Promises, Promises

Promises

When you write, you’re making a promise to the reader.

In the case of most genre fiction, you’re promising the reader that you’re going to entertain them.

In the case of any book, you should be promising not to waste the reader’s time.

You are promising interesting characters and worlds and plots and all the things that a reader expects when they pick up a book.

That’s important, because half of your promise is in the mind of the reader and you can’t control that promise.

The character I despise may be beloved to another reader. The prose I love may be boring to another reader.

Thing is? You CAN control the other half of the promises, by making sure they meet YOUR requirements as a reader.

Types of Promises

There are multiple kinds of promises. Characters, plots, objects … too many to name.

It’s when you accidentally make a promise and don’t realize it that you start getting into deep trouble.

Jack let out a long breath as he ducked behind a vibrant purple cargo container whose contents hummed, a deep vibration that set Jack’s bones to thrumming. Nobody else seemed to notice, but the container glowed, just a bit, when all the lights were off.

Jack waited for the guard to complete his circuit. The guard, whose name was Silvester Von Peeblesmith, in no way lived up to the pitiful image of his name. Silver, as they called him, was broad, tall, muscular, and as like to shove a bayonet down your throat as wish you good morning and ask to see your papers. Jack had been dodging him for weeks now, but the ship was going to dock soon. He hadn’t been discovered as a stowaway yet, and he had no plans of losing that bet today.

What promises are in there? What things might a reader expect me to follow up on which might end up with some kind of disappointment if I don’t follow through?

1) The cargo container. I didn’t just say it was a container … I told you it was VIBRANT PURPLE and had humming contents and glowed at night. How would you feel if I never mentioned the containers or their possible cargo throughout the rest of the story? One hopes that the contents are actually CENTRAL to the story, given how much detail I gave you. Is it some illicit substance? A magical ore or perhaps even a creature contained against its will? Why is no one else noticing? Is it because there’s some connection between Jack and that cargo?

2) Silver, the guard who was more than just a nameless, faceless guard. I told you his name, I described him, and I gave you pretty good reason to dislike him. He’d better be at least a minor character for me to have given him so much face time.

3) Stowaway. I told you the main character is skulking around on a ship. This one’s more subtle than the others … but if he just merrily skips off the ship without any complications or being discovered, then that is also a broken promise.

4) “bet” — I mentioned that the character didn’t want to lose a bet. We’d better find out what kind of bet he made AND we’d better establish him as a betting man. Why would he make the wager? Is he desperate, or just thrill-seeking?

5) “bayonet” “ship” “dock” — I’ve given tiny hints of setting here. If the next chapter has modern-day guns and tanks, you’re probably going to wonder just what happened.

First Drafts

As a writer, it’s dead simple to make a dozen broken promises when you’re writing. You think it’ll be fun to have the character pull out a ceremonial knife, or detail the history of the mega-trailer parks that your character grew up in.

Great.

Fantastic.

But … if you never use that knife again, or if the trailer park info doesn’t come into play later, then you are wasting my time, breaking your promises to me.

You highlight something, shine a bright beam of focus with your adjectives and names and scream to me that I should PAY ATTENTION BECAUSE THIS MATTERS.

The first time I realize it doesn’t matter, I lose faith in your ability to keep your promises to me.

Revisions

Revisions are where you go through and ask yourself … what promises did I :

Intend to make?
Accidentally make?

Maybe I intended to use the purple boxes and completely forgot to follow-through on them. I should delete the descriptors of the box when I’m revising, to dial the importance of the cargo back to where it actually fits in the story.

Maybe I hadn’t intended it, but by the end of the novel, it became really important that Jack has a pet monkeybird that helps him out of scrapes. I need to go back and add the monkeybird here, at the beginning, so the importance makes sense.

Maybe I began writing with the idea that Silver would be the bulldog-guard-who-never-gives-up, but by the end, I realized that he’s going to swap sides and become Jack’s companion. I should maybe tone down his intro here so it doesn’t sound quite so unforgiving.

Remember

First drafts are for you. They’re playing, sketching, drafting, goofing off. Make as many promises as you like. Try them on for size, see how they feel.

Revisions are for your readers, and even if they’re not as much fun as fingerpainting, you’re not likely to sell your work if you can’t be arsed to go back through and clean up all the little loose ends and oopses.

Also, don’t revise until you FINISH. Until you put THE END at the capstone, you may not know for sure whether that purple box is important. Leave it alone, even if you’re pretty sure it needs to change. Make yourself a note if it makes you feel better, but DON’T TOUCH IT.

*swats your hand*

Your turn!

Anyone out there come across any broken promises in video games, movies, tv shows, or books you’ve read?

How about any super-incredibly-awesome fulfilled promises?

 

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