C. Aubrey Hall's Blog, page 35

A Clipping Good Pace

When it comes to the pacing of your fiction, do you belong to the tortoise camp or the hare’s?

Are you fast from the first word, moving the story crisply from scene to scene, until you blaze through the finale at warp speed?

Or, are you a leisured writer, dwelling lovingly over details, waxing poetic in descriptive passages, lingering in pools of emotion as you wend your way from start to conclusion?

Ideally, of course, a good read serves up a balanced pace. Action is quick, but there are points in the story where things should slow down. A skilled writer controls pacing to aid her readers’ comprehension and enjoyment. Although the modern trend leans toward a generally faster pace than in the past, you don’t want the story to be a blur in your readers’ minds.

Keep in mind that anything–if overused or repeated too much–becomes monotonous and predictable.

Here’s a list of various techniques and their general effect on pacing:

1. Scenes = fast

2. Introspection = slow

3. Change of Viewpoint = slow

4. Description = slow

5. Explanations = slow

6. Dramatic Dialogue = fast

7. Aimless Chatter = slow

8. Background Information = slow

9. Narrative = fast

10. Conflict = fast

11. Hooks = fast

12. Characters in Agreement = slow

13. Cliffhangers = fast

14. Characters Waiting for Something to Happen = slow

15. Passive Characters = slow

16. Dramatic Action = fast

17. Plot Twists = fast

18. Villain Taking the Upper Hand = fast

19. Characters Talking Instead of Doing = slow

20. Dialogue Clogged by Stage Action and Internalizations = slow

As you think about this list, you may perceive that what’s designated as “slow” or “fast” connects to how exciting the technique is going to be.

Well, of course. There’s speed plus intensity to consider. Each affects reader perception of what’s taking place on the page.

Techniques that are fast can either create excitement or confusion, depending on how they’re handled.

Techniques that are slow can either create anticipation or boredom.

Combine and manage them wisely.

Creeping Influences

We’re supposed to constantly feed our imaginations. We do that by ingesting story as much as possible from multiple sources. Books are the best sources, followed by movies, chatting with people we meet during the day, and news items.

Yet while you’re reading a particularly good book, haven’t you noticed “bleedover” into your writing? One day you’re channeling the poetic description of L.M. Montgomery. The next day you’re using the snarky style of dialogue that Jim Butcher offers.

You don’t intend to copy. Certainly you never seek to plagiarize. But how do you avoid inadvertent imitation?

*By being vigilant for it when you edit.

*By not reading books in the same genre as yours while you’re composing rough draft. (When I’m writing a fantasy novel, I read mysteries. Once my book’s done, I dive into the stack of fantasies awaiting me.)

*By understanding that when you admire a particularly favorite author–perhaps more than life itself–it’s okay to imitate a technique in order to teach yourself. Just edit out the imitation later.

Movies are a little safer. You shouldn’t copy dialogue or plots, but you can draw on pacing and the way actors emote. I find actors to be a terrific source for me in terms of utilizing facial expressions and gestures. Just the way Al Pacino tilts his head in a particular role may give me something to work with in a very different context. Or the way Bette Davis walks across a room. The quirking eyebrow and eye roll of John Barrymore. The way Ethel Barrymore compresses her mouth as she lets skepticism fill her eyes. Or how a character actor with few lines to say can steal a scene from the star just by the way he or she is handling props in the scene’s background.

Another hazard of influence lurking for the unwary writer comes from writers’ groups. I’m not against critique groups–within reason–and I’m not against writers socializing. We’re in a lonely profession. We need to interact with those of our own kind once in a while just to keep our balance.

However, if writers are brainstorming or submitting their work for critique or just chatting about a plot problem they’re having, they’re running the risk of theft through influence.

I don’t mean that your worst enemy and chief writing rival–Nellie No-good–is lurking at your elbow at every writers’ party, evesdropping so she can rush home and steal your plot.

But someone’s idea may be similar to your own. Or, six months later, you start developing a premise that’s come to you and before you realize it, you’re pulling a few plot points that came from that past brainstorming session.

Here’s an example: a writing friend and I have been plotting a collaborative novel for a couple of years now. We each have heavy schedules, and it’s hard to figure out when we can work on this book, but we have our setting, premise, major characters, and several plot events worked out.

During the July 4th weekend, I started working on a fantasy idea that’s seized me. I let myself write a chapter one–by no means a chapter one that I’ll keep–just to get the creative juices flowing. I liked the chapter enough to then sit down and answer those preliminary questions I shared with you in my last post.

If anything comes of it, this project will be an alternative history. I was busily charting plot events and working through character motivations when a faint alarm bell rang in my mind.

That’s when I realized that I was drawing on a few concepts from the collaborative project. The time periods are different, but there were two or three parallels … too many for me to be comfortable.

I had to step back and nix several plot points. It’s not a problem. It’s forcing me to be more creative as I turn the premise in a different direction. What matters is that I caught on before I’d written a significant portion of manuscript. Best of all, the idea is growing.

You want to emulate without imitating. You want to learn from the best. You want to keep yourself attuned to what’s happening in the fiction market. You want to channel that hero worship you have for your favorite author into something productive.

Just stay alert and be ready to catch the thievery when it happens, as it will. When you do catch yourself borrowing too closely, don’t despair. As writers, it’s far too easy for us to become melodramatic and tell ourselves that we can’t think of anything better than what another author has already used. Piffle!

Instead, tell yourself that you can think of something different. That’s all it takes.

Oysters to Pearls

I came across a writing quote today that appealed to me. Perhaps you’re already familiar with it, but I hadn’t encountered it before:

Every piece of writing … starts from what I call a grit … a sight or sound, a sentence or a happening that does not pass away … but quite inexplicably lodges in the mind.

Rumer Godden

I’ve been posting about ideas lately because that’s what I’m working on at the moment–an idea that’s workable, original, commercial, and exciting.

I’m a fast writer, but a slow developer. For one thing, I have to detach myself from the previous novel and its story world. Given that I immerse myself fully in setting and characters, I’m loathe to leave what’s become familiar to me.

Once the detachment is achieved–not always easy, especially if the series is ongoing–then I start sifting my mind for ideas, nuggets of ideas, snips of dialogue, an image of a character or two, whatever might grab my interest.

In effect, I’m seeking the “grit” that Rumer Godden is referring to. If it’s good grit and if it lodges then, pearl-like, it will start to grow.

Perhaps I should have been sitting at my desk yesterday afternoon, pounding out ideas and pummeling them on the conveyer belt of tests and more tests. Instead, I was out in the 105-degree heat, driving home from the nearby metro. I was tired, hot, and not much in the mood to deal with rush-hour traffic.

And a piece of grit lodged in my imagination. I liked it, and for the next 45 minutes of my drive, I played the mental “What if?” game with my imagination.

What if I combine this science fiction idea with an older plot that never quite gelled for me? Could the two be glued together? Or will the old idea bog the whole project down?

What if I leave the old idea in its trunk and just pick up the flavor of the setting, the gritty, noir, near-future aspect of, say, Blade Runner? That, I can keep. I might even utilize a couple of characters from my old story.

The rest–nope. It’s got to stay new.

I’m thinking about backstory. I’m thinking about the drastic change in circumstances that would kick off the whole novel. I’m thinking about what’s at stake. I’m holding out my hand in friendship to the protagonist–a shadowy form as yet unwilling to step into the light of scrutiny. The villain will be nasty and melodramatic–or should I go for more subtlety this time?

Nah. I’m anything but subtle.

These are the early questions, the friendly ones.  The harder ones will come if this piece of grit stays lodged and wants to grow.

A sampling:

What does my protagonist want, right now, right here?

Why?

How will it affect the protagonist’s life if that objective is NOT achieved?

Who’s the antagonist?

Why does this character want to see the protagonist fail? Or die? Or fail while dying?

Why? Why? Why?

It always comes down to that simple, one-word question.

I can’t count how many students I’ve coached who can’t answer why. The problem stems, of course, from not thinking an idea through or asking the questions such as I’ve just listed.

Why appears to be simple. It’s anything but. That’s why the inexperienced writer will dodge it. Yet the answers to Why are pivotal to the plot and characters.

Avoid the Why and you’ll have puppet-like, one-dimensional characters and a plot full of holes and deadends.

Initially, for rough draft purposes, the antagonist’s motivation needn’t be psychologically complex. I hate the protagonist’s guts because she’s prettier and nicer, and I want to smash her pretty face  in the mud.

That’s not deep or complicated. It will need improvement as a draft progresses, but it’s enough to get started with. It’s clear and understandable.

However, if you don’t know how to explain your villain’s motivations, then you don’t know your bad guy. If you don’t know your bad guy, then you can’t understand the rationale behind his or her actions. That’s when the actions or behavior stop making sense, and you start pushing a puppet around the page instead of bringing a character to life.

When you know what your two primary characters want, you can plot forward.

Roger wants a dog.

His girlfriend Melanie doesn’t want him to have a dog.

Their wants (their goals) are in opposition. Opposition creates conflictful encounters, and the plot advances.

Another development question to ask of your premise is What’s at stake?

Wanting a dog or not wanting the mess and bother of housebreaking a puppy seems pretty low in the stakes department. I don’t care a bean about Roger or Melanie. I don’t know them or like them. Can I raise the stakes for this mundane example?

What would make the desire for a dog interesting? What would make it original or unusual?

Consider the Dean Koontz thriller, WATCHERS, where in the first chapter the protagonist Travis stumbles across a golden retriever and takes it home. There’s a scary encounter with something in the woods, enough to distract readers from the ho-hum event of a man collecting a pretty stray. Quickly, Koontz demonstrates the dog doing some peculiar things, and Travis realizes this isn’t an ordinary Golden Retriever, but instead a dog with extraordinary, unnatural intelligence.

The stakes just went up. Should Travis give the dog back to its owners? If the dog came from a laboratory, what will happen to it if it’s returned?

Raise the stakes higher by creating an antagonist for the dog that’s a foil: another laboratory creation that’s highly intelligent, incredibly ugly and hideous, and a violent, vicious, killing machine. And it wants to kill the dog.

Why? Because the dog is as beautiful and loved by everyone as the monster is hideous and hated. A maelstrom of envy, jealousy, hurt feelings, and anger churns within the monster. We can understand its motivations. We can pity it even as we cringe each time it commits violence.

With such a set up of characters, conflict, and clashing motivations, a plot can’t help but unfold. The grit is there, working hard on the writer’s behalf.

 

The Barrier of Fear

When it comes to writing fiction, a big hindrance to idea development is fear.

Ever think or hope that you have a good idea for a story but you’re afraid of it? Are you afraid to believe?

Maybe you lack the belief that it’s good enough to write or good enough to be published. Maybe you don’t think you can do it. 

Maybe you don’t feel you have the skills necessary.

Maybe you’re just psychologically skittish at the prospect of really coming up with something worthwhile.

Maybe you’re unsure you have what it takes to commit yourself physically, mentally, and emotionally to a long fiction project such as a novel.

Whatever the reason, fear can throw a roadblock across our path and stop our potential project in its tracks.

Now, it’s easy for me to quote FDR (“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”) and it’s easy for me to tell you to just get over your doubts and insecurities. As the Nike ad used to say–in another context–”Just do it!”

But if you’re floundering in a morass of uncertainty, you need a rope to drag you from it–not a pep talk. So here’s some rope; grab on!

The best way to conquer fear of writing is to gain confidence in your technical skills.

You gain confidence in your technical skills by studying and practicing the writing craft. Pore over the technique books of Jack Bickham and Dwight V. Swain. Follow their advice as best you can, then mark up a chapter or short story by one of your favorite authors and see if you can identify how viewpoint is established or how characters are introduced vividly.

Have faith in your idea.

The Bible defines faith as belief in something unseen.

So do you have faith in your own story sense? Do you think you have a good idea?

Have you tested it along the points I mentioned in my last post?

If it passed those questions, and if it’s still alive in your head and heart, then run it through screenplay teacher Robert McKee’s tests:

*Does your idea have inherent conflict in the situation?

*Is your idea original?

Inherent conflict makes your job as a writer so much easier than if you try to stick conflict onto a bland situation.

Compare the following:

A. Two men–rivals at work and in love with the same woman–are unexpectedly trapped in a malfunctioning elevator.

B. Two men–team members and close friends from childhood–must suddenly come to grips with their feelings when their beloved coach dies.

Neither idea is a bad one. A skilled writer could put together a story from either scenario. But B is going to require a lot of revision because it lacks inherent conflict. The situation is emotional, maybe stressful, but dealing with it will be like trying to push a soggy noodle across a cutting board.

As for originality, all this means is questioning whether your idea is identical to seventy other stories already out there on the shelves or whether you’ve come up with one slightly different aspect than the pack.

Consider the premise of an English child leaving home and going to boarding school.

Off the top of my head, I can immediately think of Tom Brown’s Schooldays, Nicholas Nickleby, A Little Princess, and Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone.  Identical premise; all different from each other. They stand out from countless forgettable imitations. Sara Crewe is a girl, her home is in India, and she falls from riches to rags. Harry Potter is attending a boarding school for wizards.

So does your idea have a little twist or a different angle that will set it apart? In the 1920s when Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd came out, a number of critics yelled “Cheat!” But everyone else was thinking, “Wow!” The book is still in print today, over 80 years later, and its plot twist is still stunning those who read it for the first time.

You don’t have to be brilliant. You just have to offer something slightly different from what everyone else is doing.

So, if your idea doesn’t conform to what other authors are doing, don’t squelch its individuality! Don’t lose your nerve!

Instead, believe in your idea and have faith in it. And if your faith feels utterly blind, that’s okay. Learn to take creative risks.

Maybe you feel no faith in your premise whatsoever. In that case, pretend to have faith by carrying on anyway.

Scared or not, you proceed, one page at a time. And you don’t quit until you can type “The End” at the conclusion of your draft.

Clearing the Path

Last week was one of those periods akin to rushing over the rapids in a rowboat–a bit of swirling chaos before being shot over the edge into a plunge.

I’ve bobbed to the surface, but I’m still spinning in the whirlpool below the waterfall. Now I have to pick my moment and paddle hard to get free.

In other words, the science fiction convention is over and I have one more houseguest to go, one speech to write and give, and then … nothing ahead of me but a new manuscript. Woo hoo!

Despite all the distractions, I decided a few days ago that I was going with Idea #3. Remember the half-idea, that shy one I wasn’t sure about? I felt suddenly inspired. I wanted to claim it, to develop it.

Even better, at the moment of decision, the protagonist’s name popped into my mind. Surely that was a sign that this project was meant to be. The portents were looking auspicious indeed.

Today, between panel sessions at SoonerCon in Oklahoma City, I pulled out a new notebook and began work.

Did I start writing chapter 1?

By no means.

Instead, I wrote down the protagonist’s name and the names of other characters that had so far occurred to me. Major or minor–it didn’t matter. I figured out who the villain was and what the villain was after. I gave the villain a name and described him briefly. I jotted down every sketchy scrap in my thoughts, and the list–as first lists usually are–proved to be very short, less than a single page.

I don’t worry about that. I asked myself:  why does the villain want the story’s maguffin?

That answer was easy. But I had more questions. What business was it of my protagonist’s? Logically the conflict I was sketching out belonged between the villain and a different character. How could I make it my protagonist’s business?

No answer came to me then, and I stepped back. The question is still hanging out there. Until and unless I answer it, there will be no story.

Within this brief page of notes, I’d already seen that while my backdrop was intriguing and the premise lively, the concept has a flaw. There’s no direct opposition between the protagonist and antagonist. They might dislike each other. They might be on different sides of a large issue, but they aren’t opponents. Not yet, anyway.

That’s a mighty big hole. I have enough writing experience to recognize it for the dangerous quagmire it truly is. If I can’t lay a plank across it, there’s no point in moving to character design or world building.

Idea development must address the following basic questions:

What’s at stake for the hero?

What’s at stake for the villain?

Are their goals diametrically opposed?

Does the situation have inherent conflict?

Is there potential for the conflict to keep building?

If my idea can answer each of these questions reasonably and plausibly, then I’ll move on to the next phase of prep work.

Meanwhile, Idea #3 looks like it’s flunked the first test. Time to put Idea #1 or Idea #2 through the same examination.

Then again, Idea #4 is starting to glimmer in the far distance of my imagination. Hmm ….

Up the Rebels!

Those of you who read my posts regularly can tell that I’m in idle-author mode. Sporadic posts … posts on inspiration, motivation, clutter-busting … nothing on the down-and-gritty business of butt-in-chair writing.

Sometimes the hat of professionalism gets flung off and I just float. Call it a vacation. Call it laziness. Call it missed opportunity. Call it idea development. Call it healthy. Call it rebellion against the shackles of must-work.

Presently, I’m weighing the merits of two and a half book ideas. One idea has been in the back of my mind for nearly a decade. I even wrote a draft of the story but had to go back to the drawing board when it didn’t make it past my first gatekeeper.

Another idea has been bobbing to the surface of my imagination for maybe a couple of years–relegated to the tank of Wait–while I completed my contractual obligations.

The half idea–and how does one have half of an idea anyway? Is that like being “almost pregnant?” Okay, so it’s Idea #3. There. I’ve stuck the “I” label on it. But I still think of it as a half because it’s shy. It doesn’t want to be closely examined yet. When I try to pull it into the glaring light of let’s-develop-you, it flees back into the mists of dream world.

Now, any and all of these ideas are worth working on, but I’m still feeling rebellious at the moment. I could get busy, but I don’t want to.

The bank account is sinking low. The dogs’ whiskery faces stare up at me every night in anticipation of very expensive treats. I probably need a new computer since warnings about changing Windows platforms are being whispered in my ear like stock tips. Mingled motivations of guilt, work ethic, self-discipline, etc. sweep over me from time to time. I am resisting.

I’m playing at the moment, reading at the moment. Just for fun. The years have taught me that my creativity levels are always better if I take a break now and then. This year, with all that’s happened, has given me an attitude of “I don’t have to and I don’t want to.”

But soon, I’ll have to plant myself in my chair and get busy because even the itchiest rash of rebellion can’t compete with a love of writing that has to do with who and what I am.

The only question is which idea will it be?

Hmmm ….

In Memoriam

Happy Memorial Day! As this weekend kicks off the summer season, and we honor our veterans and the loved ones we’ve lost, I find myself  looking back in a slightly different way.

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been reading, editing, and reformatting a novel I wrote in 1992. It’s part of my campaign to put my backlist into e-books. This is the first foray of the project–my learning curve as I venture into the world of electronic publishing.

I enjoyed parts of the book and marveled at how quick my action scenes were, how tight my prose was, how strongly I created sense of place.

I also came to two or three sections of the story that made me cringe. “Lame plotting here!” I wanted to shout. Or, “What was I thinking?”

As I recall, in the early nineties I was juggling three part-time jobs in addition to writing. This particular book was #8 in a 12-book marathon of back-to-back, four-month deadlines.

Considering the circumstances in which it was written, I’m surprised to find it as tight, clean, and coherent as it is. I had to work fast and efficiently to meet those tough deadlines. There was no time to second-guess myself or indulge in extensive revision.

No, the plot’s not perfect. Yes, I would love to rewrite it and fix those spongy segments.

But I’m not going to do it. The book is what it is. I have a long backlist to address and a short summer in which to get things done. In keeping with the spirit in which the book was written, I intend to stay with my present task of smoothing out the OCR glitches and leaving the book alone, intact, as it was originally executed. A professional knows when to step back and let the book live or die in the hands of readers.

It’s also important to pause from time to time and reassess our body of work–not to agonize over little glitches and errors, not to embarrass ourselves–but instead to find reassurance in what we’ve accomplished and use that reassurance as a bridge to whatever we intend to tackle next. It helps us keep our perspective … or regain it.

***

God bless America, and all those who’ve fought to keep her free.

Old Rituals

For many years, immediately following the completion of many book manuscripts, it was my custom to clear off my desk and clean out my office once the latest effort was in the mail to New York.

Ritual? Ceremony? Whatever the label, it marked an occasion. My manuscript notes and drafts were tidied away. I saw the surface of my desk again. In effect, I was clearing away one story and cast of characters to open the gate for new ideas to come through.

This January, I completed book 3 of THE FAELIN CHRONICLES and emailed it to my editor. These three YA novels moved me fully into the electronic age. This is the first contract I’ve ever worked on that didn’t involve a paper copy of my manuscript, usually a ream or more of pages neatly printed and stacked in a manuscript box, prepped for mailing.

On the positive side, I’ve saved a big chunk of money on paper, printer ink, and flat-rate postage.

On the negative side, the ritual of cleaning out the office hasn’t happened in quite a while. Not, in fact, since I moved to this house. Of course the move itself was a scramble, a seemingly Herculean effort in 100+ degree heat, and it put me so behind on my deadline that I crawled into this house, left the boxes untouched, and wrote like the furies.

But instead of parading to the post office and waving bon voyage to a heavy stack of paper, I clicked a button. The ritual was lost, sucked into the ether of the Internet.

Something important in my writing routine is now lacking. Two novels have been produced in this office that I’m barely acquainted with. I can’t remember when I’ve seen the top of my desk. My files have yet to be organized. My manuscript notes lie in chaos. My reference books are scrambled and stacked in hazardous heaps.

How can a new idea possibly enter this environment? The gates are grown over with the vines of clutter, saying (in effect), “New Idea, you’re not welcome here.”

It’s time to regain the ritual. I’ll have to create a new ceremony to replace the preparation of the manuscript box. I need the closure. It will force me to resume the good habits of cleaning and clearing.

And it will remind me that my months of hard work on each book have culminated in a tangible result, of which I can be proud.

A New Blog

“Dammit, Jim! I’m a writer, not a master of social media!”

Yeah, I know. I’ve used that little joke already, and it’s getting lame even to me.

But because I haven’t yet figured out how to link my two blogs together and because I need a new designer to update my Web sites, I thought I’d announce Blog 2′s existence in an old-fashioned way. Here, in shameless horn-tooting, drum-pounding PR.

The additional blog is faelinchronicles.wordpress.com and is very new, damp-from-hatching, and wobbly as it seeks to support the publication of THE CALL OF EIRIAN.

Check it out, please, and let me know what you think.

New Book!

The wait seems to have been interminable, but yesterday saw the publication of my latest book, THE CALL OF EIRIAN.

Book design by Alex Ferrari. THE CALL OF EIRIAN (c) 2012 is published by Amazon Children’s Publishing.

This YA book is the second of THE FAELIN CHRONICLES trilogy, coming out under the pen name C. Aubrey Hall. I’ve always found the middle books of trilogies to be challenging to write. Similar, in fact, to the soggy center of any story where it is so easy for the tale to falter, sag, slow down, or just sink.

However, I don’t believe THE CALL OF EIRIAN suffers from those maladies. My young characters–twins Diello and Cynthe (having been orphaned in the first book, CRYSTAL BONES)–are well on their difficult journey to the kingdom of the Fae. They’re in a race against Nature; winter is coming fast. They’re hindered by not being able to use their magical powers; using magic leaves a trail for the goblins to follow. And although they’re certain that if they can just reach the Fae their problems will be over, they find that the land of Embarthi is less than welcoming to Faelin such as themselves.

Politics, adventure, and magic are entwined in this book, as in most of my fantasies. I think fantasy is always a setting for a power struggle. Whether you’re in a cute Brian Jacques yarn about an evil Portuguese rat trying to conquer the gentle mice of Mossflower or a Robert Jordan epic, the political struggle is going to be there.

I have to admit, though, that quests are not my favorite plot structure. Unless it’s a l-o-n-g chase, the conflict can unravel into just one mishap after another. I prefer tightly focused antagonism. Quests also offer a challenge in that a writer has to keep topping each segment of adventure as the story builds to a climax.

And of course, being that it’s a middle book, the climax has to resolve the immediate problems of the characters without tying up the whole story.

Whew!

Despite the hard work, coming up with the magical elements of Embarthi was a great deal of fun. I looked forward to that just as I hope readers will look forward to reaching Queen Sheirae’s palace. Originally, I wanted to pay homage to some of the visual effects of the Jean Cocteau film, Beauty and the Beast, but that didn’t come across as I’d hoped and it was cut. Trying to think up the architecture for a race that can fly led to much pondering in my office chair.

The trogs are back. The goblins are back. We find out a bit more about the Samal wolves. But I confess that my favorite part of the book involves the lions of Embarthi.

Did I plan those big felines ahead of time? Nope. They just roared their way into the book and stayed there. I’m glad they did.