Category Archives: Ideas & Plotting

Ever gone to a school performance where the one kid who’s supposed to be a supporting character, like a tree or a second line singer, either breaks out of character and does something hilarious, or performs with such enthusiasm that they steal the show from the lead actors?

Or, imagine this: Two aliens walk into a bar. One is an intergalactic hit-man and the other is a mind-reader helping him hunt down his next target. They scope out the bar and begin closing in on the target. At that point, the story is locked in and the readers are focused either on rooting for the hit-men or for the hapless victim.

But then imagine one of the serving girls stumbles into them, spilling beer all over their clothing and short-circuiting the electronics of their laser guns. When they try pushing past to chase their escaping quarry, she sets their alcohol-soaked clothing on fire and handcuffs them to the bar.

The story focus just totally changed. If that was the intention, perfect. Great twist. If not, then the waitress either needs to become a major focus of the story, or that scene needs to be cut. All depends on what the author has in mind and what the real story is being told.

Sometimes letting a secondary character really roar pays off in spades. The easiest examples can be found in movies:

The saber-tooth squirrel in Ice Age
The Joker from Batman
Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride
Loki from Avengers
Even Wilson the volleyball from Castaway

Sometimes when a secondary character bursts free of the originally-planned constraints placed upon them, it can be a good thing. Perhaps it’s your subconscious mind trying to explain that you picked the wrong protagonist or that there is more story to be explored there.

However, sometimes those secondary characters are just unruly and despite how funny or distracting their antics might be, they threaten to derail the real story. In those instances those characters need to be reined in and controlled.

How do you tell the difference?

Well, it depends.

I hate it when people use that answer because it always feels like a cop-out. The reason it works here is that it really does depend on the situation, and only the author can really tell.

For example, In the novel I am writing now I chose to explore some side characters and develop secondary conflicts in greater detail than originally planned because I had not outlined that part of the novel in great depth and I was still searching for the best way to pursue the heart of the story. I accepted the cost and spent the time exploring the characters and the setting and,
although I’m planning to cut most of that work, it helped bring the setting to life and solidify in my mind the most important scenes. Those secondary story aspects threatened to derail the focus on the primary story line, and there is not enough room in the book to follow both. So I’ll kill those upstart character arcs, re-focus the narrative, and consider it time well spent instead
of a waste.

Then again, in another novel where I had to create a secondary antagonist, the resulting character was so fascinating they really became a primary antagonist, and readers loved it. The ‘real’ bad guy carries over into sequels, but this secondary character is the one that helped the first novel shine and set up the other antagonist for greater success later in the series. So in that case,
exploring the secondary character’s fascinating potential really paid off.

In another twist, in my YA fantasy novel, a couple of the secondary characters needed to take a larger role in the story because they provided comic relief and I chose to focus more on the humorous aspects of the story. The resulting changes make them some of the best-loved characters in the story even though they are not the primary protagonist, but their arcs interweave closely with his and result in strengthening the story instead of breaking it.

So, when to let your characters roam free and when to rein them in? Here are a few questions you can ask yourself to help decide:

If I explore the new ideas, will they fundamentally change the story? If so, is it an improvement?
Will this diminish the power of what I’m trying to accomplish with the main character, or will this add complexity and interest to an already strong story?
Do I have any idea where the changes are leading? If not, and if I follow that road, I accept the cost in time and rewrites when I hit the likely dead end because that cost is offset by the pleasure of following that road through the fog to find out where it goes.
Should I switch to a more interesting protagonist? Or is there something fascinating I can borrow from this secondary character and imbue my protagonist with it to make him more powerful?
Are the antics of this secondary character making improvements or are they just hamming up the stage with no long-term gain?

Enjoy the process, make your plan, but be open to flashes of inspiration that might just make it better by derailing it.

Who are your favorite supporting characters, and why?

Take Control – Please!

April 7, 2014

Ace Jordyn

Ace Jordyn Character Craft & Skills Ideas & Plotting No Comments

Letting your character take control is essential to maintain the illusion that the events in your story are real. Yes, every story is an illusion and what makes it believable are the details as perceived by the character. When writing a representational story (where the writer never addresses the audience), you will need to let the character not only tell but experience story events in their fullest. That experience becomes believable to the reader when the characters actions, reactions, thoughts and perceptions feel genuine. The only way to make that happen is to let your character take control.

Letting your character take control doesn’t mean the story will run afoul and destroy your plot – it’s about enhancing the plot by making it and your character feel real and not contrived. It is about choosing and placing the important details. It’s about the details that make him tick, that color his world, that give him motive and have created his common sense and hence his intuition.

There are three things you can do to let your character take control effectively:

1. Understand how a character perceives and relates to his world

Physically through the five senses of touch, taste, smell, sight and sound.
Common sense which integrates what we’ve experienced through the five senses. It also helps us see the patterns in our life.
Intuition which recognizes the patterns in our lives and allows us to see or project where those patterns may lead us. Your character makes decisions for a reason which must feel genuine to the reader.Emotions which build upon experience and learning and provide a basis for motive and motivation.
Emotion is a reaction and colors how information is integrated. For example, a character may react to a strict upbringing by either always being afraid and leery of authority, or may have a total disregard for it. Either way, this will affect how he reacts in specific instances, the words he uses (metaphors) to describe places, people and events.

… larger than life characters … have a sense of self regard. Their emotions matter to them. They do not dismiss what they experience. They embrace life. They wonder about their responses to events and what such responses mean. They take themselves seriously…Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maass

As your character lives in his world, he’ll perceive it through is senses, color his experience with his emotions, use his version of common sense and apply his intuition to move forward. When he does this successfully, he’ll be in control, his responses genuine and readers will love him for it.

2. Explore your character
This goes beyond the standard descriptions some writing advice advocates. As Les Edgerton points out in Hooked, a character’s physical description – unless markedly different from the norm – does relatively little to draw the reader in. A character doesn’t usually describe himself. He may describe someone else which in turns grounds the reader. But HOW he describes someone or the scenery around him tells us a lot about him and the lens through which he sees the world. He may even have physical reactions such as running his fingers though his hair when he sees someone’s unkempt hair or a desire to vomit at a certain smell. Thus, you can show rather than tell when you know your character well and you let him take control.

…possibilities only emerge when we demand more from the idea, when we ask more why and what result questions. Characters & Viewpoint by Orson Scott Card

The easiest way to do this is to write a detailed background history for your character as if you were there. As you get to know his trials and tribulations, the major influences in his life, his fears and desires and yes, even the little things that comforted him, it will become easier to show him in a genuine and full way because the all the important WHY questions become answered. Why does he do that? Why does he feel that? Why wouldn’t he…? Why, if he’s in a responsible position, acting irresponsibly? Why is he so caring about x and then so obtuse and mean about y?

3. Use the things you know about your character against him.
This puts him in a situation which shows who he is and compels him to act (whether running to or from the situation). If your character takes control of the story, his reactions may surprise you. The added benefit is that it cures your writing of the murky-middle syndrome. Often times I’ll ask my character what he sees and how he feels about things. Between his perceptions and his gut reaction, the story moves forward and I have little work to do except to write.

Fictional Characters come to life by giving them individual traits, real weaknesses and heroic qualities that readers can recognize and empathize with. You play these against each other to achieve drama. For instance, a man who is afraid of heights but who must climb a mountain to save his love. The Fiction Writer by Nina Munteanu

In his book, Writing Fiction for Dummies, Randy Ingermanson sums up why you should let your character take control: A character’s past determines what sort of person you have coming into the story. The past is only the imperfect guide to the future, though. Your character has a free will and can choose to break loose from his past and pursue a new future. But will he succeed? Your goal as a novelist is to make it plausible that he might without making it a certainty.

When you know your character this well, he’ll control the story without you losing control.

Happy Writing!

Making the Fear Personal

February 26, 2014

Leigh Galbreath

Character Craft & Skills Horror Leigh Galbreath Storyline The Writing Life No Comments

Over the last month we’ve been looking on the darker side of things, and at the way love and terror go so very well together. And they should, really. They are the most basic and universal of human emotions. They are intertwined and hardwired into our psyches, a part of the survival instinct that keeps our species alive and multiplying. They transcend culture, class, and temperament.

For instance, people feel envy over different things and react to it in different ways. I may never sympathize with someone enraged by some slight or another, even though I may understand it on a logical level. But someone who is terrified?

Absolutely.

The funny thing is that, many of us silly humans, seem to still feel that our emotions are unlike anyone else’s. “No one else can understand my heartache or my terror,” we tell ourselves. “They can’t know what I feel. Not really.”

Well, actually, yes, they can. That’s the basis for group therapy, after all, but we do like to feel like we are all the beautiful, unique snowflakes our mothers told us we were, don’t we?

From a writer’s perspective, the universality of these emotions and the vaulted position people like to place their own emotional experiences rather works in our favor. Love and fear are so ingrained in the human psyche that it’s hard to write compelling fiction without tripping over them both while gazing off into the clouds of our imaginations.

Fear is probably the first and most vital of emotions. The need to not get eaten by something big and bad, after all, is the primary instinct of most creatures on this planet. The fear of death, failure, disappointment, loneliness, and pain is prevalent across the fiction board. Fear is the root of tension and plants doubt in every protagonist in just about every book ever written. Small or large, incidental or monstrous, we all recognize the people we’re reading about when their fears are put on the page, and we all hope they overcome their fears somehow, even if (or especially because) we often cannot overcome our own.

At the same time humans are pack animals, and so it’s no surprise that we feel the need to include the binding emotion of love in our stories. The characters don’t necessarily have to be involved in the affair of the century. They simply have to care about something or someone. A character who cares for nothing, is…well…rather boring, to be honest. The anti-hero, Riddick, doesn’t care about anything or anyone when we first meet him in Pitch Black, but it is through his slow turn toward caring for the individuals around him that he becomes human to us, someone to sympathize with. I don’t think anyone could ever say that his caring strays to the romantic—the man is, after all, a psychopath—but his attachments motivate and drive him through multiple films. He changes from a monster himself, into one of us.

Or rather, I should say, his attachments mixed with the inevitable fear of losing those attachments, is what motivates him. It all comes back to the fear in fiction, doesn’t it? Loving or needing something might be readily recognizable, but it’s the fear of losing those things or of them turning against us, that really makes it worth reading.

Anytime love and fear end up on a page, we’re using the universal to make a moment personal. We give the readers something almost subconsciously familiar, made interesting by being seen through someone else’s eyes. We show a window into emotional lives that, at first blush, looks nothing like the reader’s, but in actuality uses their personal experiences to pull them further into the story.

We writers often struggle to write something compelling and moving. It’s nice to get a free-bee every so often.

The Many Facets of Intimacy

February 21, 2014

Evan Braun

Evan Braun Horror Reflection Storyline No Comments

What makes romance interesting? If you don’t read romance novels (like me), then you might answer, “Nothing.” But such a pat answer would be a little disingenuous. Personal preference aside, romance is the best-selling fiction genre by far. By far. If you don’t believe me, then just take a quick jaunt over here. Seventy-five million people read at least one romance novel in 2008 and the genre generated nearly three billion dollars in sales in the last two years. Yikes. Anyway, who am I to argue with seventy-five million fellow readers? That’s a fight I can’t win.

You could argue that it’s almost impossible to write a compelling narrative with no trace of romance in it. Even if it were possible, though, you’d be missing out on a massive storehouse of dramatic potential. Interpersonal relationships drive stories, and that’s a fact; romantic interpersonal relationships, by virtue of being the most complicated and emotional type of relationship, drive the most complicated and emotional stories. I know those are some broad statements, but they’re generally true.

So again I’ll ask, what makes romance interesting? What makes it compelling? “The love,” you might say, reductively. That would be true. Kind of. The conflict—the fireworks—doesn’t come from love, per se, as feelings of love are symptomatic of the true root cause of all this interest: intimacy. People really get off on intimacy.

Now, bear in mind that love and intimacy aren’t quite the same thing, though they are certainly close cousins. Love comes from intimacy, as I just alluded to, and the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Which is why, to cite a popular example, you can have sex (highly intimate) without love. This is largely the difference, I suppose, between romance and a lot of erotica.

Intimacy is about closeness. When I fall in love with another person, I let them into my life, sharing aspects of myself with them; they, in turn, share aspects of themselves with me. Our lives merge, at first slowly, and then in more significant ways as the relationship develops. Two—or more, if you swing that way—become one. By absolutely zero coincidence, sex is a wonderful metaphor for this process, which is why it’s intimate.

If closeness generates intimacy, then outright control does the same. Instead of merging your life with another person, you allow another person to take over your life. To control you, to take over your decision-making process. That’s as intimate as it gets. Well-meaning fetishists engage in bondage play all the time, and hopefully they do it temporarily and with some imposed structures. Beyond that, intimacy can go to some really dark places. A lot of crimes revolve around the perverted need for intimate control—rape and kidnapping, to name two—and then finally, the most extreme intimacy of all: murder.

My curiosity was piqued last year, in the darkest and most horrible way, when I stumbled upon some disturbing research while working on a book. As a matter of course, I don’t know that much about various fetishes (and fear not, I’m not going to commit much ink to this), but did you know there is a fetish in which a person can deeply desire another person to murder them, for sexual fulfillment? I even heard of a case from Europe where a person contracted another person to murder them and then cannibalize them; if sex, as a means of physically merging oneself with another, is a metaphor for romantic intimacy, then surely cannibalism is the most extreme metaphor for the intimacy of control.

And thus horror and romance are inextricably linked. Perhaps I’m just naïve, but I’d never heard of any of this before, and frankly I wish I never had.

So yes, people crave intimacy. It’s no longer looking so strange that the romance genre sells so many books. I mean, people are looking for the fulfillment of deep drives and desires which are sometimes hard to fulfill in the real world. Romance in stories—whether in a full-blown romance novel or in the majority of stories which merely contain a romantic element—helps frustrated readers of all stripes come to terms with the state of their own mundane lives.

Horror works the same way, by giving cathartic rise to the dark places inside us all and letting us (or perhaps forcing us to) confront them. Murder specifically—and death in general—is powerful precisely because it touches us in horrifyingly intimate ways. It’s no shock that the best works of fiction combine all these emotions and feelings to get a rise out of us—and understanding these connections can make us all better writers and observers of the human condition.