writing

Potential Pitfalls: Writing Blind (v1.0)

Like all great potential pitfalls, this one is tricky because it involves a balancing act.

First, my inspiration for this post.

Exhibit 1: Riley Redgate’s post on writing what you know (or not)

Exhibit 2: Allison Winn Scotch’s post on whether writers must be readers

These got me thinking about something I’ve come across, and a trap I hope I’ve steered well clear of—writing a novel with no knowledge of the genre/category.

Yes, I’ve seen writers attempting a fantasy without ever reading any. Others writing for teens without reading a single book from the YA shelves.

I’m sure if you look, you can find a handful of examples where an author did their own thing without any real knowledge of what came before, and yet was wildly successful. Perhaps I’ll do another Potential Pitfalls post on acting like exceptions are the rule. More often, the writer’s lack of reader-knowledge is neon-sign obvious.

How so? A common sign in YA is teen characters that feel like they were written by an adult. The voice is off, the actions don’t fit—either coming across as a stiff adult in a teen’s body, or falling deep into stereotype. Sometimes it’s harder to put my finger on, but I have this instinctive feeling that the writer (a) has little-to-no meaningful contact with teens, and (b) hasn’t read a YA novel published within the last five years (or even ten).

But like I said, it’s a balancing act, because there’s another pitfall right across from this one: Unintentional Rip-Off. Oh, and there’s one in front of it, too: Authorial Laryngitis (Loss of Voice).

I know some writers that don’t read fiction while they’re drafting a novel (but may read non-fiction during that time). That’s a strategy that makes sense to me. Some of us are susceptible to having another writer’s voice seep into ours if we’re reading and drafting at the same time.

I guess the bottom line is, know the conventions and requirements of your genre, but find your own voice and story. You know what they say, if it were easy …

Any opinions on reading within your genre? I didn’t discuss reading other genres, but there are benefits there as well. Thoughts?

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Potential Pitfalls: Dead Horse Beating

I’m going to start an occasional series on potential pitfalls in fiction. Mostly things I’ve noticed (and am trying to eradicate) in my own work, or things that irk me as a reader.

First up, the over-explanation, telling readers what they already know. It can happen in a range of ways, including single line statements-of-obvious. I’m focusing more on full explanations in dialogue. It’s sort of the opposite of As-You-Know-Bob syndrome. In this case, Bob doesn’t know the following information, but the reader does.

And it’s really, really annoying to read.

There are times one character needs to explain to another what has happened, what the plan is, etc. I can only think of a few times this should happen “live” on the page.

1. When revealing information previously withheld from the reader. I have a little of this in one of my novels, where I’ve only hinted at things, until the MC reveals her secrets later on. Hopefully (if I’ve pulled it off right), this kind of explanation is rewarding to the reader, verifying their guesses or giving some surprises.
2. When the explain-ee’s reaction is important to the plot. Is this information going to prompt a major event? Divorce filing? Attempted murder? Okay, maybe something a little less extreme could work, too.
3. When the explain-ee will have new information to add. Maybe the reader already knows the MC’s half of the story, but another character may have info to fill in gaps that change the whole outlook.

(Could have sworn I had a #4 in mind. Will add if I remember it.)

An important note: #1 is often the only time you might need to play out the full conversation. Many of these are situations where tell-don’t-show is actually the best course. (I summarized everything we knew so far.)

In most other situations where it’s necessary to fill in another character, there’s one strategy I find particularly effective: the art of the skillful scene/chapter break.

Character 1: “We have a lot to talk about.”

BREAK

Character 2: “Say WHAT?” (or other appropriate reaction)

Can you think of other situations where playing out information the reader already knows may be desirable? Do you have strategies for avoiding the for-Pete’s-sake-we-already-know-this reaction from your readers?

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Boundaries of Bashing

My perfectionism makes me a little critical. (For evidence, see my opinion on eBook formatting or my breakdown of e-reader apps.) This extends pretty much to all areas of my life.

In my day job, I spend a lot of time around ASL interpreters. I frequently find myself feeling conflicted. On one side, I’ve known some seriously awesome interpreters, and I know without a doubt I can’t do their job. In fact, I’ve had to in a pinch once or twice. One of those occasions sparked a near panic-attack. (There’s a reason interpreters usually work in pairs and switch off every 20-30 minutes. When I got to around 45 minutes, I went into vapor lock.)

On the other side, mistakes drive me nuts. Or worse, when I see a completely unqualified interpreter botching up everything. When I’m in a position where I’m signing and an interpreter is voicing for me, I pray to have earplugs. For one thing, it’s just hard to concentrate. For another, any little pause or minor misinterpretation convinces me my signing skills are really that terrible.

And I admit, sometimes after enduring something with a really poor interpreter, I have to vent a little to one of my colleagues.

Even then, I try to remind myself at all times that it’s an extremely difficult job—one I cannot do. I try to keep my venting to appropriate venues. When I’m in a position to help an interpreter improve, I do what I can. At the end of the day, I respect their effort, their training, and the difficulty of their job. And by and large, the interpreters I’ve dealt with fall into the Camp of Awesome.

What’s my point? Oh, look, here comes a writing connection!

It’s likewise easy from the writer’s side of things to criticize how others in the industry do their jobs. Gripe about agents’ long response times. Claim editors are out-of-touch. Rant about the stupidity of anyone and everyone in the publishing business.

There are certainly valid criticisms and discussions to be had on many publishing topics. When it crosses into agent/editor/publisher-bashing, I get a yucky feeling. It just ain’t pretty, and it’s definitely not professional.

Yes, I’m sure they make mistakes. I’m sure there are things they could (and maybe should) do better. Everyone on this planet has room to improve, even (especially) in our areas of expertise. But respect the job, respect the effort, respect the experience and training. Bashing is never the result of respect.

And for more on handling ourselves professionally, check out this post. Yeah, I’m even critical about responding to criticism.

Where do you draw that line between criticism/accountability and straight-up bashing?

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Wrenches! I Need More Wrenches!

Yeah, I know, everyone reads that as “wenches” the first time. I don’t write that kind of fantasy.

You ever get that feeling that you just aren’t making things rough enough for your characters? Like things are moving along a little too swimmingly and it’s time to throw another wrench in?

(I know, it’s called conflict. I find I do better if I approach writing in more figurative terms than analytical. I could analyze the crap out of my writing … and in doing so, I’d analyze the life out of it, too.)

This has been particularly on my mind lately since my current WIP is an expansion of a short story. The short has ended up being just a launching point, more or less, and I know where the general arc is going. But to get this to novel length, I realized I needed to pull several wrenches that were still sitting comfortably in the toolbox. More speed bumps and detours for my MC, all tying together to shape the final conflict. (Hopefully.)

I’ve also noticed I tend to opt for smaller wrenches when larger ones would be more interesting, powerful, motivating, etc. Why do I shy off from making things really hard on my characters? Maybe because a part of me always wants things to work out and be happy. (Hello, optimist!) Maybe because I get mad at certain writers for doing things like killing off certain characters. (She knows I’m glaring at her right now.)

But a writer’s gotta do what a writer’s gotta do.

At the same time, I don’t want to do things just to emotionally manipulate my readers. Annoyed as I am with that writer, I know she killed that character for a reason. There should always be a reason, even if it isn’t glaringly obvious on the surface.

So my goal on this current project is to go ahead and make things hard for my MC. Give her reason to doubt, reason to despair, reason to possibly make the wrong choice(s). Because hopefully doing so will make the resolution that much more satisfying when she finally gets there.

Do any of you have similar struggles with getting your characters to, well, struggle enough? Do any of you tend toward the opposite extreme from me, using a hefty torque wrench when a little half-inch crescent wrench would be more appropriate? (Does doing so result in a soap opera?) Any ideas about finding that balance between way-too-hunky-dory and letting Murphy’s Law become more fundamental than gravity?

Please, let me know. My MC is eyeballing the latest wrench in my hand, and I’m afraid she might try to wrestle me for it.

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Decisions, Decisions!

I’m starting a new novel, and I’m back at the old crossroads.

First or third person?

If first, present or past?

When I started Fingerprints, I actually wrote several pages in third person before it started screaming at me that it wasn’t working. Go back to the beginning, change it all to first person … ah, that’s better. It never occurred to me that present tense was an option. It was my first novel—what did I know?—and I’d hardly read any novels written in present tense up to that point.

Three manuscripts later, I began my Recently Finished New Novel. I’d learned a lot in-between, read a ton of current YA work, and felt like I almost had a coherent idea of what I was doing. The RFNN (uh-huh, that’s what I’m gonna refer to it as) is in third person. There was never any question about it, partly because I needed my MC to withhold quite a bit of information in the early parts of the story. I knew from first person, it would’ve been really obnoxious. Also, I briefly considered telling the story from several POVs, but never from my MC’s POV. I quickly decided I wasn’t that crazy brave, and I think it worked out pretty well. (We’ll see.)

Now, I’m about to embark on a Shiny New Novel (SNN … yeah). For the first time, I went through this active, conscious, stressful thought process. I could see pros and cons for doing it any of the three ways (third person, first past, or first present). For about ten minutes, it felt like choosing what college to go to: This decision will impact the rest of my life!

Well, okay, not quite. Making the “wrong” choice would just mean major rewriting once I decided it was, in fact, wrong. And depending on how long it took for me to make that decision, the rewriting could be a right pain.

Worse things have happened.

In this case, I started thinking about my MC. Her personality, what it would mean to be right up in her head, or have a little distance. Then I thought about the general plot as it’s formed so far (in my head)—what things might happen outside my MC’s presence, how to deliver those things if I’m in first person, etc. Settled on trying first person, then thought about whether the plot warrants the kind of immediacy I always associate with present tense. In combination with certain personality quirks of the MC, I think present might fit.

So my decision is to get in there and start drafting. If I get a page or a chapter (or five) in and realize it’s not flying … back to the drawing board.

That’s how we learn, right?

How do you guys make these types of decisions? How do you know whether the story will be best with one POV character, or two … or more? I’m still a newbie (in some ways), so I want all the learnin’ I can get.

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Character Curve-Balls

Veteran writers know all about it, but the first time it happened to me, I was floored. A character did something I didn’t expect. But wait! I’m the writer! How can something happen in my writing that’s not premeditated on my part?

Fact: Fictional characters are the truth behind Invasion of the Body-Snatchers.

They live in our subconscious, and once they’ve burrowed a nice cozy nook for themselves … they evolve. And once in a while, they kick down the door between subconscious and conscious, and start making demands.

Or they skip the demanding and just take over.

Sometimes they go a little too rogue and have to be reined back in. Often, though—at least in my experience so far—they make better decisions than I would if I knew I was making them. (If that makes sense…)

So I thought it’d be fun to categorize the various curve-balls my characters have thrown at me thus far.

1. The “Don’t Think You Know Me Better Than I Do” Curve-Ball This was the first I ran into. I was maybe a third of the way through the first draft of Fingerprints when a side character decided to be a snotty brat about a (planned) turn of events. Who knew she felt that way? Or that it’d end up being a critical development for the whole series?
2. The “Let’s Talk Technique” Curve-Ball This one happened after I’d added terms like “POV shift” and “head-hopping” to my functional vocabulary. I had great momentum going, writing the last quarter or so of the new project. Great hook at the end of a chapter (I think), went to a new page for the next chapter and … it immediately played out from 2nd-Most-Important-Character’s POV, not Ms. MC who’d been running the show (in tight third person) up to that point. I think there were good reasons for making the shift, and it ended up helping with a dilemma I was already worried about in an upcoming scene. We’ll wait for my critique partners to let me know whether I pulled it off.
3. The “You Think You’re Done With Me?—You’re Not Done With Me!” Curve-Ball Another fairly recent development. I thought the Crossing the Helix books were set as a solid trilogy. A couple ideas for short-story or novella length prequels, maybe, but that was it. Then Taz (who’s usually been much quieter than Raina—no deaf jokes, please) piped up with an idea for a fourth book, launching a new arc. So it’s on the list of possible projects.

Have you experienced these types of curve-balls, or others I haven’t mentioned? Did they lead you to the promised land … or down a certain path paved with good intentions?

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