writing

You Think You Know Me?

No, I’m not talking about you knowing me. The title above is a question asked by our characters. But I also don’t exactly mean knowing our characters on an individual level—their likes and dislikes, personality quirks, deeper values, etc. (Incidentally, though, From the Write Angle recently had a couple of great posts on that. Here’s one. And here’s the other.)

My question is related, yet different. A more global perspective—more demographic, maybe—where knowing our characters and knowing our audience overlap.

When you write about teenagers, and teenagers are your target audience, this is kind of important.

Everyone knows generalizations are ridiculous. You can’t say, “All teenagers are like this.” You can’t even say ‘most’ are. The opposite, though—where you’re pretty sure no teenager would say or do something, or act a particular way—that can happen. When teens read the story, they don’t have to think, “Every character’s just like me,” but they should identify the characters as real … like some teenagers somewhere.

How do you make that happen?

I consider myself lucky. I’m surrounded by the target audience throughout the workweek. A pretty good cross-section of personalities and backgrounds, too. That definitely helps. Not a possibility for everyone, though. And not a necessity.

What are the other options? Believe what TV and movies would have us believe about teenagers?

I grew up with the running joke of actors pushing (and pulling) thirty playing teenagers on 90210. So, um, no.

Better option for those who don’t have a lot of teens in their everyday lives (or even those who do): READ.

Unlike when I was a teen, there are a ton of great YA books out there. Even better is the wide variety of character types you can find. They’re not all perfect—some Mary-Sues, some clichés and stereotypes—but if you look carefully and read (a LOT), you can get a feel for the modern teen character.

Personally, I can’t imagine trying to write a YA novel without reading stacks of them first.

And if you can find some brutally honest teens willing to beta-read for you and call you out when the adult-writer is overpowering the teen-character … so much the better.

Any other ideas about getting that reader-character synergy? Experiences where you got it right on … or way wrong?

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Identity Crisis

Like most writers (aspiring as well as published), I have a day job. I don’t know how many other writers love their day jobs, but I do. I get to hang out with very cool kids, talk about random things, and get them to think differently about mathematics. And I have a built-in test audience for my writing. What’s not to love? (Uh, paperwork? School politics? Never mind.)

At the same time, this occasionally leads me into a minor identity crisis. No one really expects a math teacher to be a writer … or at least not to be any good at it. That’s fine, I like turning norms on their heads. But while they do overlap, there are parts of me that are distinctly either math-teacher or YA-writer.

Then the kicker—time allocation. Is the way I taught combinations and permutations last year good enough, or should I spend a weekend revamping the lesson? Revamping means giving up writing/editing time. Where are those 28-hour days we’ve all been wishing for? No, I won’t kid myself. If days got longer, I’d still find ways to overfill them.

I think I’ve pinned down part of the reason I feel guilty when I settle for “good enough” on lessons. The math-teacher front is where I know I have talent. I’m not perfect, I could definitely improve, but I have solid evidence that I’m pretty darn good at it. With writing, I have some supporters, cheerleading in my corner, and I do trust their opinion. So far, though, I have to take it on faith that they’re right.

Of course, the silver lining is in sight. My math-teacher side has mandated down-time known as summer vacation. As I did last year, this will be a time when I let Writer-R.C. dominate. Maybe crank out a short story or two, edit the new ms, dive back into the querying trenches … and hopefully come that much closer to convincing myself the time is worth it.

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Accomplishment vs Prestige

Some … interesting conversations I’ve observed lately had me thinking about the distinction between the two ideas named in this post title. The whole writing/publishing world is changing, with more options readily available than ever before. And naturally, people are making value judgments.

Person A: [This, that, or the other non-traditional route] isn’t real publishing.

Person B: Why are you tearing down other people’s success?

Person A: You’re deluding yourself.

Person B: You’re a jerk.

Mud-slinging and childish behavior ensue. Any chance for rational discussion of pros and cons is lost.

Aside from personality flaws I’m not qualified to diagnose, it seems part of the problem arises when one or both parties fail to differentiate between accomplishment and prestige. So I’ll stick my neck out and discuss it.

All of the following are accomplishments that warrant unequivocal pride and satisfaction:

• completing a novel
• writing a query letter that garners requests
• securing an agent
• landing a publishing contract with a big-name publisher
• landing a publishing contract with a mid-sized publisher
• landing a publishing contract with a small/niche publisher or micro-press
• learning the formatting gymnastics required for self- and/or e-publishing
• releasing a book through self- and/or e-publishing
• selling books
• finally telling your family you’re a writer, and surviving the laughter

But the fact is, some of these accomplishments are more prestigious than others, and measuring “success” is complicated. I have a friend who’s well into six-figures with advances (Big 6 publishers) and foreign rights sales with her debut novel, and it’s not even released until this fall. I have other friends who’ve been published by start-up indie publishers founded by fellow writers, and some are doing quite well. Still other friends have gone entirely the DIY route, and a few of those are also doing impressively.

If I say that first friend with the Big 6 contracts is more successful than the others, does that mean I’m disparaging the others’ accomplishments? Not at all. I’m saying she’s reached a higher level of prestige. We can’t all be Olympic gold-medalists. Even if some of us eventually get the same level of success as my friend, we won’t necessarily take the same route. And that’s okay.

(Incidentally, all of my aforementioned friends have accomplished more than I have in those respects. I’m still working on it.)

Part of the problem is likely the implication that novels that are self-published or released by a small start-up aren’t “good enough” for the big-time. Is that true?

Let’s be honest—sometimes it is.

There are other possible reasons, though. Not hitting the right timing with trends. A topic/genre that’s more niche than mainstream. Or an author that wants to keep complete control over their product, for whatever reason, so they never even try the traditional route.

I’m in no position to say which category any given book falls into. But my advice to all is to acknowledge that there’s always going to be someone “better” and more successful. Compete against yourself. Choose a route, set a bar for yourself, and focus on surpassing it. Next time around, get a bigger contract, or a higher percentage of positive reviews, more downloads at a specific price point, or whatever makes sense to your situation.

Not everyone can be at the top of the prestige tower … but everyone can move higher bit by bit. Be realistic about where you are. You’re not as high as someone else—the latest Big-6 bestseller or whatever. You don’t need to pretend you are. Take what you’ve accomplished, own it, and enjoy it. Then get back to work.

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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.”

 

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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.

  

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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.

  

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