Larry Brooks's Blog, page 22

How to Write a Story: The Creative Process… One Writer’s Take

A guest post by Mike Robinson

One small illusion has sold many books, seminars, writer’s retreats, and workshops: the illusion that the process of writing a book is like reading a book. (“If only I were good enough …” or “As soon as I buy one more thing …”)

We innocently assume that fiction isn’t like, say, a term paper, a dissertation, an important business presentation. We “simply expect” the story to flow out of our creative minds and onto the page, in the reverse of what happens at two o’clock in the morning when we just can’t turn out the light. We expect this, in part, because there are too-many writer’s books which encourage that myth.

And too-many workshops use that same illusion to fill the slow months of a fancy resort’s off-season.

Since you’re reading this, you know better.

As do I. The goal here is not just to dream about writing something, but to do it. We must do it with a pragmatic economy of effort. Ergo, “no illusions.”

But what should we expect?

First, the creative process is much more chaotic, more uncertain, more “constantly full of choices and choosing” – and yet more deliberate and purposeful – than we might suppose. We’re caught off-guard when our creative minds don’t hand us “au fait accompli.” We think that there must be something very wrong with us when our Muse bombards us with alternatives and then challenges us to choose, never giving us the straight-answers that we wish for. But this is what “a blank page” really means. You’re not taking dictation. Everything that you put on that page will be a choice, and it will never be the one-and-only choice that you could have made.

Your Gentle Reader doesn’t want a blank page, though. She wants a complete meal, tastefully prepared, original yet very familiar: spaghetti, hamburger, a taco. She wants it to conform to her expected story form, for the kind of story she likes and that she expects from you: romance, science fiction, thriller, vicarious sex. Even though she doesn’t consciously know or care what a story form is, her expectations are quite specific. (And so is @Larry, when he writes about it.)

This puts you, Gentle Writer, in the kitchen. You’re surrounded by choices, from which you must choose, and which you must then fashion into the perfect, delectable dish. Trouble is, none of those choices will present themselves with “choose me, I am the right choice.” Your choices will be “right” only because you caused them to be so. You will finish and deliver your project because you applied a process that is both pragmatic and efficient.

The creative process consists of three main steps, bouncing back-and-forth between them and making choices at nearly every turn. These three steps are: imagination, selection, and successive refinement.

Imagination is the most-obvious part: “somehow snatching ideas from somewhere.”

Who knows, really, just where ideas come from – and who really cares. Imagination is the source of every good idea, and of every bad one: the trash, the tropes, the tripe, and yes, the juicy million-dollar bits that you wish that you had written and that you someday maybe will.

When you are imagining, you should simply be dreaming-up everything you can think of, without choosing. When we watch “Star Trek” where “James T. Kirk,” “Spock,” “Bones,” and “Scotty” sail on the starship “Enterprise” to encounter a space-station stuffed with fuzzy but rapacious “tribbles,” it might not occur to you that all of the things in quotation-marks within this sentence were chosen from long typewritten lists of mostly-nonsense words, but it is so.

Of course, imagination must quickly lead to selection, and this needs story form to serve as the anchor and the frame. You are assembling a new contraption that will consist of elements that you choose, but it must fit the form.

A novel really isn’t all that “novel” in its structure and design. You know from the start that you’re to create one or more story lines, each of which will move in a series of “story beats” through a progression of “plot points” and “pinch points” as @Larry so clearly describes. You also know that you must be efficient: drawing out a large number of ideas, sifting through them many times, and setting them into places within the story form where they might work, without wasting time or locking yourself too early into the long-term consequences of any single decision.

Thus, successive refinement.

Initially, you don’t know what ideas will work best, nor have you yet chosen where exactly is the best place to put those that do. These are decisions that you will make as you move from a cloudy vision to a completed work.

Therefore, you need to make especially those initial decisions “very cheap.” A three-page outline of “story beats” is a great deal easier to change than a thirty-page document. A simple paragraph describing a potential scene is “good enough for now,” given that you might never actually write(!) that scene.

It is downright strange to be exploring completely-new territory without a map, while having literally the power to decide, “I’ll put ‘Kansas’ here” while also being obligated to decide what ‘Kansas’ ought to be. It feels like you’re groping in the dark because, in one sense, you are! A better way to look at it is: “what if I put such-and-such a state here, and by the way decided to call it ‘Kansas?’” You need a process that lets you pencil-in such a decision, and to choose and change quickly.

You must be efficient and pragmatic, because you’ll be making a lot of speculative, “what if?” decisions, especially at first. You’ll discard most of them while you revise the rest. Therefore, spend no more time capturing each decision than you have to. (And, when you decide not to use a particular idea, set it aside without ever actually discarding it.)

This process of imagination, selection, and successive refinement will flow back-and-forth like an Olympic ping-pong match, until finally you’ll come up with a very detailed “final cut” of your story, still in detailed-outline form. It will be one of several. It will be the one that you finally approved.

You’ll be reading through that outline “just one more time,” and … quite suddenly … a very magical thing will happen. There, right before your eyes, is “a new, original story.” Part of you of course understands everything about this story that there is to be known about it, while another part of you is reading it for the first time and enjoying what you read.

There’s still a lot of work left to do, oh yes, and one or possibly several drafts to write, but: “there it is.” The magic. Your magic. Your story. Through what had been a formless maze of imaginings, a story now leads. You did it. You can succeed. You can see it, now.

Treasure the moment. Tomorrow will be another writer’s work-day, with ever so much more work to do. But for now, it’s two o’clock in the morning. Turn out the light and get some sleep.

*****

Mike Robinson is a software professional who, upon digging into the principles of story architecture, quickly recognized the empathetic parallels between writing code that actually works and writing a story that does the same.  He’s a frequent contributor here at Storyfix under the moniker “Mike R,” and the originator (to my knowledge) of the term “gentle reader,” which is precisely how we should think of them. 

Even though we all know they’re anything but gentle, for the same reason. If you’ve ever had something reviewed on Amazon.com, you quickly learn how gentle they are not.

How to Write a Story: The Creative Process… One Writer’s Take is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

The post How to Write a Story: The Creative Process… One Writer’s Take appeared first on Storyfix.com.

Turning Your Novel into a Screenplay, Part 2

A guest post by Art Holcomb

To read Part 1, click HERE.

We’re talking today about adapting novels into screenplays. Last time, we talked about the basics of the art of adaptation that I use with my students and professional clients. Today, let’s dive right into the meat of the subject – actually writing the screenplay.

The first three steps you need to cover are discussed in Part 1 of this series.  We pick up here with step #4.

#4 – Getting ready to write:

• You need to identify and write out the Story Beats, using Larry’s model of the story (see previous Story Fix posts on these points HERE). This will help you see the novel as a whole unit. Every screenwriter has to be INTIMATELY familiar with the structure of the story, perhaps more so than a novelist because of the limited size of the screenplay.

• Now it’s time to sketch out the Character Arcs for the Main Characters. Pay particular attention to these three questions:

o What does each character want? (Goals)

o What/Who is standing in his/her way? (Obstacles)

o What will happen if they don’t get it? (Stakes)

Understanding the motivation of the characters is paramount. Remember: character and plot are two side of the same coin. One cannot exist without the other.

• Now for a bit of fun. Take one of the copies of the book you bought and start tearing it apart. Identify the parts that you want to use and put those pages in one pile, and take the remainder and set it aside. During this process, you are asking yourself whether you need any specific diversion, back story or deeper character development. At the end, you will have the skeleton of the adaptation in your hand. Don’t be surprised if it is very small – remember the limited word count of a screenplay.

#5 – The Writing Process:

• Your first draft will be overwritten, perhaps by a lot. Don’t worry. The single most important thing in the entire adaptation process is this: Get the First Draft DONE!! Remember – Nothing can ever be made better until it is first on the page.

• As in novel –writing, the second draft is all about the cutting. Use all your skills here.

• Next, give it to someone you trust to read. Pay particular attention to where they say the movie fails to make sense or drags – these can be the most important bit of info anyone can ever give you.

(NOTE *** Larry can be a great help here. Just as you would send him your outline or first draft of a novel, the same rules for structure apply to a screenplay. Larry has an extensive knowledge of film structure as well and he can review your work and keep you on the right track. Email him for particulars at storyfixer@gmail.com.)

• A table read is the next step and can be a lot of fun. Gather some of your friends and have them read through the screenplay aloud. You can gain valuable insight by hearing the words out loud read in a voice other than your own. Listen closely to their comments as well.

• Here’s a key lesson I’ve learned about the final draft. Remember that, regardless of the size of your audience, every screenplay is a communication between just two people: the writer and a lone reader. Always write directly to one person – this will keep your writing intimate and personal, a real advantage when you send it out to busy agents and producers.

#6 – After the final draft:

• Now it’s time to register your work with the Writer’s Guild of America (www.wga.org). Like a copyright, a WGA Registration can protect your work against claims of theft. Remember to show the work as an adaptation and credit the source material’s author CLEARLY and often. That can help keep you out of trouble down the road – Believe me!

After this is Step #7 – Selling the screenplay – but that is the subject of more than one blog post.

Remember that this is just a brief overview. There are some excellent books on the subject as well as wonderful classes available on the process.

Adaptation can be a great deal of fun and is a good way to enter the world of screenwriting. Never be afraid to give this a try, but remember to choose a work for which you have a real passion. And drop Larry or I a line and let us know how it goes.

And above all, always keep writing!

Art

Art Holcomb is a screenwriter and instructor. His most recent play is THE PERFECT BRACKET and his new TV pilot is entitled THE STREWN.

 

Turning Your Novel into a Screenplay, Part 2 is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

The post Turning Your Novel into a Screenplay, Part 2 appeared first on Storyfix.com.

Getting Published: “Self” vs. “Traditional”… the “Great Debate”

With all this horse shit, there’s gotta be a pony in here somewhere!
(Reputed to have been Ronald Reagan’s favorite joke.)

The linked email exchange, introduced here, actually happened. It was edited only slightly, simply to help clarify.

(If you’d like to cut right to it, click this to skip my contextual intro: The Great Non-Debate!)

This all began with an email from the program organizer for a major upcoming writing conference where I’ll be presenting three workshops in August, asking if I’d like to participate in a videotaped “debate” to help with the promotion and marketing of the event. It would be a face-off from two sides: the advocacy of traditional publishing, versus a defense of self publishing as the better call, presumably seeking to recruit writers to either point of view.

I would, of course, be the spokesperson for the traditional vote… which he seemed to believe was my obvious wheelhouse. Not sure why, actually, as I write about craft rather than marketing. Maybe it’s the constant references to “getting published” in my posts that cast me in the old school mode for this (because anybody can publish anything in the self-publishing world, thus confusing the issue.

These days, that phrase applies to either camp.

My opponent in this “debate” would be Linda Needham, an experienced and highly respected author who will also be presenting at the conference. Linda, I gleaned from the context of the invitation, was a huge advocate and expert in the self-publishing realm.

The organizer meant well.  He wanted it to be funny, a “mock” debate in the “Larry you ignorant slut” tonality of an old Saturday Night Live sketch.  I got that.  It was actually a clever idea.

Let me say here, I was never tempted to say yes.

I waited 24 hours to respond, then wrote to say thanks for the offer, it’d be a fun project with the right players, but I wasn’t the right guy. I hate conflict. I avoid debate.  I don’t need to be right, and frankly there are no clear cut lines dividing these two publishing preferences.  It’s a “debate” nobody can win. Both positions have upsides and horror stories, and examples of each abound.

Let me say also that I’ve done it both ways.  I’ve published eight books (six novels and two writing books)… traditionally. And I’ve distributed five ebooks on writing… as a self-published author.

That said, I have broken the code for neither.

I copied my response to the invite, my decline, to my so-called opponent (Linda), just to make sure I remained respectful to all parties. Frankly, I was pretty certain that she’d kick my ass in such a square-off, and I wanted to make that clear… I can’t defend traditional publishing as a goal any more than I can, using the numbers and the sparsity of valid examples, justify self-publishing.  (Any metric to measure success in either realm is an issue of scale and personal goals… one self-published writer’s home run in terms of sales is another traditionally-published writer’s dismal failure.)

Holding a book in your hands that has your name on the cover, or looking at its listing online, is a wonderful feeling, no matter how one gets there.  But it’s not remotely what it used to be, and what it means depends on the writer.

All of which is pretty depressing, when you think about it.

It leaves us with, well, no promising options whatsoever if more than “holding my book in my hands” is the goal. And yet, books do get published, they do get bought and read, and from both strategies.  Some writers come out the other side  with the beginning of an actual career, though the number lean toward traditional on that count, by a long shot.

As for seeing your book on a shelf in a bookstore, however, that one remains a near impossibility for one strategy, and lately, a very iffy prospect for the other.

Linda wrote back, asking me to offer up more details.

I did that, and suddenly the debate has morphed into a sort of manifesto exploring the dark world of the writing aspiration. The objective of sharing it with you here is to bring you to the point of such a discussion, and make you aware of the species of shark with which you are swimming regardless of which pool into which you dive .

For me, it comes full circle back to what I’m doing here on Storyfix, and why I keep writing fiction in what amounts to my spare time lately, because dreams die hard. It’s why I coach writers on their stories for a living, the goal being to give their novel the best possible chance of floating in those shark-infested waters.

I teach so that I might learn.

I will never hang my shingle out as a publishing consultant.  Beware of anyone who does.

So there will be no debate.

There never will be. Certainly argument and advocacy will continue, cloaked as campaign or propaganda, often told from behind blinders. There is a lot of noise  about self-publishing, but the number of viable, money-making, truly bestselling authors out there still come from traditional publishing by a factor of about 1000 to 1 (I once told a large keynote audience that the number of bestselling authors from their state could fit into a booth at Denny’s… the reviews were mixed on that one).

In other words, for every story that goes like this – “hey, Joe Blow has sold one million ebooks on Kindle, and he’s not even that good!” – there are hundreds of bookstores full of titles from the traditional publishing world, with nary a single self-published title on the property.  And among those books on the story shelf, there are many that have sold more than one million copies.

We must choose our goals and our strategies very carefully.

And, with the realization that both are at once viable while remaining long shots, we must be realistic about our talents and our time, both in terms of writing a story and our ability to promote it on our own (which the vast majority of traditionally published authors face, as well, thus throwing a point toward the self-publishing position).

The only odds that are in your favor as a self-published author is the chance to actually have a title for sale on Amaxon. com.  And the only odds in your favor as a traditionally published author is that, at some point, an box will be delivered to you door full of copies of your latest title, without having to write a check to make that happen.

But first, before we choose our strategy, we must choose our stories carefully.

That’s the most important and least heralded argument of all in this face-off.  And on this, count there is no debate whatsoever relative to what that means.

Because the whole thing is still a cloud of dust, one in which the morning email ad from Amazon might include the next Jo Nesbo or John Grisham or Debbie Macomber  right next to the next Joe Blow ebook (a bad example, because that’s also something the self-published writer has absolutely ZERO control over).  Sooner or later the dust will settle and some sort of qualitative vetting mechanism will surface (it’s already happening, with websites that review only self-published or small press titles, and bookstores and magazine stands that carry only traditionally published titles), herding books into niches and levels, and when it does we’ll be right back where we left off when traditional publishing went dark.

In the art world there are mall poster stores, mass produced art stores, county fair art booths, community art shows. local galleries, hotel resort galleries, art district galleries, big name galleries and major auctions for collectors.  Nobody is confused.  We are heading for something like that, but in the meantime we are being seduced into believing this is a level playing field.

It isn’t.  Both are minefields where the dead outnumber the survivors.

Our job is to figure out which business we want to be in, and then be there when the walls and storefronts go up, still in the game.

Click this link — The Great Non-Debate - to read the non-debate commiserating and illuminating email exchange between Linda Needham and myself on this issue. The good stuff is mostly hers (I’m mostly bitching and moaning, truth be told), with a lot of encouraging and sobering truths we need to ponder before we can truly decide with clarity.

Linda Needham is a multi-published, USA Today bestselling author of traditionally and self-published historical romance.  She is also a multi-produced playwright, librettist, tap-dancer and proud grandmother.

 

Getting Published: “Self” vs. “Traditional”… the “Great Debate” is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

The post Getting Published: “Self” vs. “Traditional”… the “Great Debate” appeared first on Storyfix.com.

A Tip — and a Short Case Study — for Writing “Voice” Authenticity

Coaching the writing voice — the narrative tone and style and essences that become the telling of the story in sentences and paragraphs and scenes and chapters — is the toughest realm of “talent” to access.   And for many, to improve upon.

Thing is, sometimes it’s that very thing – your voice – that is standing in your way.

It’s like coaching a singer to carry a better tune. 

Writing voice is an ear thing, a sensibility.  It is something that comes naturally, and from there is honed and tuned in context to the evolution not only of what you need to get onto the page,  but what you are drawn to as a reader, as well.

What may seem like your natural “voice” may not be your ticket, after all.

The ultimate goal of working on your voice is, like the singer, a more appropriate tone and style and musicality for the performance.  The singer has to get it at some point, no matter what the teaching tries to convey.

I once heard Michael Bolton sing opera during a concert (you can hear that HERE), and it was stellar, he absolutely could do it and do it well.  Question is… could he do it better than, as well as, the professionals in that niche?

Bolton singing opera, as good as it sounds to you and me, is not the voice that sold millions of pop records.

That’s the point: write what works.  Discover what works, and if you’re there yet.

But first you need to understand what works.  In this case more than others, feedback is critical.  Too often it comes in the form of rejection.  But it doesn’t have to be that way.  Use your resources, ask for honesty.  Then listen.

You very well may not have found that voice yet, even after years of banging out stories.

This case study is from a writer who has been hitting some brick walls with her submissions because of, she has been told, her narrative voice.

Agents and editors are complimentary of her writing in general, and her story sense, but they “just aren’t feeling it” where the voice is concerned.

Translation: it wasn’t distinctive enough.  And perhaps, it was too often off-key.  Or simply too often too much.

She submitted the problem, which became our coaching objective, along with two separate 5-page excerpts from her novel.  I’ve included all that here, followed by my analysis and some coaching points.

The take away: it’s easy to do, but bringing a third person sensibility (which may be your natural voice) and context to first person narrative creates an unnatural tonality to the voice, to the point of distracting from the story.

You absolutely do NOT want your narrator to sound like your high school English teacher.  You remember, the one that had a thing for adjectives.

See that happen here, along with some tips and examples, including a link to one of the finest modern “voices” writing novels today (no, it’s not me, trust me): Voice analysis and Coaching.

Many thanks to this courageous author, who requested only that her name and the name of her protagonist not be used, because she doesn’t want this on a search engine somewhere after she revises the manuscript.  Which she will, since the feedback resonated and she now sees it and hears it better than before.

In fact, her response was to switch from first person to third person in the next draft, because she’s closer to understanding her natural gift of narrative, which fits better there.

Feel free to share your thoughts, she deserves any feedback we have that might help. 

****

If you’d like some feedback on your story, click the links at the top of this post for a short Concept/Premise analysis, or a longer Full Story Plan analysis.  I won’t post your work (and the feedback) here if you don’t choose to go that route… and that’s not the point.  YOU are the point, in many cases saving months or even years of exploration and experimentation over a series of draft, perhaps never really understanding why your submission gets the responses it does.

****

Click HERE for some tips (lifted from Story Engineering) from writer Liesa Malik’s terrific blog.  And a contest, too, if you’re the competitive type.

****

NEWS FLASH ANNOUNCEMENT: I just learned today that Turner Publishing has sold the audiobook rights to all of my novels, including my current title, Deadly Faux, myfour backlist titles, and my new release on December.  Exciting news for me, I’ve been trying to crack that code for years now.  The producing company is a Grammy winner and considered the best player in that niche.

Who knows, maybe now I can accompany you on a road trip sometime!  Will keep y’all posted as this unfolds.

A Tip — and a Short Case Study — for Writing “Voice” Authenticity is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

The post A Tip — and a Short Case Study — for Writing “Voice” Authenticity appeared first on Storyfix.com.

Writing Lessons from the BBQ Pit

A guest post by Art Holcomb

One of the great things about being a writer is that you can find inspiration anywhere.

The world around us and the vibrant nature of our daily lives can give you great insight into your art if you can just see the connections that exist everywhere.

As it’s been awhile since I’ve been back on these pages, and since summer is right around the corner, I thought I’d share with you some of tips that I’ve learned about writing . . . through the fine art of BBQ:

#1: THE SWEETEST MEAT LIES NEXT TO THE BONE: The best stories I’ve ever worked on happened once I learn to dig deep into my own story.

My first success was a play years ago that was inspired through my coming to grips with my mother’s death. Through the years, I’ve explored issues of the death and the afterlife in my story 4EVER and my play AS NIGHT. I used the nature of man’s physicality in my story SUMO DANCING, as well as my struggle with my own beliefs about God in my story THE CHRISTIAN ROOM.

Writing must be about the stories that are uniquely ours. Dig deep and don’t be afraid – the best stories come from our own fears and doubts.

#2: SEASON LIGHTLY: BBQ is best when you let the natural flavors come through.

Many of us dive headlong into the genres that we enjoy reading, and work the tropes and traditions we find there very hard. Take a moment and free-write every day. Try writing a piece that just flows from you – just close your eyes and “pants” your way through something basic and pure in your life.

Like the artist who paints the bowl of fruit or landscape, take a moment to describe and explore the world outside your window. You will be surprised at the new skills you’ll develop.

#3: THE SECRET LIES IN HOW YOU CONTROL THE HEAT: Learn to become the master of creating powerful conflicts in your stories.

All stories are about some manner of conflict – without it, it’s just typing! Escalate the conflict in your own stories. Raise and lower the heat. Explore the hotspots on the grill for better control. The more masterful your conflict-writing skills become, the better your stories shall be.

#4: KNOW WHEN THE MEAT IS DONE: Stop being so precious about your own work.

Are you rewriting the same piece over and over again, and finding less to improve after each successive pass? Life is too short! Learn to type THE END, then just send the damn thing off and start on something new.

Remember: PERFECT is the enemy of DONE.

#5: CHICKEN IS FUNDAMENTALLY DIFFERENT THAN BEEF: Just as each type of meat requires a different type of seasoning, temperature and technique, different genres have specific requirements that bring out the best flavor.

Learn as much as you can about the genre in which you’re writing. Larry has some EXCELLENT sections on genre, and gurus like JOHN TRUBY and MICHAEL HAUGE are considered experts on how to exploit genre for the best possible writing.

Become an expert in your own given world. Your fans will thank you for it.

#6: THERE’S MORE TO THE MEAL THAN JUST ONE DISH: What is a BBQ without side dishes?

What is a writing career without variety? If you’re a novelist, try your hand at a screen or stage play. The best things I learned about my own writing have come from experimenting with other forms. For me, playwriting led to screenwriting, which lead to animation, and then to comics – and then back to playwriting.

If you need to work on your dialogue and direction, try writing a play. If description is where you need work, try writing a short movie or comic book script. Examples and tutorials abound on the web for each form, so instruction can often be found for free. By simply trying to write in a different form, you see things about your own writing that never occurred to you – and you might just find a new passion and a new place to shine.

So . . . saddle up and get the fire going. And let us know what you “cook up” in your writing.

Happy grilling!

*****

And… adds Larry… stay hungry.  

Always great to see anything from Art Holcomb on this site.  If you’re new here, use the search function (it’s on the right of this column, near the top) to find wealth of gold under his name.

*****

ART HOLCOMB writes in many different forms, and is a well-known writing teacher at the University level as well as writing workshops. His most recent play is “DEATH IN THE DIGITAL AGE.” His new writing instruction book is “SAVE YOUR STORY: How to Resurrect your Abandoned Passion Project and Get it Written NOW!” (which, Art is pleased to say, will have a Forward written by our Storyfix host, Larry Brooks).

Writing Lessons from the BBQ Pit is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

The post Writing Lessons from the BBQ Pit appeared first on Storyfix.com.

The Road to Nowhere: One Writer’s Journey Toward Craft

A guest post by Curt Fouts

Before you hop in the car for that cool literary road trip you have planned, check your route and your reason for going. I-70 through Kansas? Not exciting, even if you plan on hitting all the tourist traps offering two-headed cows and 500 pound chicken eggs.

Larry’s recent posts that delve into concept and premise came at the right time for me. Is your Story Worth Saving? was a gut check, coming as it did along with the case studies. I pored over what Larry wrote and scrutinized my own story I had spend years writing, editing, and polishing.

What was wrong? I obeyed the laws of Story Physics. I had engineered a good story. My characters were well-drawn, my hero empathetic. I weaved the themes in ever so delicately, with solid structure and crisp scenes, every dialog a controlled conflict, tension, powerful emotional experience for the reader, pacing…

The first sign of trouble came when I attempted to write the query letter. Writing the synopsis was easy compared to that, and anyone who has done both can see where this is heading.

I suffered through writing more than thirty iterations of the ‘hook,’ the sizzle part of the query letter that captures the essence of your story, but it wasn’t sizzling. It read like a scientific report. It screamed, “So what?” And that’s a very bad sign.

Larry’s posts on concept and premise came along while I was struggling with this. As I studied his words and dived back into my scribbled-over copies of Story Physics and Story Engineering, the sickening realization came over me like a creeping stomach flu:

My premise is not compelling.

I squirmed inside myself, my brain twisted around trying to justify what I had done, attempting to make my work fit the criteria, but ultimately I had to face facts. You can write a well-structured story with all the dramatic elements about a platoon of ants struggling to get the remnants of a nut log back to their anthill, but who would want to read it?

I have read a tower of books on writing and storytelling, and Larry’s works accord with other gurus I admire and listen to like Randy Ingermanson and John Truby, among many others. Why is there so much overlap among so many different gurus, with the rare differences coming mostly in emphasis of one thing over another, or perhaps terminology? Because, as Larry reminds us, these are fundamental principles that go back to the foundations of time, when primitive man sat around fires telling stories to pass on wisdom and to make sense of the world around them.

Most story gurus will recommend you first develop your concept and premise and explore them. Deeply. Probe them, ask what-if questions, flesh them out, even to the point of identifying your story milestones and writing a synopsis.

I would add one more step that many gurus add as well: Use your premise to write the hook to your story, that blurb you see on the back of a book or DVD case, the tantalizing bit of what’s-it-all-about that makes you want to rent this DVD, or take that book home and curl up in bed with it.

Does your hook sizzle? Does it engage your emotions, tease your intellect, pique your curiosity? Titillate you? Does it make you want to dive into the story?

Test your hook out on others. Blake Snyder of Save the Cat fame, may he rest in peace, said he would test out his hooks on people while standing in line at Starbucks, the grocery store, wherever. He would know whether or not he had a good premise based upon the reactions of others. That is powerful advice.

So, I stand by the road, rain pouring down my back, my storyteller umbrella blown inside-out and tattered by the harsh winds of story physics. I cry over my beautiful, shiny literary machine, crafted with so much love over so many years, the dreams I indulged in, my hair flying in the breeze as we raced to Bestsellerville. But now, she’s out of story gas, off in the ditch, perhaps destined for the junkyard. All I can do right now is light an emergency flare, wave my arms and warn you off the route I have taken.

The literary trip you embark upon must follow the laws of Story Physics, and you must plan it using the principle of Story Engineering. But if you proceed from a premise that is not “compelling, interesting, and rewarding,”* your trip to Bestsellersville will end with your beautiful machine broken down in the parking lot of Heartbreak Hotel.

* – Story Physics, p. 34

The Road to Nowhere: One Writer’s Journey Toward Craft is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

The post The Road to Nowhere: One Writer’s Journey Toward Craft appeared first on Storyfix.com.

Nine Billion Reasons You Need to Opt-in to This Webinar

A crazy, outrageous title, I get that. But it’s literal. It’s a math thing, but it should get your attention.

I’m presenting a webinar this Thursday, May 22, through Writers Digest University (1:00 EDT). It’s billed as an encore presentation, but it’s actually an enhanced version of a previous webinar I did with WD, called “Good to Great“.

That — moving from good to great — should always remain at the top of our goal list.

It’s $89, but Storyfix readers get TEN BUCKS OFF by using this code — WDS522LB — on the registration form. Which you can get HERE, along with the skinny on the webinar itself.  Also… WD will provide a FREE copy of my 114-page ebook, “The Deconstruction of Deadly Faux” (my latest novel, torn apart to see the moving pieces) with the follow-up Thank-you email sent after the live webinar.  It’s a hefty workshop experience in its own right (this is in addition to the FREE concept evaluation, as well).

As an added bonus, I’m offering a $25 discount on either of my story coaching programs (just send me your registration confirmation), plus two of my ebooks (“Warm Hugs for Writers,” and “Get Your Bad Self Published”).

Here’s why you should consider this.

Take a good close look at this number: 9,000,000,000. That’s nine billion.

That’s roughly the number of ways you can screw up your novel. Any novel. This is a mathematically defensible assertion. (The actual number is a bit higher, to be honest, but I’ve rounded it off… because after all, it’s scary-surprising in either case.)

I can hear you now: “huh?”

We all want to write the best story possible. On a scale of one-to-ten, a score of “10″ is great. Nines and below… really good, then good, then descending to decent, going down from there to average and then… blah.

And while we can rate the overall story in this manner, so too can we rate all the various parts and sub-sets and qualitative measures that combine and contribute to become that overall story. In fact we should look closely at those building blocks, even if our readers don’t (they just experience the whole and cast a vote from that).

I’ve boiled the categories of things you need to do well (the Six Core Competencies) and the reasons they work, or not (the Six Realms of Story Physics), into 12 “buckets” of story content as defined by their respective roles and missions in the process and the end-product. “Dramatic tension,” for example, is one of those categories. There are 11 others.

Because two of them on each list overlap, and for the sake of this analysis, the number of things we need to knock out of the park to write a great novel is ten. The goal is a grade of “10″ for each. To make it the very best it can possibly be.

If you’re into math, you now know where that big number comes from. Ten billion — ten to the tenth power — is the number of possible qualitative gradations. That is a lot of variable decision-making on our writing table.

These issues are all soft and imprecise, which makes the rendering and the grading all the harder. One option is to ignore a given issue of storytelling altogether, which means it’s either a “1″ or, if you luck into it organically, maybe a higher number. But rarely do you get a “10″ by not proactively going for it.

By now you’re thinking, so what are those ten issues and standards?

Here you go: concept/premise, character, theme, structure, scenes, writing voice, dramatic tension, pace, heroic empathy, vicarious experience. Each of these is either a core competency or an issue of story physics, or in the case of two of them, both.

On a qualitative scale of bad to wonderful, you (or a reader) could score each element from 1 to 10. Think of this as a control panel with ten dials, each knob going from 1 to 10. You read a novel, you love the writing style but the plot leaves you flat… that’s a 7 and a 4, respectively. You set the level of excellence through the way you’ve integrated each element into the story, through your skill and awareness… or maybe some degree of luck.

A perfect novel would get tens across the board… but that one hasn’t been written yet. In fact, out of those ten billion possible combinations of qualitative outcome, here’ s an even more astounding number to consider: the number of ways to get to ten out of ten is… exactly one.

So let’s assume that a really stellar novel, or even one that is a slam dunk to find an agent or a publisher, averages a grade (a qualitative assessment) of 7. Some of them you nail (9′s and 10′s), a few are just fine but not remarkable (5s). The average, the goal, the dividing line between good an great, is 7.

That’s what you need to qualify for this league known as “great.”

Trust me, if all of these show up at a level of “7″ or better (and some of them need to be better) in your manuscript then you’re in the game… any higher then your name may be John Irving. Any single category that is sub-par (below a 5) would, like a fly floating on the perfect bowl of chowder, pretty much ruin the whole thing.

So there you are, pondering, considering, taking stabs at and manipulating ten critical and absolutely necessary essences of your story. Shooting for 10s, settling for 7s.

Which means there are 10,000,000,000 (ten billion– that’s not a typo) possible combinations. Because each of the ten categories has ten possible levels… 10 to the 10th power equals ten billion.

Leaving us with 9,999,999,999 combinations of scores across the whole that are compromises in some way.

Because we’re talking about the average score across ten elements, the math required to come up with a precise number of combinations for “7″ or better is staggeringly complex to the point of being inaccessible, it’s not simply 7 to the 10th power, because of the variables (how many 2′s and 3′s are in there to off set a couple of tens, with the others coming at at 6 to 8… you can see that’s a problem for MIT or NASA).

The precision of that number isn’t important. That’s why I’m rounding off. Let’s just say, though — because it’s true — that if you can average 7′s across the whole scoreboard, there are still over NINE BILLION combinations of scores – which reflect your application of creative craft — that come up short.

That’s over nine billion ways to screw up your novel.

If the math has already fogged your mind, then just consider this: we need to understand the difference between an element that is a “10″ compared to a “5,” and empower ourselves with that awareness and some tools to help elevate our craft to a higher level. To avoid those nine billion potholes in the road.

That’s why you need to attend this webinar. It’s a rare opportunity to discuss the craft of writing a novel from this broad perspective.

And those freebie spiff perks (see above) don’t hurt, either.

Feeling lucky? Would you like to have more than luck in your corner? Tune in, that’s what this is all about.

******

Wenatchee writers click HERE for your workshop slide decks.

 

 

 

 

Nine Billion Reasons You Need to Opt-in to This Webinar is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

The post Nine Billion Reasons You Need to Opt-in to This Webinar appeared first on Storyfix.com.

Story Structure… for Television

I’m doubting that many of us write for television.  But I’m betting that most of us watch it.

As students of story architecture and story physics — that is you, right? — we tend to look for evidence of the principles in play in all of the fiction we consume, a large percentage of which is on the small screen.  Especially lately, television is producing some of the finest dramatic and comedic content available anywhere, in all genres.

But, does it model the structures and principles we look to for story optimization in our novels?

Here’s my take on that. 

A reader submitted these questions:

1. How would I apply the Story Structure method on a TV series with an episodic plot that continues each season?

2. How would I use the Story Structure method if I have multiple Point of View characters?

3. Can I add in plot twists during each phase (The Set Up, Reaction, Attack and Final Act) or does it have to only be in Plot Point One, The Mid-Point and Plot Point Two?

4. Is this the only way to structure a story or are there other ways? (Not that this isn’t amazing but I’m just wondering.)

Here are my responses.

The principles, though adapted for length and (literally) commercials, apply directly to each EPISODE of a TV series.  The proportions and page counts are different, though, to accommodate length, specifically to ramp into and out of commercial breaks.

The over-arcing concept of a series, though, doesn‘t.  Which is why when novelists try to imitate that episodic TV format in a novel, it usually doesn’t work.

Most TV series — all of them, in fact — are driven by a singular concept.  Castle, for example (a primetime crime series, on the light side),  is about a novelist (Richard Castle) who shadows a New York City detective, who happens to be smokin’ hot, as research for his fiction… that’s a concept, not a premise.  Each episode, though, IS a premise. The overall series is where we look to find the concept, and then each individual episode has its own premise and structural arc, standing alone as a story.

The problem happens when novelists, looking to emulate this structure, create a viable concept, then simply deliver a series of episodes within a single novel.

An exception to this is the new trend toward “serialized seasons” (like The Following or True Detective, etc), which play as one story (a singluar premise; there is no resolution at the end of each episode) told over 8 or 12 weeks. This is different than, say, a season of Castle or shows like The Mentalist, in which each weekly episode stands alone.

Multiple POV characters — hard to do. But doable nonetheless.

The POVs need to be dealing with, looking in at, the SAME core story thread, rather than telling multiple stories form multiple points of view. Nelson Demille did this well in his novels The Lion and The Lion’s Game, and I took a page from him in my novels, Bait and Switch and Deadly Faux.

Also, the bestseller The Help (Kathryn Stockett) used three different POVs for the same core story. In all of these examples, a given POV has its own chapter before changing POV in the next (or another) chapter.

In other words, avoid multiple POVs within a single chapter.

Plot “twists” — you can have as many as you want.

The only guideline is… those milestones (hook, first plot point, midpoint, second plot point) still need to be there, in the right place, doing the right things (the given function of the given milestone). That’s why this is a framework, rather than a formula, you still get to (you have to) create your own story relative to exposition.

Is this the only way to structure a story?

Well, basically… yes.

Some stories have softer perceived segmentation, some mess with the proporational length of the sections… but pretty much any story that works, especially in today’s market and over the last 30 to 40 years, fall in line: setup… FPP… response… midpoint… proactive attack of the problem… plot point… resolution.

That paradigm is not really all that flexible, but it’s still art, allowing us to take our chances with what we decide to do.

These principles — the four part model, and the story physics that drive them — are there for one, and only one reason: the story WORKS BETTER this way. They aren’t rules, the open market “enforces” a perception of them being rules because stories that don’t line up really don’t work all that well.

So when an editor criticizes, even (usually) without even mentioning any of this “modeling” (example: editor says “the story takes too long to kick in… there’s not enough going on, or not enough tension… I don’t relate to the character enough… the ending is flat…” whatever) what they’re REALLY saying is you need to shift things and elevate the story forces — because it isn’t working all that well, as is.

When you do that, when you follow your editor’s advice, you ARE working with these very same principles, whether you like or use the vernacular, or not.

They’re like gravity that way.  Gravity doesn’t care what you call it.  But it’s always there to pull you back to earth.

****

Want more on how to elevate from good to great?  Check out my May 22 WEBINAR with Writers Digest University, on just that topic.  Click HERE for more information.

You can even score a $10 discount (off the $89 tuition) by using the code — WDS522LB — when registering.  Which you can do HERE.

*****

Heading off to Wenatchee WA his weekend for two workshop sessions at the annual Write on the River conference.  If you’re up for a last minute spontaneous jolt of writing adrenalin, click HERE.

Story Structure… for Television is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

The post Story Structure… for Television appeared first on Storyfix.com.

Writing A Publishable Novel: What “Finally Getting It” Really Means

Three Things You Must “Get” Before You Really Get It

Writing a great story can be so easy to mess up. Take one thing for granted, miss one step or fail to nail one necessary dramatic essence, and the story will likely be stillborn.

Sure, it looks easy enough when you sit down with the latest Baldacci or Rowling or Grisham – but when you sit down to turn your Big Idea into a crackling good novel, things don’t always turn out as planned.

Maybe there’s something about this writing thing you’re not getting.

It’s even worse when you have no idea it hasn’t turned out as well as you thought. Which means those rejection slips will confuse and anger you… “what do they know, anyhow?”

Answer: “they” know something you don’t. And it has zero to do with your narrative prose talent.

Some writers get it. Some take years, even decades, to get it. Some never do.

But it doesn’t need to be that way.

Not saying it’s simple. Or even obvious.

Until you know what “it” is. Then it is obvious. Because you’ll see it at work in virtually every published book you read.

There are six core competencies that go into the creation of any good story.

And there are a million ways to mess it all up. Many of them fall into one of the three categories of “things you must get.”

Let’s say you have – because you probably do — what you believe to be a Big Idea for a story. Good for you, that’s certainly a prerequisite. But what you may not realize is that a Big Idea – if it truly is big – is only ONE of those six requisite core competencies a good story must leverage.

The problem here comes, too often, when the writer wants to show us something. When that is the concept itself, the highest order of intention.  A time.  A place.  A character.  A situation.

Versus showing us something that is happening. That, right there, is the key.

All of those are required — time, place, character, situation — but if that’s all you have in your narrative… then you’re guilty of not getting it on this issue.

Those things alone, without other absolutely necessary elements, are not a story. That’s vicarious experience, but without a plot. Because if nothing is happening, you have no dramatic tension.

No dramatic tension… no story.

Mr. X goes to Boston… grows up there… does stuff… isn’t Boston wonderful… he falls in love… has appendicitis… goes to a Red Sox game… gets audited… wins the lottery. The end.

You think I’m kidding? That story arrived in my inbox a few months ago.

The story becomes “stuff that happens to X when she/he is in Y.” In other words, “The Adventures of X.”

That’s #1 on this list of the three things you need to get.

It doesn’t work. Your story, if it’s like that, will be rejected.

Or – here comes #2 – you write a story about a character who needs to get over something from their past, the conquering of an inner demon. Just that. That’s what you’re using as conflict in the story, the hero has no self-confidence or can’t forgive or is afraid of postal workers, whatever. And so, you take him/her on a narrative journey to find it.

To have experiences in which this inner limitation rears its debilitating head.

Thing is, in this type of story… the reader is merely watching. There is nothing, or not enough, to root for in a story like this.

This is similar to #1, but critically, dangerously different: you think you have a plot, because there is conflict, dark stuff, but what you really have is a character arc. Which, without a plot – the hero, in such a case, a case with a plot, would be trying to solve the problem, rather than simply confronting it over and over, with something specific at stake – isn’t sufficient to get you published.

In other words, for a story to work it needs a PLOT.

For which there is a short but critical list of criteria – benchmarks – that need to be considered and honored. Without tension, without the hero wanting or needing something, without the hero DOING something to solve a problem or attain a goal, without something or someone blocking that path and being at odds with that quest-goal, and without something at stake…

… in other words, without giving the reader something to root for, versus simply observe and marvel at…

… then there is no plot.

The report card is in.

And the verdict is… these are challenging constructs to absorb. Too many writers out there aren’t getting it.

Are you one of them? Evaluate your story against this criteria: Is your story about the hero wanting or needing something, about her/him doing something, or is it about the character being somewhere, possibly in a certain situation, asking the reader to observe it all, perhaps marvel at it… without giving us something to ROOT for along the hero’s journey?

I’ve done over 500 story plan evaluations in the last two years, focusing on concept, premise, the first plot point, the dramatic question and the unfolding dramatic arc that brings the hero to the point of resolving that dramatic question?  Out of those 500 stories, only TEN got this completely right. Even then, they may or may not be publishable, based on the quality of the manuscript that ensues. That is another evaluation entirely.

Of the other 490, another twenty or so got it close enough to tweak into publishable shape without going back to the conceptual or dramatic drawing board to redesign the whole thing.

The rest, all 470 of them, messed up on some combination of those two story-killers.  Those writers, many of them at least, were possessed of perfectly fine writing voices. But they didn’t get it.

Oh, one more thing… this being…

… the third thing about stories that you must get.

All of this needs to be COMPELLING. The misjudgment of that – what’s compelling, what isn’t… what’s compelling to you, prompting you to assume that it’s compelling to a broader readership – is a third category of what you must get.

What happened in early 1900s Iceland… it may be compelling to you, but really, how many people are dying to spend money on story to find out about that? Moreover, how many publishers are willing to place a bet that there are like-minded fans of Icelandic history out there?  You can get all six core competencies right, nail them dead on, but if i’s not compelling it won’t matter.

This is the stuff of bestsellers, by the way. The core notion is compelling, and the execution is usually – not always — stellar.

It’s your job to make it compelling. And the only way to do that is to deliver on the other five core competencies available to you.  And then, it all lives or dies on how compelling it is.

Not just to you… that’s easy.  Your job is to write something that is compelling for a readership.

You have six buckets (categories) of storytelling tools to make that happen: concept/premise… character… theme… dramatic structure… scene execution… and writing voice.

Five out of six… not good enough. You won’t get it published. They’re all story makers, and they’re all story killers, depending on your choices. That’s just a true statement. You need to bat six for six on these story criteria.

It isn’t writing about what you love… that can kill your story. If nobody else loves it like you do, and if that’s all you do… if you only showcase that love (Iceland, for example) without framing it with a dramatic proposition.. then your readers won’t get it, either.

Get this stuff right – these three Epiphanies – and you’re suddenly in a small club that may actually find themselves published one day.

*****

Want to check in on your story plan’s awareness of these three issues?

Click HERE for the Kick-Start version of my evaluation service ($95), and HERE for the full story plan level ($195).

Also, if you’d like a peek at what this process looks like, check out the recent case studies here on Storyfix to see actual submissions and feedback.

*****

If you’d like to dig into these issues even further…

Attend my Writers Digest WEBINAR — May 22, 2014, 1:00 EDT

“The Elements of Story: Transforming Your Novel from Good to Great”

Regular price is $89.99… but you can score a $10 discount just for reading Storyfix (read on…).

Click HERE for more information, including your free incentive (an evaluation of your story concept).  To get your $10 DISCOUNT for being a Storyfix reader… just enter this code — WDS522LB — in the appropriate box on the enrollment form.

As a further incentive, I’ll toss in some freebies of my own:

A $25 discount on either level of my story plan evaluation service (see links above).

A free copy of two of my ebooks:

Warm Hugs for Writers

Get Your Bad Self Published

To get these additional spiffs, just forward me a copy of your registration confirmation from Writers Digest and I’ll send them right out.  Again, click HERE for that, and a full description of the webinar topics.

 

Writing A Publishable Novel: What “Finally Getting It” Really Means is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

The post Writing A Publishable Novel: What “Finally Getting It” Really Means appeared first on Storyfix.com.

A Short, Questionnaire-free Case Study: The Awaiting Epiphany When Craft Suddenly Clarifies…

… a moment that sometimes waits until after a synopsis comes together – or even the writing of an entire manuscript – to announce itself to you.

Which can feel like awakening to the realization that, while you set out to drive to Florida, you’re instead in a boat heading for Havana, and the guys waiting at the dock have machine guns pointing at you.

This is about what you think you know about your story… versus what you must know about your story.

Or, as I like to call it… the criteria of craft.

Let’s call today’s writer Dave.

Dave is one of my earliest coaching clients, and from Day One he’s impressed me as a publication-ready talent. We worked on his first novel through a couple of rounds of coaching, and he ended up landing an agent. Who, unfortunately, hasn’t found a home for the novel yet… but it will happen, in my opinion.

(Sidenote: The Help – you may have heard of it – was rejected 60 times. Click HERE to read an article by the author herself… this is what happens. Rejection, in some cases, has almost no relationship to the viable quality of the story or the talents of the author.)

And so, like any real writer, Dave moved on to his next novel.

As context, Dave isn’t just a stellar wielder of clever narrative prose, he crafts edgy, flawed-hero-driven thrillers — right up my alley — that will make the more nervous among you flee to the nearest Sound of Music DVD.

And so, when he came back for some evaluation and coaching on his latest story, he opted in to my Full Story Plan (then $150) service, which as you know by now involves a nastily unforgiving little Questionnaire that doesn’t allow you to hide behind a Big Idea.

It’s like an MRI for your story. Or a relentless District Attorney with a truckload of evidence… you have to prove yourself under cross-examination.  The jury, by the way, isn’t just me — it’s agents, editors and anyone who will read the story, in whatever form.

Besides, that DA (or the MRI machine, for that matter) won’t suggest what you do about it.  I will.

And here’s where Dave fell into the trap.

That nasty little abyss that swallows stories whole and may or may not – the latter coming if you simply quit – result in a two to three year cycle of rewriting and thoughts of taking up finger-painting instead.

He sent me a synopsis of his story.  Just that.  Didn’t want to mess around with that pesky Questionnaire. As if, perhaps, it was a first step that no longer mattered since the synopsis was, as it should be, created in context to a vision for the whole, larger story.

He’s not the first to do this. To make that risky assumption.

And not the first to discover that the Questionnaire itself is a literary version of a visit with Peter at the Pearly Gates of Story Heaven. Because, even without a synopsis or a whole story, even before either have written, that Questionnaire will expose and explore the story’s worthiness.

Let us hope that doesn’t end up being worthlessness. But it happens.

Back to Dave.

I told him that, to get the full value and benefit of this process, he needed to dive into that Questionnaire. I assured him that he would discover his story there, at least in terms if it was ready… or not. I suggested that I would wait for his answers before giving him my feedback.

Why? Because it is those answers that I am evaluating. Despite, or at least over and above, what the synopsis says.

Meanwhile, as I was waiting on Dave’s response, I heard from another client, offering me “feedback” on the same Questionnaire. She said she’d never encountered the terms used to frame the questions (concept, premise, dramatic question, theme, etc.) despite – grab something solid for this next part – having studied creative writing at the college level and taken a boatload of online workshops (including those from Writers Digest, which include my own handful of webinars).

It was Greek to her. And, at first blush, it therefore appeared that I wasn’t speaking the true language of  fiction.

We had a nice back and forth on that issue. Outcome of that in a moment.

I basically told her that, to whatever extent this was true (about college-level courses not talking about the right things — I have many MFA clients who assure me they don’t), this is why so many creative writing majors never publish a word.

But again… back to Dave.

Here’s what he wrote me, word for word, after his first pass at the Questionnaire, and in response to my inquiry, because several days had passed in silence:

I had some feedback from a trusted reader that nagged at me. Then one question of yours gave me the answer and drove the outline into an overhaul.

I swear I will never again start writing anything until I have my beat outline locked down. Reworking a 3 to 5 thousand page outline is nothing compared to reworking a 85,000 word novel.

Larry, thanks again for saving my writing-ass. I dread to think of the hundreds, if not thousands of hours I could have wasted. Thankfully I was spared that misery. All because I checked in with you first.

In other words, an Epiphany.

Not just at the story level, but on a storytelling craft level. Something he cannot un-see or un-know… he is a different writer because of this new understanding of the criteria of craft.

And that other writer, the one who thought I was inventing a new vocabulary for storytelling craft? That, just perhaps, I was dealing in snake oil (as one Story Physics reviewer put it; maybe they went to the same school, who knows)?

Here’s her response:

I get it! I’m reading Story Physics right now. I just started section 3. All of a sudden, I remembered back to when I used to read every Dean Koontz book that came out until they got boring because I knew how it would go: Bad thing happens. Meet the hero. Bad thing happens that sets the hero on his mission. The A, B, C, happens with some fluff in between before there’s a final confrontation with the Big Bad, then a wrap up. I wondered how he managed to crank out so many books so fast and even tried to sit down and figure out his formula but I didn’t have the knowledge or the tools at the time. I didn’t make the connection. Geez, I was such a doofus.

But now, I get it. I see it. I understand what I was fumbling at all those years ago. Epiphany moment!

Just had to share!

There’s that word again: Epiphany.

Call it what you will. It certainly feels like a curtain parting when it hits you. And sometimes, despite reading the books and going to workshops listening to webinars, you need to apply what you’re learning to your own story.

Because I promise you, it’s much harder and more complex than it looks or seems.

*****

Several case studies from this evaluation process are here on Storyfix, especially recently. If you’d like a peek at the Questionnaire – for both the shorter Kick-Start level (concept, premise and First Plot Point), and the Full Story Plan level – check them out.

Partly because of suggestions (well-intended pressure, actually) from a few of my peers, not to mention several clients, and because I’m spending more and more hours on each individual project submitted, I’m changing my fee structure for both levels of evaluation.

Trying for a more equitable win-win value proposition.  And yes, I will continue to attempt to over-deliver.

In return I’m expanding the links included on the Questionnaire – in case some of the terminology and the principles need a tune up – as well as the scope and volume of my input.

The Kick-Start Concept/Premise Evaluation is now $95 (for a 48-hour rush, $145).

The Full Story Plan Evaluation is now $195 (for a 48-hour rush, $245).

These new fees are effectively immediately.

If you’ve already submitted a project for review, and are opting in for a second round on the same story (which many do), the former pricing structure still applies to that revised submission (through the remainder of 2014).

It’s still, I humbly submit, the best value in the story coaching business.

What is your story, and your time, worth to you?

Craft is priceless. Getting there more effectively and efficiently… that’s just (still) ridiculously affordable.

A Short, Questionnaire-free Case Study: The Awaiting Epiphany When Craft Suddenly Clarifies… is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

The post A Short, Questionnaire-free Case Study: The Awaiting Epiphany When Craft Suddenly Clarifies… appeared first on Storyfix.com.