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Extracurricular Activities for Zebras

I have a lot of respect for short story writers because I can’t do what they do.  I just don’t have a mind for it. Unless I’m given a specific prompt, as I was in my fiction workshops, I just can’t come up with good ideas.  And I’ve also read a lot of great short stories.  Amy Hempel is an amazing writer.  The story Brad Carrigan, American by George Saunders is absolutely fantastic, as is anything else by George Saunders.  David Foster Wallace has also produced some incredibly memorable work.  My point is, I think that I’m going to try to write a short story.  And I think I’m going to title it “Extracurricular Activities for Zebras.”  Don’t ask why, because it’s a long story.  It came out of a conversation with a friend of mine.  (I miss you, Adrian.)

All that said, I’m going to talk a little about Show Don’t Tell today, thanks to a kind comment that was left on my last post.

I always hated Show Don’t Tell because I didn’t understand what it meant.  Various people tried to explain it to me, and I still couldn’t wrap my head around the idea.  My mind just kept flashing back to preschool Show and Tell when I would put an arbitrary item on display for my class and tell them why it mattered.

I don’t remember when I finally figured out what Show Don’t Tell means, or how I figured it out.  I think I might have done it on my own, but there’s a good chance my best friend explained it to me in a way that I finally understood.  The reason I’m talking about this now, by the way, is because of my last post on romance.  It was essentially a really long way of saying “Show the romance, don’t tell it.”

It really is a hard thing to define.  Even now I’m having trouble putting it into words.  I suppose, if your narrator is saying things like, “Sally finally understood why she had to quit her job.  It had taken her a long time, but she had come to the conclusion that her job was killing her, and that she would truly be free to live her life if she quit” then that’s too much telling.  Showing Sally’s new understanding of her work situation is different.  It could be shown through dialogue, like:

Bossman: Sally, I need you to do a bunch of different things for me by five minutes ago, and also I think you’re inferior to me because you are a woman.

Sally: You know what, Bossman?  I quit.

And then you could follow it up with some emotion.  Not, “Sally felt so much better.  Everything seemed a little brighter.  She wished she’d quit years ago” because that’s still Telling.  But something like, “Sally smiled as she walked out of the office.  Several of her coworkers watched, mouths agape, as she strolled out of the building.  Some of them even looked envious.  Sally took a deep breath of fresh air, and yadda yadda…”  It’s not the best writing ever, but I hope I’ve illustrated the concept understandably anyway.

Word of the Day: Compunction (n) – a feeling of uneasiness or anxiety of the conscience caused by regret for doing wrong or causing pain; contrition; remorse.

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Make with the Wooing Already!

Today’s post is about romance.

There are so many elements to think about when creating a work of fiction that it’s not even funny.  But I want to focus on romance because it does come up a lot, and I think it’s one of the trickiest things to handle.  I’m having trouble putting my thoughts into words for this one, so bear with me.

Romance is an element in a lot of novels. Some people read books specifically to follow characters on their romantic journeys. Heck, there’s an entire genre dedicated to it.

Here’s the problem: Because romance is so prevalent in several genres of literature, it becomes very hard to bring something new to the topic.  In other words, it’s hard to make your characters’ love story unique.  Now, it helps that your story as a whole is unique. (If it isn’t, then see me after class)  With a unique story comes a unique romance.  But you still need to approach it carefully.

What you don’t want in your story is a muscled-up, ruggedly handsome, personality-less man falling in love with a gorgeous, buxom, personality-less woman whose hair always seems to be blowing in the wind.  Then you get this:

The problem with the above scenario is that they are in love for superficial reasons.  This is, of course, an extreme example.  But my point is that the love should never come from you, the author, telling the reader that these two characters are in love.  No, the love should come directly from the characters.  I hope that makes sense.  Remember how I mentioned following your gut?  If your gut is telling you that this relationship you’ve created isn’t working, then it probably isn’t.

You can’t fix the above problem by fabricating reasons for the two characters to be in love, though.  It’s not as simple as going back through the book and inserting some random things that they have in common.  Then, at the end of the book, it’ll kind of seem like your characters are going through a checklist of things that represent their love.  Like this:

What I’m saying is, it’s not enough that they have some stuff in common.  And it’s definitely not enough that he’s saved her life.  Then you have the whole knight-in-shining-armor scenario where the princess falls in love with her savior because she’s pretty much obligated to.

So what does that leave us with?  Well, my advice is that you develop each character’s personality separately.  I think a lot of the time, the problem stems from that whole “Romance is expected” thing I mentioned earlier. You have this well-developed main character who needs a significant other, so you create that extra character for the sole purpose of having your main character fall in love with him/her.  Instead of doing that, remember to develop your love interest’s character beyond the romance.  Give them a back story and a purpose in the plot besides needing rescuing and/or being hot.

I hope that helps.  I might expand on it later, if I feel like it.

Word of the Day: Amorous (adj) – Inclined or disposed to love, especially sexual love.

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They Say

First, an update.  My mother pointed out a continuity error in Chapter 1 of Grotesque that has now been fixed.  What’s great is it actually reinforces an earlier point that I’ve made.

In Fantasy, you make up your own rules, and are at liberty to change them.  The error I made was very small – the fireplace in Serrafiel’s room is described as having no wood in it, but then later his master lights a fire in it, and suddenly there’s wood there.  This happened because I originally decided that magical fire would not need anything to burn.  But as I got farther in the book, those rules no longer worked.  For reasons that I don’t care to go into, it became necessary for magical fire to need wood.  So I went back and changed it so that the fireplace in Serrafiel’s room contained wood.  What I did not realize was that I’d mentioned the lack of wood in two places, but I only changed it once.

Moving on…I mentioned that I was going to talk about this in my last post, and I will stay true to my word.

They say, “Write what you know.”  Well, I don’t know who “they” are, but if I ever meet them, I’m going to punch them right in their collective smugness, which I’m now convinced is a punchable organ.  I shall explain why.

Here is a list of things I know:

–          My name

–          Sarcasm

–          How to talk (usually without stopping)

–          Psychology, via courses in high school and college

–          Horses (How to ride them, and some random facts)

–          English, some Japanese, some Spanish

–          Judaism

–          Literary analysis

–          What it is like to be cis-female/Things associated with being cis-female

–          Video games

–          The capital of California

–          How to drive

–          Baseball

–          The lyrics to Fireflies by Owl City

–          Cooking/baking

–          The names of all the kids from Ms. Frizzle’s class in The Magic School Bus. (Dorothy Ann, Phoebe, Wanda, Keesha, Arnold, Carlos, Ralphie, Tim)

–          I love chocolate

–          I hate broccoli

–          Grammar (Usually)

–          How to make lists of things

–          How to type

–          How to navigate an airport

–          Which fork is for the salad

–          How to stop a list

It could go on.  I promise you that I know many other things.  But long as that list is, it is infinitesimal in comparison to the list of things I don’t know.  Here is a brief sample of the things I don’t know:

–          What it’s like to have magical powers

–          What chocolate-covered crickets taste like

–          What it is like to be cis-male

–          The capital of Wyoming

–          Where I’ll be in twenty years (and the future in general)

–          What I ate for breakfast on March 19th, 1994

–          How to shoot a gun (What a relief, right?)

–          French, German, Arabic, Swahili, Welsh, Sanskrit (among others)

–          What kind of tea George Washington preferred to drink

–          The exact number of stars in the sky

–          The lyrics to Last Friday Night by Katy Perry (although I’m pretty sure the phrase “Last Friday night” makes it in there somewhere)

–          What causes laughter (Looking for a more scientific answer than “Jokes.”)

–          Why people major in Philosophy

–          What it’s like to be a chinchilla

–          What it’s like to be in love

–          How to build a windmill

–          How to pilot an aircraft

–          How old Leonardo da Vinci was when he died

–          The names of all the elements in the Periodic Table (Oxygen, Carbon, Hydrogen, and Iron are in there somewhere)

–          All the species of butterfly that exist in the world

–          Your grandmother’s maiden name

You might have noticed that in the first list, I didn’t mention writing as something I know.  That’s because this blog, and specifically this post, is all about how to “know” writing, so I figured I’d leave it out.

You might also recall that there is another common expression that contradicts the “Write what you know” mantra.  Ever heard someone say, “You could fill a book with what that guy doesn’t know”?  That bears some thinking on, doesn’t it?

My point in listing all of these things is that you can’t possibly limit yourself to writing “what you know.”  I think it’s insulting to even suggest that you should.  The whole point of creative writing is that you get to write about stuff you don’t know, oftentimes stuff you could never know – like what it feels like to break a man’s spine with your mind.  To say that you should stick to what you know is saying that you’re not good enough at being creative to write convincingly about something you don’t know.

That said, it is important to remember that what you know can be very useful, like a supplement to your writing that makes it awesome.  Take emotions for an example.  If your main character is a fairy princess who just saw her entire kingdom fall into ruin, chances are, you’re not writing from experience.  But here’s something you might have experienced – sadness.  Or desperation.  Grief.  You can use those things, find those feelings, and insert them into your writing.  Without the emotion, it’s just description, and you can do that easily enough.  You don’t have to have seen a fairy kingdom falling into ruin to be able to call up an image of it in your head, and then write down a description of that image.  It’s the emotion, the feeling, that makes that image meaningful.  That’s what I think of when I hear someone say “write what you know.”

And yes, if you read through my books, you’d see that I have inserted a lot of myself into them. I do that because it’s fun, and because it does help guide my writing if I have little things like that thrown in there that I have some personal connection to.  So that’s what I’ve got to say about that.

Word of the Day: Platitude (n) – a flat, dull, or trite remark, especially one uttered as if fresh or profound.

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