Riting School: It Started Once Upon a Time

Once Upon A Time…

Getting your multi-chapter story off the ground.

I get comments like this a lot:

I have this great idea for a story and I really want to write it. I’ve never written a long story before, so how do I get started? Do I need to do an outline?

For you seasoned writers who know this stuff, bear with me and consider this a refresher course. I’m directing this article at first-time writers who’ve been bitten by the bug and have an itch that needs to be scratched (not that itch, pervs). So my plan is, when I (or other writers) get this question, we can simply point the inquirer to this wee lil article, complete with pretty formatting and examples.

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12 Steps to Pre-Novel Planning

In grad school, there was always an undercurrent of fear when fellow creative writers mentioned they were slated to take “The Long Project.” This class was a semester of getting that novel they’d always wanted to write off the ground, churning out chapter after chapter, then laying themselves bare for brutal feedback during peer workshops. (Some of you fanfic writers might be wondering what the big deal is. Well, congratulations—if you’ve already experienced life as a “chapter machine” and had debates with reviewers over your work, then you’ve one-upped many CW grad students.) This class also took the ideas floating in our heads and made them tangible realities—realities that often require year-long commitments, which can be kind of scary. But when your lil idea baby grows up and you complete the story, you’ll have such an incredible feeling of accomplishment and euphoria.

Before you actually begin writing your first chapter, a strong foundation needs to be laid. Trust me that doing the prep work will save you a lot of headaches in the long run.

1. Finding an Idea

They say truth is stranger than fiction. So true. The best story ideas come from simply opening your eyes and being aware of what is happening around you…

• Spend a day people-watching at an airport or a park, and let your imagination grip you.
  
  
• Visit a museum and read the displays not for information, but for story ideas.
  
  
• Scour newspapers and media sites for those odd little news bites, and build on them.
  
  
• Flip through your old photo albums, diaries, and yearbooks—mine your own experiences.
  
  
• Go to the library, pull three random books off the shelf, and weave a story with them.
  
  
• When you have interesting dreams, take note—Stephenie Meyer did (ker-ching!).

Tip: Buy a little notebook you can carry in your purse or bag to jot down ideas. They will hit you when you least expect them, so record your light bulb moments before you forget.

2. The Story Map

Your story map will shift and change as you write, but it is exactly that: your story’s map. When you take a trip with a destination in mind, you need a map to help you get there. That is the purpose of your story map—as you write, it will help you stay on course so you don’t write yourself into a dead end.

Once you have your idea, it’s time to get your basic story map down (keep in mind this will grow and shift as you develop your plot and characters). But to begin with…

• Tell your story in a general way, and freeze at moments when the story shifts. These are actions or events that cause your main character’s course to shift. Think Back to the Future and the whole parallel universe thing.
  
  
• Highlight your top ten most important story shift moments. This is the core of your story—the moments you are always building toward. (E.g., In Twilight, the first major story shift occurs when Bella lays eyes on Edward Cullen and vice-versa. That’s a game-changer.)
  
  
• Identify generic conflicts of your book (E.g., Bella loves a vampire, Cullens have a secret life).

3. Geographic Setting

Aside from theme, nothing gets ignored more than the geographic setting of a story. Remember, “place” is a character, too—an important one. The setting shapes who your characters are, the types of conflicts they might struggle with, even the style and tone of your writing. Before you start developing your characters, identify your location. And this requires research. Even if you plan to falsely depict a location (hello, trendy boutique-infested Port Angeles), at least know in what ways you are fictionalizing a place.

• Is your story set in a depression-era mining town western Pennsylvania? Find out what you can about the location—the scenery, the climate, demographics, culture, history, special events, unique characteristics.
  
  
• Find a map of the location you are writing about or patterning a fictional place after. If this is a fantasy story and there is no map, create one yourself.
  
  
• Pick a visual representation of your story which embodies not only the place, but the mood. This is your “banner.”

4. Historical Events

Another key element of developing your story’s sense of place is the time. If your story is depression era Pennsylvania, research events that are happening at a world level, then national, then regional, then local.

• List key events that were of importance to the people in the time period you are writing about, even if it’s present day.
  
  
• Have a good understanding about what events would have influenced your characters. Is this Vietnam era? Then your main characters might be worried about the draft. The Civil Rights Movement would have also had huge influences.

5. Central Characters

Once you’ve researched your setting, you’ll have a better picture in your head of your central characters (e.g., Twilight’s central characters are Edward and Bella). In fact, ideas may be flying from your brain too fast to jot down. So now it’s time to lay the groundwork for character development. I can’t stress how important this step is—having a solid sense of who your characters are and how they react will shape the rest of your story. It will make or break it. Sketching a character is a valuable way to understand a character’s personality, appearance, desires, motivations, strengths and weaknesses.

Character sketches should include:

• list of defining character traits, strengths and weaknesses
  
  
• paragraph with brief history
  
  
• 1-2 sentences on character’s primary and secondary conflicts/motivations
  
  
• picture closely resembling your character

I’ve used this character sketch example before in my “Baddies” series, but I’ll pull it up again for reference:

MILTON’s SATAN:

Character traits:

• Is evil and wicked, but sure could fool us!
• ‘Father of Lies’
• Speaks beautifully
• Oozes sex appeal
• Epic warrior qualities (brave, fierce fighter, regal appearance)
• Desires power
• Jealous
• Filled with hate, rage, vengeance
• He’s the first rebel (today, he’d ride a motorcycle, smoke ciggies, wear a leather jacket, and have a sexy bouffant ala James Dean. Dean, I said. Not the other bouffanted beauty).
• The great Mick Jagger describes him as “a man of wealth and taste, been around for a long, long year…”

Backstory: He’s been cast out of Heaven by God after leading an epic rebellion, and is trapped on a rock in the middle of a fiery lake. He was an angel of light—Lucifer—who fell after growing greedy for power. His tragic flaw is his desire for power and revenge. While he may be beautiful, speak seductively, and sometimes appears as a phallic serpent to a virginal young woman whose name starts and ends with an ‘E’, don’t be fooled—he’s sided with evil instead of good.

Character’s Primary conflict: Satan wants revenge on God for booting him out of heaven and into, literally, the fiery pits of Hades. He’s out to hit God where it hurts the most.

Character’s Secondary conflict: Adam is such a goody-two-shoes, there’s no way in hell Satan (pardon the pun) will get him to bite the forbidden fruit. Eve, on the other hand…

6. Central Theme

Once you’ve developed your basic story map, setting, and characters, you’ll start to see themes, or “subject matters,” naturally emerging. This is slightly different from your conflict, in that it’s broader (but your conflict is almost always rooted in your theme). To find your theme…

• Do some brainstorming—what would the “prom themes” be for your story? What naturally emerges when you think about your plot and your characters? (E.g., several Twilight themes include Personal Choice, Love, Isolation, Mortality, Sacrifice, Appearance.)
  
  
• Once you’ve come up with your themes, write a couple of sentences about how and why each plays a part in your story.

7. Primary Conflict

Now that you’ve explored the depths of your story’s foundation a bit more, time to revisit those initial conflicts you jotted down. Given what you now know about your characters, setting, and theme, has anything changed? Do you have new ideas?

• Write a paragraph summarizing what the main conflict of your story is and why. (E.g., the main conflict of Twilight is that Bella is human and Edward is a vampire…therefore, we have a star-crossed lovers scenario).
  
  
• How will this conflict play out? What sort of resolution will it have?

8. Secondary Conflict

You’ve identified your primary conflict, so take a look at your characters and setting, and think about what sort of secondary conflicts might develop. Take into consideration both internal and external conflicts…

• Which of your characters’ traits and motivations might cause them to clash with others? Do any conflicts emerge?
  
  
• What about internal conflicts? Perhaps one of your central characters is at war with him/herself? (E.g., an internal secondary conflict of Twilight is Edward’s abhorrence of his vampire nature).
  
  
• Now factor in the setting and time period. Does that exacerbate anything? Are outside forces brewing that might cause trouble for your characters? (E.g., an external secondary conflict of Twilight would be James’ desire to kill Bella.)

9. Supporting Characters

You’d got your central characters down, as well as your conflicts. You have a better idea of what roles will need to be filled, and by what type of character. Let’s do your casting call—sketching your supporting characters. Supporting (or secondary) characters are not your central characters, nor are they your minor characters. (E.g., Supporting characters in Twilight would include Charlie, Renee, Alice, Carlisle, James, Jacob). These are the characters that have crucial roles to play in your plot by their presence, or even absence (as in Renee’s case).

• Identify at least five supporting characters
  
  
• Do a character sketch for each
  
  
• Find a picture representation of your character (or draw one if you can’t find one)

Tip: Unless you are writing a melodrama, don’t create perfectly good (or bad) people, or your characters will be flat. Sometimes it’s easy to fall into the “heroine is victimized” trap, so be aware…everyone has flaws.

10. Exploration of Tenses and Point-of-View

We’re almost ready to dive into your story, yay! Just a few things to take care of, stylistically (for a more in-depth look at uncovering your story’s style, see a previous Riting Skool article, “Bella’s Got Style”). Before you begin writing, decide which tense fits the story you want to tell. Will you use a first-person narrator or a third-person narrator with multiple points of view?

I could go into in-depth analysis of why certain POVs and tenses work better for particular stories (again, see “Bella’s Got Style”). But here’s a very practical trick…

• Pick one of your moments from your story map and begin writing that scene in 1st person, past tense. Make sure you include both scene (dialogue and action) and summary (reflection, backstory).
  
  
• Once you’ve written an excerpt, now rewrite it using lots of different tense and POV combinations. Maybe even try telling the story in 1st person from an unlikely character’s perspective (how would Twilight change if Carlisle told the story?). As you repeat the excerpt in different tenses, you’ll begin to see which combinations come more naturally to the story you want to tell. Some spark while others feel like pounding the wrong puzzle piece into place.

It’s not uncommon for writers to get halfway through a book and find they are struggling to write their story. Often, the problem is not the plot itself, but who is telling it and how. If find yourself in this situation, experiment with tenses and POVs again. You may want to consider rewriting the entire thing from a different perspective (I did this with my thesis—the rewrite was a nightmare, but the end result was magic).

11. Visual Motif

This is another of those fancy stylistic things that sounds difficult, but is actually a very simple way to add depth and cleverness to your story. A “visual motif” (or narrative motif) is a reoccurring object, description, place, idea, or statement that reflects your story’s themes. This is not just an extended metaphor, though the use of metaphor is certainly part of creating a motif. Visual motifs intensify a reader’s experience by giving them tangible symbols to emphasize your theme.

• The trick to developing a strong visual motif is subtlety. Don’t beat readers over the head with overt symbols. A handful of well-placed variations should do the trick.
  
  
• Avoid cliché symbolism—be creative with your imagery.

A good example of an effective and creative visual motif is used in Cormac McCarthy’s The Road (OMG, I can’t wait to see this movieeee!). The story takes place after the breakdown of social order, followed by the complete devastation of all living things. (Even dialogue punctuation rules have been discarded by McCarthy, which is just damned brilliant.) Thus, it is a fight for survival for those few humans who are left—a theme of “Death and Life.” Throughout his novel, McCarthy uses bleak, stark visual images of ruined wasteland, destroyed homes, cities, rural and urban civilization to emphasize his theme. Here’s just one example:

"The land was gullied and eroded and barren. The bones of dead creatures sprawled in the washes. Middens of anonymous trash. Farmhouses in the fields scoured of their paint and the clapboards spooned and sprung from the wallstuds. All of it shadowless and without feature. The road descended through a jungle of dead kudzu." (McCarthy)

In the end, as the story’s theme comes full circle, McCarthy’s series of subtle visual motifs now fit together in a stunning, completed puzzle.

As you write, consider what sort of visual motifs organically grow from your setting. How do they emphasize your themes?

12. Beginning and End

Hurrah! Are you ready to just do it already? (Geez you pervs, I swear.) It’s time to start writing. But…remember how I mentioned at the beginning of this lil 12-step program that you need to know where you are going? Well, you last step is to actually write where you are going. Before you start cranking out chapters, write your opening scene and your ending scene. Your ending is likely to need rewriting by the time you actually get there. But writing it at the onset will get it out of the way, and give you something tangible to work toward.

Having a beginning point and an ending point sets your course. Now you just have to fill in the chapters between.

There’s the meat of laying the foundation for your story. The rest of that stupid “Long Project” course is just suffering through workshops, getting feedback that makes you cry and drink, and ignoring half that feedback because it’s coming from other CWs who only skimmed your story anyway, and had to come up with something clever to say during workshop.

I’ve saved you a semester of tears and hangovers and egos. You can thank me later.

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Gondolier is officially sticking it to the MAN by sharing her wealth of wordcraft knowledge with the likes of fandom. She demonstrates her tremendous skills with every chapter she posts of her wondrous story, Hydraulic Level 5.

Gondolier's Riting School: Tension!!!

OMG, Angst!!!!

Creating Tension

in Your Story

Dear Writers:

Do your readers leave reviews that go something like this?

Ah! OMG, I can’t take the heartfail plz tell me that it will get better soon because I’ll have to stop reading if it doesn’t.

This is a good thing, trust me. If you have readers telling you that your story has them turned inside-out with angst, heartfail, whatever word they choose to use, you have effectively sucked them in. What the fanfic world often incorrectly labels as “angsty” or “heartfail” is really just a story with well-developed tension. A story that has energy and vitality uses effective tension. It drives readers through chapter after chapter because they want a cathartic resolution to that tension.

The minute you start having readers tell you “What a pleasant little story,” you may have cause to worry. It sounds like a compliment, but what this feedback usually means is your story is not memorable, or exciting…it’s dull.

The First Paragraph

When I was a fiction editor for a literary journal, I read hundreds of short-story submissions, everything from published authors’ pieces to prison inmates’, to kids’ just starting their undergrad writing degrees. In fact, I never even glanced at the introduction letter to see their past successes because I wanted that particular work to speak for itself without outside influence. And if the story didn’t grab me after the first page, I slipped a rejection note in their return envelope. It may have been grammatically correct, a unique setting or subject matter, or experimental as hell, but if it didn’t hold my attention, it wouldn’t hold our subscribers’ attention, either. The rare stories that sucked me in to the point where I suddenly found myself at the end, however—those went into my pile for a second review.

The trick to immediately grabbing a reader is to create instant tension (aka conflict) in your first paragraph. While it’s tempting to give a flowery, poetic introduction with a unique setting, save that for the second or third paragraph. Here are some examples of well-written, attention-grabbing first paragraphs, taken from completed Twi-fics:

“The thick scent of pine and salt water assaulted my senses as I opened the door into a beautiful, familiar room. Tiny white lights danced across the ceiling and the walls, casting a delicate sheen on the floorboards. A full moon radiated its steady stream of white light through the windows, giving the room an effervescent glow. I inhaled sharply. Memories of this place, this room, clouded my mind. I thought of him, as I always did. I thought of his painfully beautiful face, his crooked smile, his tousled bronze hair. I felt a tightening in my chest, a reaction to the memory—the absence—of him.”

(Same Time Next Year by socact)

In her first paragraph, Socact immediately raises these questions in the reader’s mind: Why is the room familiar? Where is the narrator? Who is “him” and why is he absent?

“James is an ugly motherfucker.

He is the manifestation of ugly, and yet, he is very tall.

My first confession: tall men turn me on…”

(Sin and Incivility by Pastiche Pen)

Pastiche Pen grabs the reader’s attention with this playful, gritty conflict: James is ugly, but the narrator is turned on because he’s tall. So what will the narrator do with James?

“I’m beginning to think this might have been a huge error in judgment.”

(Port Angeles Players by WriteOnTime)

Short and sweet, the reader wants to keep reading simply to find out what the narrator’s error is.

“I exited the lecture hall still in a daze, daydreaming between the Sturm und drang and the more mundane preoccupation of needing to wax my legs that night, when I found myself walking along a blonde girl I didn’t particularly like.

“You‘re Isabella, right?” She asked while brushing back her wavy hair and moving her hips more than it was physically necessary for a female to walk, all while shaking the almost nonexistent miniskirt.”

(The Way Back by caracol)

Nothing screams instant conflict like the appearance of a gorgeous, skanky girl whom the narrator doesn’t like. Now, what is the narrator going to do about her?

“I heard the footsteps falling on the softened earth long before they reached my chamber. I was irritated with the interruption, as I was sure I had almost achieved true unconsciousness that time. My mind shrieked with the curses of a thousand ancient tongues.

But my curiosity was always stronger than my fury, which was the reason I still remained whole. When the others of my coven had simply given in to death, my morbid curiosity kept me alive and bound to this world in a way that would never be severed.”

(Breaking Ties by EclipsedbyJacob)

With this dark opening, EclipsedbyJacob raises a ton of questions: Why is the narrator so bitter? Who is interrupting the narrator, and why? Why is the narrator the only one of the coven left alive? And where the heck are we?

Maintaining Tension

So you’ve written a ball-grabbing first paragraph. Here’s the hard part—maintaining that tension throughout your story.

There are so many ways to create tension in your plotline, but they all boil down to pitting one story element against another. According to the Stephen Minot, the author of Three Genres, these are the most common ways to produce tension:

• Conflict. This is the most easily identified. It can take the form of one against one, an individual against a group, or a struggle against nature.
• Internal Conflict. Although often a subtle form of tension, it can become a dominant concern for readers.
• Mistrust. Suspicion can be one-sided or mutual. It can damage friendships, family relationships, or even a marriage.
• Foreboding. The staple of horror flicks (often enhanced by ominous music), it can also be used subtly in sophisticated fiction.

Writers don’t necessarily use just one or the other of the above forms of tension. Often, the different forms naturally piggyback each other, turning a boring story into something dynamic.

Conflict

Conflict’s most basic approach is hero (protagonist) vs. enemy. We see this quite a lot in plays and films because the audience isn’t truly allowed into the protagonist’s thoughts in those mediums. In fiction, however, conflict becomes more complex. Writers have to be careful not to allow a conflict to drown out their other style aspects that add depth to a story, such as characterization or theme. If you have a well-developed conflict but are lacking character and theme development, your readers won’t emotionally connect beyond the immediate adrenaline rush and the conflict will soon grow old and gimmicky.

So how do you keep a simple hero vs. enemy conflict fresh and interesting?

First, devote only half the plot to the conflict itself, and the other half to developing your setting, characters, style, and other intricacies that add that layer of vibrancy and emotion to your writing.

Second, mute the violence, sex, and other carnage that might be tempting to play up in a conflict. If your story is chapter after chapter of sex scenes and violence, readers become desensitized and even find themselves skimming the hackneyed action in favor of something substantial. But if you use only one or two strong scenes of the above, it makes those scenes more poignant, leaves your readers tense and aching for a little bit more—even after the final sentence. And that is what you want to achieve with a well-written story—an audience wanting just one more page.

Third, incorporate slightly comic details to lighten the heaviness of a conflict. Even Romeo and Juliet, one of the great love tragedies, employed comedic elements like Juliet’s nurse. Comic details woven throughout a story make the tension more realistic and less melodramatic.

Basically, conflict is a great tension maintainer when used with restraint.

Inner Conflict

Fiction writing is a perfect canvas for developing inner conflict. Inner conflict is created when a character’s (usually the narrator’s) mix of emotions clash with each other. Love vs. hate. Resentment vs. attachment. Loneliness vs. independence. We call this “ambivalence”—something that occurs not only in sophisticated fiction but in real life. And ambivalence creates a natural tension that should run the entire length of the story. In fact, if a story is reflective of real life, these mixed emotions are never fully resolved—not with “kiss and make-up” scenarios, anyway. Typically, a good resolution often leaves readers knowing that the future will not be easy, but there is hope for a happily ever after.

A pitfall writers often run into when employing inner conflict is relying too heavily on narrator reflection to develop that conflict. It’s tempting to turn to exposition (“He was being tugged in two opposite directions”). As I’ve written in previous articles, however, too much exposition slows down the pace of a story.

Instead, let your readers discover the mixed feelings for themselves through what a character says and does. Dialogue keeps a story engaging and can be a fantastic character revealer. In fact, characters often reveal more of their mixed feelings than they realize. The character may be incognizant of their inner conflicts at first, but readers will pick up on it by their dialogue and actions.

Mistrust

Mistrust is a subtle conflict—in fact, it can often exist without characters even recognizing it. It takes the form of an undercurrent, growing stronger and stronger until the suspicion finally surfaces dramatically. Though understated, this particular form of tension has the power to keep a character on edge, apprehensive, and fearful. And through the characters, readers vicariously experience these emotions, which fuels anxiety and tension.

One of my recent Twi-fic reads, GinnyW 31’s Coming to Terms, is a prime example of how a writer effectively uses mistrust to carry tension to the end of her story. At first glance, the conflict seems to be “single pregnant woman against the world.” But it’s much more subtle than that. The narrator, Bella, is not even aware of her “trust issues” until the last third of the story. Instead, she struggles against initial leeriness of the Cullen family, and more importantly, Edward’s mistrust of her. As readers, however, we are made aware of Bella’s trust issues through what she says and does. Even in the very beginning, we get small hints of her tendency to assume people’s motives are impure by her detrimental discarding of Edward’s note and phone number. It isn’t until later, as she realizes how truly damaged she has been by her father’s abandonment and Renee’s poor mothering, that she is able to see Edward’s issues and actions in a different light.

Foreboding

As mentioned above, it’s the small details that arouse a reader’s emotions. And if these details are dark and foreboding, the readers tense because they know something ominous will happen. Small, foreboding hints warn the reader not to get too comfortable. Characters may seem happy and content, but something is lurking to ruin that happiness.

Foreboding can be achieved through dialogue that seems slightly off—perhaps a character says something strange or hints at violence, though subtly.

Foreboding can take the form of setting description—a perfect neighborhood, save for one poorly-kept, overgrown property. Or perhaps the atmosphere is quiet…too quiet.

Tension through foreboding can also build as we uncover more and more about the history of a character. On the surface, nothing is ominous about them. But then we gradually learn they have a trouble past, maybe a suicide attempt, or a history of stealing or cheating.

Whatever forms of foreboding you choose to use, carry it to the climax of your story. But be careful not to be too obvious or repeat it too often. Foreboding works best when it is subtle, and if you beat a reader over the head with it, it becomes contrived and manipulative.

Dramatic Questions

Just as your opening paragraph should raise dramatic questions in your readers’ minds, as the writer, you should always be aware of what dramatic questions are surfacing as your story unfolds. Who is this person? Can they be trusted?

As these questions are gradually answered with background material and action, other dramatic questions should be raised to take their place. The goal isn’t to frustrate your readers (though they often feel frustrated). This is simply an effective way to maintain interest. Feed your audience bits and pieces of information, keeping track of the “rate of revelation”—the pace at which info is revealed. Revealing too much too quickly makes a story’s outcome predictable. But leaving questions unanswered at the end makes a story unsatisfying.

The Gist

Okay, kiddies—go look at your stories that may be slacking and find a way to recharge them. If your efforts at tension are too mild, don’t give up!

Find aspects of your story that might contain seeds for greater tension. These can often be found in character relationships—differences in opinion, attitude, etc.

Look at your narrator and identify where their emotions are ambivalent and play up the inner tension.

Don’t explain too much and deprive your readers of the chance to draw their own conclusions. Cut down on exposition and build tension through what your characters say and do.

Don’t allow melodrama to creep into your story. You may have chosen a naturally melodramatic plotline, but as the writer, you have complete control over your story. Use your imagination to creatively adjust the degree of tension accordingly.

Bottom line, your goal is to hold your readers’ interest without sacrificing characterization and thematic insight. If you can balance a story’s tension and depth, you’ll have a beautiful, thrilling work.

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Gondolier is officially sticking it to the MAN by sharing her wealth of wordcraft knowledge with the likes of fandom. She demonstrates her tremendous skills with every chapter she posts of her wondrous story, Hydraulic Level 5.

Gondolier’s What I Learnt in Riting Skool

Bella’s Got Style

How to make your narrator sparkly

Oh dear TLYDF readers, I have done you a great service. Have you heard the term “style” bandied about in literary circles and nodded along, pretending to know what the heck was being discussed? Has anyone asked you how you chose a writing style for a particular story, and you cobbled out a response that sounded sort-of smart? Well, loverlies, I am hear to play Higgins to your Eliza and help you conquer the English language. In three-thousand words or less, here’s the breakdown on Style. *breaks-it-down*

A writer’s style is the literary manner in which a story is written (not to be confused with tone, which is the emotional manner). According to Stephen Minot, the author of “Three Genres” (which endlessly plagued me in grad school) there are six factors which determine style: diction, syntax, density, narrative modes, tense, and point-of-view.

Did your eyes just glaze over? Yeah, those blah words make me check out too. But stick with me and you might find the fun stuff behind the icky terms.

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1. Diction

“Words, words, words, I’m so sick of words!” said Eliza Doolittle when trying to master proper English. Anyone who has struggled to learn English as a second language (or even a first) can relate to this sentiment. A blessing and curse of English is that we have a veritable cornucopia of words at our disposal. It’s cobbled together from Norse and Germanic heritage, Latin and Greek, French, Anglo-Saxon. And we’ve pinched from the Chinese (gong), Indian (khaki), and even Eskimo (kayak).

Because of these various word sources, the English language has a lot of duplication. Though the words have the same meaning, each has a distinctive overtone. For example, you could write that “Carlisle had a sleek car—a black Mercedes Benz.” But we’re talking expensive here, so the better word choice would be “automobile” or “motor car,” because they recall luxury.

So how is word choice important in the style of your fiction? First, whipping out a thesaurus makes your prose more interesting, plain and simple. Second, diction is a major factor in characterization, as well as theme.

Let’s say that your first-person narrator is, oh I don’t know, a seventeen-year-old, small-town girl in the Pacific Northwest. Is she going to speak like an Oxford scholar? Perhaps, but most likely, no. Her narrative style should be intelligent, playful, with a touch of naiveté. Depending on what has happened in her life, she may be more jaded or coarse. Now let’s pretend that she falls in love with a hundred-year-old vampire trapped in a seventeen-year-old body. Is this vampire going to speak a little more formally? Yup.

Each character, whether narrating or speaking in dialogue, is going to have a slightly different diction based on their age, education, personality, and background.

Pitfalls to avoid with diction:

• Extreme diction.

  Does your character have a raging southern accent? Don’t write the full-out, raging southern accent—hint at it. Sprinkle in a word here, a contraction there, a turn-of-phrase that adds sparkle to the character, but doesn’t overpower the writing.



• Out-of-character diction.

  While you may be attached to the phrase “le mot juste, ” your average Iowa farmer (no matter how hardworking and intelligent) would not realistically use it. Don’t spoil the realism of a story for the sake of indulgent prose.

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2. Syntax

Syntax is sentence structure. Sounds hi-tech, but it’s not. In nonfiction, we use grammatically-proper syntax to clearly convey ideas. In fiction, however, grammatical rules are often bent to show the mood of the speaker—narrator or otherwise. A frustrated speaker’s grammar may break down as they continue speaking. A happy speaker may use light-sounding phrasing. Run-on sentences, incomplete sentences, who cares? Chuck your APA Style Manual, turn off MS grammar check, and rely solely on your ear. Read passages out loud and decide what creates the effect you want.

A common misnomer is that run-on sentences slow the pace of a story. Not so. The rhythm is what controls the pace, not where the period is placed. For example, listen to the manic mood of the narrator in this excerpt from “Gotta Dance” by Jackson Daviss:

Quick taps and slow rolling, jazz it, swing it, on the beat, off the beat, out of one tune right into the next and I never took one break. It was a chill of a night, but didn’t I sweat, didn’t that jacket just have to come off. Didn’t I feel the solid jar to the backbone from the heavy heel steps, and the pump of my heart on the beat on the beat on the beat.

While the author uses long sentences, the rhythm and repetition echoes the rhythm of the narrator’s dancing.

In contrast, if the above paragraph were written as short sentences it would be drawn out, each period packing meaning but losing the rhythm:

Quick taps and slow rolling. Jazz it. Swing it on the beat, off the beat. Out of one tune right into the next…and I never took one break. It was a chill of a night, but didn’t I sweat. Didn’t that jacket just have to come off. Didn’t I feel the solid jar to the backbone from the heavy heel steps? The pump of my heart, on the beat. On the beat. On the beat.

Pitfalls to avoid with syntax:

• Overuse.

  Standard syntax—sentences with subjects, verbs, and varying length for variety—still needs to be used as a foundation for a piece that isn’t poetic prose. For novel-length works, experimental syntax will become weary and gimmicky. By all means, use it in certain passages to spice up your writing, but don’t bludgeon readers with it.



• Overwriting.

  If you try to impress readers with long, complex sentences packed with words you found in a thesaurus, you are indulging in what is known as overwriting, aka, the dreaded purple prose. This type of writing comes off as artificial and affected.

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3. Density

The level of density in your story style really depends upon the depth of characterization and theme. Low-density stories aren’t badly written—we often describe them as fun, entertaining, or clever. They are quick-reads that, while enjoyable, don’t need to be read twice.

Density is achieved:

      1. when a story develops one or more characters in some detail
      2. when the theme has complexity and insight
      3. or when figurative language and symbolic suggestion are heavily used.


If you feel the style of your story is lighter or more insubstantial than what you desire, here’s a trick. Try developing a character’s conflicting feelings toward an issue. Or take a look at your secondary characters and reveal more about them. Do you have a single theme that can be expanded to include a cluster of themes?

For example, let’s say your seventeen-year-old girl in the Pacific Northwest is involved in an underage drunk driving accident. What sort of sub-themes can you draw from it? Perhaps her Chief of Police father goes on a crusade to clean up the kids in the town. Maybe her vampire boyfriend decides to exact revenge on the driver. Or her school could have a special assembly on the dangers of drinking and driving. In short, consider secondary avenues to bring depth to your story, while still operating within the main theme.

On the flip-side, Maybe you find that your story is too dense. You have so many characters and so many threads, your style becomes cluttered and heavy. If this is the case, kill an off-shoot sub-plot or two. Another fix is to develop a humorous aspect to the chaos and clutter.

Your seventeen-year-old narrator who has been in a drunk-driving accident will have many heavy struggles to face. Medical treatment, counseling, lifestyle alterations. Then you factor in court cases, medical bills and financial issues, and conflicts with friends, and BOOM. You have an overly-dense story. But what if her crusading father bans her from all social activities except for chess club? Balancing a dense story with humor or satire naturally lightens complex plots.

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4. Narrative Modes

The five basic tools of fiction, the bricks that build your story, are the “modes”: dialogue, thoughts, actions, description, and exposition (transitions, info between scenes). Your writing style is greatly influenced by how you decide to balance these five modes. They develop character depth. The modes also control the pace of your story.

Balancing the narrative modes doesn’t necessarily mean you must have five equal parts of each. Some styles are more dialogue-heavy, while others are thought-heavy. What it means is finding the perfect narrative flow for the story you are telling. I like to equate writing to driving a car. The narrative modes are your gears:

If your story is…

• Stuck behind a slow-moving vehicle:

  add dialogue and action. Giving characters a chance to talk and move boosts energy and reduces boggy introspection.



• A zoom through southern Nebraska:

  reduce trivial dialogue and actions, and replace them with thoughts and description. Give your story scenery and depth to slow it down.



• Lacking purpose in road-tripping:

  include exposition. Give us more background info for context. But be careful not to become too exposition-heavy, or your story will read like an essay.

Pitfalls to avoid with narrative mode:

Don’t be overly concerned with finding a mode balance when writing your first draft—just write. Save tinkering with modes for revisions and rewrites when you want to get your pace just right.

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5. Tense

While a lot of writers make a big deal over choosing past or present tense for their story, let’s be honest. If a story is good, readers will be sucked in within the first few paragraphs and won’t notice whether it’s past or present tense.

There’s really only one good technical reason for using present tense over past tense, and that’s flashbacks. If you plan to write a story with numerous flashbacks, you have two options:

     1. Past tense for the majority of the narrative (“he purchased an engagement ring”) and past-perfect for flashbacks (“he had purchased an engagement ring the night of…”).
     2. Present tense for the majority of the narrative (“he purchases and engagement ring”) and past tense for flashbacks (“he purchased an engagement ring the night of…”)

As you can see, option #2 would definitely be easy-peasy to write if you have a lot of flashbacks.

Other than flashbacks, the chosen tense’s effect on your story is almost negligible past the first page. I’d recommend writing a half-page of your opening, first in past tense, then in present and decide which seems better. You can come up with a clever-sounding reason later.

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6. Point of View

The most effective Points of View (POV) for fiction are:

• First Person

  : “I.” Typically the easiest way to keep the point-of-view from hopping between characters. First Person narratives are usually told by the main character, which means that they are not able to know what the thoughts, feelings, or experiences of the other characters are. They can, however, speculate—which adds a layer of suspense and mystery. (Elsa Neal, “HearWriteNow.com”)



• Third Person limited

  : “He/She”. Third person limited is the most common way of writing fiction. The story is narrated, but the narrator is invisible, playing no part in the story. However, the perspective of one or more characters is used to draw the reader into the story and develop empathy for the characters. Whatever the length of your story, if you can keep your viewpoint characters down to one or two, you will have a far stronger story and a bigger impact on your readers. When you choose just one main character’s perspective it also makes it easier for you as the writer to stay in their “head”. (Neal)



• Third Person omniscient

  : “He/She.” This is a very clunky style to read, but is also becoming popular because it resembles a movie, but includes thoughts and feelings. The narration takes a full view of the book, knowing at all times what each character is thinking, presenting all viewpoints at all times, and moving from character to character, and also scene to scene, showing a snapshot of their life and environment. It allows almost no empathy to develop as the reader is shifted along from character to character. (Neal)



• Second Person

  : “You.” Second person used to be very popular for children’s “solve it yourself” mystery and adventure books: “You are walking down the street and witness a crime. Turn to page 20 if you call the police, turn to page 40 if you run away…” Outside that type of book, second person is hardly ever used, except for an interesting, experimental read. (Neal)

Selecting the viewpoint that best tells a story can be the answer to overcoming writer’s block and fixing problematic stories. For example, let’s say you’ve chosen to write a story in first person, but as you write, you struggle to convey necessary details your narrator isn’t privy to. You may want to switch to third-person omniscient. If you are unsure which POV to use, try writing the same paragraph with different narrator Person, and see which fits best.

[And now a digression…

Okay, I know that a lot of fanfiction writers like to use the “BPOV/EPOV/APOV” method, aka, using First Person in multiple views. I’ve even enjoyed quite a few stories that do this. If you choose to do this, however, you should be aware of several things:

• When in first person, switching points-of-view is a big no-no because it’s jarring to the reader, interrupts the flow of the narration, confuses the reader because they lose track of whose head they are in, and defeats the purpose of first person narration (keeping other characters’ thoughts a mystery, thus enhancing the suspense and conflict of a story).


• In the publishing industry, you just can’t do the First Person switching thing. So if you have aspirations to publish someday, it’s good practice not to rely on the First Person switching crutch, even if it’s “just fanfiction.”


• Third Person omniscient accomplishes the same thing, with benefits. You have no narrative interruptions, less chance of redundancy (because your story is still using only one narrator—the all-powerful Omniscient), and are forced to write those viewpoint transitions instead of just slapping a “POV” heading on a scene.

If you can write your way around the above and still create an effective story using multiple first-person narrators, then go for it. Who am I to stand in the way of innovative fiction?]

So, this article isn’t as interesting to read about as love triangles, but hopefully you gleaned some helpful, foundational stuff. Now break out the thesauruses, listen to Matthew McConaughey’s speech patterns, and play with those modes *cough*. Happy writing!

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Gondolier is officially sticking it to the MAN by sharing her wealth of wordcraft knowledge with the likes of fandom. She demonstrates her tremendous skills with every chapter she posts of her wondrous story, Hydraulic Level 5. Bitch Leah anyone?

Gondolier’s What I Learnt in Riting Skool

Class time again! Ringing the bell. No seriously, recess is over. Yes, I mean it—quit snogging your Byronic antiheroes under the bleachers and take your seats, please.

Thank you. (I swear, you randy bunch of pervs are unskoolable.)


You’re Having a Baddie! Part 3: The Wicked Antagonists


This is it, the third and final installment of the Baddie series. What you’ve all been waiting for (along with Edward to climb through your bedroom window and undress you with his piercing gold eyes. Can we say stal-ker?)

Last article, we covered the protagonists: unreliable narrators, unlikeable protagonists, and antiheroes. In summary, I bring you glorious haiku of enlightenment:

Protags with great flaws

Tipping scales of right or wrong

Will they win the day?

A baddie protagonist is still a protagonist: a main character who is a stand-in for an all-out hero. They walk the line between good and evil, and often (but not always) lean toward good in the end. Antagonists, however, are NOT our heroes. They may have heroic traits, but ultimately, they face off against the protagonist. These are our true baddies in the traditional sense.

On Jessica Morrell’s fabulous morality scale, as illustrated in her book Bullies, Bastards, & Bitches: How to write the bad guys of fiction, antagonist villains fall on the bottom half of this scale, depending on how wicked they are, which lines they’re willing to cross, and their motivations.

[Jessica Morrell, p. 18 of Bullies, Bastards, & Bitches: How to Write the Bad Guys of Fiction]

Antagonists

You know those characters that bring out your basest, most violent tendencies? The ones you want to bitch slap then hurl over the side of a cliff? YeS, that character is probably an antagonist.
Sherlock Holmes wisely noted the following about Professor Moriarty, his arch-nemesis: “You know my powers, my dear Watson, and yet at the end of three months I was forced to confess that I had at last met an antagonist who was my intellectual equal. My horror at his crimes was lost in my admiration at his skill.”


Strong antagonist characters meet your hero head-on. They are neither weaker nor stronger, save for one fatal flaw that allows your hero to defeat them (if that’s the path you choose). For every character trait your hero has, your antagonist will have a trait that neutralizes your hero.


BAD-TO-THE-BONE VILLAINS

The true villain: the wickedest of the baddies. The woman who’s probably going to sue me for calling her my “bff”, Jessica Morrell, says that “evil is the source code of writing a villain, and you want to understand its ramifications in all your characters’ lives.” While a villain may be an antagonist, not all antagonists are villains. The villain is defined by their morals, which are twisted, complex, and terrifying. The key to creating a three-dimensional villain, like any character, is to understand the following:

1. Their values
2. Their motives
3. Their traits

All three of these are intertwined and influence the other. Villains’ motives stem from their values, as do their traits. The more depraved their values are, the more depraved the motives will be—to create terror in some fashion. And the more depraved their motives, the darker their traits will be—merciless, ruthless, calculating, etc. What you as a writer need to do is decide what quirks sets your villain apart from scores of other villains. Again, this is where you tap your personal experiences. What annoys you in certain people? What do you find fascinating? Perhaps someone you know obsessively collects tea sets or impressionist art. Maybe they studied architecture, or are trivia fanatics. It’s the little details like these that will make your villain memorable and up the creep factor.

Also keep in mind what we discussed in the first article—the fight or flight response in readers. To truly have a villain that is frightening, dredge up the shadowy tendencies—such as sexual predators, violent racists, opportunistic control freaks—that everyone fears. Those characteristics that we can’t recognize in ourselves, but fear, deep down, we may be capable of. Readers scorn villains because it’s easier to hate them than examine how, if our lives had been different, we may have ended up like them.

Something else to tackle once you’ve sketched your villain is designing their lair. And I’m not talking about bringing in Sugarbaker’s. The villain’s setting is an extension of his or herself. It is where they are strongest, and your hero is most vulnerable. You can have so much fun with this—everything from their gadgets and collections, to evidence of their dastardly deeds. Where does your villain sleep and work and unwind? The lair is often a good place for your hero to be at their lowest before the climax of your story. If you bring the protagonist into the lion’s den, winning the day will seem next to impossible and your suspense quadruples, giving you a bigger pay-off when your story reaches its peak in action.

Well-known Bad-to-the-Bone Villains in literature:

“Corky Laputa” in The Face by Dean Koontz

“Jape Waltzer” in Peace Like a River by Leif Enger

“Svengali” in Trilby by George du Maurier

“Iago” in Othello by William Shakespeare

[Extra credit: Look at your story map or outline, and pinpoint when your villain comes into play. Make certain that the baddie doesn’t show all of his cards at once—make him a growing threat. Once you hit the midpoint or two-thirds-point of your story, the reader needs to understand at least some of your villain’s true intentions. While you may not want to expose everything about your villain, at least foreshadow the final-act unraveling of his grand scheme.]


BITCHES & DANGEROUS WOMEN

Writing a bitch or dangerous woman baddie is a study in and of itself. Yes, women are different from men—not only physically, but in the double standards they historically have battled. And as literature is a reflection of society, look at some of our famous bitches and baddie women:

Delilah: emasculated Samson with a little va-va-voom and snip-snip

Lady MacBeth: wants power and murders to get it, only to presumably off herself at the end

Madame Bovary: cuckolds her hubby, runs up debt, also offs herself

Miss Havisham: old and withered, bitter and loveless, she works revenge on the young and beautiful

Traditionally, women are supposed to be sugar, spice, and everything nice. (And men are manly with their snails and tails.) Likewise, readers assign gender roles while reading, without consciously thinking about it. For example, a man who is opinionated may be considered “confident.” But a woman who is opinionated may come across as “shrill.” Pandora got the shaft for being curious. What if a man—let’s call him “Pandoro”—had opened the box? Something to think about.

Creating a female baddie automatically brings a special tension and enigma to a story; simply by being a naughty female, the character is defying the odds. (Did you know that only 8.5 percent of convicts in the U.S. are women?) Society has long equated women with home, hearth, and gentleness, and you bet that’s in the reader’s subconscious. For all their spunk, characters like Anne Shirley, Clarice Starling, and Jo March are heroes because they value honor, justice, and family. However, bitches’ motivations are typically self-serving. They may be manipulative, cunning, power-hungry, or vengeful. And bitches own their sexuality.

When you create a bitch character, highlight her femininity, then give her a solid dose of kick-ass. And as always, create a believable backstory for her. What is she trying to prove? Does she struggle with self-hatred? Was she ignored as a child, and is now hungry for the spotlight? And what type of bitch is she? Adulteress, slut, antihero, bad mommy, sociopath, warrior, femme fatale, just to name a few.

Well-known Bitches in literature:

“Lydia Bennett” in Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

“Margaret White” in Carrie by Stephen King

“Solana Rojas” in T is for Tresspass by Sue Grafton

“Moll Flanders” in The Fortunes and Misfortunes of Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe


SUPER VILLAINS

What is a super villain, you ask? To better illustrate, I shall reenact the pivotal scene from the movie Unbreakable, in which Elijah Price has an epiphany:

Elijah Price: “Now that we know who you are, I know who I am. I'm not a mistake! It all makes sense! In a comic, you know how you can tell who the arch-villain's going to be? He's the exact opposite of the hero. And most times they're friends, like you and me! I should've known way back when... You know why, David? Because of the kids. They called me Mr Glass…”

David Dunn: “Wah-who??” Sob sob, walks out of comic book store in eerie blue light that Catherine Hardwicke totally pilfered…

*bows*

That’s right, the super villain is the antithesis of the super hero. The Lex Luthor to Superman. Joker to Batman. While they are prevalent in graphic novels, super villains aren’t limited to the pages of Marvel. Hello, Lord Voldemort. I see you, Sauron. Super villains are completely unredeemable and unsympathetic. They are pure evil. They are striving not only to destroy, but to destroy a facet of society. They are dangerous to anyone who is a pitfall to their cause. They cause multiple victims to suffer. And they often seem unstoppable, operating in shadows with brains the size of Texas.

So, how do you craft a super villain that isn’t cheesy or contrived? A lot is riding on your protagonist. Make sure that your protagonist triumphs on his own merit, and not by a deus ex machina to win the day. For example, say your super villain kidnaps your protagonist and sticks them in a helicopter that is going to crash. And oh my goodness, your hero just happens to have his go-go-gadget super-parachute in his pocket that he totally forgot about, allowing him to coast to safety from the helicopter. Nuh-uh. Your protagonist has to save his own sorry ass—make him kick some tushy and pilot that helicopter to safety.

The biggest challenge in using a super villain is to equip them with weapons and skill sets, but still tie them to reality. For the millionth time, you can make them realistic by drawing from your list of real-life characteristics, stolen from real-life people. Your villain can have a stockpile of hand grenades, martial arts expertise, and a photographic memory. But make him a disgruntled web designer by day, and you’ve got yourself a super villain! It’s those quirks and unique mannerisms that make a baddie fascinating.

Well-known Super Villains in literature:

“Lord Voldemort” in The Harry Potter Series by J.K. Rowling

“Sauron” in The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien

“Professor Moriarty” in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmesby Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

“Dr. Fu Manchu” in The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu by Sax Rohmer


SOCIOPATHS

Did you know that 4 percent of the population is sociopathic? And nearly 50 percent of all heinous crimes, like murder and kidnapping, are committed by sociopaths? So the likelihood that you have met or will meet a sociopath in your lifetime is pretty darn high. (Yeah, that would scare the crap out of me, but I swear I’ve met my quota and then some in my college years alone.) Sociopaths aren’t necessarily the obvious evil genius stroking a hairless cat and sporting diamond cuff links. Real life sociopaths could be the dude three cubicles down. Your vice president of marketing. The neighbor lady with an impeccable yard. Someone’s child. Someone’s grandma! You’re friendly resident vampire who climbs through your window (don’t let him in, he’s not Edward!).

The sociopathic baddie may not be brilliant or criminal, but they are master manipulators. They are only in it for themselves, whatever the situation. And they play to win, regardless the path of destruction and victims they leave in their wake.

When crafting your very own sociopath, you need to play Profiler:

* First, understand what makes a sociopath. Generally, they are cold-blooded in their pursuits. They are unable to feel remorse. They may not necessarily be criminal (yet), but sociopaths are controlling, aggressive, dishonest, parasitic, and unable to learn from mistakes. They believe they are entitled to behave the way they do because they have been dealt an unfair hand (and are often paranoid because of it). They are also very charming and entertaining, drawing their victims in with a smile, then go for the kill.
* Second, research, research, research! There are tons of criminal cases in which a sociopath was involved. Take notes, define what made this particular sociopath unique.
* Next, craft your sociopath’s Modus Operandi. What are his tactics? Does he have a signature, like preying on the elderly and cleaning out their bank accounts? Perhaps she seduces other women’s husbands because her father cheated on her mother. Often, children who torture other children or animals grow up to be sociopaths.
* When you decide on your baddie’s M.O., knowing their backstory is key. Did some sort of childhood trauma influence their M.O.? For example, Hannibal Lecter’s sister was eaten by Nazis when he was a child. And we all know what he grew up to be…



After you’ve crafted your sociopath, you must decide at what point in their character arc your protagonist will meet them. Are they just beginning a crime spree? Or, like Clarice Starling, does she meet Hannibal the Cannibal after he’s already been caught and incarcerated? Maybe your protagonist has known this sociopath since they were kids in the same daycare. Think deeply, not only about your baddie’s traits, but also the damage they do. In order to realize the full extent of their villainy, what happens to his or her victims is just as important as what crime they committed.

Well-known Sociopaths in literature:

“Tom Ripley” in The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith

“Casanova” in Kiss the Girls by James Patterson

“Annie Wilkes” in Misery by Stephen King

“Mark Kinney” in Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan

“Alex DeLarge” in A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

“Hannibal Lecter” in Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris


MONSTERS & CREATURES

And last, but not least, we have our inhuman bunch. Yay ghoulies and vamps!! How I have longed to write about you!

All fiction is basically a lie the reader believes as they come to know and care about characters. In horror stories, the reader must believe and be afraid.

Since the beginning of civilization, monsters have been at the heart of oral tradition to explain uncomfortable realities: mental illness, infant death, deformities, as well as exotic animals like whales and elephants. Monsters started appearing in literature as early as the ninth century, with Grendel in Beowulf. They pop up throughout history in the Arthurian legends, Milton’s Paradise Lost, Brothers Grimm fairytales, lost souls like Shelley’s Frankenstein, and into the nineteenth century with Edgar Allan Poe, Stoker’s Dracula and Verne’s early science fiction.

Morrell explains that “we have always had a morbid fascination with death, fear, and suffering. Monstrous tales are a way to transform our traumas and wildest fears into a story with the belief, though perhaps not justified, that this form of entertainment makes our fears manageable.”

In Danse Macabre, Stephen King writes that horror fiction “exists on three more or less separate levels, each on a little less fine than the one before it.” He writes that the finest emotion is terror, and below that layer lay horror and then revulsion.

So how do you craft a monster that accomplishes all three layers?

* First, start by asking yourself a simple question: “What if?”
* Second, once again, mine your personal experiences. Your nightmares, your friends’ nightmares, the things you were scared of as a child and are scared of today.
* Once you have a list of specific details and fears, decide which category they fall under:
o Fear of monsters
o Fear of the demonic
o Fear of Armageddon or human annihilation
o Fear of the monster within
* After you’ve sketched your monster, start defining your story. Will this be an allegorical tale with a broader statement about society? An exploration of human frailty? A warning about curiosity, greed for information, or control over the unexplained?
* Last, outline your story. For horror stories to work, you have to pull readers in pretty quickly, but without showing your cards. Start hinting that something is off almost immediately. Next, elevate the tension by delaying answers about the unknown. But don’t delay too long. By the time you hit a midway point, your readers need to be involved with the reality of the monster, both as a physical and psychological threat.



Monster tales are such an ingrained part of society, it’s hard to make them fresh and unique. Here are some ways to avoid pitfalls:

* Make your monster powerful and seemingly unstoppable. Don’t water them down (unless you’re writing a kids book).
* Know your monster’s traits, biology, history, and any other essential qualities.
* Research and read widely, so you know what’s been done to death. Read up on news stories and scientific discoveries for “prompts.”
* Avoid cliché endings. Please, no more vampire stories in which the vamp melts in the sun, is staked, or burned with a crucifix.
* No gratuitous gore. You want to scare us, not make us itch for a bar of soap and a bath.
* Give us the atmospheric setting to match your monster. Nothing ups terror like sensory details.

Well-known Monsters in literature:

“Birds” in The Birds by Daphne du Maurier

“Overlook Hotel” in The Shining by Stephen King

“Risky science” in Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton

“Death” in The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe

“Big Bad Wolf” in Little Red Riding Hood by the Brothers Grimm




LOST SOULS

And finally, lost souls. Lost souls are those monsters who have lost a vital piece of their humanity. They are repulsive, yet are somehow sympathetic. Most lost souls are not pure villains; rather, they are closer to antiheroes. Frankenstein’s monster is one such lost soul. Hugo’s Quasimodo is another. And I know the gallery of Twilight vamps and wolves is running through your mind. (Undead? Check. Drinks blood? Check. Still want to sex them up? Um, yeah. Lost soul, woot!) Lost souls are often lonely. They are outcasts or prisoners of events. They are damaged, and sometimes a deep loss has led them to seek revenge.

When writing lost souls, remember that their emotions and desires create conflict within the reader. At first, your reader may fear them or think them hideous. But as their story unfolds, they will waffle between that revulsion and sympathy. Lost souls still retain a frightening supernatural quality, despite the glimpses of humanity in them. They function best in a story when readers are given some insight into their minds—whether it’s through point-of-view or dialogue—and can see the world through the lost soul’s eyes.

Well-known Lost Souls in literature:

“Frankenstein’s Monster” in Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

“Joe Pitt” in Already Dead by Charlie Huston

“John Coffey” in The Green Mile by Stephen King

“Robert Neville” in I Am Legend by Richard Matheson

“Count Dracula” in Dracula by Bram Stoker

Aaaannd there you have it, kiddos. Consider yourself skooled in baddies. Now, your homework…write a haiku about how this article enlightened you (this should be good, coming from you pervy bunch). Hit me with it. If Emibella likes it, you might get an A.

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Gondolier is officially sticking it to the MAN by sharing her wealth of wordcraft knowledge with the likes of fandom. She demonstrates her tremendous skills with every chapter she posts of her wondrous story, Hydraulic Level 5. Bitch Leah anyone?

Gondolier’s What I Learnt in Riting Skool

OMG, you came back? Yes! Take your seats, pull out your Trapper Keepers and purple pens, hand over your bubble-yum and let’s dive into today’s lesson, shall we?


You’re Having a Baddie! Part 2: The Naughty Protagonists

Okay class, who can tell me what we learned about last time? I will give you a hint in glorious haiku form:

Baddies from real life

Grabbing readers by hoo-hoos

Fear rushes through veins

For those of you are not enlightened by haiku, the strongest, best baddies are drawn from your own personal experiences. Before you even create your storyline, sketch all of your characters’ traits, flaws, conflicts, motivations, and backstory. The choices your goodies and baddies make determines the direction your story will go, so you need to know them inside and out (cough).

In Part I, you were introduced to Jessica Morrell’s fabulous morality scale, as illustrated in her book Bullies, Bastards, & Bitches: How to write the bad guys of fiction. Your villain falls somewhere on this scale, depending on how wicked they are, which lines they’re willing to cross, and their motivations. In this article, we’re focusing on the higher end of this scale—antiheroes, unlikeable protagonists and unreliable narrators. (Really evil villains might call them ‘posers’.)

[Jessica Morrell, p. 18 of Bullies, Bastards, & Bitches: How to Write the Bad Guys of Fiction]


Unlikeable Protagonists

When a protagonist is likeable, it’s easy for readers to get behind them. Generally, most people are decent. They enjoy following protagonists who are like them. When a protagonist is unlikeable, however, this presents a different set of challenges. Jonathan Segura, reviews editor for Publishers Weekly, says this about unlikeable protagonists and readers:

“It is tougher, I think, to write an unlikeable protagonist, because a lot of readers will put down a book if they can’t relate to (oh, how I hate that phrase) or sympathize with (also hate that one) the protagonist. It’s sad, really. Many, many, many of the great characters in literature are traditionally unlikeable. They’re also complex and wonderful to read about. But, really, if a person’s reading tastes are so narrow that they’re only into narratives and characters that reflect their own limited worldviews, well, what can you do? I just wish there weren’t so many of them out there. And they all have blogs.”

It would be fantastic if all readers were open-minded enough to explore the possibilities of an unlikeable protagonist. But if a writer is savvy, they can help readers understand their unlikeable protagonist’s behavior enough to follow them through fire or flood. This is why crafting a solid backstory is crucial. If readers don’t see something in the protagonist they can latch on to, they’ll chuck your story across the room.

Why use an unlikeable protagonist? My homegirl Jessica Morrell says that writers use them “to make a statement about the human condition, the human heart, society’s ills, or difficult and raw truths.” Unlikeable characters should be three-dimensional to prevent them from becoming your soapbox. Readers need to be given at least some access to the protagonist’s head, even when it’s off-putting. Also, characters surrounding the unlikeable protagonist should provide a moral and behavioral contrast.

A great example of an unlikeable protagonist is Charles Dickens’s Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol. Scrooge is a miserly, miserable old man who deserves what’s coming to him. But once readers get a glimpse into Scrooge’s past and find a lonely boy neglected by his parents, they begin to see him in a new light. They may not like Scrooge, but they understand what made him who he is and hope for his redemption.

[Image: Ebenezer Scrooge encounters "Ignorance" and "Want" in Dickens's novel, A Christmas Carol. John Leech.]

Well-known Unlikeable Protagonists:

“Sherlock Holmes” in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

“Edmund Dantes” in The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas

“Scarlett O’Hara” in Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell

[Extra credit: One of the biggest mistakes a writer can make is to create a perfect character. The story is unrealistic and readers become passive. So here’s the trick—get into the head of your baddie. This might be really uncomfortable, especially when they are immoral. But in order for your characters to be realistic, you need to put yourself in their shoes. Inhabit them. Listen to their dark secrets, feel their vulnerabilities, even if it makes you queasy. Once you have a better understanding, you can write them well.]


Unreliable Narrators

Before moving on to those delicious antiheroes, let’s chat about a type of character who can fall anywhere on the morality scale: the unreliable narrator. An unreliable narrator happens when the credibility of the person telling the story is questionable. The unreliable narrator can be an actual character within the story (first-person narration) or a third-person storyteller (crazy-ass narration). The reason they are unreliable depends entirely upon the writer. It could simply be the narrator is biased, has blind spots, or is unaware of things that could change their perspective. The narrator might have mental issues that hinder their ability to tell the truth. Or the narrator might just be a liar, delusional, or dumb as a rock. It’s up to readers to determine when the narrator can be trusted, and with what type of information.

Unreliable narrators mimic real life. It’s human nature to exaggerate, gloss over unsavory details, or keep certain aspects of their lives secret. When writing an unreliable narrator, you have to understand their motives. What does your character not know? What are they avoiding or refusing to see? Whatever their reasons, they will dictate how the unreliable narrator tells the story.

[Extra credit: If a writer withholds too much info from readers, they become manipulative and pretentious. But if they give too much away too soon, the story falls flat. The key to writing an unreliable narrator is to pace your clues. Look at it as a game of hide-and-seek between you and your reader. When you are sketching your storyline, make a list of hints or clues that foreshadows the narrator’s version vs. the true version, then copy/paste them into your storyline. This will help your pacing tremendously.]

At first, readers may not realize they are dealing with an unreliable narrator. They may sense that something isn’t quite right as breadcrumb hints are scattered along the path, but the whole loaf may not drop until the end of the story. Or readers might have an “A-HA” moment right away, because circumstances, other characters’ words and actions show that the narrator’s credibility is compromised. The reader must then comb through what the narrator says. According to Morrell, “when the reader is forced to analyze the real dynamics of a situation, rather than the narrator’s version of things, it makes the experience of the story more personal.”

Well-known Unreliable Narrators:

“Anonymous” in Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk

“Scout Finch” in To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

“Humbert Humbert” in Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov


Antiheroes

The antihero. The hybrid (coughRenesmeecough) of heroes and naughties. They embody both the admirable traits of the good guy and the flaws of a baddie, making for a fascinating, personality-driven story.

“Antihero” very broadly describes a wide range of protagonists that walk the fine line between morality and immorality. Some lean good, some lean bad. So, how do you even begin to decide what kind of antihero you want for your story? My bff Morrell breaks antiheroes into the following spanktacular categories: Everyman, Vigilante, Charming Criminal, Dark Hero, Bad Boy, Reluctant Hero, Loser, Outcast, Screwball, Disgraced Hero, Oddball, and Rebel.

[Extra credit: When sketching your antihero’s character, draw a line down your paper. In one column, write “Negative Traits”; in the other, “Positive Traits.” For each negative trait you give your character (e.g., controlling, hot-tempered, selfish, ruthless), give them an opposing positive trait (passionate, charismatic, honest, perceptive). When you practice this, create a balanced, complicated antihero that has oodles of depth.]

Let’s muck through each type for a brief glimpse at what makes them, them. Readers, gird your loins and buckle (or unbuckle) your chastity belts…these guys and gals will take you for a tumultuous ride:

EVERYMAN: Everyman is never extraordinary. He or she isn’t charming or charismatic, handsome, elite. Everyman is you and me. This type of antihero is meant to be a relatable depiction of humanity. They may fold under pressure. They sometimes make poor choices. They probably don’t handle challenges or conflict in the best manner (Don’t Panic!), either rashly charging ahead or bolting at the first sign of a fight. Like any antihero, Everyman can learn from their experiences and triumph at the end of the day. Or they may not, because again, Everyman mimics life. Whether they have their happy ending is entirely up to you and your character.

[(L-R) Arthur Dent (Martin Freeman), Ford Prefect (Mos Def) in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy]

Well-known Everymans:

“Arthur Dent” in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams

“Bettina Balser” in Diary of a Mad Housewife by Sue Kaufman

“Holden Caulfield” in The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

“Bella Swan” in Twilight by Stephenie Meyer (oh yeah, I stick her in this category despite her sparkly status in Breaking Dawn)


VIGILANTE or TARNISHED KNIGHT: Frank Castle. Batman. V and Evey. Dirty Harry. Almost all of your comic book superheroes, bodyguards, or Old West gunslingers fall into the vigilante category. Vigilantes are those antiheroes who forgo the law and exact justice using their own methods. They are the ass-kickers. They have their own moral code—when you first sketch your vigilante, you need to determine what that code is and make sure they adhere to it. Vigilantes are probably the closest to actual heroes you will find in the antihero classification, because of their purer goals. They probably aren’t going to be shining pillars of the community—the may have questionable morals, but they have good intentions. To them, the end justifies the means.

Well-known Vigilantes:

“Robin Hood”, traditional legend

“Dexter Morgan” in Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay

“The Snicket Family” in A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket (Daniel Handler)


CHARMING CRIMINAL: Crime is bad. That’s what they teach us, right? It hurts others and adversely affects society. Yet there are those criminals we can’t help but like, even if we’re wrong to do so (my heart flutters over the entire gallery of rogues in Ocean’s Eleven). Charming criminals are enchanting to read because of their witty banter, nonstop action, or their good qualities amid their flaws. They are typically one step ahead of the law, skirting authority and scamming corporations using ingenious tactics. The trick to getting your readers behind a charming criminal is to highlight their humanity. For example, Danny Ocean pines after his ex-wife, Tess, and is using the great casino heist to show her what an ass-hat her new guy is. Jay Gatsby spends his entire life trying to make himself worthy of Daisy, only to fail because of his poor choices.

Well-known Charming Criminals:

“Red” in Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption by Stephen King

“Simon Templar” in The Saint series by Leslie Charteris

“Jay Gatsby” in The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald


DARK HERO: These are our TTTs (towering, tempting, tortured) heroes—idealized but flawed. This, ladies (and maybe a gent or two?), is who we rip our bodices for. Our angst-ridden, dark heroes, aka Byronic heroes. We love them because we want to nurture them, redeem them. Probably the oldest type of antihero, dark heroes didn’t really gain popularity until Gothic novels became all the rage. They’re typically misunderstood loners who dress in black (or custom pea coats and bouffants). Dark heroes are almost always brooding and handsome, and are sometimes saddled with a scandalous reputation. Other characteristics include high intelligence, cunning, mystery, seductiveness, sexual dominance, and often arrogance. Dark heroes can easily become cliché if you don’t properly give them a detailed backstory as your plot unfolds. Angsty dark heroes with no reason for their angst are just plain whiny.

Well-known Dark Heroes:

“Edward Fairfax Rochester” in Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

“Heathcliff” in Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

“Stephen Dedalus” in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce

“Edward Cullen” in Twilight by Stephenie Meyer (dur. He may be humble, but he’s a Byronic hero, no doubt.)

BAD BOY: Like vigilantes, bad boys (and girls) also have their own moral code and are typically anti-authority. Unlike vigilantes, though, bad boys initially don’t have a higher purpose they are fighting for. Rather, they are stumbling, almost endearingly lost (I said almost). They have a host of bad habits, and defiantly cling to those bad habits. Their moral code is often disturbing. Bad boys are fiery, rebellious, greedy, brusque, unapologetic, and erotic as hell (we’re talking Dr. Gregory House, people. Cool-Hand Luke. Are you getting turned on? I am!). They make people uneasy. Readers usually cannot relate to bad boys. However, in order for your bad boy to be an antihero, you must somehow stir reader sympathy for them. Amid their slew of bad habits, give them a characteristic, a past, or even a desire that somehow ennobles them. And don’t confuse bad boys with dark heroes. Dark heroes are tortured. Bad boys are exasperating.

[image: Reese Witherspoon as Becky Sharp in Vanity Fair]

Well-known Bad Boys:

“Lestat de Lioncourt” in Interview With the Vampire by Anne Rice

“Becky Sharp” in Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray


RELUCTANT HERO: These are your Ordinary Joes—no heroic pretentions here. Not to be mistaken with Everyman, reluctant heroes don’t necessarily mimic life. Reluctant heroes are typically self-serving loners with troubled pasts. They have little desire to move beyond the status quo. They are considered reluctant because they are pulled into conflicts in which they want no part, but almost always rise to the occasion when need demands it. Han Solo in Star Wars is a great example. Han claims to be looking out for number one—and he is. But as he becomes embroiled in an epic battle between good and evil, Han must choose who to side with. He’s an obnoxious, reckless mercenary, but who doesn’t cheer (EEEE!) when he comes screaming across space in the Millennium Falcon to save Luke’s bony ass? Neo in The Matrix could also be considered a reluctant hero. So could Po in Kung Fu Panda….

Well-known Reluctant Heroes:

“Bilbo Baggins” in The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien

“Lemuel Gulliver” in Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift


LOSER: Losers, like Everyman and the reluctant hero, are (yawn) ordinary. But loser antiheroes take it to the extreme. They start their tale at a low point in life—plain, dim-witted, doughy or scrawny shlubs who can barely make it through the day. They are ill-prepared and ill-suited for the challenges that arise. Losers have self-esteem issues, are unsuccessful, and sometimes can’t hold down a meaningful relationship. Think Homer Simpson. Joe in Joe Vs. the Volcano. It’s nearly impossible for the reader to see how this character could triumph in the end. And often, the loser doesn’t. Isn’t that cheery?

Well-known Losers:

“Walter Mitty” in The Secret Life of Walter Mitty by James Thurber

“Willy Loman” in Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller

“Pat Hobby” in The Pat Hobby Stories by F. Scott Fitzgerald


OUTCAST: When a writer chooses to use an outcast antihero, it’s because they want to comment on some facet of society. Outcasts have defied societal conventions by flouncing acceptable behavior and/or morals. They acknowledge, even revel in the fact that they have done so, whatever their reasons—guilt or shame, anger, revenge. Through their separation from society—whether ostracized or self-imposed—their story will always serve to highlight a belief or way of life the writer wants readers to think about, even question—something they normally might not do.

Well-known Outcasts:

“Erik” in The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux

“Hester Prynne” in The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

“Huck Finn” in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain


SCREWBALL: If you want a good romantic comedy, use a screwball as your antihero. Screwballs screw up in epic, hilarious fashion. Mistake after mistake builds upon itself, leaving readers shaking their heads, wondering how this character could possibly dig out of the hole they’ve put themselves in. Usually, but not always, the character stubbornly refuses to change, which lands them in even more trouble. Screwballs spur twists in your story, forcing other characters to hop to action, either cleaning up the mess or one-upping the screwball move. Stories that use screwball antiheroes move quickly and have both clever dialogue and side-splitting scenarios.

Well-known Screwballs:

“Bridget Jones” in Bridget Jones’s Diary by Helen Fielding

“Tom Jones” in The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding


DISGRACED HERO: Nothing is sadder than a once-great hero who has been overwhelmed by his own personal demons. Disgraced heroes often have self-destructive behaviors, stemming from troubled pasts in which a mistake, or several, cost them something dear. Perhaps they made a poor choice and someone lost their life. Or maybe they are ex-military and haunted by survivor’s guilt. They are very similar to dark heroes, but have a touch more vigilante in them. Think hard-boiled private eyes. Small-town sheriffs who drink themselves under the table. One-time golden boys who’ve been dealt a blow. Like most antiheroes, the disgraced hero is typically a loner.

Well-known Disgraced Heroes:

“Sam Spade” in The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett


ODDBALL: Oddball antiheroes are your nerds and freaks. To the average passerby, they just don’t fit in because of their quirky, eccentric ways. They tend to either slip into the background or stand out because of their strangeness. Others tend to ridicule or avoid them. Oddballs inspire reader sympathy, however, because they have insight into their private lives. A natural tension is created because of the oddball character’s status in society. And yet, some secret ability or character trait causes them to rise above the pack when occasion calls for it. Adrian Monk, that cleaning-neurotic, OCD detective is a classic oddball antihero.

Well-known Oddballs:

“Odd Thomas” in Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz

REBEL: Last, but not least, we have our rebels (le sigh). When we think of antiheroes, it is the rebel that often comes to mind. While most antiheroes have a rebellious nature, a rebel antihero has a cause. Something has happened that forces them to outright fight the status quo. Like outcasts, rebels shine light on some aspect of society they feel needs attention. The difference, however, is the rebel intentionally sets himself against a facet of society or representative character that he finds distasteful. They create a new culture, a new way of life: Beatniks, hippies, any person or group who forms a new sub-culture. Because they dare to rebel, these antiheroes are often in direct opposition with other characters. They are considered misfit, and sometimes meet tragic ends because of their causes.

[image: Jack Nicholson as Randall McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest]

Well-known Rebels:

“Idgie Threadgoode” in Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café by Fannie Flagg

“Randall McMurphy” in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey


[Extra credit: Sit back, relax, and get into your most judgmental frame of mind. I am giving you permission to do this!! Reflect on people who have come and gone in your life that irritated the hell out of you. What characteristics drove you crazy? Start with the big ones, like racists, cheats, liars, adulterers. Perhaps they were hypocritical ass-kissers. Maybe they were drama queens. Now think about habits…did they smoke or smell like a distillery and drink like they owned one? How about hygiene—did they chew their fingernails and spit them out? Wear an overwhelming amount of perfume? Once you’ve come up with a good list, save it for future reference. Use this as a database when you need to draw inspiration for a new character.]


That’s all for today, kiddies! Gather up your book bags, slap bracelets, and I<3edward>

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Gondolier is officially sticking it to the MAN by sharing her wealth of wordcraft knowledge with the likes of fandom. She demonstrates her tremendous skills with every chapter she posts of her wondrous story, Hydraulic Level 5. Bitch Leah anyone?