Author Archives: fictorians

A guest post by Emily Godhand.

Oh sure, give Friday the 13th to the horror writer. I see how it is. Two can play this game.

I apologize for nothing.

It seems a bit blasphemous (Hi! I’m Godhand) to call out one of the first rules I ever heard when writing stories: Show, don’t tell.

This quickly became the only rule I ever heard, as it seemed the easiest way for anyone who had ever put pen to paper to become a critic and ‘help’ me with my story. (Even you, Ms. High School English Teacher! For shame.)

But the problem was, as well-intentioned as everyone was, there was never enough ‘showing’ and any sort of ‘telling’ was immediately reprimanded with that ‘rule’. They were taking it as an axiom, and weren’t looking at context, style, pacing or point of view. They weren’t listening to it as a story, as an oral narration passed from person to person.

Oh, no.

It was just “you’re directly telling me something and there’s a RULE against that and therefore that’s bad.”

Sure, they wanted to be helpful, but they didn’t have or didn’t know how to deliver constructive feedback, so by God, they were going to keep repeating that suggestion no matter how minutely I described every mundane detail of every person my protagonist encountered. It wasn’t enough to just say he was “fair, fit, and flawless”; they wanted every last detail of this man’s physical description until I had spent a page non-ironically devoted to the magnificence of his beard.

When really, there are no words.

I mean, it was a well-intentioned enough rule meant to draw out vivid descriptions and immersive, flavorful text that evoked cinematic images from the effective use of word-play. It was meant to avoid mundane descriptions and narrations. But…in the process, describing every last little thing in an attempt to ‘show and not tell’ creates mundane descriptions and narrations.

“Bob was happy. He drank his coffee. Then he went to work.”

Some have taken it so far as to be interpreted as “Don’t tell ANYTHING”, as if the story is some sort of well-kept secret only to be ascertained by the finest of reader-sleuths.
…After they dredge through a purple sea of descriptions, that is.

“The Writer’s Motto!” …wait…

The other extreme being, of course, is to show EVERYTHING. Which isn’t much better.

Let’s go back to Bob.

“Bob picked up his yellow mug with a bright smile. He took a sip then set it down. His lips puckered at the taste and twisted his face into a scowl. He took another sip. The metallic toaster popped up golden brown toast. His stomach growled. He left the toast in the toaster and took another sip….”

Do I care that the mug is yellow? Is there something special about the toaster that I need to describe it as ‘metallic’? Is toast anything but golden brown? Does all that description even matter? Bob’s having breakfast. Tell me he’s having breakfast and then Cut. End scene.

You could tell me he got ready for work “with his usual breakfast of black coffee laced with self-loathing”, but to tell me anything more implies there is something important within the context of the breakfast itself. If there isn’t, you’re just slowing down the pacing. Giving attention to something tells the reader ‘this is important!’

But you can mix showing with telling. You can do that. You’re the writer. You’re a God with a pen in your hand; there are no rules, only suggestions.

“Bob was happy.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he poured a large mug of black coffee. He had a good home, a good wife, a good job. He plastered on a smile and chugged down the burning liquid, still ignoring the toast that popped up behind him minutes ago.

What good was his home to him when he was never there?
What good was having a wife when she hated him?
What good was having a job if he couldn’t bring himself to go in?

He hung his head in utter shame.
No, Bob was miserable, and he knew it.”

Ask yourself:
Is this adding to the texture and flavor of the story?
Is it appropriate for the current pacing? (description slows things down)
Is this most effective way of delivering important (or at the very least, interesting) information in your style?

If not, get on with it already! There’s an antagonist to face and obstacles to overcome and you’re here writing something that could be summarized as “Bob had his normal breakfast of black coffee and self-hatred before heading into work.”

But that would be story-telling.

So what is a writer to do?

*Keep point of view in mind-
Who is telling this story and who are they telling it to?
Would you say it this way when telling the story to someone else?

*Keep pacing in mind-
What information do they need to know right now, and is it worth slowing the story down to show this information?

*Keep in mind this is a narrative medium, not a visual one-
You can hand over information freely in a narrative medium. You are conveying information; give the information the reader needs to, or should, know, in order to enjoy the experience.

Then again, there’s a lot to be said about straight up telling information to your readers without ever showing them anything.

As it is Friday 13th, there’s always the classic horror tactic of telling the reader just how indescribable something was, because, My God, it works.

Look at this lucky bastard with no eyes.

“My dearest reader,

I cannot even begin to describe the horror, the insanity, that this beast invoked within the depths of my jaded soul.

I cannot — WILL NOT — describe this evil nightmare, as you and this .45 are my only friends left, and I fear if I even began to describe a fraction of the terror I’ve witnessed, your eyes would burst within their sockets and your mind would shatter into a thousand pieces.

They would lock you away in a quiet room at the furthest reach of Arkham’s towers because you’d do nothing but scream,
and scream,
and scream.

The image of this grotesque monstrosity would be forever seared into your mind. Never again in your short, miserable life, (if God is merciful), would you ever know any rest or peace again.”
-Lovecraft possessing Godhand

And it’s like, well, Mr. Narrator- writing-in-second-person, you’ve done a lot of telling for sure, but, you’ve also shown me what this thing looks like as well, and …you know what, Man? Maybe…maybe I don’t wanna see it.

That’s how it’s done. Ladies? Call me.

My friend and mentor Bruce Elgin gave me only two rules for writing:
1) Be Clear
2) Don’t be boring

If you can do both these things, your writing works. You can do what you want.

So go on and tell me a story.

About Emily Godhand:

Emily Godhand is a cross-genre author who lives in a book fort in Denver, CO, with nine rats who revere her as their Queen.

As former psychiatric technician, she draws her inspirations from her work and the constant nightmares she’s had for 13 years. As such, her works tend to focus on an exploration of trauma, immortality, and human consciousness.

Read her latest work on Wattpad, where she is an Ambassador.

To Tech or Not to Tech?

March 12, 2015

fictorians

Character Craft & Skills The Writing Life No Comments

A guest post by Susan Little.

Disclaimer: I am not a writer. Would I like to be a writer? Yes, but I lack the imagination needed to write fiction. I do so admire all you writers and wish I could do the same. I, however, am a reader and a librarian so I do know books and I have a sense of what works and what doesn’t and of some of the rules of writing that great writers can oftentimes successfully break.

Now that that’s out of the way, I want to talk about one rule with which I wholeheartedly agree: Do not overwhelm your story with too much technical detail. You know what I mean–the detail that threatens to swamp the narrative and slow down the progress of the story. One author that springs to mind is Tom Clancy. I’ve read one of his novels but had no desire to read more because I felt slogged down by all the technical detail about military weapons and procedure. (If you love Tom Clancy and many people certainly do, forget what I just said.) This rule applies to all realistic fiction, where explaining current or past technologies in excruciating detail can leave the reader wanting less tech and more story.

As far as I’m concerned, though, Patrick O’Brian proves the exception to this unofficial “rule.” I first read his historical Aubrey/Maturin series about 20 years ago, and fell in love with his books. I read them for the characters. I think that Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin may have the greatest friendship in all of literature. There are scenes between those two characters that bring me to tears every time I read them. I defy anyone who reads the end of The Reverse of the Medal to come away unaffected.

I’m not, however, a sailor. When Jack says, “Surge the hawser and lower away,” I understand that something is being lowered but have no idea what. The first time I read the series, I began by skipping all the technical ship stuff, just wanting to get to the story. But, magically, as I continued to read, I actually began to see how brilliant Mr. O’Brian was in including technical details. I now see how those details complement the story telling. Because of the description of the ship and sails and because of all the technical lingo, I actually feel as if I’m on a sailing ship. I can feel the wind in the sails and the roll of the deck. In the heat of a battle, as the cannon and carronades are fired (and also described in great detail), I’m there tamping the powder and cannon ball into the cannon. I wouldn’t know a “Fore topgallant” from a “mizzen,” but I’ve become quite adept at using the picture at the front of the book which labels the sails of a square-rigged ship because O’Brian’s stories have made me want to learn more about sailing ships in all their glory.

And how does Patrick O’Brian accomplish this? One of his many ways is to have a main character who is as “lubberish” as I am. Stephen Maturin may be a brilliant surgeon, naturalist and deadly spy, but he doesn’t know larboard from starboard even after sailing for years with Jack. The seamen are ever patient with him and try, in loving and sometimes very humorous detail to explain what exactly is happening on the ship. This device allows the reader to also get the benefit of their expertise, and hence all the technical explanations meld seamlessly into the story. You will agree with Stephen when he says, “It’s a pleasure to hear a man who thoroughly understands his profession. You are very exact, sir.” Stephen is hopeless, though, at remembering all this seafaring so he requires constant help, and thus, we readers get to learn all about sailing ships in the Napoleonic Era. You could do worse than learn the technical details of that era from Patrick O’Brian’s marvelous novels.

About Susan Little:

Susan Little is a recently retired high school librarian and English teacher, two professions where reading is mandatory. In her case reading is also a joy, although she is currently taking a short break from reading young adult literature after having to read so much of it for her job. When reading for pleasure, she is partial to mysteries and historical fiction. She lives in Richmond, Virginia, where she pursues her other passion, oil painting, and helps out in the family accounting business.

The Evility of Adverbs

March 11, 2015

fictorians

Craft & Skills Jo Schneider 2 Comments

A guest post by Jo Ann Schneider.

I was one of those kids that absolutely never wanted to get into trouble. Even when my friends called me a baby for not going with them to toilet paper the neighbor’s house, I would angrily stamp my foot and refuse to be a part of the game. Mostly because the thought of getting in trouble was more frightening than their wrath. Adults can be truly terrifying creatures.

As a young writer, I took every bit of writing advice I received with the seriousness of Spock. When I heard more experienced authors bitterly denounce the use of adverbs—specifically -ly words—I panicked and started diligently eliminating the traitorous words from my manuscripts.

Rewind and read that first bit again. Notice I shoved a whole lot of adverbs in there. Is it horrible? Doeth it offend thine eyes to readeth it?

Probably not—although there are some literary snobs out there that stopped reading two paragraphs ago. Bless their hearts. Sorry to offend.

I’m going to be honest, and don’t tell my ninth grade Language Arts teacher, because he would beat me for sure, but the first time I heard this piece of advice, I had to look up exactly what an adverb was. (Sheesh, exactly. Apparently I use these things all the time in my normal rambling.)

Try not to judge, ninth grade was a long time ago, and fourth grade even longer than that.

Just in case someone else has the same brain fart that I did, here’s the first definition that came up on Google.

Adverb:

a word or phrase that modifies or qualifies an adjective, verb, or other adverb or a word group, expressing a relation of place, time, circumstance, manner, cause, degree, etc. (e.g., gently, quite, then, there)

Wow, that’s stale. Let’s try the Adverb song. I’m not sure how to sing it, but I’m envisioning a rap beat here.

Adverbs add to a verb.
Lots of times they’re “L-Y” words,
They explain how, where or when.
Verbs are lonely without them.

Poor verbs! Don’t they get to have friends?

Back to my horrible opening to this post. There are more issues than just adverbs in this paragraph, please ignore the others.

I was one of those kids that absolutely never wanted to get into trouble.

-never is pretty absolute by itself, so the word absolutely is redundant and therefore not needed.

Even when my friends called me a baby for not going with them to toilet paper the neighbor’s house, I would angrily stamp my foot and refuse to be a part of the game.

-I suppose you could stamp your foot for an emotion besides anger, but the words stamp and refuse already give the reader my stance on the matter.

Mostly because the thought of getting in trouble was more frightening than their wrath.

-Ah, mostly. This is a style I use when I talk and write in my journal (I pity whomever decides to read it). This might be okay in a first person POV, when the character thinks like this. However, it’s not needed. You could nix the first two words of this sentence and get the same idea.

Adults can be truly terrifying creatures.

-This is beating around the bush. Just say that adults are terrifying. We all know it’s true.

Verbs like stamp or frown or run or hold or get or cry don’t really need help. They’re strong on their own. And if you’d like to add a little spice, show us what the character is doing. For instance, in a story the part about not going with my friends could be written like this:

I stamped my foot and glared. “I already told you I’m not coming.”

Simple. There’s an action and some dialogue to qualify it.

William Noble (Writer’s Digest) states:

It has become a cliché to use the adverbial tail time and time again. In addition to minimizing the dramatic effect of the action, it grinds on the reader’s ear (remember, readers “hear” as well as read). All those words ending in “-ly,” not doing much for the sentence, not creating much of a word picture … Who could blame readers for wondering why the words were there in the first place?

Now, I think people who say to never use an adverb are a bit fanatical. Those people are allowed to do whatever they want to their novels, if I’m allowed the same courtesy.

As with most superfluous things in the world, use them sparingly—like butter cream frosting and pepper. They’re spices, not the sauce.

However, there are a few authors who wield adverbs like a Skywalker brandishes their lightsaber. For instance, here are three examples from J.K. Rowling-

“Oh, no, sir,” said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed that he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

“I—don’t—want—” said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head…

“Fifty points each,” said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily through her long, pointed nose.

For those who have read the Harry Potter books, this feels familiar. The tone is so unique, that I may have been able to take the names out and some of you could still guess which story these were from.

The voice of a character and the tone of a story are intertwined, and if your novel merits the use of adverbs, then go forth and type them.

Check out this little table that Slate.com put together:

Read each list of adverbs. Think about the stories they go with, and note the tone that they represent. Like good frosting, adverbs can be used to decorate an otherwise bland cake. But too much and the kids will be wired for hours, and you’ll want to beat someone.

About Jo Ann Schneider:

Jo Schneider grew up in Utah and Colorado, and wonders how people who live in flat places can tell where they’re going. In her sixteenth year, Jo went with her family to Europe. This spawned a travel bug that will never be satisfied. One of Jo’s goals is to travel to all seven continents–five down, two to go.

Perhaps the most challenging thing Jo has ever done (besides write novels) was stick with her Shaolin Kempo classes long enough to earn her black belt. Persistence, not an overabundance of mad skill, is what got her there, and she just keeps going back for more. An intervention may be in order at some point.

Being a geek at heart, Jo has always been drawn to science fiction and fantasy. She writes both, and hopes to introduce readers into worlds that wow them and characters that they can cheer for.

Blog: joannschneider.blogspot.com

Fiction Faux Pas

March 6, 2015

fictorians

Balancing Acts Craft & Skills Marta Sprout 4 Comments

A guest post by Marta Sprout.

You know the feeling. You, the writer of a magnificent novel, stare at yet another rejection notice, which you promptly shred into confetti and promise to use as tinder in your fireplace the next time the wind-chill sags below freezing.

So what’s wrong? Why can’t editors and agents see the brilliance of your story? The simple answer might be fiction faux pas. Here are a few of the red flags that make editors roll their eyes and grab for that nasty form letter faster than you type nope:

The overuse of names in dialog.
Dialog tags that go beyond said or asked.
Too many modifying adverbs.
Holy Moly! There be too many exclamation points here!!!!!!

You work hard to tell a ripping good tale and to present exciting dialog. Knowing what not to do is only part of the equation. What we need is to understand why something doesn’t work and how to fix it. Let’s take a look at what works and what doesn’t:

What would you think if you read a line of dialog that went something like this…

“Enough, Rebecca!!!” he yelled, angrily.

Oh good grief…Referee flags are flying like a brawl on the goal line. Let’s look closer.

There is nothing wrong with using names in dialog, unless you go overboard and make your characters sound stilted and awkward.

“Ben, I can’t stay here any longer.”

“Well, why not, Sarah?”

“Because, Ben, this is where it happened.” (Bum, bum, bum…bum)

The overuse of names can easily sound like newbie theater students trying to be uber-dramatic or like characters telling each other what they already know for the sake of the reader’s enlightenment.

“Well, Elizabeth. We’ve been married for twenty years and have three fine sons.”

(I’m thinking Lizzy already knows this.)

Another reason too many names don’t work is because they act like speed bumps and interrupt the flow of the conversation. Never interrupt dialog unless three guys with machine guns show up.

What about those modifying adverbs? On page 673 of Under the Dome Stephen King wrote: “Glinda,” the girl said faintly. If he can do it, why can’t you? Beyond the fact that he has sold over 350 million copies, even he uses modifying adverbs very sparingly. Verbal exchanges pop NOT when you tell the reader that she spoke angrily, boldly, emphatically, hesitantly, sadly, or joyously, but when you put the full force of those EMOTIONS into her words. Compare these lines:

“You don’t listen,” she said angrily.
“What is wrong with you? You never listen to me,” she said.
Sarah smacked the silverware drawer shut. “What’s wrong with you? You never listen to me.”

In the first line, can you see how the character’s voice is so flat that the author has to tell us the character’s emotional state? The second line is better. We don’t need to be told that she’s hacked off because we can hear the anger rippling in her voice. In the third version, we are getting the emotion in her voice and we see and hear the snap of her gestures when she slams the drawer shut. The point here is that great dialog oozes action, emotions, and your characters’ own distinctive voices. Remember that in any conversation there are two expressions happening simultaneously: the verbal exchange and the body language, which can be even more telling. For example:

Richard launched out of his seat, towering over Sarah. “Do you love me?”

She stared at her lap and continued picking at her red nail polish.

“Answer the damned question.”

Sarah slouched in her seat and yawned. “Yeah,” she said without looking up.

Is Richard going to believe her? Not likely with that body language.

What about alternative dialog tags such as: he screamed, yelled, offered, replied, commented, snorted, bellowed, whimpered, etc? Here’s where the problem lies. Remember that some conventions in writing are done purely for the sake of clarification:

I love eating my dog and my grandmother (yuck) vs. I love eating, my dog, and my grandmother.

Like punctuation, dialog tags are purely for clarity and are meant to be invisible. They aren’t part of the dialog nor are they prose. To avoid repetition it makes sense that we’d be tempted to use something other than said. But trust me on this one, a reader’s eye will glide right over said and asked and remain focused right where you want it–on the conversation.

So, does that mean you will never see “he screamed” in the work of a bestselling author? Nope.

On page 180 of Tripwire, Lee Child wrote: “Get down,” Reacher shouted. If Lee Child can use these type of tags, why can’t you? You can, just do it in moderation and only when nothing else will do. Hint: they work best when showing a voice’s volume.

Speaking of punctuation. Exclamation points work only in extreme situations of utter desperation. Not so much when they crop up in every other line of dialog! Sometimes in multiples!!!!! Unless you write wonderful comic books, use them like hot Sriracha sauce–only when the situation requires a fierce punch. Remember those editors, whom you are trying to impress? They see the liberal use of exclamation points as sure signs of an amateur, which you’re not.

Writing is much more than a list of rules. It’s an art form. You can write anything–if it works. Language is fluid. Ever-changing. There was a time when we didn’t use punctuation or standardized spelling. Word usage evolves. If I had called you nice in 1285, you would have slapped me for calling you stupid. Back in the day of movies such as The Sound of Music, gay meant light-hearted or carefree. Lite is commonly used for the word light. Any form of written language from novels to nonfiction, blurbs to bumper stickers will BTW continue to change. The trick for a novelist is to tell a story that people will remember.

Good luck and keep writing.

About Marta Sprout:

Marta Sprout is an award-winning author. The Saturday Evening Post published her short story, The Latte Alliance, in their anthology “Best Short Stories of 2014 from The Great American Fiction Contest.” Her essays and articles have been published in newspapers and major magazines such as Antiques Magazine. Known for her thrillers, Marta writes full time, assists the Corpus Christi Police Department on crime-scene scenarios, and enjoys kiteboarding, scuba diving, and snow skiing.