Category Archives: Craft & Skills

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

Keeping Secrets

March 9, 2015

Frank Morin

Craft & Skills Frank Morin No Comments

Withholding information just to mess with your readers doesn’t work. If the character would know something, the reader should know it, particularly if you write in first person or deep-dive third person.

In general, all the major information needs to be revealed by about the three-quarter point of the story. This is the second plot point, and is when the hero learns the last major reveal that launches them into the final showdown, giving them the drive to commit everything in their final attempt to win. That doesn’t mean we can’t have twists and turns and creative solutions, but if your story hinges on a bombshell getting dropped in the final chapter that fundamentally changes everything, chances are the approach will fail.

It’s possible, but tricky. Like other rules – know it before you try to break it. Only by understanding the principles can you twist them.

For example, one movie that worked very well was Sixth Sense. The main character didn’t know he was a ghost until the end. That changed everything about the story. It was a gimmick that worked because of brilliant execution. Unfortunately, once we know the gimmick, the story loses much of its power. The Sixth Sense is fantastic to watch once, or maybe twice. I don’t think I know anyone who has watched it more than that.

Some new writers think they need to withhold information to create suspense, to prepare for a big reveal. Suspense is important, but that’s not the way to do it. Holding back information that the reader should know through the normal flow of the story is a cheap trick and readers find it offensive. It insults their intelligence and it’s poor writing.

The author needs to find a better way.

A new writer might have characters avoid questions that they would naturally want to ask, questions that would force important truths to come out. By not asking those questions, they can withhold the information. This doesn’t work because the readers are asking themselves those questions and they’ll think either your protagonist is an idiot for not asking them, or that you as the author are insulting their intelligence.

Another mistake is for a new writer to try skipping the reveal, but allude to it. “Jane then told Bill something that shattered the foundation of everything he’d ever known. Life would never be the same.”

Well, what was that truth? If we’re in Bill’s head, we need to know it too, or you’ve broken the deep-dive you’ve established. We need consistency, or we drive readers out of the story.

So why not choose to structure their POV so we don’t do a deep-dive into the character’s head? In this way we can keep secrets, right?

Maybe. But that deep dive is a huge draw for readers. By creating distance between the reader and the character, it’s harder for readers to connect and empathize and root for the character. You risk your greatest emotional payoff that way. The approach can work for the right story, if the author has the skill to pull it off.

But we can’t tell the reader everything too soon, right? It would rob the final showdown much of its punch. You’re right, but it’s a point that has to be approached with caution. We create suspense with structure, not with gimmicks.

Some ways to deal with the issue:

1. Find a believable way to keep the information secret. For example, in The Maze Runner, the characters suffer amnesia and one of the biggest challenges they face is to learn about their past. As those bits and pieces are regained, both the characters and the readers learn more, and the stakes grow.

2. It’s all right to have the hero put some pieces together and say, “I have a plan.” And cut the scene. This is pretty common, and if done right, can be very effective. The reader knows enough to feel connected with the ongoing story without feeling blocked or deprived, and they can still enjoy the surprise twists and cleverness of their characters. Just make sure to launch right into the plan, or the readers will expect to hear about that plan.

3. Reveal the secret to the readers, but not the hero, through other characters. If the protagonist is in the dark, but it’s important that the readers know something that’s known by other characters, this can actually help create effective tension. The readers see the problems the protagonist is having and wonder when and how they’re going to learn the secret, and how that truth will affect them.

4. Use misdirection. Mystery novels do this a lot. They’ll focus on the clues that seem to be most important, while the tiny details the characters and readers mostly ignored become key elements at the end.

5. Be creative. For example, in a fantasy series with a magic system, readers gain a sense of how the magic system usually works. Depending on how rigidly defined the magic system is, this plays into how much it can be used to solve the ultimate problems. Suddenly revealing an entirely new aspect to magic and using it to abruptly win is an insult to readers and a trick I personally detest. However, the heroes can use their magic in creative ways that the reader probably hasn’t considered – taking the principles to the extremes. You’ve still established a foundation to build on, and it makes sense once readers consider the possibility, but you still get to enjoy the surprise/cleverness factor. Brandon Sanderson is famous for doing this. His recent YA fantasy novel, Steelheart is a great example.

6. Study your favorite authors, look at how they create suspense and weave the truths into the story.

7. Lastly, have fun with it. You want to suck your readers in, create believable tension, and seal them to your hero and the seemingly insurmountable challenges they’re facing. When your hero puts all the clues together and devises that clever solution, readers will love it and return to that story again and again.