Category Archives: Writing Tools

A discussion of the various software that authors employ to write, plot, backup, and ultimately use to write a novel.

I hate conflict. Okay, arguments can be constructive, I’ll give them that. I hate it when they turn nasty. And I really hate fighting. I’ve seen it and it sickens me. Yet conflict, confrontation and fighting are staple tools in storytelling.

So what happens when you’re a passive, a person who tries to avoid conflict, but you know you have to write it, to face it so you can tell a good story? There are five things you can do to overcome your fear of writing conflict:

1) Don’t be afraid of yourself
If you’re really honest about it, it’s emotionally painful to feel what your characters feel and most of us don’t like experiencing the dark side of ourselves. Writing coaches, like Donald Maass, ask questions that force you to dig deep into your own psyche and then they ask you to apply that to your character. It can be freaky and unnerving but it’s definitely worth it. When I do this, I’m always aware that I’m doing this to extrapolate information, and that fiction is fiction and not real life.

2) Don’t be afraid of your readers
We’re all told “write what you know”. Does that mean that if we write about a cruel character that we’re cruel people? Or, that if we write about a weird aunt in conflict that we’re making a statement about a relative? Certainly not, although you may hear “so that’s what you think of me!”

“Write what you know” doesn’t mean having personal experience on the matter or that a character is a direct reflection of someone we know (although it could be). It means that we do our research well so that we don’t resort to stereotypes. Just think, if we had to write by that rule, then there wouldn’t be any historically based fiction. This adage can also get you into trouble. A writer friend confided that she understands parental conflict when it comes to a males but not females. She had a great relationship with her mother and fought with her step-father. Hence, she has to take great care to ensure that all her stories aren’t about females in conflict with males and that females in conflict appear genuine.

3) Know that it’s okay to cause trouble
Throw out the socialization, normalization rules you’ve learned. It’s okay to be mean and it’s necessary to cause trouble, get people (your characters) into trouble. It’s important for your characters to feel pain, experience anguish, fight hard for what they want. As readers, we want someone to cheer for, a way to safely experience conflict, and experience the catharsis of conflict overcome. Readers want that and as writers, it’s our responsibility to provide that. The greatest gift I received when I started writing was permission to be cruel to my characters.

4) Overcome your lack of experience with conflict
You’re a nice person and have avoided conflict all your life. What does it look like? What is it like? How does a person in conflict feel? Why would they react that way instead of hiding? The trouble is, that when we don’t understand conflict or the ramifications of being in conflict, it’s too easy to fall into stereotype cliché’s about a situation.

Avoid the stereotypes by realizing that conflict arises from different people wanting different things, and doing things differently. People are NEVER in perfect agreement. Know your characters well enough (their history, perspective and motivation) to take on their persona . Know how they’d respond in certain situations and why. Research the effects of stressful situations on the body and people’s reactions, research martial arts, fighting, war and its effects on people. Talk to people – other writers, people with direct experience, or experts. Read historical accounts, biographies, blogs and forums where people discuss their situation. Understand how life stages affect goals, motivations and responsibilities. For example, parents may perceive potential harm if a teen goes to a party whereas the teen may be oblivious to that and desperately wants wo be with her friends. Research will help you get a feel for the issues and how people have reacted in similar circumstances.

5) Know why you’re telling the story
There must be a reason for telling the story. The character must be overcoming something for some reason, otherwise, there isn’t a story only a vignette. If you have an audience for vignettes without conflict, that’s great because not everyone likes conflict. Otherwise, give your character a chance to learn and grow, to fight for something important. Conflict is about overcoming a problem. It’s not about taking the easy way out which can be done in one paragraph. Are you going to dash through the poison ivy or leisurely walk around it?

Conflict is a part of story structure. Who is the protagonist? What does he want? What is he willing to do to overcome the obstacles to get what he wants? What are the consequences of his actions because not everyone wants him to get what he wants? What is he willing to do? What will he actually do? Is he doing the right thing for himself or for other people? Doing the right thing is very hard to do.

We all strive for happy, peaceful, fulfilling lives yet we all experience conflict every day whether it be with a stranger, a loved one, a friend, or if we are troubled by something. How do we get through conflict? How can we write our character through it? Motivation. Your character, just like you in real life, has to be motivated to stand up for what’s right, to fight for the goal, to change his world so he can become who he wants to be and to live the life he wants. Writers are motivated to write the story, to overcome the internal and external conflicts and challenges we face in order to tell a tale. We must give our characters the same opportunity to face the challenges, to live their story so they can experience and overcome the conflicts no matter how big or small they are.

Now that I understand the role of conflict in story, I look forward to creating the situations and seeing how characters handle them. Doing the research, delving deeper, thinking it through – I love that process and the resultant richness it adds to the story. Conflict is its own character with its own personality, twists and depth.

The best way to write conflict when you’re afraid of it is to throw yourself into its path and find a creative way out of the situation. After all, that’s what we make our characters do!

Happy writing.

Just Under the Surface: Subtle Conflict

April 27, 2015

Kristin Luna

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In our culture, the bigger the explosion, the better it sells. Action movies rule the box office, and readers ferociously consume romance, fantasy, and thrillers for the intense conflict. Our sensory input sure loves the loud conflicts. But what does the mind love? What does the brain crave? Subtle conflict. Tension between two lovers because of the faint scent of perfume on the collar. A character’s chest pain that doesn’t seem to subside. A character’s gnawing feeling to return home. These are sometimes called “minor conflicts,” but can change the entire ending to a story and leave readers breathless.

When we think of conflict, we think of some pretty violent words: fight, war, blood, feud, anxiety. Okay, maybe I just have anxiety when I think about conflicts and confrontation. But here are words we don’t usually think of right away when it comes to conflict: sleuth, spy, unreliable narrator, slow, time, patience. When does a plot twist truly blow your mind? When the hints and foreshadowing have been so subtle that you didn’t piece it together until it was right in front of your face. This kind of conflict takes time and patience to build.

In subtle conflict, the author dives into character motives, changes in the environment, and/or a slowly-shifting political climate. Not as flashy as a war, say, but an extremely effective tool when planning a book’s climax.

One of the best examples of subtlety in contemporary literature (that I can think of) is The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. Stevens, the protagonist, is a butler in England that takes great pride in his work. He is very loyal to his job and his employer to a fault. Stevens tells about his day-to-day duties through his own rose-colored lens in such a boring way that you begin to question why you’re reading the book in the first place.

And then, something small, almost inconsequential, strikes you as amiss. Very slowly, you begin to piece together that not everything is how Stevens perceives it to be. By the end of the book you realize, through no major conflict, what the conflict truly is: Stevens lies to himself, seeing only the best in his employer and his life. He is the conflict; he refuses to see things as they truly are.

While I don’t expect very many people would describe The Remains of the Day as “exciting,” or “thrilling,” I describe the book as being “artfully written,” and “beautifully subtle.” When I finished the book, all I could say was: “Wow.”

While anyone would agree that strong conflict is necessary in a compelling book, that doesn’t necessarily mean those conflicts have to be loud and in your face. They can be floating just under the surface, slowly building pressure and tension until the climax.

Fire-breathing dragons are cool, and explosions are nice. But don’t forget the subtle conflicts that can truly make your story memorable, unique, and blow your readers’ socks off.

About Kristin Luna:

Kristin Luna has been making up stories and getting in trouble for them since elementary school. She writes book reviews for Urban Fantasy Magazine and her short story “The Greggs Family Zoo of Odd and Marvelous Creatures” was featured in the anthology One Horn to Rule Them All alongside Peter S. Beagle and Todd McCaffrey. Her horror story “Fog” will be featured on Pseudopod in May of this year. Kristin lives in San Diego with her husband Nic, and is working on a young adult novel.

Don’t say what you mean: writing conflict through dialogue

April 17, 2015

fictorians

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A guest post by David Jón Fuller.

There are a lot of ways to express conflict through dialogue in a scene, but it can be very effective – and a lot of fun – if it isn’t done openly.

People (and characters) hate conflict. They usually do everything they can to avoid it, unless they’re devoid of empathy. But readers… they love conflict. It makes for great dialogue, exciting scenes, and a plot that keeps moving.

I think, as a writer, it can be easy to fall into placating one or the other of those camps. You want to protect your characters from too much pain, so they work out compromises too often and no one gets hurt. Or, you throw them into the exciting drama of constant conflict, and they will die on that hill before they give in.

The happy middle ground – for characters, your story, and readers – is somewhere in between; and when I’m writing scenes, I follow some basic guidelines that govern how it plays out. These aren’t the only ways to do it, of course, but they’re options to consider.

(Also: one assumption underlying any scene I write is that the characters in it need something from each other. If they didn’t, one or more of them would just leave.)

Characters want different things, but they don’t necessarily say so.

Conflict is more than this:

Character 1: I want the thing!

Character 2: I don’t want you to have the thing!

It’s more often like this:

Character 1: Say, why don’t we go outside and enjoy the warm weather? (The thing I want is hidden in the garage, and I want to get it)

Character 2: No, let’s stay in the living room and play chess! (I’ve already stolen the thing from the garage and I don’t want you to find out)

Give your characters subtext! They don’t have to say what they really want from each other. In fact, I think it’s better if they avoid doing so until they have no other choice.

Characters want different things, but one or both of them don’t realize it.

In a different scenario, things could play out like this:

Character 3: Is there a gas station coming up soon? (My highly contagious stomach flu which I haven’t told you about is acting up and I need a washroom)

Character 4: Don’t worry about that! Even though it says “empty” here, we have plenty of fuel. (If we stop, I’ll be late for my meeting with the loan shark I owe money to)

You can use this to heighten tension, but be careful about confusing the reader. You can make it clear something deeper is going on by showing other details, rather than having the character say anything.

Character 3: (gripping the armrest, sweating, pale, trying to conceal a grimace) Is there a gas station coming up soon?

Character 4: (Checks wristwatch, glancing repeatedly in rear-view mirror) Don’t worry about that! Even though it says “empty” here, we have plenty of fuel.

Characters generally want to avoid revealing deep truths about themselves. They may not know those truths, either.

It would be nice if scenes played out as logically as this:

Character 5: If you leave home, I’ll feel like a failure as a parent! That’s why I’m trying to make you feel like you’re the failure for leaving.

Character 6: If you keep me here, I’ll feel as if I’m not my own person! I need to leave so I can prove to you – and myself — I’m competent and independent.

Even if both characters know what the underlying issue is, they may try to frame it in a way that makes themselves look better:

Character 5: Go ahead and leave – you’ll never make it on your own! (If you leave, I’ll feel like a failure as a parent)

Character 6: If I stay here, I’ll kill myself! Is that what you want? (I need to leave so I can prove to you – and myself – I’m competent and independent)

Try this: whatever the character says, make it the opposite of that they really feel.

Instead of a straight back and forth like this:

Character 7: I’m so attracted to you, despite many reasons I shouldn’t be!

Character 8: You disgust me, but I want to help you!

It could go like this:

Character 7: Get out of here and leave me alone! (I want you to stay, but I’m afraid my attraction will become too strong and you’ll see I actually love you)

Character 8: As soon as you’re done throwing up, I will! (Drunkenness disgusts me but I couldn’t live with myself if you came to harm because I abandoned you)

This is not so much a rule, but it’s a handy tool: Characters generally won’t say what they really, desperately want or need until the climax of the story. It doesn’t have to be a speech, it doesn’t have to be that articulate – but at the climax is where they will be most honest about what they say. If that means they can’t say anything, that’s fine, too. But I generally don’t think the climax is the point at which they will be flip or indifferent – it’s cards-on-the-table time. So when the conflict of the story comes to a head, try to find a way for the characters to declare, or defend, what they love and prize more than anything else. It can be as simple as a single word, like “No.”

If you use any of the above strategies throughout the story leading up to the climax —showing what your characters desperately want but won’t come out and say —having them finally be open about it in the climax can be very powerful.

For examples, think of your favourite books, stories, movies or plays, where the climax was truly electrifying. Consider why that is, and whether the characters are finally revealing something about themselves. I’d bet that very often, that revelation or all-pretenses-abandoned sense of the climactic scene is what gives it its power.

There are other strategies for writing dialogue, but the above approaches are ones I find most useful when throwing characters with different agendas together in a scene.

About David Jón Fuller:

David Jón Fuller is a writer whose fiction has appeared in Long Hidden: Speculative Fiction From the Margins of History; Tesseracts 18: Wrestling With Gods; Kneeling in the Silver Light: Stories From the Great War; and in the upcoming anthology Accessing The Future. He lives in Winnipeg, and as time allows, blogs at www.davidjonfuller.com.

Starting off Right… with a Stumble

April 16, 2015

fictorians

Conflict Guest Posts Writing Tools No Comments

A guest post by Nicole Lavigne.

Everyone knows a good story needs tension. We ask ourselves: what’s the problem, what’s the major conflict for the story? We’re not too likely to forget about that, and first readers will probably pick up on it if the main character never faces any trials, but that’s not the only tension we need to think about. There needs to be tension throughout the story, building slowly, sometimes in fits and starts too. It keeps a reader turning the pages. But perhaps one place where we might forget about tension, or fail to apply it, is in the opening. It needs tension too. Not big, THE END IS NIGH tension from the very first paragraph, but the first ripples stirring the water, the first creeping shadow while the sun still shines, making it clear that trouble lies ahead. I’m a slush reader for an online magazine, and this is one of my most common comments on stories: too slow in building tension.

Easier said than done, right? So of course, one of the pieces of feedback I got on my story Soil of Truth from my beta reader it was the lack of tension in the opening. Everyone got along too well. The main character, Osaeba, was the perfect apprentice and her mentor knew and appreciated it. One big happy family and absolutely no tension until the main problem was introduced, several hundred words later. Not good. The main problem of the story and its progression in the story was fine. But how to add tension in the opening when I am still introducing the characters and the world, before I can even get to the big problem? So I adjusted the opening. Osaeba was still a good apprentice, attentive and takes initiative, but I made her mentor more critical of her. It was a small change, and didn’t alter the plot, but it brought in some tension between the two characters. Now Osaeba is constantly trying to prove herself. The added bonus? That tension between them continued to build through the story and increased the tension in later scenes. Now it made even more sense when Osaeba’s mentor questions her concerns later on in the story.

Think about your own relationships. We rarely get along perfectly with everyone in our lives. Even people we like, and love, can have traits that get on our nerves or different opinions on important issues (religion or politics, anyone?). Misunderstandings happen all too easily. It’s not enough to end a relationship – a miscommunication or misunderstanding may be cleared easily enough with a conversation, once we have time to have it, or minor irritating traits are brushed aside – but they cause moments of tension. Fiction should show this as well.

The flip-side to this problem is starting a story in media rez, in the middle of the action. There’s lots going on, but if I don’t know enough about the character, their dangerous predicament won’t have me on the edge of my seat fearing for them. Tension works best when we care about the character and how events will affect them. We need to be invested in their hopes in dreams for the action to really mater. Starting in media rez can certainly work, but I find it works best if you give a sense of what’s at stake for the character: are they the innocent victim of a crazed murderer or fighting against the odds to save a loved one?

About Nicole Lavigne:

Nicole Lavigne has a BA in English and Theatre from the University of Ottawa. She still lives in Ottawa but considers all of Canada her home after bouncing across the country as a military brat during her childhood. She is a professional storyteller, writer, Editorial Assistant for Beneath Ceaseless Skies magazine, and daylights as an administrative assistant for the government. Her story, Soil of Truth, will be appearing in Second Contacts by Bundoran Press in the fall of 2015.