came back for revisions, I had to channel its main character again, and I worried that I might have lost his voice.
No problem. As soon as I started working on the book again, there he was, speaking in my ear.
I've been working on a project that I'd left alone for quite a while, and I've been struck by the main character's voice--and how, even though he is a teenage male like the narrator of my first book, his voice is different. He doesn't look at things the same way; his sense of humor is different. He chooses different words, and the rhythm of his speech is different.
Both characters have some underlying similarities that probably spring from my own attitudes, vocabulary, and experience, but I definitely hear them on different mental channels.
If you have a copy of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women lying around, it contains at least two splendid examples of how characters can sound completely different, even when they spring from a single author's brain:
In Chapter 12, "Camp Laurence," a group of people at a picnic take turns adding on to a story they're making up as they go along. The manner and content of each one's speech is so distinctive that you could probably figure out which one adds which part of the story, even without dialogue tags.
In Chapter 16, "Letters," the main characters each write a letter. Again, you hardly need to look at the signatures to figure out who wrote which letter.
No problem. As soon as I started working on the book again, there he was, speaking in my ear.
I've been working on a project that I'd left alone for quite a while, and I've been struck by the main character's voice--and how, even though he is a teenage male like the narrator of my first book, his voice is different. He doesn't look at things the same way; his sense of humor is different. He chooses different words, and the rhythm of his speech is different.
Both characters have some underlying similarities that probably spring from my own attitudes, vocabulary, and experience, but I definitely hear them on different mental channels.
If you have a copy of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women lying around, it contains at least two splendid examples of how characters can sound completely different, even when they spring from a single author's brain:
In Chapter 12, "Camp Laurence," a group of people at a picnic take turns adding on to a story they're making up as they go along. The manner and content of each one's speech is so distinctive that you could probably figure out which one adds which part of the story, even without dialogue tags.
In Chapter 16, "Letters," the main characters each write a letter. Again, you hardly need to look at the signatures to figure out who wrote which letter.
October 19, 2010
Listening
There are times when I'm writing a lot, and words pour out of me. Then there are times when the outward spill of words has slowed or stopped. It's like the difference between speaking and listening.
I believe writers need these listening times. They are the times that give us something to write about. They're the times when something boils beneath the surface, but we can't even guess yet what it is. They're the times when we watch the world around us with extra attention, taking in the sensory details we might overlook when our heads are full of our own plots and characters. We may read more, or give more time to a hobby. We may go through old projects, or clear our desks.
We may stare off into space. Listening.
Do you hear that?
I believe writers need these listening times. They are the times that give us something to write about. They're the times when something boils beneath the surface, but we can't even guess yet what it is. They're the times when we watch the world around us with extra attention, taking in the sensory details we might overlook when our heads are full of our own plots and characters. We may read more, or give more time to a hobby. We may go through old projects, or clear our desks.
We may stare off into space. Listening.
Do you hear that?
October 17, 2010
Alternatives to multiple POV
It seems to me that multiple-first-person-POV books are more popular with writers than ever. Multiple POV is one way of showing us the same events from different perspectives (see, for example, Brent Hartinger's Split Screen or Steve Brezenoff's The Absolute Value of -1), and it can be quite effective. But it's not the only way.
Third-person omniscient narration can also take us into the heads of multiple characters, although we may lose some of the flavor of the individual characters' voices and thought patterns when their thoughts are filtered through a narrator. And then there's my favorite challenge of all: letting a reader know what Character B is thinking even when we are experiencing the scene through Character A's first-person POV.
Characters will give cues that narrators miss because they are preoccupied with their own concerns, and because they carry their own fears and prejudices. However, readers will pick up on these cues. The trick is making them obvious to the reader while keeping it believable that the narrator would miss the cue.
Not all the cues have to be missed, either. The narrator may understand exactly what another character is going through, and then we understand it, too, even if we're not inside that person's head. Suppose Character B has confessed to a narrator, Character A, her desire to win an important scholarship competition. B is consumed with this competition, has prepared for it and worked for it, has even started to feel that her worth as a person is wrapped up in it. A is present when the winners are announced, and B does not win. B may give no outward sign of her reaction; B may be utterly stoic. But A will know how B is feeling, and we readers will know it, too. We don't have to jump into B's head and hear her internal monologue at that moment. In fact, it may be more powerful if we don't, if we supply that monologue ourselves.
All this is not to dismiss the use of multiple narrators, since there are books that call for multiple POVs. My point is just to suggest more tools for the writer's toolbox.
Third-person omniscient narration can also take us into the heads of multiple characters, although we may lose some of the flavor of the individual characters' voices and thought patterns when their thoughts are filtered through a narrator. And then there's my favorite challenge of all: letting a reader know what Character B is thinking even when we are experiencing the scene through Character A's first-person POV.
Characters will give cues that narrators miss because they are preoccupied with their own concerns, and because they carry their own fears and prejudices. However, readers will pick up on these cues. The trick is making them obvious to the reader while keeping it believable that the narrator would miss the cue.
Not all the cues have to be missed, either. The narrator may understand exactly what another character is going through, and then we understand it, too, even if we're not inside that person's head. Suppose Character B has confessed to a narrator, Character A, her desire to win an important scholarship competition. B is consumed with this competition, has prepared for it and worked for it, has even started to feel that her worth as a person is wrapped up in it. A is present when the winners are announced, and B does not win. B may give no outward sign of her reaction; B may be utterly stoic. But A will know how B is feeling, and we readers will know it, too. We don't have to jump into B's head and hear her internal monologue at that moment. In fact, it may be more powerful if we don't, if we supply that monologue ourselves.
All this is not to dismiss the use of multiple narrators, since there are books that call for multiple POVs. My point is just to suggest more tools for the writer's toolbox.
October 16, 2010
Ideas that survive
I've read a bunch of interviews with Andrew Wyeth, because I find his work fascinating. (It may help that I live in the same area of Pennsylvania that he often painted--but then again, I'm of the school that says that just because his pictures were realistic did not mean they were only meant to be taken literally and at the surface level.) One of the things I remember was that he always looked for images that electrified him. He would often make a brief sketch--sometimes even just a single line--to remind him of the thing he thought he wanted to paint. If the excitement survived well beyond that initial spark, it would become a painting.
I do the same thing with lines, phrases, and notes. An idea will jump into my head, and I can see the finished story or novel. I jot down the line thinking it's the best thing ever. But a novel takes months or years to write, and many of those notes don't develop the way I thought they would. In fact, they often don't survive the second reading. ("I thought that was a great idea? Where was my brain?")
I can't always immediately identify the idea that will have staying power--the same way I didn't realize, the first time I met him, that my husband would become my husband. The great ones stick around, but they don't always announce themselves with trumpet flourishes.
I do the same thing with lines, phrases, and notes. An idea will jump into my head, and I can see the finished story or novel. I jot down the line thinking it's the best thing ever. But a novel takes months or years to write, and many of those notes don't develop the way I thought they would. In fact, they often don't survive the second reading. ("I thought that was a great idea? Where was my brain?")
I can't always immediately identify the idea that will have staying power--the same way I didn't realize, the first time I met him, that my husband would become my husband. The great ones stick around, but they don't always announce themselves with trumpet flourishes.
October 14, 2010
Embrace the possibilities
One of the best things about writing is that our characters can do things we can't.
They can visit places and times we've never been to. They can have magical abilities. They can be braver than we are; they can say the things we wish we'd said. They can get revenge, or rise above it. They can live happily ever after.
Characters aren't just wish-fulfillment vehicles, of course. But there's something liberating about being able to experience multiple lives and multiple options. Forget about the road not taken--we can try all the roads, one at a time.
They can visit places and times we've never been to. They can have magical abilities. They can be braver than we are; they can say the things we wish we'd said. They can get revenge, or rise above it. They can live happily ever after.
Characters aren't just wish-fulfillment vehicles, of course. But there's something liberating about being able to experience multiple lives and multiple options. Forget about the road not taken--we can try all the roads, one at a time.
October 12, 2010
This is not the story I meant to tell
It is not necessary to stick with the story we thought we were telling.
We may begin painting a horse and realize it's actually a zebra after all. Or a unicorn. Or--how did that happen?--an eggplant.
We may start confidently down the path of a story and find ourselves dragged off by the hair, into a meadow full of marmots and lupines. "But I thought I was going to the lake," we may say. "I packed for the lake. I can see the lake in my mind." And yet here we are, staring at marmots and lupines.
It's okay. They're beautiful, too.
Think about what just happened here
I'm working with rhythm, balancing words with breaks and pauses. At the moment I'm focusing on pauses used for emphasis, breaking after the most significant sentences.
A paragraph break says: Pause for a moment. Think about what just happened here.
A scene break says that even more strongly.
A break adds a punch to the sentence that comes before it.
A paragraph break says: Pause for a moment. Think about what just happened here.
A scene break says that even more strongly.
A break adds a punch to the sentence that comes before it.
October 9, 2010
Go with the flow
Earlier today, I co-ran a writing workshop for teens and pre-teens with Ellen Jensen Abbott and Cyn Balog at the Burlington (NJ) Book Fair. Several times during the exercises, our student writers asked, "Can we ..." or "Do we have to ..." And the answer to the first question was always yes, and the answer to the second question was always no. "No rules," Ellen would say.
We were doing free writing: 10-minute bursts in response to writing prompts. Between prompts, we talked about what makes a piece of writing strong, and the qualities of good writing. But the main point of free writing, like any first-draft writing, is just to get it down. To start a story and see where it goes.
During revision, there are plenty of rules, plenty of things to fix. The point of free writing is to create something that can be adjusted, played with, and modified later. Many people will embark on a voyage in free writing in November when they do NaNoWriMo, attempting to get down a first draft of a novel in a month. I've talked many times about why I'm not much of a word-counter, and how it's the quality rather than quantity of words that counts most of the time. But the one advantage to establishing word count as the main goal of NaNoWriMo is that so many writers give themselves permission to just keep going, keep writing, keep adding words. For many, it's the perfect way to get a first draft out into the world.
At the end of today's workshop, a couple of the students had trouble stopping the writing. That's when you know it's really flowing.
We were doing free writing: 10-minute bursts in response to writing prompts. Between prompts, we talked about what makes a piece of writing strong, and the qualities of good writing. But the main point of free writing, like any first-draft writing, is just to get it down. To start a story and see where it goes.
During revision, there are plenty of rules, plenty of things to fix. The point of free writing is to create something that can be adjusted, played with, and modified later. Many people will embark on a voyage in free writing in November when they do NaNoWriMo, attempting to get down a first draft of a novel in a month. I've talked many times about why I'm not much of a word-counter, and how it's the quality rather than quantity of words that counts most of the time. But the one advantage to establishing word count as the main goal of NaNoWriMo is that so many writers give themselves permission to just keep going, keep writing, keep adding words. For many, it's the perfect way to get a first draft out into the world.
At the end of today's workshop, a couple of the students had trouble stopping the writing. That's when you know it's really flowing.
October 8, 2010
The Muse on first drafts
Writer: I forgot what a mess first drafts can be. I spend so much time revising and polishing that by the time I start a new project, I've forgotten how projects start out.
Muse: They are a glorious mess! Like finger painting!
Writer: You're enjoying this, aren't you?
Muse: Immensely.
Writer: But just look at these pieces--all over the place. I can see where they're going to fit together, but they're not coming out in order. Why couldn't you at least have them come sequentially?
Muse (with an airy wave): That isn't my job. I don't assemble these things, you know. I have to leave something for you to do!
Writer: Gee, thanks.
Muse: Think of it like a jigsaw puzzle! Where you also have to trim the individual pieces and sometimes paint them different colors and sometimes throw them out altogether and get new pieces!
Writer: Party on.
