Tag Archives: reading

Strong Concepts

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the term “strong concept.” It is at once easily definable and as inscrutable as Big Foot’s daily schedule. What makes an idea a strong concept? I hope everyone will agree with me when I say: Every strong concept is an idea; not every idea is a strong concept.

Lately, due to developments that I can’t talk about yet (but OH BOY get ready!), I have been mentally poring through my seemingly unending list of book ideas and trying to figure out which ones can actually be made into a solid story with a beginning, a middle, and even an end.

Something I’ve come to understand is that I often have ideas for scenes that really rock my socks, but just because I have a good scene in mind does not mean that there is a world outside of that moment. It doesn’t mean the characters in the scene are three-dimensional. One good scene certainly can’t carry an entire book. (Unless, I guess, that book was written by Stephenie Meyer. Even then, if I had been given the chance to edit Twilight, it would have turned out differently.)

For example, I have this one scene in my head. A woman walks into a PI’s office and enlists his help to find the man who is going to kill her… at some point in the future.

The backstory for the scene is in my head, too, so I guess it’s really two scenes. See, the woman has a very specific psychic ability–the first time (and only the first time) she touches someone, she gets a brief glimpse into that person’s future. She can’t control what she sees, how long the vision is, or even how far into the future she sees (could be a day, a year, ten years, or any other length of time). One day, she bumps into someone at a coffee shop and the glimpse she gets of his future is terrifying because she sees herself from his perspective as he’s about to stab her. By the time she recovers from this vision, the guy is long gone, and she only has a vague idea of what he looks like. Even worse, she can’t help but shake the feeling that he’d orchestrated that contact, like he’d known exactly what would happen to her and exactly what she’d see. Hence, hiring a PI to help her find him before he finds her.

But… then what? Who is this woman? Who is the PI? Do I even know how PIs work? I mean… I watched Jessica Jones and read The Dresden Files as well as Nora Roberts’ Hidden Star. So… no. No, I don’t know how PIs work. Do I know how to write a competent mystery? I mean… Hellbound has one. But I can’t say I went about constructing that particular mystery in a structured and logical way. Plus, the building blocks of that one were relatively simple. A mystery for adults? One that has to carry an entire novel and involves psychic phenomena? That might be out of my wheelhouse.

Is this a Strong Concept? Hmm… no. I don’t think so. Could it be? Okay, yes. It certainly could be. With some real work put into the setting, the characters (including the villain!), and the plot, I think it could transform into a Strong Concept. But right now, it’s an idea. And I’m not sure it’s an idea that merits the work it would take to make it into a Strong Concept.

Here are some questions I ask myself when I’m trying to determine if I have an Idea or a Good Idea:

  • Why do I want to tell this story? Is there a message the events and characters I’m toying around with will send? Is there something that a stranger could gain from reading about these people and events? Some sort of anchor in the real world and the Human Condition? Along similar lines…
  • Whom am I telling this story for? (It’s tempting to write an entire book just for myself that speaks to my own needs and grievances and hopes and dreams. But my biggest goal is to write for an audience, so if I find myself saying, “I want to write this for me”, I shelve the idea.)
  • What are the characters’ personalities like? Are they more than just cardboard cutouts that I’m moving around from scene to scene?
  • Can I write this book? Do I have enough knowledge and experience to make this story believable? Or will I come off as ignorant and incompetent as I attempt to play in a space I’m completely unfamiliar with?

Feel free to weigh in. What makes an idea a Strong Concept? And what makes you hit Pause and go back to the drawing board?

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I Don’t Want Your Protagonist to Be Me

Have you ever put a book down without finishing it because you find the main character(s) insufferable? I found myself doing that with an enemies-to-lovers romance I picked up the other day, and I had to ponder for a while why I had found it so intolerable. The book switched between the two love interests for narration, starting with the female lead. (I’m not going to name the book or author in this post because there’s no need to trash an indie author, y’know? She self-published. Good for her.)

The female lead spent the first two chapters complaining about literally everything in her life. Her car. Her job. Her own inability to arrive anywhere on time. Her coworkers. Her customers. The new owner of the restaurant she works at (who happens to be her love interest). She’s just this fountain of negativity from page one.

But the thing is… she’s just like me. Cynical. Sarcastic. Negative. Grumpy. Prone to complaints.

Mini Bex looking angry and saying "I'm not being cynical! I'm being right!"
I’m at the airport so I have to illustrate my blog however I can.

So why don’t I like this character? She’s just like me, so I should be able to see myself in her and relate to her, right? I’ve even had some pretty terrible experiences as a server, so this should be right up my alley.

This truly baffled me even as I put the book down, knowing I’d never pick it up again. But after a long discussion with my loving husband, I managed to weed out the truth.

I don’t want your book’s protagonist to be me. I don’t want the book to be a mirror. I don’t want to feel interchangeable with the protagonist.

I want to be friends with your protagonist.

That’s the difference. It seems like not much would change. After all, many of my friends are cynical and sarcastic, too. But if I meet someone for the first time and they spend the entire time they’re around me complaining until their lips turn blue? Yeah, I probably won’t end up inviting them to grab coffee later. I don’t even complain until my lips turn blue on first meeting someone, and I’m a champion complainer. I have the awards to prove it.

A drawing of a blue ribbon, a trophy, and a medal, all dedicated to being good at complaining.

Although, the trophy could be shinier. And the blue ribbon is made out of really cheap material. Come to think of it, the awards ceremonies always go on too long. I wish they’d cut out one of the speeches. Just one. Is that too much to ask??

The fact of the matter is, it seems (emphasis on seems; I’ll never know for sure if this is true) the author of this book had some personal feelings to vent RE: working in a service industry. Those problems and complaints might be universal, but it all has to do with presentation. Many forms of media are sought out for their ability to provide some kind of catharsis. But when you’re writing fiction based in any way on your own negative experiences, you have to ask yourself: Who is this cathartic for? Me or my thousands of potential readers?

If the answer is just you, maybe some ideas need more workshopping. You have likely had negative experiences that are relatable to the masses–air travel gone wrong, serving a demanding customer at a store, Thanksgiving dinner–but just having your character lament being in one of those situations over the course of many pages does not automatically make them relatable. (And yes, at this point I have become aware of the irony going on here. I am spending this entire blog post complaining.)

I will reiterate: Your protagonist should not be a reader-surrogate. Rather, they should be someone the reader wants to be friends with. After all, what is the reader doing if not hanging out with your character(s) for dozens of pages?

The exception that proves the rule is, of course, Catcher in the Rye. (American Psycho was too obvious to use in this case. Plus, who am I to judge if you like Patrick Bateman’s style?)

I want to talk about the concept of “saving the cat,” and how all this relates to some edits I need to make to one of my own books, but I’ve already gone on too long.

Next time!

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Why Clarisse Can’t Be Ugly (But She Can’t Be Pretty Either)

This may come as a shock to some of you, but I am a huge Percy Jackson fan. There, I said it. It’s okay if this changes how you think about me. I know not a lot of people like Percy Jackson.

(For an example of verbal irony, please see above)

This post will be 1% my thoughts on the new Percy Jackson series on Disney+ and 99% my thoughts on the character of Clarisse. SPOILER ALERT-ISH for Percy Jackson and the Olympians.

My thoughts on the new Disney+ series: Yep. It’s pretty good. I like how it follows the book accurately and didn’t portray Hades as LITERAL SATAN unlike some MOVIE ADAPTATIONS I WILL NOT NAME.

A fiery demon with horns and wings from the 2010 Percy Jackson movie.
“Mwahahahaha! It is I! Hades! See you in Hell, Percy Jackson!”
Photo courtesy of me screenshotting it from my Disney+ subscription

So Clarisse. For those who don’t know, Clarisse is a minor antagonist who pulls a Zuko by the end of the Percy Jackson series and becomes one of the good guys. In the first novel, The Lightnight Thief, Clarisse is described thusly:

The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALFBLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on me and gave me an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

The Lightning Thief (2005)

She is subsequently described a few pages later as “[t]he big girl from the ugly red cabin.” Later still, “[h]er ugly pig eyes [glare] through the slits of her helmet.” Suffice it to say, Clarisse in the book is fat and ugly, and it’s heavily implied that part of the reason she’s ugly is because she’s fat.

Clarisse in the new streaming show is…

A head shot of a young attractive woman with long, curly brown hair.
Photo Courtesy of IMDb

Stunning? Is that okay to say? Her name is Dior Goodjohn, and–setting aside whatever else I say in this post–she does an excellent job as Clarisse.

But what gives? Why isn’t she ugly? Why isn’t she overweight?

Well, Clarisse can’t be ugly of course. See, when Rick Riordan originally wrote this book in the early 2000s, it was okay to equate ugliness with fatness and it was okay to equate a woman’s (or girl’s) attractiveness level with how good of a person she was. In fact, later in the series, Clarisse has a major crush and the characters are all like “Wahhh? But she’s ugly! How can she want to seek out a romantic relationship??” In The Lightning Thief specifically, Clarisse was ugly because she was a bad person, and she was a bad person because she was ugly. Remember, Scrubs, a hugely popular television show, was using its runtime to regularly make hugely transphobic and homophobic jokes. The early aughts were rife with this kind of humor and misguided symbolism.

So Clarisse can’t be fat and ugly in this new show because we’ve finally come to understand that a woman should not be judged by her looks and it’s not okay to shame someone for their appearance.

Except… what are you saying, Disney? Are you telling me you refuse to have a young woman who is overweight and/or unattractive on your new show?

Yeah, that’s exactly what they’re saying. Not just Disney, but the entertainment industry in general, has a problem with casting people who look anything other than gorgeous by society’s standards. It’s the She’s All That problem all over again (and again and again). People don’t go to movies (or stream TV shows) to see ordinary people. Psht. Gross. So therefore only beautiful people may be cast as the ugly people.

Rachael Leigh Cook with her hair tied up and wearing glasses from the movie She's All That
Ahhh! Eek! Hideous! (more verbal irony)
Photo from Business Insider

And if there is a plus-size character, the movie will let you know that this is your one (1) plus-size character whose character development will likely be dependent on one or more of the following: food and the consumption thereof, finding a plus-size character (usually of the opposite sex because of heteronormativity) to fall in love with, being judged for being plus-size, overcoming their own negative self-image that has arisen from being plus-size.

For examples, see Netflix’s Fate: The Winx Saga and the randomly-big-in-current-critique-media (at time of writing) Sleepover starring Kallie Flynn Childress as Yancy, the fat one.

In conclusion: Clarisse in this streaming series could not be ugly (or fat). And she could not be beautiful. The former insinuates that people who aren’t “beautiful” (whatever that entails) are automatically bad people. The latter rejects the possibility of showing a non-beautiful person (whatever that entails) on screen in entertainment media.

It’s a no-win situation.

But yeah, I like the show. I’ll continue to watch when the next season drops.

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Filed under books, Humor, television