Have you ever tried to write a dream sequence or a flashback in your novels? What did you think of it when you were finished? Were you happy with the end result, or did it leave you feeling a little flat when you read back over it?
The school of thought on dreams and flashbacks is divided. Some believe that the use of these devices exhibit the writer's immature efforts at crafting backstory and plugging it in, resulting in an amateurish debut into the literary world.
If not done well, this could prove true.
But why pick on flashbacks and dreams? Even plain storytelling without the use of these literary devices can sometimes result in what dissolves into, at best, a "freshman effort." It's not necessarily due to using these tools, though some critics may call upon this as their "rule of thumb" to judge by.
Another argument against flashbacks and dreams is that they lead the reader out of the actual moment of the story, and may somehow "confuse the reader."
Oh, come on.
The only bit of confusion that might occur is not the result of the dream or flashback itself; rather, the inability of the writer to make his meaning clear--again, resulting in an immature presentation.
Yes, flashbacks and dreams are sometimes tough to transition to and from, and make that transition "work." But they can be invaluable tools in creating your backstory.
What are the advantages of dream sequences? They can foreshadow events to come, or provide information about events that the dreamer witnessed.
In my book, Fire Eyes, U.S. Marshal Kaed Turner is being tortured by a band of renegades, so he isn't paying attention to some of the details of events and conversation that is taking place around him at the time. (SEE EXCERPT BELOW) But later, when he's safely recovering, he dreams about what happened to him. This dream does two things for the reader:
1.) It lets us know what, exactly, was being done to Kaed through the conversation and actions of the participants. We see and hear what is happening, as if we are there, in the moment, without Kaed having to re-tell it to someone.
2.) It allows Kaed (and the reader) to seize upon a very important piece of information that's pertinent to the plot.
He was not aware of it consciously, but his subconscious thoughts had picked it up, and it was revealed in the dream.
If you are writing a story with psychic or paranormal happenings, dreams could be a shared link between characters. This device is used often in novels that include time travel, as well.
One thing to consider when writing a dream sequence is the way your character sees life, and what his or her culture is. Make your dreams and flashbacks reflect this appropriately. In Native American culture, an owl is a symbol of impending death--not wisdom. It might mean different things to people from other cultures. Yet, a raven will probably hold much the same symbolism for everyone.
Your characters can solve problems in their dreams. This happens in reality--it can happen in fiction.
Remember, like the presentation of a gourmet meal, a seamless story is in the telling, or the writing. Backstory is sometimes essential, as are clues to the story that might not be able to be presented any other way. Make your transitions to the past, or in and out of the dream state, as flawless as possible.
If you do this, your readers won't be confused, and you'll hold them spellbound as they see the story unfold along with your characters.
Do you use dreams and flashbacks in your writing? I'd love to hear your comments and thoughts on this. I personally love both dreams and flashbacks, and use both quite frequently in my writing. Let me hear from you!
DREAM EXCERPT FROM FIRE EYES:
Finally, he fell into a deep sleep, giving himself up to the blackness, then the dreams that he could not stop, or change.
****
He had been here before. Waiting. The mists swirled and parted. Dreams were not always kind, but could be a powerful tool to search for clues that the mind kept veiled. From where he waited in the dense underbrush he could see and hear everything—all over again.
“Maybe we oughtta let ‘em go,” Abe Moseley suggested. “Bein’ as who they are.” He shot Fish Edwards a dark look.
“Hell,” Fish mumbled. “I didn’t know they was related to any chief when I took ‘em.”
Fallon stood up and eyed Edwards shrewdly. “It sure puts us in a hell of a place.” He walked slowly toward one of the tall cottonwoods and leaned against it. “Standing Bear will stop at nothing to get them back.”
Mosely hung his head. “I won’t never do that again—screw the merchandise, I mean. I’m awful sorry.”
Fallon shook his head slowly. “We don’t have a buyer anymore, and now we have Standing Bear to deal with.” He came slowly toward Mosely, halting just in front of him. “What should I do, Abe?”
“Hell, General, I know I made a mistake. But I hadn’t had any for so long, an’—”
“A mistake!” Fallon gave him an incredulous stare. “You cost us, Mosely. You and Thomas and Connors. Pritchard is paying us for virgins!”
Pritchard! Kaed’s mind seized on the valuable piece of information he had missed the first time. Pritchard. The Honorable George Pritchard—the Federal judge in Dodge City?
The rest of this was unimportant, but he couldn’t seem to manage to shake off the sleep, wake himself up. He was on fire; burning—and he couldn’t do a damn thing. Everything blurred, and once again he felt the rough hands seizing him, tying him. There was a sudden hiss of burning flesh, the smell of it searing his nostrils, and just as the pain washed over him, he realized it was his own skin.
A mountain of a man stood beside him, his leering gap-toothed grin filled with malicious intent. Kaed felt him take his right arm in his huge ham fists. It seemed as if he stood that way for an eternity, both hands locked on opposite sides of Kaed’s arm.
At Fallon’s grinning nod, the man tightened his grip and began to slowly twist in opposite directions. The bone snapped and crunched as it broke under the ponderous pressure. An excruciating blast of agony shot through Kaed’s entire body as the jagged shards of bone cut through his skin from the inside out, until the ends protruded completely.
Blood spurted across his twisted face and corded neck, soaking into his shirt in spatters. It flowed freely in the next moment, turning the ragged edge of chambray sleeve into a crimson flag of agony.
He cursed himself for the guttural, half-conscious sound he made in the back of his throat. Only by sheer force of will did he choke back the animalistic screams that threatened to tear apart the bloodthirsty air of this hideous night.
“Felt that, didn’t you, Turner?” Fallon leered at Kaed. “Where do you reckon ol’ Standing Bear is right now?”
Kaed remained silent, his puffy eyes slitted murderously in the flickering light of the campfire.
“Well, let’s see. I know one place he’s not, Marshal Turner. He’s not here rescuin’ you, now, is he?” Fallon’s blade arced wickedly across Kaed’s belly, and he gritted his teeth at the slashing fire. He could almost feel his shoulders separating from the rest of his body.
“Is he, Marshal? Now, I ast you a question, boy, and I want a true lawman answer.”
Kaed tried to speak, to tell Fallon to go fuck himself, but it wouldn’t come. His throat was dry and rusty, aching with the effort he’d made to keep any sound back.
“What?” Fallon asked, his grin widening hellishly. He leaned closer in mock concern. “I think the marshal’s tryin’ to talk, boys. Go ‘head, Turner. Ol’ Standing Bear ain’t much of anything to be afraid of, cause he sure hasn’t shown his cowardly, red ass around here.” He winked. “Don’t believe he’s comin’ to help you.”
“He…will,” Kaed gritted.
At the certain tone of Kaed’s response, some of the men hooted and whistled. Seconds later, the first arrow caught Bodie Johns in the throat. The other men turned, running, scrambling for guns, cover and horses.
All except Andrew Fallon. Drawing his revolver, he pointed it at Kaed’s head. “Now, you die, Marshal.”
As Kaed watched Fallon’s eager finger ease the trigger back, he felt a strong vibration in the ropes at his wrists, heard the accompanying whine of the well-placed arrow. He dropped to the ground as the rope unraveled, sliced in two.
Fallon’s gun exploded, and once more, Kaed felt the hot streak of fire at his side.
As he hit the ground and rolled, the blackness took him.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
THE "WHAT-IF" GAME--IDEAS AND WHAT WE DO WITH THEM
Have you ever been asked, "Where do you get your ideas?" Ever thought
about that question?
Where do your ideas for writing fiction come from, and what makes them
worthy of the time, effort, and creative energy we expend to bring that
idea to full fruition--to craft a well-written story from it?
One source of story ideas is from real-life experience. Whether we are
retelling a chapter of our own life, or something that happened to
someone else, we must have come to the conclusion that that idea was
worthwhile and that others would be interested in it, as well.
I want to talk a little bit about why we have to be careful when we
glean ideas from actual happenings. For many years, I taught a series
of classes on "writing your life story." You can't imagine how popular
those classes have remained, especially with the older generation. The
idea that one's life is unique or different suddenly takes on new
meaning when others say, "You should write that down!" It comes to
mean, "Your life has been fantastic!" It may well have been fantastic
but when you stop to think about it, many, many people have had unusual,
one-of-a-kind experiences at one time or another. What would make a
person believe that their life story would be the one people would rush
to Barnes and Noble to pluck from the shelves and lay down a twenty
dollar bill to buy?
Many times, we as writers can draw from our life experiences as a bank
of ideas for our fiction, but to write our own life story in full
would generally prove to be a project that might prove to be a
disappointing failure in the end.
Characters we've met in our lives also give us ideas for the characters
we create. Although we might not think of our sourpuss Aunt Betty as
a "character" in real life, once we begin to write the fictional story
we've been plotting, we might see one of the secondary characters begin
to take on attributes of Aunt Betty--someone we haven't been around for
the past five years. People we've met casually, or known in a family
context, can firmly insert themselves into our stories--much to our surprise.
Books, poetry or movies that might have influenced our thinking during our
lives also can have an impact on our ideas. I once read a book based
on a song that was popular in the early 1970s about a young woman who
was in love with a sea captain.
Other forms of mass media can also add to our treasure trove of ideas.
Articles we've read in magazines or newspapers spark ideas. True
stories that are fictionalized have become one of the most popular genres
ever created. Truman Capote's best seller "In Cold Blood" was the book that
was the catalyst and set the standard for this type of fictionalized
reality.
Historical events from the past can also provide us with ideas that can
either stay fairly true to history or take a wide turn around the actual
events. Alternate history is a new up-and-coming genre that encompasses all types
of fiction writing, from science fiction to historicals,
including certain genres of romance, mainstream, and political fiction.
Now that we've talked a bit about where some of our ideas might come from,
we need to look at how we know whether an idea is "story-worthy" or not.
Have you ever started writing on a manuscript that you loved the idea
for, but suddenly the plot fizzles? Maybe you get to a certain point
and don't know where to go next. Does that mean your idea is no good?
Or does it mean you are just in need of some brainstorming to re-direct
your plot, punch it up, and keep the middle from "sagging"?
Someone once said, you can wash garbage, but it's still garbage. Learning
what is garbage and what is salvageable is the most important thing you need
to know. If you begin with an idea that you love, chances are, there'll
be someone else out there who'll love it, too! Your readers! If you
have an idea that's "sort of" good, the question is, will you care enough,
as a writer, to see it through to the end?
Of course, everyone who has ever written anything for pleasure has had
self-doubt. Remember Miss Smith's third grade class? If the assignment
was to write an essay, or a short story, you didn't dare let that smirk
of anticipation cross your face. What would your friends think of you
if they knew you were looking forward to actually writing a paper? While
everyone else wrote a paragraph, you couldn't help yourself: you wrote
two whole pages! And the secret was out. Self-doubt set in the very moment one of your
classmates asked, "Gosh, why'd you write so much?"
So, you see, self-doubt has been instilled in us since we were in Miss
Smith's class. It will never leave us. We have to practice introducing
ourselves in the bathroom mirror: "Hi. I'm (insert your name here.) I'm
a writer."
One of the best idea-getters is the "what-if" game (one of my favorites.)
What if there was a man and he had a beautiful daughter. What if
he fell in love with a woman who had two daughters of her own. What if
they married. But, what if the woman wasn't what the man had believed
her to be? What if she hated his daughter and was jealous of her?
CINDERELLA!!!
I love this game because it leads to all sorts of possibilities. Our
stories can take flight in directions we never imagined, becoming a
joyous surprise even to ourselves, the authors!
Though we must battle our self-doubt on two fronts (a, will the story idea be interesting and good, and (b, will I be able to write it, finish it, bring it to
fruition through publication) reminding ourselves every day that we are
professional writers and that our ideas are worthy is one way to combat
that doubt. I'm not a fan of critique groups normally, but finding
other writers who are supportive through other venues is a great
confidence booster.
Something to think about: The greatest "what-if"? What if I wasn't a
writer? My story would never be written!
There are a lot of "what ifs" in my novel, Fire Eyes. Below is an excerpt of my villain, Andrew Fallon, speaking with his brother. In the course of the conversation, Fallon learns a piece of information that had come up in casual conversation between his brother, Dave, and my heroine, Jessica. It's enough to turn the entire purpose of his character, since revenge is his great motivator where Kaed Turner is concerned. Here's what happens:
FROM FIRE EYES:
Dave Fallon shuddered. “Yes, I’ve heard all about Fallon’s Brigade. You made quite a reputation for yourself. Not a good one, either.” He shook his head. “After Pa died, we heard some awful hard things about what you done, Drew. It broke Mama’s heart. I promised her I’d make it right again.”
“Just how do you intend to do that, brother?”
“I promised Mama I’d see you came home to Texas to make a new start. You keep goin’ like you are, you’re gonna die young. You’ve got a passel of lawmen after you, boy, an’ I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout amateurs.”
Fallon’s brows shot up. “Really, dear brother? Do tell.”
Dave Fallon leaned over the pommel of his saddle, a scowl on his face. “You take this lightly. That’s pure arrogance outta you. Just like everything.”
“Who are they, Dave? That’s all I need from you.”
Dave sighed. “Tom Sellers, for one. He’s a tough one, and he hates you after, after what happened at Honey Springs.”
“Heard about that, did you?”
“Yes, I heard, dammit! And so did Mama and Pa and Eddie. Seemed like ever’body in Fort Worth heard about it.”
Drew Fallon lowered his eyes for a moment, a smile touching his lips. “Ah, yes. Eddie. How is our middle brother?”
“Dead.” Dave said succinctly. “Shot in the back by a man who’s son and grandson you killed.”
“Hmm. I’m afraid I don’t remember them.”
“Drew—”
Fallon cut him off. “You said there were others, besides Tom Sellers. How do you know?”
Dave’s features were grim. “I stopped off in Fort Smith to see Jack Eaton.”
“Why in God’s name would you do that?”
“He and I served together for a short time in the War, before what happened at Honey Springs. I thought maybe he might’ve heard—well, Christ, we didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”
“Alive, brother. Very much…alive.”
Tom Sellers wouldn’t be alone, Fallon knew, and he’d be out for blood after Turner’s murder. “Who’s after me, Dave, besides Sellers?”
“Eaton, Harv Jenkins, and two young ones, Morgan and Hayes, according to the office there in Fort Smith. But Kaed Turner’s leading the pack.”
At that, Fallon’s pulse leapt. “Turner? You sure about that?”
Dave smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Fallon slapped his gloved hand against his thigh with a curse. “Turner. I was sure he wouldn’t make it. I beat him bloody.” He turned to look at his brother. “What makes you so certain?”
“I talked to his wife. Pretty little thing. She claimed she didn’t know where they were headed, but I’d already found that out for myself in Ft. Smith.”
“His wife?”
“Yeah. Jessica Turner. Lives just off the west branch of Clear Boggy Creek. Got a nice little cabin there.”
Andrew Fallon began to laugh. His body shook until finally he dabbed a corner of his gloved finger to first one eye, then the other. “This is so rich.”
“Enlighten me,” Dave said dryly.
“I killed that woman’s first husband, Billy Monroe.” He smiled. “We needed to commandeer supplies and he was most uncooperative. A traitor, you might say. He cried like a baby before we finished with him. Yelled for her to come save him.” He gave a snort of laughter. “Course, we was miles from that cabin by then. Wasn’t no way she coulda heard him bawlin’, even loud as he was. We went back the next day where we’d left him. Thought maybe we oughtta do the right thing, drop him at her doorstep. But someone else already beat us to it. That damn Standing Bear, I figure.” He sniffed. “Kaed Turner would be dead right now, too, if that damned Injun hadn’t interfered, again.” He shook his head. “Evidently, Turner’s got more grit than Mr. Monroe had. But that woman, Jessica, she’s the one I should’ve gotten rid of. Once that’s done, I can take any of the benefits of the land that we need for our army.” He laughed again. “Mrs. Kaedon Turner, huh? Well. I can fix that.”
Cheryl
about that question?
Where do your ideas for writing fiction come from, and what makes them
worthy of the time, effort, and creative energy we expend to bring that
idea to full fruition--to craft a well-written story from it?
One source of story ideas is from real-life experience. Whether we are
retelling a chapter of our own life, or something that happened to
someone else, we must have come to the conclusion that that idea was
worthwhile and that others would be interested in it, as well.
I want to talk a little bit about why we have to be careful when we
glean ideas from actual happenings. For many years, I taught a series
of classes on "writing your life story." You can't imagine how popular
those classes have remained, especially with the older generation. The
idea that one's life is unique or different suddenly takes on new
meaning when others say, "You should write that down!" It comes to
mean, "Your life has been fantastic!" It may well have been fantastic
but when you stop to think about it, many, many people have had unusual,
one-of-a-kind experiences at one time or another. What would make a
person believe that their life story would be the one people would rush
to Barnes and Noble to pluck from the shelves and lay down a twenty
dollar bill to buy?
Many times, we as writers can draw from our life experiences as a bank
of ideas for our fiction, but to write our own life story in full
would generally prove to be a project that might prove to be a
disappointing failure in the end.
Characters we've met in our lives also give us ideas for the characters
we create. Although we might not think of our sourpuss Aunt Betty as
a "character" in real life, once we begin to write the fictional story
we've been plotting, we might see one of the secondary characters begin
to take on attributes of Aunt Betty--someone we haven't been around for
the past five years. People we've met casually, or known in a family
context, can firmly insert themselves into our stories--much to our surprise.
Books, poetry or movies that might have influenced our thinking during our
lives also can have an impact on our ideas. I once read a book based
on a song that was popular in the early 1970s about a young woman who
was in love with a sea captain.
Other forms of mass media can also add to our treasure trove of ideas.
Articles we've read in magazines or newspapers spark ideas. True
stories that are fictionalized have become one of the most popular genres
ever created. Truman Capote's best seller "In Cold Blood" was the book that
was the catalyst and set the standard for this type of fictionalized
reality.
Historical events from the past can also provide us with ideas that can
either stay fairly true to history or take a wide turn around the actual
events. Alternate history is a new up-and-coming genre that encompasses all types
of fiction writing, from science fiction to historicals,
including certain genres of romance, mainstream, and political fiction.
Now that we've talked a bit about where some of our ideas might come from,
we need to look at how we know whether an idea is "story-worthy" or not.
Have you ever started writing on a manuscript that you loved the idea
for, but suddenly the plot fizzles? Maybe you get to a certain point
and don't know where to go next. Does that mean your idea is no good?
Or does it mean you are just in need of some brainstorming to re-direct
your plot, punch it up, and keep the middle from "sagging"?
Someone once said, you can wash garbage, but it's still garbage. Learning
what is garbage and what is salvageable is the most important thing you need
to know. If you begin with an idea that you love, chances are, there'll
be someone else out there who'll love it, too! Your readers! If you
have an idea that's "sort of" good, the question is, will you care enough,
as a writer, to see it through to the end?
Of course, everyone who has ever written anything for pleasure has had
self-doubt. Remember Miss Smith's third grade class? If the assignment
was to write an essay, or a short story, you didn't dare let that smirk
of anticipation cross your face. What would your friends think of you
if they knew you were looking forward to actually writing a paper? While
everyone else wrote a paragraph, you couldn't help yourself: you wrote
two whole pages! And the secret was out. Self-doubt set in the very moment one of your
classmates asked, "Gosh, why'd you write so much?"
So, you see, self-doubt has been instilled in us since we were in Miss
Smith's class. It will never leave us. We have to practice introducing
ourselves in the bathroom mirror: "Hi. I'm (insert your name here.) I'm
a writer."
One of the best idea-getters is the "what-if" game (one of my favorites.)
What if there was a man and he had a beautiful daughter. What if
he fell in love with a woman who had two daughters of her own. What if
they married. But, what if the woman wasn't what the man had believed
her to be? What if she hated his daughter and was jealous of her?
CINDERELLA!!!
I love this game because it leads to all sorts of possibilities. Our
stories can take flight in directions we never imagined, becoming a
joyous surprise even to ourselves, the authors!
Though we must battle our self-doubt on two fronts (a, will the story idea be interesting and good, and (b, will I be able to write it, finish it, bring it to
fruition through publication) reminding ourselves every day that we are
professional writers and that our ideas are worthy is one way to combat
that doubt. I'm not a fan of critique groups normally, but finding
other writers who are supportive through other venues is a great
confidence booster.
Something to think about: The greatest "what-if"? What if I wasn't a
writer? My story would never be written!
There are a lot of "what ifs" in my novel, Fire Eyes. Below is an excerpt of my villain, Andrew Fallon, speaking with his brother. In the course of the conversation, Fallon learns a piece of information that had come up in casual conversation between his brother, Dave, and my heroine, Jessica. It's enough to turn the entire purpose of his character, since revenge is his great motivator where Kaed Turner is concerned. Here's what happens:
FROM FIRE EYES:
Dave Fallon shuddered. “Yes, I’ve heard all about Fallon’s Brigade. You made quite a reputation for yourself. Not a good one, either.” He shook his head. “After Pa died, we heard some awful hard things about what you done, Drew. It broke Mama’s heart. I promised her I’d make it right again.”
“Just how do you intend to do that, brother?”
“I promised Mama I’d see you came home to Texas to make a new start. You keep goin’ like you are, you’re gonna die young. You’ve got a passel of lawmen after you, boy, an’ I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout amateurs.”
Fallon’s brows shot up. “Really, dear brother? Do tell.”
Dave Fallon leaned over the pommel of his saddle, a scowl on his face. “You take this lightly. That’s pure arrogance outta you. Just like everything.”
“Who are they, Dave? That’s all I need from you.”
Dave sighed. “Tom Sellers, for one. He’s a tough one, and he hates you after, after what happened at Honey Springs.”
“Heard about that, did you?”
“Yes, I heard, dammit! And so did Mama and Pa and Eddie. Seemed like ever’body in Fort Worth heard about it.”
Drew Fallon lowered his eyes for a moment, a smile touching his lips. “Ah, yes. Eddie. How is our middle brother?”
“Dead.” Dave said succinctly. “Shot in the back by a man who’s son and grandson you killed.”
“Hmm. I’m afraid I don’t remember them.”
“Drew—”
Fallon cut him off. “You said there were others, besides Tom Sellers. How do you know?”
Dave’s features were grim. “I stopped off in Fort Smith to see Jack Eaton.”
“Why in God’s name would you do that?”
“He and I served together for a short time in the War, before what happened at Honey Springs. I thought maybe he might’ve heard—well, Christ, we didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”
“Alive, brother. Very much…alive.”
Tom Sellers wouldn’t be alone, Fallon knew, and he’d be out for blood after Turner’s murder. “Who’s after me, Dave, besides Sellers?”
“Eaton, Harv Jenkins, and two young ones, Morgan and Hayes, according to the office there in Fort Smith. But Kaed Turner’s leading the pack.”
At that, Fallon’s pulse leapt. “Turner? You sure about that?”
Dave smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Fallon slapped his gloved hand against his thigh with a curse. “Turner. I was sure he wouldn’t make it. I beat him bloody.” He turned to look at his brother. “What makes you so certain?”
“I talked to his wife. Pretty little thing. She claimed she didn’t know where they were headed, but I’d already found that out for myself in Ft. Smith.”
“His wife?”
“Yeah. Jessica Turner. Lives just off the west branch of Clear Boggy Creek. Got a nice little cabin there.”
Andrew Fallon began to laugh. His body shook until finally he dabbed a corner of his gloved finger to first one eye, then the other. “This is so rich.”
“Enlighten me,” Dave said dryly.
“I killed that woman’s first husband, Billy Monroe.” He smiled. “We needed to commandeer supplies and he was most uncooperative. A traitor, you might say. He cried like a baby before we finished with him. Yelled for her to come save him.” He gave a snort of laughter. “Course, we was miles from that cabin by then. Wasn’t no way she coulda heard him bawlin’, even loud as he was. We went back the next day where we’d left him. Thought maybe we oughtta do the right thing, drop him at her doorstep. But someone else already beat us to it. That damn Standing Bear, I figure.” He sniffed. “Kaed Turner would be dead right now, too, if that damned Injun hadn’t interfered, again.” He shook his head. “Evidently, Turner’s got more grit than Mr. Monroe had. But that woman, Jessica, she’s the one I should’ve gotten rid of. Once that’s done, I can take any of the benefits of the land that we need for our army.” He laughed again. “Mrs. Kaedon Turner, huh? Well. I can fix that.”
Cheryl
Saturday, May 16, 2009
THE MINDSET OF WRITING: ARE YOU TOUGH ENOUGH?
When I first began writing seriously, it never entered my mind that it
would be a painful process. But it is.
From the very beginnings of our imaginings as writers, the first
stirrings of creativity that we feel compelled to share with the world
by transferring our thoughts to paper (or computer), we are "putting
ourselves out there" for the world to look at--and judge. Self-doubt
is inevitable.
When you wrote your first essay in grammar school--think back--"How I
Spent My Summer Vacation"--that was the beginning. You most likely had
to stand up and read it for the class, to be snickered at by your
classmates if you hadn't had some kind of fantastic summer experience
to write about--good or bad.
Your retelling of a wonderful vacation to Disneyland could be trumped
by a classmate who’d visited relatives that lived near Billy Bob's Crocodile Farm.
Never, never could we slip into mediocrity by writing about a boring
summer of "just staying home."
Without our realizing it, this was the beginning of the rest of our
lives as writers--and the judgment of the rest of the world. By what
we wrote for those long-ago class assignments, we unwittingly took
the first steps on our journeys into the world of writing successes
to come. How our classmates reacted, even at age eight or nine, would
affect the rest of our lives in ways we didn't imagine then.
Think of it this way: Miss Smith's third grade class was our first
experience with peers who critiqued our work. And some of those peers
could be downright snide, despite Miss Smith's admonishments to mind
their manners!
Kids are cruel, but so are adults. Our school years were the proving
ground for obstacles we face in the adult world in many areas, but did
you ever think of your third-grade classmates as your first panel of
reviewers?
Just as we longed for acceptance then, we wish for it now. Those
of us who are writers hope to be embraced by a fan base of some
size--even if it's small.
Miss Smith was the next hurdle, representing an elevated level of
criticism. She gave you "the grade" for your paper--evaluating not
only the grammar and punctuation, but the content and creativity.
Dealing with teachers and curriculum in school is much like dealing
with a literary agent and the governing “rules of writing” in our adult
lives. The comparison is striking.
We have to "make the grade" to land an agent. But, like teachers, not
all agents are alike. Some tend to give more advice, push harder for
the sale, or spend more time networking. Ultimately, your agent
is your personal "gatekeeper," making the sale for your work--or not.
Miss Smith in third grade, along with countless others like her,
represent the first broker for your writing. Did you pass or fail?
Were you creative? Did you meet your word count?
Much of the outcome depends on you. Have you been "tough enough"
through the years? How do you handle the rejection that comes as an
inevitable, integral part of a writer's life? Have you ever thought
that you might have started your adult writing career sooner had you
had a bit of encouragement in those early years?
Realize that you are here, at last, and having made it this far, you
are on the road to success. It might not come tomorrow, or next week,
but it is out there, waiting. Much of our success as writers depends
on luck, or "being in the right place at the right time." Having that
teacher, mentor or friend at some point who gave us a small piece of
encouragement is sometimes what can "make or break" us.
But learning to be tough and stay constant, to keep from being
disillusioned and disheartened, and to be our own source of inner
comfort and strength during this journey is the key to success.
Join me next time when we take a look at having faith in
your story, your ideas, your talents--and what to do if doubt sets in
once you've begun to write.
Until then, remember, even if you haven't sold anything yet,
you've written it. And that's a success story in itself.
Completing a manuscript of any kind means you were tough enough to
"tell it" and it's only a matter of time now until you sell it!
would be a painful process. But it is.
From the very beginnings of our imaginings as writers, the first
stirrings of creativity that we feel compelled to share with the world
by transferring our thoughts to paper (or computer), we are "putting
ourselves out there" for the world to look at--and judge. Self-doubt
is inevitable.
When you wrote your first essay in grammar school--think back--"How I
Spent My Summer Vacation"--that was the beginning. You most likely had
to stand up and read it for the class, to be snickered at by your
classmates if you hadn't had some kind of fantastic summer experience
to write about--good or bad.
Your retelling of a wonderful vacation to Disneyland could be trumped
by a classmate who’d visited relatives that lived near Billy Bob's Crocodile Farm.
Never, never could we slip into mediocrity by writing about a boring
summer of "just staying home."
Without our realizing it, this was the beginning of the rest of our
lives as writers--and the judgment of the rest of the world. By what
we wrote for those long-ago class assignments, we unwittingly took
the first steps on our journeys into the world of writing successes
to come. How our classmates reacted, even at age eight or nine, would
affect the rest of our lives in ways we didn't imagine then.
Think of it this way: Miss Smith's third grade class was our first
experience with peers who critiqued our work. And some of those peers
could be downright snide, despite Miss Smith's admonishments to mind
their manners!
Kids are cruel, but so are adults. Our school years were the proving
ground for obstacles we face in the adult world in many areas, but did
you ever think of your third-grade classmates as your first panel of
reviewers?
Just as we longed for acceptance then, we wish for it now. Those
of us who are writers hope to be embraced by a fan base of some
size--even if it's small.
Miss Smith was the next hurdle, representing an elevated level of
criticism. She gave you "the grade" for your paper--evaluating not
only the grammar and punctuation, but the content and creativity.
Dealing with teachers and curriculum in school is much like dealing
with a literary agent and the governing “rules of writing” in our adult
lives. The comparison is striking.
We have to "make the grade" to land an agent. But, like teachers, not
all agents are alike. Some tend to give more advice, push harder for
the sale, or spend more time networking. Ultimately, your agent
is your personal "gatekeeper," making the sale for your work--or not.
Miss Smith in third grade, along with countless others like her,
represent the first broker for your writing. Did you pass or fail?
Were you creative? Did you meet your word count?
Much of the outcome depends on you. Have you been "tough enough"
through the years? How do you handle the rejection that comes as an
inevitable, integral part of a writer's life? Have you ever thought
that you might have started your adult writing career sooner had you
had a bit of encouragement in those early years?
Realize that you are here, at last, and having made it this far, you
are on the road to success. It might not come tomorrow, or next week,
but it is out there, waiting. Much of our success as writers depends
on luck, or "being in the right place at the right time." Having that
teacher, mentor or friend at some point who gave us a small piece of
encouragement is sometimes what can "make or break" us.
But learning to be tough and stay constant, to keep from being
disillusioned and disheartened, and to be our own source of inner
comfort and strength during this journey is the key to success.
Join me next time when we take a look at having faith in
your story, your ideas, your talents--and what to do if doubt sets in
once you've begun to write.
Until then, remember, even if you haven't sold anything yet,
you've written it. And that's a success story in itself.
Completing a manuscript of any kind means you were tough enough to
"tell it" and it's only a matter of time now until you sell it!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
IS YOUR SETTING ANOTHER CHARACTER?
Location. Setting. Why is it so important to our story?
It seems obvious in some cases. In others, there could be a 'hidden' agenda. It can actually become another character.
Let's take a look, first, at the importance of setting to our genre, or sub-genre.
Fifty years ago, the choices were limited. Regencies and Westerns were prevalent sub-genres in the historical category, and mysteries and detective stories captivated the 'contemporary' nook. Science fiction was still relatively uncharted.
The setting of a novel was a definitive device, separating the genres as clearly as any other element of writing.
The glittering ballrooms and colorful gowns and jewels whisked historical romance readers away to faraway, exotic locales. Sagebrush, cactus, and danger awaited heroes of the western genre, a male-dominated readership.
But something odd happened as time went by. The lines blurred. Rosemary Rogers combined the romance of exotic places with the danger of an action plot, and an unforgettable hero in Steve Morgan that, had a man picked up 'Sweet Savage Love' and read it, he certainly could have identified with.
By the same token, the male-oriented scenery accompanied by the stiff, stylized form of western writers such as Owen Wister (The Virginian) and Zane Grey (Riders of the Purple Sage, The Last Trail) gave way to Louis L'Amour (Conagher, the Sackett series) and Jack Schaefer (Shane, Monte Walsh).
Why is the evolving change in description of location so important? In older writings, many times the location of a novel was just where the story happened to take place. Often, the plot of the story dictated the setting, rather than the two forming any kind of 'partnership.'
But with the stories that came along later, that partnership was strengthened, and in some cases, location became almost another character in the plot.
Take, for example, Louis L'Amour's 'Conagher.' As he describes the heroine's (Evie) dismal hopelessness at the land her husband (Jacob) has brought her to, we wonder how she will survive. Yet, Jacob has plans, sees the possibilities that Evie cannot, or will not see. The underlying message is, "The land is what we make of it."
As the story continues, she begins to appreciate the beauty of the prairie, while acknowledging the solitary loneliness of her existence. She plants a garden, nurturing the plants, and gradually she sees the farm being shaped into a good home from the ramshackle place she'd first laid eyes on.
The land is beautiful, but unforgiving. Her husband is killed in a freak accident, and for months she doesn't know what has happened to him. She faces the responsibility of raising his two children from a previous marriage alone.
In her loneliness, she begins to write notes describing her feelings and ties them to tumbleweeds. The wind scatters the notes and tumbleweeds across the prairie. Conagher, a loner, begins to wonder who could be writing them, and slowly comes to believe that whomever it is, these notes are meant for him.
At one point, visitors come from back East. One of them says to Evie something to the effect of "I don't know how you can stand it here."
This is Evie's response to her:
"I love it here," she said suddenly. "I think there is something here, something more than all you see and feel…it's in the wind.
"Oh, it is very hard!" she went on. "I miss women to talk to, I miss the things we had back East–the band concerts, the dances. The only time when we see anyone is like now, when the stage comes. But you do not know what music is until you have heard the wind in the cedars, or the far-off wind in the pines. Someday I am going to get on a horse and ride out there"–she pointed toward the wide grass before them–"until I can see the other side…if there is another side."
The land, at first her nemesis, has become not only a friend, but a soulmate. If that's not romance, I don't know what is.
Think of your own writing projects. What importance do you give setting in your description, plot, even characterization? Within 40 pages of 'Conagher', we understand that the land, with all its wild beauty and dangers has become enmeshed in Evie's character. She can't leave it, and it will never leave her.
It seems obvious in some cases. In others, there could be a 'hidden' agenda. It can actually become another character.
Let's take a look, first, at the importance of setting to our genre, or sub-genre.
Fifty years ago, the choices were limited. Regencies and Westerns were prevalent sub-genres in the historical category, and mysteries and detective stories captivated the 'contemporary' nook. Science fiction was still relatively uncharted.
The setting of a novel was a definitive device, separating the genres as clearly as any other element of writing.
The glittering ballrooms and colorful gowns and jewels whisked historical romance readers away to faraway, exotic locales. Sagebrush, cactus, and danger awaited heroes of the western genre, a male-dominated readership.
But something odd happened as time went by. The lines blurred. Rosemary Rogers combined the romance of exotic places with the danger of an action plot, and an unforgettable hero in Steve Morgan that, had a man picked up 'Sweet Savage Love' and read it, he certainly could have identified with.
By the same token, the male-oriented scenery accompanied by the stiff, stylized form of western writers such as Owen Wister (The Virginian) and Zane Grey (Riders of the Purple Sage, The Last Trail) gave way to Louis L'Amour (Conagher, the Sackett series) and Jack Schaefer (Shane, Monte Walsh).
Why is the evolving change in description of location so important? In older writings, many times the location of a novel was just where the story happened to take place. Often, the plot of the story dictated the setting, rather than the two forming any kind of 'partnership.'
But with the stories that came along later, that partnership was strengthened, and in some cases, location became almost another character in the plot.
Take, for example, Louis L'Amour's 'Conagher.' As he describes the heroine's (Evie) dismal hopelessness at the land her husband (Jacob) has brought her to, we wonder how she will survive. Yet, Jacob has plans, sees the possibilities that Evie cannot, or will not see. The underlying message is, "The land is what we make of it."
As the story continues, she begins to appreciate the beauty of the prairie, while acknowledging the solitary loneliness of her existence. She plants a garden, nurturing the plants, and gradually she sees the farm being shaped into a good home from the ramshackle place she'd first laid eyes on.
The land is beautiful, but unforgiving. Her husband is killed in a freak accident, and for months she doesn't know what has happened to him. She faces the responsibility of raising his two children from a previous marriage alone.
In her loneliness, she begins to write notes describing her feelings and ties them to tumbleweeds. The wind scatters the notes and tumbleweeds across the prairie. Conagher, a loner, begins to wonder who could be writing them, and slowly comes to believe that whomever it is, these notes are meant for him.
At one point, visitors come from back East. One of them says to Evie something to the effect of "I don't know how you can stand it here."
This is Evie's response to her:
"I love it here," she said suddenly. "I think there is something here, something more than all you see and feel…it's in the wind.
"Oh, it is very hard!" she went on. "I miss women to talk to, I miss the things we had back East–the band concerts, the dances. The only time when we see anyone is like now, when the stage comes. But you do not know what music is until you have heard the wind in the cedars, or the far-off wind in the pines. Someday I am going to get on a horse and ride out there"–she pointed toward the wide grass before them–"until I can see the other side…if there is another side."
The land, at first her nemesis, has become not only a friend, but a soulmate. If that's not romance, I don't know what is.
Think of your own writing projects. What importance do you give setting in your description, plot, even characterization? Within 40 pages of 'Conagher', we understand that the land, with all its wild beauty and dangers has become enmeshed in Evie's character. She can't leave it, and it will never leave her.
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