Foreshadowing

Foreshadowing, as defined by Dictionary.com, means “to show or indicate beforehand; prefigure.”

Foreshadowing allows for the writer to turn rather innocuous or unimportant details into something that carries significance at the end of the work because of the way they move the story along and/or affect the characters. Two things are key: Atmosphere and symbolism. Atmosphere allows the reader to get a feel of the mood, what emotions they should feel for the character and what sort of importance this place or overall mood has on the character itself.

Foreshadowing often works hand-in-hand with the symbolic meanings of things, people or events according to that characters universe; or with the characters own desires and fears, as a way for the writer to “tell the future” of that event or character without spoiling the journey.

But in order to foreshadow future events, you must first have a plan. A set up. Like building a house, you must have a foundation before you can begin on anything else. With foreshadowing, your foundation is what you want to foreshadow. Do you want to foreshadow a death? A character having to face a fear? A character having to do something in order to reach his goal? Or maybe you want to foreshadow a big revelation that throws everything off track?

A good film that shows a form of simple foreshadowing and a character overcoming his obstacle to continue his journey, is Disney’s The Haunted Mansion. In it, the main character’s son is afraid of spiders and won’t squish one on his bedroom window with a rolled up magazine. Later on in the film, the main character and his daughter are trapped in the mausoleum where they had to search for a key to solve the mystery of the mansion. When the door closes, trapping them inside with zombies that have come alive, wanting the key back, the son must open the door. Only problem is, big spiders crawl out of the door and he doesn’t want to get near them. In order to save his father and sister from the zombies, he has to face his fear of spiders and open the door.

Whatever it is, you must scatter clues early in the manuscript in order for any future events concerning those clues to have any sort of impact. In her blog post about foreshadowing, blogger Debz Hobbs-Wyatt says: “…Don’t draw the reader’s attention to something, some aspect of a character’s personality, like a phobia of spiders, if you don’t draw on it later.”

It might take a few drafts, but, if done subtly, foreshadowing also allows you to reveal things about a character, using bits and pieces of backstory to foreshadow reactions and fears that may lead to certain decisions and actions later in the novel.

Foreshadowing can incite many emotions but there are three chief emotion “types” of foreshadowing:

1. Doubt/ Dread: The foreshadowing that incites doubt or dread, like any scene in the novel, should fit with the character and situation. This type should be foreboding, incite worry for the character.

An example of that type of foreshadowing is shown in Suzanne Collins’s YA dystopian fantasy, The Hunger Games, when Katniss tells her little sister, Primrose, that she won’t be picked for the Reaping and sent to die in the Hunger Games, where children are forced to kill each other for the entertainment of the public. The reader feels Katniss’s dread about Prim being chosen for the Games—but this foreshadows Prim’s name being chosen and Katniss’s choice to go in her place.

2. Excitement/Anticipation: This type is the kind of foreshadowing that makes people curious as to how things connect, how this symbol, event, or character, associates with the rest of the story. Most often, this foreshadowing is used to indirectly suggest an outcome for a character or event.

An example of this type of foreshadowing occurs early in Robert Jordan’s epic fantasy, The Wheel of Time, in book one The Eye of the World. In it, Moiraine, an Aes Sedai—a magician who can wield the One Power—tells Egwene, an innkeeper's daughter from the village of Emond`s Field who can wield the One Power, that she “…may go far. Perhaps even the Amyrlin Seat one day, if you study hard and work hard.” The Amyrlin Seat, while also being a chair where the head of the Aes Sedai sits, is also the title given to them, likened to a king or queen. Much later in the series, just as Moiraine said, Egwene does become leader of the Aes Sedai order.

3. Surprise/Shock: This type of foreshadowing often comes with a huge revelation or an event that the character didn’t expect. With a reader, the foreshadowing specifically for that moment will often come during the second time reading the novel as they see what led up to the climax, what clues they were given by the writer to try and piece together the character’s journey.

An example of this is in J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, the third novel in the Harry Potter series. For this example, I’ll only be using the events from the film adaptation as it’s been a while since I’ve read the novel and do not currently have it on hand. In both the novel and the film, Hermione seems to be taking two classes at the same time and managing to be present for each. Ron and Harry can’t figure out how she can be in two places at one time. It’s revealed near the end of the film, that Hermione has been using a Time Turner—a device that allows the user to go back in time—in order to take two classes in the same time slot. Using the Time Turner, Harry and Hermione travel back to save a supposedly “dangerous” Hippogriff, named Buckbeak, from being slaughtered. Using Buckbeak’s ability to fly, the pair are also able to retrieve Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather, from Azkaban.

Earlier in the film, the event that foreshadows the use of the Time Turner itself, is when Harry, Hermione and Ron visit Hagrid and, somehow, end up being hit with thrown snail shells. When the Time Turner is used, Harry uses these shells (in much the same manner as before) to get the attention of his “alternate timeline” self, thus changing the outcome of many events.

Have you noticed examples of foreshadowing in the books you’ve been reading? If so, what are some of the types you've seen?

- HC

Making Scenery Come Alive

Scenery is perhaps the hardest thing to make interesting on the page. Your characters need to travel, see the world—be it as simple as a room in their house or an exotic place across the globe or maybe another dimension entirely. FTLOW blogger, Raven Clark, did a post on weather openings and how to make them work. I thought I’d follow that up with another, similar topic that authors often use for openings: Scenery.

Now, don’t get me wrong—scenic openings can work, and many famous writers often use them—but there’s a difference to someone who’s been published before and someone who’s just started out. Novice writers often think setting the scene is the very first thing that the reader needs to know before they even meet your hero. They need to know where your character is, yes, but not every excruciating detail about the world.

Ask yourself this: How do we care about the setting and the predicament, if we don’t know who we’re supposed to be rooting for? With openings written by novice writers, I’ve noticed, they seem to separate character and scenery so much when they begin, that when the story begins, the opening lacks tension or is slow.

So, when thinking about scenery and scenic openings, don’t just write about the warm summer day, write about how the summer weather makes the character feel. Set a mood with the character as the mouthpiece. What makes this day, or this moment, different then any other day?  Whatever makes this day different then any other, then, is a sense of things changing. This change is often a good source of conflict or tension.    

In total, there are about four techniques—similar to weather openings—you need to make a scenic opening, and scenery itself, come alive.

1)      Make the scenery active.

2)      Create tension within the prose.

3)      Make the scenery as much a part of the plot as possible.

4)      Use the senses to make the scene real for readers.  

What do I mean when I say you have make scenic openings and scenery active? I mean, does the scenery appear to be doing anything? Does it appear to have a personality, almost as if it were alive? To give an example, I’ll use a part of the prologue from the first novel, The Eye of the World, of Robert Jordan’s epic fantasy series Wheel of Time.  

The palace still shook occasionally as the earth rumbled in memory,
groaned as if it would deny what had happened. Bars of sunlight cast
through rents in the walls made motes of dust glitter where they yet
hung in the air. Scorch-marks marred the walls, the floors, the
ceilings. Broad black smears crossed the blistered paints and gilt of
once-bright murals, soot overlaying crumbling friezes of men and
animals which seemed to have attempted to walk before the madness grew
quiet. The dead lay everywhere, men and women and children, struck
down in attempted flight by the lightnings that had flashed down every
corridor, or seized by the fires that had stalked them, or sunken into
stone of the palace, the stones that had flowed and sought, almost
alive, before stillness came again. In odd counterpoint, colourful
tapestries and paintings, masterworks all, hung undisturbed, except
where bulging walls had pushed them awry. Finely carved furnishings,
inlaid with ivory and gold, stood untouched except where rippling
floors had toppled them. The mind-twisting had struck at the core,
ignoring peripheral things.

Did you notice how Jordan gave the destroyed castle almost a personality? How “The palace still shook occasionally as the earth rumbled in memory, groaned as if it would deny what had happened…” Or how the fires “seized” and “stalked” the palace occupants, or how the stones of the palace itself “…had flowed and sought, almost alive, before stillness came again.” It’s a building, yet, using similes and metaphors, he is able to give the reader a clear picture of how the scenery ‘reacted’ to the disaster.

Now, this opening is told in omniscient point of view (an all-seeing POV. Almost like a god.) and we are not introduced to a character until the next paragraph. Today, that isn’t a good idea as it seems like you’re head-hopping—jumping between POVs. The opening above could only work for an established author nowadays, as opposed to when this novel was published, back in 1990. The rules have changed regarding pace and tension and openings, so if you try to do this type of slightly slower opening today, you’d have a hard time selling your novel. So it’s better to tell the story through a character’s reactions and have your hero describe the scenery in his/her voice rather then using omniscient POV.

On the second point, creating tension within the prose, is based on a few factors:

A)    Word choice: Do the words you choose evoke an image? Do they evoke a mood? Does it incorporate the senses? (I’ll explain about that later in this post).

B)    Situation: What is happening to your character? Where is he or she? What is he/she doing? What is her goal for the scene?

C)    Stakes: What happens if your character fails? What or who does the character lose if she loses? What about if she succeeds? The higher and riskier the stakes, the more tense and powerful the scene will be.

For an example of tension within the prose, I’ll use a scene from my WIP novel, The Last Wyvern. In this scene (in the 3^rd chapter, so it’s not the opening of the novel), my heroine, Calias, has been captured by the main villain, King Sacriel, who is part of a race of bird-like creatures called the Queye. She must escape and is successful, with the help of the novel’s hero, Owen. In their attempt to escape, however, they must leave behind other prisoners of Calias’s order.

A rumble of thunder drowned out his next words as he gripped her wrist. He pulled her towards the door, and slowly eased it open, the cries of the Guild members like the shrill noise of gulls overhead, nearly drowned out by the thrashing waves and rain. Guilt forced its way into her chest, lodged like a stone within. We must make this sacrifice. It’s us he wants. Slipping through the shadows, Owen guided her to the lifeboats she’d seen earlier. As he set one up to be lowered, the possibility of being caught burned in her veins, the awareness of so many Queyen eyes watching the ship’s deck, patrolling it, setting her nerves dangling on a jagged edge. No time. She kept watch as the ship cut through the waves, her heartbeat louder than the storm.

“Climb in.” He hissed.

“Owen, I—” A clap of thunder overwhelmed her words. No time. Escape. She stumbled forward as he hoisted her up into his arms and set her in the lifeboat. “Owen!”

She glimpsed a smile as a flash of lightning cracked the sky. “Don’t worry, I’m coming too.”

“No—” She glanced down, feeling sick. Below, the black waves swelled, like quicksand, threatening to swallow her whole—looming closer and closer—as Owen began to lower the boat. One thought slammed into her, and she gripped the sides of the boat with white-knuckled hands. I can’t swim…

Glancing back up at Owen, the rain soaking through her clothing, blinding her, Calias cried out as guards swarmed upon Owen. Oh, no… Weaving out of the reach of gleaming swords, Owen pulled his own blade from its sheath and combat ensued. Battle cries and shouts of pain echoed through the night as Owen delivered blow after blow, a few lifeless bodies tumbling into the sea. A sword swing caught one of the ropes and Calias gripped the boat as it lurched to one side, hanging a few feet from the waves. Don’t cut the ropes…please don’t cut the ropes! She had a brief image of the boat capsizing, tossing her into the water and a sudden bout of panic threatened to choke her. Lower the boat. Don’t cut the ropes—this storm’s bad enough! As the boat jerked again, she watched—the breath frozen in her lungs—as one rope began to unravel.

Sacriel’s voice rose above the storm, a thunderous roar. “Find her, bring her aboard!” She could imagine the Queye king, his eyes blazing, one hand unconsciously rubbing his throat, as he marched across the deck, ordering his men. “I want that witch skinned alive!”

Owen spun, swinging to cut the second rope, and Calias felt her heart plummet to her stomach as the boat fell. Caught in the violent swell of the sea, its clutch determined to overturn the tiny lifeboat, Calias grabbed the oars and forced the boat through the water, determined to get away. And leave them? The weight of the Guild prisoners’ feeble cries for help echoed in her mind. She grit her teeth and forced herself to focus.

Looking up, watching the distance slowly grow, she saw Owen—his form briefly set aglow by a flash of lightning—as he dove off the ship and disappeared into the dark water. Sacriel’s guards set crossbows and fired, arrows hitting the water, just out of her reach and that strangling terror set in again. Scanning the waves, she couldn’t hear nor see Owen. Where is he? For a few moments, she stared at the water, imaging the pain of arrows stabbing into his back one by one, the dread threatening to make her sick.

The oars felt heavy in her hands, dragging like lead weights across the water, the water itself black as liquid night, viscous like honey. Where is he? Pools of crimson splashed across her vision, staining the ocean red. The white caps of waves became fins that cut through the storm like the curve of a sword. She blinked and they were gone. Muttering prayers under her breath, gripping the oars with sore hands, she stared as Sacriel’s boat drifted, the glow of lanterns growing smaller. She hunched her shoulders as the wind cut through her clothing, cold and ruthless as the sea. “I can’t do this alone…” Calias pried numb fingers from the oars, letting them fall limply to her sides. “I can’t.”

This is rough, and definitely needs improvement, but the tension is there. I’ve tried to use particular words or descriptions, like: “…the cries of the Guild members like the shrill noise of gulls overhead, nearly drowned out by the thrashing waves and rain” Or: “…the black waves swelled, like quicksand, threatening to swallow her whole…” Even using objects to describe the scene: “The oars felt heavy in her hands, dragging like lead weights across the water, the water itself black as liquid night, viscous like honey.”

So the word choice factor is done but the important thing is, I’ve let the character have to make necessary sacrifices in order to escape the villain and the fact she can’t swim only adds to the brutality of the storm and her situation—stakes are up and the situation is dire, which—if done well—should compel readers to continue.     

But how do you do that for your writing—especially if your novel isn’t all thrilling action? That’s OK, as long as you have what I like to call “subtle tension”.

Subtle tension in openings and in scenery itself is often used during the rising action moments—when the character thinks everything is fine for now, when both the reader and the character get a chance to breathe.

Subtle tension derives from the word choice, this time using mood and active scenery, rather then dire situations or high stakes (though they aren’t totally left out), to create the tension and bridge conflict to the next huge event. An example of subtle tension with scenery and openings, is the first chapter of Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time: The Eye of the World:

The Wheel of Time turns and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that
become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten
when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the
Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long passed, a wind rose
in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are
neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time.
But it was a beginning.

Borne below the ever cloud-capped peaks that gave the mountains their
name, the wind blew east, out across the Sand Hills, once the shore of
a great ocean, before the Breaking of the World. Down it flailed into
the Two Rivers, into the tangled forest called the Westwood, and beat
at two men walking with a cart and horse down the rock-strewn track
called the Quarry Road. For all the spring should have come a good
month since, the wind carried an icy chill as if it would rather bear
snow.

Not much happens in this paragraph, and this, again, suffers from the use of an omniscient POV, but as an example of subtle tension, it works. The subtle tension is there if you look for it. It’s in the description of the weather itself, how it “…flailed and beat at two men…” And, as if the wind had a mind of its own, “carried an icy chill as if it would rather bear snow.” The weather is made into a personality, one that carries foreboding, as if the wind and chilly weather is an extension of the main villain of this series, a metaphysical being called the Dark One.

Another point with scenery and scenic openings is to make the scenery as much a part of the plot as possible. I’m not talking about how much detail you put in the world but how the scene reflects the tension. It’s perhaps the hardest to do without the scene coming off contrived. With this point, you have to mix active tone and tension, while increasing conflict within the story with the scenery itself. I’ll try and use another rough example from The Last Wyvern:

Owen allowed the question to hang in the air for a few moments and the silence stretched between them—shattered by the snapping of twigs and underbrush, like breaking bones. An impossible darkness shrouded the wood, the tangled branches above them closing them in, eclipsing the sun. Her heartbeat sounded, loud as a war drum in her ears, and she put a hand on her mount’s neck seeking comfort, holding the stone aloft. Owen still hadn't answered her questions, his expression once again hard. Unyielding. He walked ahead, maneuvering his mount around a fallen tree. She followed him and froze. What is that?

Something dangled from the branches above them, like thick silver umbilical cords. Fear latched onto her heart like the claws of a bear trap and Calias glanced around, peering into the darkness, but saw nothing but the never-ending paths—broken by fallen trees, some spreading into forked labyrinths.

“Owen...?” Her throat clenched around her words and she struggled to breathe, drowning in panic. “Owen!”

Owen spun, holding the torch high, anxiety tensing every muscle. “What is it?” His voice was barely a whisper. Then, he paled. “Calias...”

She looked at the Crystal Iris as it pulsed in her hand, a seizing heartbeat of violet light. Oh, gods. We’re close...

The noises of the forest seemed louder, every step and inhale of breath like the crash of thunder, the hiss of a twister. The trees closed in on them—dark, frail assassins moving in for the kill, to cage them within bark and moss. We can’t back down now. It’s just your imagination playing tricks! Remember what Kydren said: Focus on the mission! She took a deep breath and the trees stilled, the branches no longer looking like reaching hands.

“Easy, easy.” Owen yanked at the reins as his horse began to panic, its neck shining with perspiration, the whites of its eyes showing.

   

Her stomach twisted as a distant rumbling reached her ears. Too soft and consistent to be thunder, she looked at the shining, sticky film that coated the trunks of trees, dripping from the branches and cold sweat dampened her brow. Her ears strained to hear the sound, trying to judge where it came from, the rumbling echoing around them, coming from every direction. The shadows swam before her, lost amid Choketree Wood, and Calias suddenly felt very small. Insignificant.

 

Another point to make scenery and scenic openings, come alive is to use the senses. The basic senses: Sight, sound, taste, smell, and touch should paint a picture in the readers mind of what your scene looks like, what sort of mood the readers should feel. But there are four other senses that are often ignored: Temperature, kinetic sense (position of the body), pain, and the body’s sense of balance and gravity.

However you write your scenes and open your novels, the techniques above still apply regardless of genre, point of view, or setting. If you can make scenery engaging as an opening, try it but if not, it might be best to introduce the hero first and have him interact with the world, and create tension, compelling readers to continue.

- HC

Editing Blues

Due to technical difficulties, I'm posting this topic for Ree Vera.

- HC 

Ah, the internal editor. We try so hard to resist it. We fight it, smother it, and do our best to just plain ignore the urge to let it have its way. Until at last…our MS is ready for that final thing. (dun dun dun!)

Editing.

*cue horrified scream*

Every writer, at one point, must go through it. I mean—our goal is to one day publish our work, right? And you can’t do that without some sort of editing.

Well, you could….I guess.

So I’ve been going through some major editing blues. I’m not usually one to get defensive when it comes time for editing, but this go round really had me on the edge. So I thought I’d share what I’ve been going through…

WHY?!

The shock.

The: ‘You want me to do what?!’

The: ‘Pfft. You can’t perfect perfection.’

I mean come on. You’ve labored on this story for so long that I’s like….it’s your baby. There is absolutely nothing wrong with it. Don’t they know amazing when they see it?

Haha. Yeah.

There is no perfect first draft. No such thing.

I GOT THIS

Oh the blind confidence. You take a look at those suggested revisions and think it’s going to be a piece of cake. Cross a few t’s, dot a few i’s…no big deal. How bad can it be?

OMG!

Then you see it. The bleeding plot holes and loose threads. Dry dialogue.  Overused clichés. Wordy chapters , misspelled words, and all those damn commas you can’t seem to stop using cuz you’re a junkie and need help!! *breathes* Ahem. Sorry. Where were we?

IT’S GOING TO BE FINE

I loved being in denial. LOL. I really did. Those loose threads? Pish posh. Nobody will notice. They’ll be so amazed by my story that even that character I kinda forgot about won’t even be an issue. I’ll just make a few minor adjustments and…voila!

I QUIT!

So many corrections. You look at  your MS and it seems like once you find one thing wrong…a billion other things come into sight. It’s awful! Or so you think. So I thought. I even thought about just throwing in the towel. Giving up. It was a brief notion, but a notion just the same. I read, watched movies, skyped, and pretty much everything except think about writing. Or editing. I think I even cried.

Ok, yeah, I did.

*sad violin music*

I say this because I don’t want you to think you’re doing something wrong if you feel like this at some point. Being a writer doesn’t make you superman/superwoman. You’re still human. It’s okay to get a little desperate cuz it happens. Just don’t let it get the best of you. Pout. Cry. Scream if you have to.

Then move on.

ANGELS IN DISGUISE

Friends. Writing Peers. Loved Ones.

They help you when you’re feeling down. Whether it’s a shoulder to soak with your tears or the kick in the pants you need (but don’t really want)…they’re so important. As writers, it’s so easy to withdraw. To isolate ourselves. We think and see things differently. Get lost in our own world.

Don’t get so lost that you lose those ties with the ones who truly care. They’ll be your saving grace.

HOPE

I got that pep talk and felt inspired. So with renewed hope and confidence, I pulled out that MS and got down to business.

EEK!

All this dawdling had taken two weeks off my time limit. So I would have to get to business fast. Some long hours and a couple of red eyes later….the revisions were done. I hit send and leaned back, relaxed….

DAMN IT

Yeah….there are more revisions needed. It’s a process. But I’m not going to freak out.

Too much.

So are you at that stage yet? Editing? Have you experienced anything like this?

Or maybe I’m just crazy after all…who knows?

Happy Writing!!

~Minerva Ree Vera

Don’t Talk About the Weather

Over the last few years, writers have been hearing a lot of fuss about certain types of openings in books, and one of the most hated openings for agents and publishers - and veteran writers - is the dreaded weather opening.

You’ve seen them. Those books that start with something like, “The sun rose high over the crystalline water…” Or “Thunder rumbled over the little hamlet…” But why are these sorts of starts considered no-no’s?

Starts like these are often used by beginning writers who see this as an easy way to bring the reader into the world of the story. But where novices seem to think they’re interesting, more often than not they’re boring and slow. These starts are rarely half as interesting as the writers would think.

But, we have all read more than a few openings based on weather in many a bestselling novel, and writers have found success with such beginnings. Is there a trick to constructing an effective opening to a novel based on the weather going on outside your house right now? What if you just have to start with this kind of opening? How do you get the attention of an agent or a publisher instead of landing in the slush pile?

Based on several novels I’ve read on writing by bestselling novelists, including The Breakout Novelist by literary agent Donald Maass, there are three tricks to creating an effective weather opening.

1)      Make the weather active.

2)      Incorporate tension into the prose

3)      Tie the weather into the conflict of the plot if possible.

Now keep in mind I’m not an expert, and the examples are off the top of my head, so they won’t be stellar or publish-ready. But they should be good enough to illustrate my point. So let’s take a look at these aspects one at a time.

Make the weather active.

What do I mean by active? By this I mean, write the description of the weather so that it appears to be doing something. Active as appose to passive.

I’m told this is very hard to do, and I think for most, it is. But for me, this is the easiest of the three. Look at the example below to see what I mean.

I sat on my bed, watching the rain pour down from the sky, leaving watery trails on my windowpane. The sky looked down, a gun-metal gray that did nothing for my already sour mood. The memory hit me so suddenly I blinked in horror. I left it outside! My heart sank as I imagined the water washing away such an important piece of evidence, evidence of his crimes.

Now if you really pay attention to that paragraph, it isn’t entirely bad. In fact, after the first two lines, it could work for a compelling opening. It raises lots of questions and produces tension. What crimes? What evidence? What piece of critical evidence will the rain wash away? The wording suggests something ominous and perhaps even horrible happened before the character came across the page. Questions abound. Which is what you want in the opening of a novel. It’s the first two lines that are the problem. Why? Because nothing is happening. The words just lie on the page, evoking no emotion, no curiosity, no desire to read on. And we all know, first impressions are everything. You only have ten seconds to hook a reader. It’s within that first ten seconds of opening a novel that readers often decide whether to pick up a book by a new author or move onto something else. So how do we change the first two lines to make them stronger? First, make them more active. Use more compelling word choices. Let’s see that again.

The rain slashed at my windowpane, relentless as the thoughts that threatened to drown me in my own fear. Photos of him lay sprawled across my bed. I pushed them off and they scattered, as if whipped by the wind tearing through the maple trees outside.  The sky glared, a cold, steely grey slab. The memory hit me so suddenly I blinked in horror. I left it outside! My heart sank as I imagined the water washing away such an important piece of evidence, evidence of his crimes.

See the difference? The weather in the second example not only does something, but it seems to take on a personality, and one that fits to set a tone for a story. Do you want to read more? Good. That’s the point.

But we’re not done yet. The start of the paragraph is better, but it could be better still. So let’s add the second layer, the tension. The changes to the start of the paragraph already created some tension, but it’s too low key. And it’s a bit derivative. We need more. Try this.

The rain slashed at my windowpane, relentless as my own whirling thoughts. The memories of what he’d done held my mind in a stranglehold of panic, icy as the coming winter. Photos of him lay sprawled across my bed. I pushed them off and they scattered, as if whipped by the wind tearing through the maple trees outside. The sky glared, a cold, steely grey slab. The memory hit me so suddenly I blinked in horror. I left it outside! My heart sank as I imagined the water washing away such an important piece of evidence, evidence of his crimes.

That’s better, isn’t it? See how the weather takes on a menacing tone that seems to match the unnamed character our heroine is worried about? The suggestion of an unpleasant character rests in the wording, and rather than merely laying on the page in static repose, the weather only serves to amplify the sense of alarm. But can we make it better still by adding the third layer?

This, tying weather description into the plot of your story, is perhaps the hardest part. For this to work, not only do you need the active tone and tension, but the weather has to somehow either produce or increase the conflict in the story. This, without feeling like it’s contrived. Let’s see what we can do to fill our paragraph with weather induced conflict.

The rain slashed at my windowpane, its deluge cutting off my only escape. Photos of him lay sprawled across my bed, the images holding my mind in a stranglehold of panic icy as the coming winter. I pushed them off the bed, and they scattered as if whipped by the wind tearing through the maple trees outside.  By now the banks would be flooded. I wouldn’t get far. The sky glared, a cold, steely gray slab. Power lines stretched across the horizon, near the too small house, lightning strikes causing flashes of electricity to play across them in deadly arcs. If I fled, a single strike would stop my heart. The realization struck like a blow to the chest. I left it outside! My heart sank as I imagined the water washing away the only evidence of his crimes.

Whoa. Now it’s getting interesting. That paragraph breathes conflict. I’m not saying agents would jump at the chance to read a book that started with this, but I trust you see my point. In general, readers don’t care about weather. They want something to happen, something exciting, intriguing, interesting. And publishers and agents get so many manuscripts a day, so you need to really wow them to get them to read past the first line. The standard rule is that weather is none of those things. It doesn’t wow. But there are ways to use even weather as an effective hook. If you can make your weather riveting, do it. If not, best pass up the sunny opening in your head for something more gripping.

Raven

Forked Roads and Man-eating Bears: Character Decisions

Decisions, decisions…

Characters have to make decisions—ones that set them on a journey at the start of the novel—otherwise there would be no story to tell. It’s usually a minor goal, something the character wants to do at first, before something—like an event or person—forces them on the overall focus, the overall goal for the novel itself.

For example, if a man—a reformed ex-con—decides to work as a janitor at a high school, he might come to work one day and find a body in one of the stalls. This spurs a whole new complication for your character: Is he guilty or innocent? Who really did it and why?

Connected to—or caused by—this minor goal, might be what’s called the inciting incident. The inciting incident is defined as the event that sends your protagonist out into the world, ruins or changes his current situation, and forces him to find answers—to answer the questions that this incident brought on, or to change things for the better. In our example with the ex-con janitor, finding the body in the stall is the inciting incident.

Likewise, character decisions must cause jeopardy and sacrifice or set in motion the inciting incident. For example, in Suzanne Collins’s dystopian fantasy trilogy The Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen’s decision to go hunt illegally, to provide for her family, puts her at risk with the law. This decision (minor goal) helps when she is later put into the arena for the Hunger Games, to survive and fight others to the death—thus helping to save her family and world from poverty and oppression from the Capitol (overall goal).

In Christopher Paolini’s first high fantasy novel—book one of The Inheritance Cycle—Eragon, the elf Arya sends the dragon egg away via magic, from the main villain of the book (minor goal), but this event gets herself captured. The main hero, Eragon, finds the egg which begins his journey as a Dragonrider, to help bring down the tyrannical king, Galbatorix (overall goal).

Using yet another fantasy novel, in Tamora Pierce’s romantic fantasy series Song of the Lioness, the main heroine, Alanna of Trebond, decides to switch places with her twin brother, to dress as a boy, in order to allow him to go to the City of the Gods to train as a mage, and for her to travel to the castle to become a knight (minor goal). This decision puts her at risk, because she could be killed if her gender and disguise was ever found out. In the other novels of this series, Alanna’s knighthood allows her to protect the king and restore order to the world around her (overall goal).

Please note that this character decision-making can be applied to any genre—I was just using the ones off the top of my head—many of them being fantasy.

Most novels nowadays—regardless of genre—should have the character’s decision appear at the start or within the first chapter. Set your character on a journey and make them fight or suffer to reach their goal. Force them to change it, making a minor goal into something much larger, on a much larger scale—or force them to abandon that original goal entirely in order to fulfill this bigger, overall goal that should become the bulk of your novel’s focus.

Think of your character’s decision as a forked road metaphor. On one path, it’s rainy and cold but empty. On the other…maybe a huge man-eating bear lies somewhere on that path? Which path will he choose to reach his goal—to get home? The easy, raining one? Or the man-eating bear path?

Let’s say he decided to take the easy route—he’d get a little wet and cold, sure, but his path is clear, right?

Now, what if, on that easy path, you—the author—decided he needed a challenge to overcome? You don’t want your novel to be a simple, boring read do you? Let’s put the man-eating bear in his way—what is he going to do next? Run or fight?

Either way, this “easy” decision just shook this character’s world, changed his current situation, and forces him to face something much bigger them him—just as the inciting incident in your own novel must do.

When trying to decide your character’s decision that drives the novel’s plot, think of this metaphor. The minor goal in your novel—in this case, trying to get home—must be connected to, or cause, the inciting incident to appear. Pretty soon, that rainy route home should leave your protagonist confronting a giant, man-eating bear.

What happens to your hero next is up to you.

Rebooting Clichés

After finishing Suzanne Collins’ THE HUNGER GAMES, a YA dystopian novel, it made me think of how the author had managed to make her characters suffer, provide a good pace and write excellent, grabbing hooks while also keeping the story fresh. Original. Now, maybe it’s not as original as I thought--maybe it’s like an awful lot of dystopian fiction out there? Granted, it’s been a while since I’ve read YA or scanned the bookstore shelves for something to read—but it was enough to keep my interest, enough to want to finish the rest of the series.

 I’ve often wondered why I’ve passed through the library or bookstore, looking for something and eventually leaving almost disappointed. I think I’ve finally figured out why: the originality of ideas are slim.

A strange question that’s bugged me all week, while trying to brainstorm an idea for a possible NanoWriMo project, is: How do writers twist things to make possible clichés or overdone ideas fresh again?

Now, I know everything’s already been done. It can’t be helped that something you came up with follows a pattern—whether due to the genre, characters or situation, but something you can help is the uniqueness of the idea. Putting your own spin on it, twisting the cliché into something that readers haven’t heard before or into something relatively new.

Only question is: “How?”

One way is to play around with the cliché. Figure out what makes it cliché and overdone and try to do the opposite or change elements of that idea to create something that is fresh such as the damsel-in-distress becoming the heroine. Another way is—depending on the requirements of your story—is there a way to blend genres or to mix two different pieces of an idea together to put a new spin on the plot itself? A good example of this is the series of Shrek films done by Dreamworks, using clichés to create comedy. You can also use clichés and change them to fit a more serious or dramatic subject matter or genre such as the TV show Heroes—taking the cliché of the superhero and making the characters almost super normal, with no idea how deeply they are connected, or in some cases, that they exist.

However, clichés also appear when creating inhuman characters or entire races of creatures, not just in plotting. When designing new creatures or new races for your world, consider blending animal and human traits in unexpected ways. However, if this creature is to become a major character or have prominent parts in the story, your readers have to be able to relate to him or her—so it’s important to humanize the character.

An excellent example of humanizing an alien or a human with otherworldly abilities is Spiderman. Alternately, the creators could have had Spiderman look like a spider, however, they chose to keep him a human, but gave him spider abilities such as climbing walls and shooting webs from his wrists.

This method of creating a new species and, if needed, adding humanizing traits, allows for a fresh spin on the typical use of creatures that may have either just been used as pets, methods of transportation, or as weapons. Plus it works well with the world-building of your story—with this new creature the myths and origins can be created by the writer, and thus enriches the novel’s culture with something possibly unheard of.

While trying to avoid clichés, questions you can ask while creating your novel, are the typical: who, what, where, when and, most importantly, how? Who is your character? What or who are they searching for in your novel? Where is your novel set? What time period is it set? How do the events relate to each other and the characters themselves?

Also, ask yourself the big question: “What if?” What if the bomb went off? What if one of them dies? What if one of the characters had a terminal illness? What if he or she had this habit? The possibilities are endless. One way to make otherwise cliché things new again is to add something unusual or unheard of to it, to put the theme in a new light or maybe tell the story in a new POV (point of view).

Another important question to ask yourself is: “Why?” Why did you choose to tell the story this way? Why use this POV and what purpose will this character serve? Why blend these two genres or elements, what purposes will they serve in the scope of your novel? Asking why as you build your novel, with the intentions of twisting and changing clichés, will help determine if the idea works, whether or not the changed cliché helps or hinders your intents and direction for the story.

But what if you can’t find a way to mix the plot or change a cliché? Story generators and sites such as Seventh Sanctum and Chaotic Shiny can help with jogging the creativity. Another resource to look in when considering clichés, and changing them into something readers haven’t seen, is mythology and fairytales. Perhaps take a fairytale or a myth and add a modern twist to it or (if writing primarily fantasy) use the myth/tale in such a way that may pay homage to the possible inspiration of your novel. An example of this would be likening the tale of Little Red Riding Hood to a serial killer, the specifics of his victimology and the types of trophies he may collect (such as red clothing).

These are among the various methods you can try out and consider while creating your novel. Asking these questions and using the resources available, will help you battle clichés, change them and, ultimately, enrich the novel—making things new and unique or giving your story a fresh view—for your readers.

Thanks for reading!

- HC

Plotter or Pantser

Plotter- those who plot things out.

Pantser- those who fly by the seat of their pants.

Not the legal definition I’m sure, but ever wonder which method produces more successful authors? Do the methodical win out over the spontaneous? I have to say, I’ve been curious about the breakdown. Do more writers get published who rely on careful planning or do the ones who wing it triumph?

Don’t mistake me. I don’t think there is a right or wrong answer for this. Everyone has their own style whether it involves outlines and pages of notes or a shot in the dark. Both ways can produce amazing results.

Being too lazy to try and discover what method famous authors’ favor, I can only tell you about unpublished me. As you might guess from the comment above, I’m a pantser. My current work in progress began with only the opening scene in my head and not much more. But is that the whole story?

I think there is more to being a pantser than meets the eye. Although I don’t write anything down, that doesn’t mean I don’t plan. I usually spend days just thinking before I type a word. Generally, I have the whole chapter in my mind and even a direction for what happens down the road. It’s the details with dialogue or setting that usually spring out of nowhere, not the plot itself.

And I have been known to digress, to delve into the world of a plotter. On my opening chapter, I jotted down everything I wanted the chapter to achieve. Opening chapters have to be such workhorses that I didn’t want to leave anything out. And when I got to the ending chapters, I was petrified. How could I wrap up all the details and bring everything together without forgetting a major part? I couldn’t decide in what direction I wanted to take the ending. Who should live and who should die? When to reveal what? I started noting down key items to remember. And that spread to include more and more elements until I had—gasp—a crazy mixed up mess in no order at all.

I began to color code the mess. Items in red were open threads that I hadn’t decided how to resolve. Items in orange were already written and finished. Items in green were resolved in my head, but not written in the ms. Blue items were things I might include, but maybe not. As I got through chapter after chapter, the red parts turned green and finally orange. The blue words disappeared. My notes ended up being amazingly helpful. Who knew!

Would I ever work out an outline for an entire novel ahead of time? I’m way too lazy. Will I use a crazy mess of a system to aid my memory? That’s for sure.

All in all, it doesn’t matter a hill of beans how you get the job done. What matters is maintaining the pace and making sure the plot stays firmly at center stage. No outline in the world will keep you from letting the characters yack about unimportant matters or descriptions from going on forever. Writers have to be able to judge that from experience.

And where do you get experience when you aren’t published? Reading. Reading. Reading. Reading other published novels can teach you about pacing. It’s the example to follow to make sure every chapter advances the plot and isn’t a limp, useless biscuit of rambling.
 

What say we have our own informal poll? Don’t deny it, we’re all curious. We want to know what floats the other one’s boat. Plotter or pantser? How far do you take preparedness? Or avoid it?

MS or BS?

You start with an idea. A little seed of an idea that sprouts to life the moment you put pen to paper. As you write, that idea becomes a rough draft...a rough draft that needs to be critiqued, reworked, and polished.

In his book On Writing, Stephen King says that when you write your first draft, you should write with the door shut. Once you're finished you can let others in and see what you've got.

Some of you will disagree with this. Some writers like and actually prefer chapter by chapter input as they are writing and if that works for you then great. Just make sure that it really IS working for you. Have you finished that first draft yet? Or are you constantly revising because of that input?

Betas/critique partners are great. I love mine. They've helped me learn and grow so much. But be wary of taking every bit of advice they give you. Even though the advice is good intentioned (and it should be) if you feel like it's draining your voice...take a second to really think about what they're telling you. This is your story, your characters, and you know them better than anybody. If the change they're suggesting doesn't sit right with you then don't do it. It doesn't matter if your Beta is a best seller and has written more than fifty books. It's not their story.

I know what you're thinking..."But there's no such thing as a perfect MS!"

Totally agree with you. There never has been and never will be a perfect book/story/MS. Never. And yeah there is ALWAYS room for improvement.

Edit until you love the story. Not until your Beta reader thinks it's good enough. Not until it follows every writing rule ever created. Not until it's perfect. Until YOU love the story.

I do believe that improvement is a good thing. It helps you grow, makes your story better. However, I also believe that there has to be a peak. A point where your MS is as good as it's gonna get before it starts sounding like washed up, formulaic garbage. If you keep pushing beyond that point, the fire and magic that makes your story stand out. Don't do that to your manuscript. The things we love most often have imperfections. Sometimes those imperfections are the very reason we love them.

Agents/publishers want to FEEL passion in a story. They don't want to read something too smooth and polished to be interesting. Let your voice bleed through your manuscript.

Study the craft, yes. Use grammar correctly, punctuation, and please don't forget to hit the spell check button...but you shouldn't be obsessing over every rule that was created for writers. And when it comes to critique partners--they ARE there to help you, but what they say isn't law. This is your story. Yours, yours, yours.

The literary world is a place built on emotion. Edit. Cut. Revise. But don't take the magic or the heart out of your story.

Happy Writing!