Sleep-Deprivation of Minors

I was pondering what gives a writer the feeling of, “Hey, I’m doing all right.”  You could make a big-time best-seller list.  You could get a rave review in a major publication, or a bunch of 5-star reviews on Amazon.  Can’t say I’ve experienced any of those (yet), but still, I’ve thought about it.

My favorite?  Knowing I’m contributing to the sleep-deprivation of minors.

You know that feeling–when you start reading a book and before you know it, it’s three in the morning … then four … then the sun’s coming up.

Well, with a day job and grown-up responsibilities, I can’t indulge in that very often anymore.  Maybe on weekends.  And professionally, I can’t recommend any teenagers do so on a school night.

Still, finding out a 15-year-old started reading my story and couldn’t put it down until six in the morning (during Thanksgiving break, boss!) kind of made my day.

Another one on the self-affirmation list: Having teenagers finish reading it and immediately ask, “Where’s the next one?”

That’s when I think to myself, “It worked.”

Two Sides to Motivation

No, this is not a post on how to get yourself to meet your NaNoWriMo word count goals.  This isn’t about “get your cursor moving” motivation at all.

This is about motivation within the story–motivating the characters as well as the plot.  First, a little background on what prompted this post.

I was reading (and generally enjoying) a pair of books from a particular series.  The first red flag came when a side character was killed and I felt nothing.  Maybe it happened too fast, maybe it was a failure to develop an emotional connection earlier … or maybe it was because it “just kinda happened.”  Moving on, the MC executed an impressive string of “just doing things” for no clear reason other than to conveniently get herself in trouble.  That’s when I really started thinking about it and the failings of motivation.

Anyone who’s tried to write a query letter has probably explored character motivation related to central conflict.  What does the MC want and what stands in his/her way?  My exploration has taken me from that macro level to the micro level of individual scenes and character actions or decisions.  I’ve concluded that there are two types of motivation.  I’m sure someone out there has more technical names for them, but this is how it’s worked out in my mind.

Front-End Motivation
This is what triggers a character’s actions.  Why does she do this?  Why does he react that way?  It stems from preceding events as well as the character’s personality and values.  The trick here is to make sure our characters act and react in realistic and consistent ways, keeping them imperfect yet still believably human.  If a character’s going to make an obviously poor choice, the reader should be able to buy into the reason.  Show the doubts or the willful rebellion, whatever it is that drives the decision.

Back-End Motivation
This is why an event/decision/development is worth including in the story.  A few random details for flavor are fine, but anything more substantial should have a reason for happening.  It may be the resolution of an earlier mini-conflict or the catalyst for something to happen later.  In essence, it’s what keeps individual scenes connected.

Both types are necessary, and different scenes will have a different balance of front- and back-end.  I imagine few could be described as 50/50, but 5/95 (or 95/5) should be likewise rare.  What happens when the balance is weighted too far to one side–or worse, when one side of the motivation is missing?

Back-End with No Front:
This dilemma inspires the “Well, that’s convenient” reaction in readers and seems to be at the root of my instigating experience–the MC who “just does stuff.”  As authors, we know what we want to happen, so sometimes we force our characters to jump through hoops, just for the sake of making something work in the plot.

Front-End with No Back:
Scenes with this problem may come across as feeling random, tangential, or even indulgent.  I suspect it occurs more when a writer is trying to pad the word count, or perhaps when the plot isn’t yet fully formed.  The characters do things that make sense given their personalities and prior events, but it doesn’t really go anywhere.  I’d say it’s nothing to be too afraid of in a first draft if you’re a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pantser rather than a planner, but definitely something to watch out for in editing.

Neither Front Nor Back:
Sound the alarm and get thee a reality check, pronto!  Characters are reacting inconsistently and randomly, and the story is going nowhere.  At its most extreme, this isn’t a story–it’s words spewed onto a page.  Might be okay for a free-write to play with dialogue or characterization, but once you’re in story mode, these things need to be reined in … at least to a degree.


So, let your characters be human (even if they aren’t human, SF/F writers).  People rarely do anything truly random.  At the same time, be judicious in choosing which human moments to include in your story, and be mindful of why you’ve chosen them.

Why Writers Should Be Masochists

Want to be a writer?  Prepare for pain.  The pain of sleep-deprivation, the pain of rejection, the pain of carpal tunnel syndrome, the pain of a good face-keyboard smack when things just aren’t working … all of this and more is likely in your future.

That’s not entirely why I think a touch of masochism is a prerequisite, though.  Those things all come with the package, and we have to find ways to deal with them–like power naps and ergonomic office furniture.  The masochism comes in with the pain we (should) intentionally seek: the sting of constructive criticism.

Personally, I love getting feedback specifying certain aspects that aren’t working for the reader, but that sting still pricks me now and then.  Still, I’d rather endure that minor pain than get a inbox-full of, “This is amazing and should be published right now!”  While the latter is nice for the ego, it doesn’t actually help me improve, and even if I got a publishing contract tomorrow, I would always have room to grow.

A parallel:  In my day-job, an administrator observes my class a couple of times a year for evaluation.  I’ve yet to have an administrator with a math teaching background, so the fact I can teach calculus already impresses them.  More often than not, the feedback is something like, “You’re doing great–keep it up!”  Once in a while they remark on a small item they can tell was more because they were in the room than anything else.  (My fingerspelling skill takes a nosedive when other adults are in the room … definitely gotta work on that.)

I know I’m a good math teacher, but I also know I’m not perfect.  I can identify certain areas for improvement on my own, but for others, I could really use an outside observer to tell me if something works or not, or if I’m doing things I’m not aware of.

Same thing with writing.  If a reader isn’t feeling my MC’s emotion in a certain scene, I need to know.  If a particular section is boring, I need to know.  When those are areas I’ve worked on and think are great, finding out they might not work that well can hurt.  The biggest hurt is when someone clearly doesn’t understand my intention.  Those are the moments I doubt myself, wondering if I have any idea what I’m doing, assuming my own failings led the reader to misconstrue the concept.  But I will still seek out those opinions, weigh them against each other and against my own instincts, and try to incorporate what I learn into making my writing better.

Turning it around, then, writers should not be sadists.  When we’re offering critique, it’s important to be honest–as noted above, glossing things over won’t help anyone–but not intentionally cruel or derogatory.  Telling someone, “This sucks–you’re never going to make it,” is no more helpful than gushing why-isn’t-this-published-yet praise.

Most importantly, we have to make sure we aren’t such masochists that we lock ourselves into the editing/revising phase for eternity.  At some point, you have to decide that it’s good enough to get out there and submit … and ready yourself for those darts of rejection.

Learning from Fiction

There are lots of ways we learn through the written word.  Textbooks are the most obvious, though not always very effective in and of themselves.  Nonfiction books can be a great way to learn about almost anything you can imagine–cultures, history, technology, or just the lives of interesting people.

We can learn through novels as well.  Hard-working authors who do their research can infuse factual tidbits seamlessly into the plot, and we can learn through a character’s choices and their evolution through the story.

It recently occurred to me that there’s a key difference between the nonfiction and fiction approaches to learning, though.  Nonfiction generally sets out to teach–that’s the whole point, to be informative.  In fiction done right–in my opinion–it’s up to the reader to learn, and what they take from the story can vary.  The parallels they draw will depend on their own worldview and experiences, and that’s what makes it so fun–that feeling of finding your own meaning.

What happens, however, when someone sets out to write a novel with the nonfiction writer’s intention of teaching in mind?  Does it still work?  I’m not sure.  I haven’t tried it myself.  Do you get a “moral of the story” or after-school special feel as a result?  If so, that could be a problem.  I can’t speak for all teenagers, but my students are master cynics.  If they sense a story’s been contrived to teach them something, brace for imminent eye-rolling.

Does it come down to ensuring Story trumps Message?  Is it more a matter of not talking down to your audience?  Or are those two related?  Something to think about as I dig through the latest YA works to find books to recommend to those charming cynics.

A Touch of Good News

A few good things that have happened lately:

• I made the “Literary Agent Showcase” round on WEbook’s PageToFame contest.  (See, here’s proof!)
• While we’re talking about PageToFame, “Assumptions” made it out of the Shorts round.  (Still waiting to see what that means.)
• “Significantly Other” was published by Crossed Genres.  (Not bad for my first “serious” attempt at at a short story.)
• I survived IEP Intensive.  (Not related to writing, other than being the reason I couldn’t do much writing for the past month.)

Otherwise, I’m still in the agent hunt, still working on Book #3, and jotting down some pre-writing notes for a brand-spanking-new idea.

I’m also counting the weeks until Thanksgiving break.  For the record, it’s at five.

YA Work and the Big Bad

One of the basic elements of storytelling is conflict.  Most sources list between four and six main conflict types.

• Man vs. Self–the identity crisis
• Man vs. Man–“duke it out” (physically or otherwise)
• Man vs. Society–the rebellion
• Man vs. God/Fate–big-time underdog
• Man vs. Nature–the disaster scenario
• Man vs. Technology–“Good morning, Dave.”