Author Archives: fictorians

A guest post by Holly Heisey.

When I decided to write seriously, I learned that I should write every day. So I did. After a month, I burned out.

Did that mean I wasn’t a real writer? Of course not.

Natural writing strides are a lot like sleeping habits. Some people are early risers, some are night owls, some fall in between. A person who’s a natural night owl won’t function well as an early riser, or vice versa. The same with your writing stride: if you naturally write every day, awesome! If you naturally don’t, awesome! The only thing that matters is that you’re writing and enjoying the process.

If you don’t know your natural writing stride, you can start by paying attention to how you feel about your writing time. Are you excited to write? Do you feel stressed, or are there times you’re more motivated than others? Maybe you don’t have a lot of energy during the week, but you’re very productive on the weekends. Or, your weekdays might be great for writing, but the weekends are for family. Or, you might like the freedom of a loose weekly goal. A weekly goal is great if daily wordcounts don’t work for you.

Another thing to consider is fear. The premise behind “write every day” is that when you make yourself do something every day, you’re not letting fear get in the way of creativity. The problem with this rule is that people deal with fear and creative problem solving in different ways. Guilt is also a factor in understanding your writing stride; guilt over not getting things done can be every bit as paralyzing as fear.

Here’s some things to watch for in your daily writing habits:

The Shoulds: Do you think you should write every day? Shoulds often have roots in others’ expectations—from friends and family, or from looking at other writers’ accomplishments, or from the pressure to be a “pro.” Shoulds are often an indicator that you’re going against your own grain.

Panic: Does the thought of writing today make you feel panicky? We all have different ways of dealing with this, but if you’re feeling panic, it might help to jump in and write anyway. Often enough, you’ll find that you can do it.

Procrastination: Let’s call this passive-aggressive panic. If you’re procrastinating, it’s probably a good idea to write anyway.

Motivation: Are you excited about what you’re writing today? If you’re excited but still afraid, awesome! That means you’re doing great things.

Apathy: This isn’t fear, but a lack of interest (though I’d look closely, as apathy and fear can masquerade as one another). This might mean your subconscious isn’t ready to work on the next part of your story. In which case, let your subconscious do its thing. It’s pretty smart.

Frustration: Does writing feel like pushing through molasses? You might see if any sparks ignite, but if it’s driving you into deeper frustration, it’s best to take a break.

If you’re frustrated or not feeling motivated, that’s okay. It’s natural, and it’s usually your subconscious saying, “hold on, wait, I’ve got a better idea!” You’re not blocked, you’re just incubating. Go do something fun, take a walk, watch a movie. Your writing will be there tomorrow or the next day, and you’ll likely find the excitement growing again. It’s like taking a writerly nap, and you “wake up” with your creativity renewed.

If you find you’re wanting to take too many days off, step back and ask yourself why you don’t want to write. A lot of times, it will be because of fear. Just ease back into a schedule, no big deal. Celebrate every page or paragraph written, because they’re always something to celebrate.

Once you do find your writerly stride, it’s okay to break the schedule and take a day off.

That’s worth repeating, because it’s where guilt often hits the hardest: It’s okay to take a day off.

Really. Take care of yourself. When you’re stressed about creating, it lessens your creativity. Your body, mind, and emotions are your most important assets. You are very worth caring for.

As writers, we’re in this for the long haul. “Professional” does not mean the lack of fun. Try things out. Be a little crazy. Be kind to yourself.

Your writing will love you for it.

About Holly Heisey:

Holly Heisey launched her writing career in sixth grade when she wrote her class play, a medieval fantasy. It was love at first dragon. Since then, she’s been a multiple finalist in the Writers of the Future Contest, and her short fiction has appeared in Escape Pod and Aoife’s Kiss. Holly lives in Pennsylvania with Larry and Moe, her two pet cacti, and she is currently at work on a science fantasy epic. Her website can be found at http://hollyheisey.com

Spelling and Grammar

March 25, 2015

fictorians

Balancing Acts Craft & Skills 2 Comments

A guest post by R J Terrell

Ah, our friends spelling and grammar. We meet them in school and they are with us for the rest of our literary lives. They’re what make non verbal communication possible, and make those of us who think too much marvel at how they came to be and evolved over the centuries.

In nonfiction, such as technical books, cookbooks, etc, spelling and grammar are essential (except your vegan books where we have substitutional products like almond mylk instead of milk) throughout the book. The last thing an author wants is to misspell the word spase in a book about astronomy. *grin*

In fiction, however, it’s a little different. Among others, there are two things going on that make for an immersive novel.

Within fiction, you have narrative, and dialogue. While there different types of narrative styles, for the purpose here, we will stick to three.

One style of narration is First Person. In first person, the reader only knows what the character knows. In this style, you the reader are in the main character’s head, and therefore are reading things in the manner in which they think. In this type of narration, spelling and grammar are usually going to follow the rules. Although you are reading the character’s experiences from their perspective, and sentences are even written in a style according to how they think, spelling and grammar are going to be intact; “When I made my way over that hill and saw that mountain lion, there was no way in hell I was taking a step closer. In fact, I took a step back.” This is first person, but written in a conversational style. Grammar and spelling intact.

Two other styles are Third Person Limited and Third Person Omniscient. The former is similar to first person, in that the reader only knows what the character in question knows, but it is in third person. Omniscient is when the reader knows everything going on in the world even though the characters don’t. These two types of narrative require proper spelling and grammar at all times. We are outside the characters’ heads, and are in a sense, hopping from shoulder to shoulder of each character.

And lastly, we have dialogue. This is what draws us into a character. It gives the character depth and personality. It’s what makes a character real. Now as I mentioned, we all learn spelling and grammar in school, but few people speak in the same manner we write. If I was speaking to you right now, I would say, “Hey, what’s goin’ on?” I’m less likely to say. “Hello. What is going on?” Generally, relaxed conversation just doesn’t happen that way, and it shouldn’t with your characters, either.

If every single character in a book spoke in proper spelling and grammar, we would likely feel like we were reading a documentary. People don’t speak like a text book, so for goodness sake, they shouldn’t be written to speak like one in fiction, unless that is part of the story. However. There is a balance. I can have a character say, “Hey there my man! What’s happnin’ over up that hill?” But if I were to go too far, for instance; “Hey th’r m’mayne! Waz happnin’ over’n up’n th’ hill?” It’s just too much. Although there are people who speak without pronouncing a single word correctly, they can be difficult to understand, just like it would be the case trying to read what they’re saying. A balance has to be maintained. The exception is that if there is one character that speaks this way, it can be highlighted as something that makes them different. A whole race of characters can be difficult to understand, but this must be used sparingly, lest you risk frustrating the reader and them giving up. Nothing is worse than trying to sit down and enjoy a book but having your brain scrambled trying to decipher the dialogue of a book full of characters with crazy speech patterns. That can pull you out of a story just as easily as one full of characters speaking like Rhodes scholars.

So narrate that book with impeccable spelling and grammar, and get those sentences right. But for the sake of your lovely, awesome, inspiring characters, throw in some slang, have that peasant farmer say ‘hisself’, instead of ‘himself’. Find that balance and learn to walk it well, and your readers will love you for it.

About R J Terrell:
R. J. Terrell was instantly a lover of fantasy the day he opened R. A. Salvatore’s: The Crystal Shard. Years (and many devoured books) later he decided to put pen to paper for his first novel. After a bout with aching carpals, he decided to try the keyboard instead, and the words began to flow. When not writing, he enjoys reading, video games, and long walks with his wife around Stanley Park in Vancouver BC.

R J Terrell on facebook

R J Terrell on twitter

R.J. Terrell on Goodreads

Why I Hate Flash Forwards, Except When I Don’t

March 24, 2015

fictorians

Balancing Acts Craft & Skills 1 Comment

A guest post by David Farland.

I usually just hate flash forwards. Seeing one in a story is almost always a sign that the storyteller doesn’t know what he or she is doing.

You know what a flash forward, is, right? It’s when the writer violates the timeline by showing us something that will happen at the end of the tale.

Now, I’m the first reader for one of the world’s largest short story writing contests, so I see a lot of flash forwards. Most of them start with a tremendous amount of action, with the protagonist running for his life and then getting caught. Then the story flashes back to the character living up through the events that got him there.

The problem is, that in nine out of ten cases, those events are so slow, so boring, so routine or mundane that they just can’t hold a reader’s interest. On a conscious level, the author knows this, and so he or she will tack on a flash forward as if to say, “Keep on reading. It gets better!”

The problem is that the writer knows that the scenes as they are written can’t hold a reader. Usually, that’s because there is not enough conflict early enough. The protagonist doesn’t have any real problems, or they aren’t introduced within the first three pages. Or maybe there isn’t a central mystery that needs to be solved, or there just isn’t anything that is intriguing going on. There are just a few things that can hold a reader in the opening of a story. They are:

A fascinating setting or character, a character that is in pain or facing a significant problem, or a writer’s skill as a stylist and storyteller in presenting the story in an intriguing or powerful way.

If you don’t have any of those, you need them. In fact, if you don’t have them, you really should try to incorporate all of them.

Now, generally, a flash forward tends to be problematic. You see, when I begin reading a story, your goal is to engross me—to draw me into your fictive universe, transport me into your setting, let me take on the persona of your protagonist, and virtually live through a shared dream.

But a flash forward immediately kicks the reader out of that shared dream. Why? Because as soon as the flash forward ends, you yank your reader out of the dream. It’s as if the author is saying, “Oh, I was just kidding. This isn’t a story that you can get lost in. This is just me up here.”

In real life, you will never have a flash forward. You will never suddenly find yourself living through something that will happen in nine years. We are locked into a steady sequence of events, living from one second to another, and any violation of that law in fiction will cause a reader to disengage, even for a moment. You don’t usually want that.

Yet sometimes a flash forward can work. For example, in a science fiction novel, let’s say that you have a character who has prophetic visions. Go ahead and flash forward away!

Otherwise, you have to earn the flash forward. It can be done. Perhaps my favorite example comes from the plot of the television series Breaking Bad.

Here’s a description of that dramatic opening shot: A man (Bryan Cranston) wearing only underpants and a gas mask, drives a Bounder RV recklessly down a desolate road in the New Mexico desert. Another, younger man (Aaron Paul) with a gas mask covering a severely bruised face, unconscious, occupies the passenger seat. As the vehicle swerves down the dirt road, two bodies slide across the RV floor until the vehicle veers into a ditch. The hyperventilating driver climbs out with a video camera, wallet, and gun. Identifying himself as Walter Hartwell White, he records a cryptic, handheld farewell to his wife, son, and unborn child while sirens echo in the distance. Walt then steps onto the roadway, with the gun in his hand.

WalterWhite1

So why does the flash forward work so well on Breaking Bad but fail elsewhere?

In this one, the audience really has to wonder what in the hell is going on—to the point that they’re willing to follow the story for an hour. Yeah, I really wanted to know how Walter White got himself into that kind of trouble.
The following scenes must be interesting in themselves. They are. Breaking Bad was written beautifully, with an interesting character undergoing the fight of his life as he struggles with cancer, hoping to find a way to support his wife, his handicapped son, and his unborn child after his demise.
The flash forward itself has to work as a hook for what happens next. At the end of this flash forward, Walter White appears to be making a stand—he’s going to confront the police. Too often, I see flash forwards where the protagonist dies in the flash forward, leaving no room for suspense as to what will happen next.
The flash forward has to be interesting enough so that we are an audience are willing to see it twice.
The flash forward has a twist in the end, taking us in an unexpected direction. When the flash forward does take its place into the story’s timeline, something happens afterward that changes everything—that either shows the protagonist in a new light, or shows the problem in a new light.

So, if you’re going to have a flash forward, you lose something. Most of the time, it’s not a tradeoff worth making.

If you are going to resort to a flash forward, make sure that every line of your story outside of it earns you the right!

About David Farland:

David Farland is an award-winning, New York Times bestselling author who has penned nearly fifty science fiction and fantasy novels for both adults and children. Along the way, he has also worked as the head judge for one of the world’s largest writing contests, as a creative writing instructor, as a videogame designer, as a screenwriter, and as a movie producer. You can find out more about him at his homepage at http://www.davidfarland.net/. Also check out more great advice in his book Million Dollar Outlines. And take some of his online workshops at http://mystorydoctor.com.

Authorial Foreshadowing

March 16, 2015

fictorians

Balancing Acts Craft & Skills The Writing Life 3 Comments

A guest post by Lou Berger.

As Emily Godhand’s post Friday discussed, writers are, in the course of their tutelage, exhorted to show their story, not tell it. As you read this post, however, you‘ll learn a specialized form of how to break this rule and do it well.

See what I did there? I gave you some insight about what’s to come! If you were paying attention, Gentle Reader, you’ll be able to guess the rule I’m about to teach you how to break. And that’s exactly the point.

Authors, including Stephen King and Jane Austen, make frequent use of the literary device known as authorial foreshadowing. Thing are bopping along, you’re getting great dialogue, great scene descriptions and a general, friendly backstory of the folks you’re about to spend time with in the story you are reading. Then, ruining your day, the author intrudes on all this happiness and beauty with a huge revelation.

“Little did Jimmy know that this was his last morning of sunshine. A late-model Buick with fishhooks welded to the grill barreled down the interstate, driven by an unshaven man hunching forward to peer through the cloudy windshield.”

Gives you shivers, don’t it? And the unshaven man probably won’t, prior to his smashing into poor little Jimmy and his friends at the bus stop, pull over and shave or, God forbid, clean the damn windshield.

The author has interrupted the story to tell you that something dire is approaching. Now you can’t see Jimmy in quite the same way, can you? You’re already discounting what he says and does because he’s gonna die. Oh, it will be a splendid death, for sure, with young bodies cartwheeling through the air, perhaps a mangling or two, maybe even a severed head bouncing through the school zone, coming to rest against the curb, eyes clouding over as the mouth works soundlessly.

But I digress. That’s coming up. Right now, Jimmy and his cohorts are sniggering about something the teacher said. “The beauty of art,” she announced, but the boys can only parse that she said “The beauty, uh, fart.”

Boys, right?

Authors foreshadow to build tension, to keep you engaged in the story.

Also, if they know that something unbelievable is about to happen, a good author will break the “show, don’t tell” rule with authorial foreshadowing to get your mind working on what is about to take place. Call it, if you are so inclined, a way to get you thinking about something improbable way ahead of time, so that when it comes up, you were expecting it and you’re not so unwilling to believe that it is possible.

“When Georgette woke up that morning and stretched in the early Kansas sunshine, she had no idea that she’d be barreling toward Pluto in a stolen alien spacecraft by mid-afternoon.”

See? Now she can munch Wheaties, dress for school in a smock and Mary Janes, then skip her way to the bus stop where Janice is waiting with the latest dirt on the new boy that moved into the Johnson house. WE know that aliens are a’comin’. So we mentally prepare for that and anxiously await learning how the author will make it happen.

Georgette, on the other hand, is clueless.

And we turn the pages rapidly, racing toward the abduction . . .

There. I told you you’d learn something!

About Lou Berger:

Lou Berger is a Denver-based writer. He’s published several short stories in magazines and anthologies, and is a member of SFWA. He’s currently working on a middle-grade novel set in 1978’s Franklin, North Carolina. His website is www.LouJBerger.com.