We Are What We Read

Blog readers have asked me several times about publication possibilities for teens, and yesterday I spent a few hours with HarperCollins people who told me about an interesting opportunity. Some of you may know about it already, but for those who don’t, it’s Inkpop (inkpop.com), where you can post your writing for peer review (review by other Inkpoppers). The five highest ranked pieces are looked at by HarperCollins editors, and publication is possible. I just visited the site, and there’s also a contest that looks promising. If you try the site, please let me know how it goes. And good luck!

Also, the HarperCollins folks confirmed what I’ve said and others on the blog have said, particularly April, that editors don’t care how old you are if your writing shines.

I’ve muddied the waters about foreshadowing, which seems to be a broader term than I thought. Dictionary.com defines foreshadow as “to show or indicate beforehand; prefigure” – totally nonspecific. I googled the word and was forced to conclude that any sort of hint to the reader regarding future events is foreshadowing. A hint could be in the setting, like, of course, a haunted house. Or in dialogue. I got this from Wikipedia: “In Romeo and Juliet, both main characters state early on that they would rather defy their families and be in love than live apart.” Apparently that’s an example of foreshadowing.

Wikipedia also includes omens and prophesies as forms of foreshadowing. It refers to the classic instance of the Greek myth of Oedipus, whose father is told by the Delphic oracle that his son will kill him. We read the myth never doubting that the oracle will be proven right no matter what Laius (the father) does to save himself. I don’t think foreknowledge spoils the story, and Laius’s demise comes in the middle not the end. After that we’re waiting for Oedipus to discover his crime, committed casually, in ignorance, because the oracle didn’t speak to him. The inevitability of the tragedy adds to its weight.

Foreshadowing in this broader definition is quite inclusive, and I’m getting confused. I suppose one could call character development foreshadowing. As we readers get to know a character the field of possible actions for him narrows. For example, we learn that Jim never lies. When a situation arises where lying would spare him a ton of trouble, we worry. We’ve been warned. Does the author think, I’m foreshadowing, when she establishes Jim’s personality? Darned if I know.

Here’s a funny article about foreshadowing: http://www.theonion.com/articles/now-that-ive-learned-about-foreshadowing-im-going,11392/. It covers all the bases and shows how hackneyed foreshadowing can be when handled clumsily or as it’s been used a billion times before by other writers.

On Wikipedia I came across Chekhov’s gun as an example of foreshadowing, and I’d never thought of it this way before. Paraphrasing, the idea is that if a gun is shown in the first act of a play, it has to go off in the last act. When the audience sees that gun, it’s put on notice.

I’d always thought the meaning of Chekhov’s gun had to do with economy not foreshadowing, with not cluttering up a story. If we put a gun in we have to do something with it or we wasted words. On the other hand, clutter can misdirect a reader delightfully. And what if the gun is part of a weapon’s display? Or a key to a character rather than to the story’s crisis?

Storytelling is complicated. My husband and I watch a TV mystery series called Bones. One of the characters is pregnant, and in the show both she and her husband have a recessive gene that causes blindness, so there’s a fifty-fifty chance that the baby will be blind. The latest episode we watched involved a deaf-mute girl, and I’ve been wondering if this is foreshadowing that means the baby will be blind, or if the viewer is just meant to fret more. I’m fine either way. If it’s foreshadowing it’s subtle–

Which I recommend. It’s the heavy-handed kind I described in the last post that I’m not fond of, except in the instances I mentioned.

Now for this week’s question. On March 3, 2011, Elizabeth wrote, At some point would you be able to address the question of “Why do we read” and the (very hard) issue of balancing your reading with both fiction and non-fiction?

I asked for clarification and Elizabeth wrote, Last semester my husband taught a literature course, and he opened the semester with the question, “Why do we read?”

There is no one right answer, and it can be summed up that we read to expand our intellect and imagination. Which leads to the next question I asked about: Limiting yourself (the reader) to only one type of material.

The problem of reading only fantasy books for whatever reason: because you’re escaping from trouble at home or school, because you think you’re a vampire, or even because you’re afraid of learning something new.

I know that young people do this a lot and I’m finding as I get older that it’s not something that’s solved just by passing your 21st (and I don’t anticipate 30 to be magical either) birthday. I ask, Ms. Levine, because I hope that you can help encourage me (there I said it) and others like me, to be better.
Oy! I am not a reading paragon, and I’m not much of a reader at all these days. As a young person I was much better. One summer in high school I decided to read Russian novels, and I did. I decided to try Faulkner and loved the book I picked.

In those days I zoomed through books. I would have sworn off eating before I’d have sworn off reading, if I’d been forced to give up either one. And I used to fantasize about having to make that kind of choice!

Nowadays I read like a writer, which means I edit as I read. If I find myself editing a sentence in every paragraph, I abandon the book because there’s no pleasure in it. I just read Victory, a middle-grade historical fiction novel by Susan Cooper. The writing is lovely, so I was able to lose myself in it. Before that I tried a mystery but the author used the word slightly so often I gave up. Each slightly grated on me more than the one before. Why couldn’t the author commit the characters completely to an action?

I have nothing against pleasure reading and escape reading. I’ve mentioned before that I adore Terry Pratchett. When I’m reading one of his books I’m wallowing in delight. I haven’t zipped through his entire body of work only because I’m not reading much.

Every summer I teach the writing-for-children workshop at a conference in Pennsylvania, and there’s always a reading list that gets me out of my comfort zone. I read two novels for adults and a middle-grade nonfiction book that I never would have come across otherwise and that I loved. The novels were The Madonnas of Leningrad by Debra Dean and You’re Not You by Michelle Wildgen. The nonfiction was Shipwrecked at the Bottom of the World by Jennifer Armstrong. I’ve struggled through several other books on the lists, too. I even attempted to read a nonfiction tome about chaos theory that was a mile or more above my math skills. I gave up when the only words I understood were the articles and prepositions! Still, the effort expended on all these books was worthwhile; I strengthened my reading muscles, and I believe my writing muscles benefited too.

If you’re still in school, books are being assigned to you. I think this is good even when it feels bad. If you’re out of school, ask a librarian or bookseller for suggestions. Tell him you want to explore new reading worlds – mysteries, historical fiction, sci fi, literary fiction, history, economics, memoir, science. Maybe you write only fantasy and that’s all you ever want to write, but it’s probably best to read other genres. Sticking to yours may narrow your concept of what’s possible and may make you too imitative. I’ll avoid reading a novel based on a fairy tale I might want to use someday because the other writer’s take would lodge in my mind. A contemporary fiction book, on the other hand, may give me a great, utterly original fantasy idea.

I hesitate to say this, but if you’re glued to a single genre you may be reading junk sometimes. The story may be exciting but the writing uninspired. And you may become inured to this kind of prose; you may lose or never gain the ability to tell the mediocre from the magnificent. Sorry! However, if you push yourself, you’re likely to encounter writing that will stun you with its beauty, elegance, risk-taking, surprise. Think about style as you read. Consider what’s a good sentence and what’s less pleasing. The effort will show in your own work. Anyway, that’s what I believe.

Not that you should try to write like Fitzgerald or anybody else. Or torment yourself because your sentences aren’t as shapely as, say, Gregory McDonald’s. Let the process be unconscious. Let the language seep into you, slosh around in your gray matter, and descend, slowly, slowly, into your writing fingers.

Prompts:

∙ Consider yourself. Write a list of your qualities, physical, emotional, intellectual. Don’t be hard on yourself, just objective so that the next step will work. Now design a character who is your opposite. Changing gender is optional, but if you have a strong chin, give your character a weak one. If you are calm, make her excitable. Think about a challenge one of your friends is facing right now. If it’s not a difficult challenge, make it harder and throw your opposite into dealing with it. Write a story about what happens. You can always move the problem into the realm of fantasy. If your friend, for example, has a difficult stepfather, you can turn him into an evil magician guardian.

∙ If you never have, read a book by Mark Twain, one of my absolute favorite writers. If you’re in high school and above, read a novel by Anne Tyler, another of my faves. Ask your librarian to recommend a book that he thinks is beautifully written. Read it.

∙ This is, I believe, an impossible prompt, so the idea is to push against the impossible. Write a story about a child (any age) who is lost in a city, fantasy or real, past or present. Attempt to write about him without doing any sort of foreshadowing. Try to make the reader surprised at every turn.

Have fun, and save what you write!

Futurology

Before I start, I’ve been worrying about this: If you’ve asked me a question on the blog and I’ve said that I put it on my list but I never seem to get to it, please remind me. I work on three computers and my fear is that I may fail to transfer a question to all the computers and then it may get overwritten. If this has happened to you, sorry!

On March 5, 2011, Piper wrote, …I was wondering if you could write a post on how to write beginnings… I rewrite mine about a thousand times...

Piper, when I promised you a post, I forgot that I’d already written one on the subject. My post of November 3, 2010, is all about beginnings, and two chapters of Writing Magic are devoted to the subject. I suggest you look in both places. Then, if you have more specific questions, please post them.

However, I do want to respond to the rewriting part of your question. A thousand times is too many! A hundred times is too many. If you keep revising before going on to the rest of your story, you may be making extra work for yourself. You may not know what the beginning needs to be until you reach the end. If you do finish and go back and find yourself polishing and polishing and never feeling satisfied, put your story aside for a month – or a week, if you can’t bear to wait a month – and then see what you think. You may discover that your beginning works just fine.

Moving along to the next question, on March 6, 2011, Kitty wrote, ...I was wondering if you had any advice on foreshadowing? I feel like the slight hints that I drop are too obvious or so slight that no one picks up on them, but I’m not sure how to make them less obvious.

My beloved writing teacher, who taught a workshop that I took again and again, disliked foreshadowing, so I eschew it. If Bunny (my teacher) was against it, so was I.

However, to answer the question, I have to consider and reconsider.

First of all, as usual, if you can make foreshadowing work, go for it.

Second, many great books, especially old books, classics even, use foreshadowing. You might see something like, Dear Reader, if I had known in 1842 what I now know in 1862, I never would have entered the Tea Emporium on that fateful July day.
If you’re writing an old-fashioned story in an old-timey voice, foreshadowing may be perfect.

And foreshadowing can be funny if you want to be funny. Take the example above: Dear Reader, if I had known in 1842 what I now know in 1862, I never would have entered the Tea Emporium on that fateful July day. You can add: I would have been spared many sleepless nights and a right earlobe the size of a grapefruit. Sprinkle silly foreshadowing in at regular intervals and the reader will be looking for it and laughing in advance.

Where the problem comes in is when we foreshadow to prop up a dull part of our story. It’s tempting. Things are going slow right now, but I’m letting you know that the action is going to pick up. The main character is eating a PBJ sandwich. Ordinary, right? We don’t want the reader to get bored so we tell her that there will be dire consequences later. However, we want to keep the story interesting in the present moment, not through foreshadowing but through the ordinary devices of good storytelling: characters the reader cares about, tension between characters, a difficult goal, a terrible situation.

Also, foreshadowing takes the reader out of the immediate moment and makes her aware of the narrator. If the book is told by a first-person main character, foreshadowing reminds the reader that the narrator isn’t participating in events as they unfold but looking back on them. Sometimes this is okay, but sometimes the foreshadowing is an interruption.

There are many ways of suggesting future trouble without foreshadowing. In both Ella Enchanted and Fairest, gnomes can see into the future, although dimly, and in both books they prophesy for the main character. The prophesies make the reader worry about the future without interrupting the action. Dreams, too, can augur ill. If I remember right, dreams are used effectively in Gone With the Wind. It’s a bad sign when Scarlet O’Hara dreams of a child.

However, you don’t need portents or dreams to worry the reader. The most mundane events can do it. For example, Ron Banks-Butler is talking to Hallie Butler, his older cousin, who’s two grades ahead of him in high school. Hallie asks him who he has for History. Here’s the dialogue:
    Ron says, “Mr. Twillet. Is he good?”
    “Good? Twillet doesn’t know what good means, and he has it in for kids with two last names.”
    “What does he do to them?”
    “Ron, you don’t want to know. It will just give you nightmares.”

Uh oh.

Or Clara is boarding an airplane in winter. The pilot announces that they have to wait while the ground crew de-ices the wings. Finally the plane begins to taxi, but Clara sees out her window a slick patch on the wing. She’s sure it’s ice. When she points the patch out the patch to the flight attendant, he tells her everything is fine.

Uh oh.

If you are a devoted foreshadower and are having withdrawal symptoms even thinking about changing your method, stick with what you’re doing. But when you’ve finished your first draft, try deleting the foreshadowing as you revise. If the story is better with it, put it back in. Otherwise, leave it out.

Kitty, I’d stay away from the obvious hints and, if you’re going to foreshadow at all, be subtle. Trust your reader. She’ll catch more than you expect, and even if she misses your hint she’ll understand as events unfold.

Prompts!

∙ Ron is eating that PBJ sandwich. By the time he goes to bed at night a vampire will have sucked the life out of his great uncle who is right now asleep in the den. Without foreshadowing, convey to the reader that disaster lurks.

∙ Clara is on her way to school. It’s an ordinary day. She likes the school, has friends, has studied for her French quiz. Using a different method from the prompt above, show the reader that this will not be an ordinary day, but don’t foreshadow. After you’ve done that, find yet another way to suggest future problems.

∙ Write the first page of a story about a child who lives in a quiet house deep in the countryside. Use foreshadowing to achieve an old-fashioned voice.

∙ Hallie’s cousin has just died in a harrowing way. The death is the start of Hallie’s troubles. Use foreshadowing to make the tragedies funny. Pile dire prediction on dire prediction.

Have fun, and save what you write!

Time’s Up!

I’m happy happy happy to announce that A Tale of Two Castles is out! Released yesterday, and I’m now on tour. Thanks to all you blog readers for your support and eagerness to read the book! Thanks to those of you who weighed in on the title, and more thanks to April for the actual title. This is my nineteenth book, not counting my early, unpublished efforts, and it never ceases to be thrilling.

New on the website is another stop on my book tour, this one in New York City on May 28th. Hope to see a few of you there or at the other events on my tour.

Also, the absolute final cover of Forgive Me, I Meant to Do It, is posted on the website, and I think it’s a hoot. There’s no poem in the book to go with it; my editor said no, but I did write one. I don’t think I posted it on the blog before, so here it is, a blog exclusive:

This Is Just to Say

I have taken a chomp
out
of your precious boat
on its maiden voyage

which
you optimistically
hoped would take you
around the world

Forgive me
I need
more fiberglass
in my diet

End of poem. Please laugh.

On March 4, 2011, Kilmeny of the Ozarks wrote, A couple of posts back you mentioned how often you restart your book. Does that ever make it hard to meet deadlines? I’m having a problem somewhat like this. I’m a “planner” and have to know my plot outline, characters and setting before I start the first draft. And right now I’m taking a course on novel writing from the Institute of Children’s Literature. I’m on my fourth assignment, where I’m supposed to write the first third of my novel. The problem is, when I started to do the edits my instructor noted on my chapter outline–my entire plot changed. Completely. My main character moved out of the real world into the fantasy world and her quest changed, etc. So I had to rewrite that and redo my characters… and I’m still not done. My deadline is in mid April, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to meet it. I guess what I’m asking is: how can I work on this “pre-planning” (characters, setting, research) while also writing? Sorry, I know it’s confusing. Maybe I just need some organizational tips!
And Charlotte wrote, I agree with Kilmeny of the Ozarks–it would be great to see a post about writing with deadlines. Personally, I’ve been working on the same novel for a little over five years now, and I’ve changed and changed and changed the entire plot over and over. It gets me worried that I’ll never finish–and as I want to write books for a living, this is kind of problematic!
How long did Ella take to write? Did you do a lot of editing before sending it to publishers? How did you know when you were done?

I can write about only my own method, and right now it seems as if I work like someone blindfolded, wearing oven mittens, and trying to repair a watch! I don’t outline. Whenever I’ve tried I haven’t been able to stick with the plan. Research is somewhat different, but I don’t know how to pre-plan my characters and my setting except in the most rudimentary way. Everything shifts once I start. Even my research needs change. A Tale of Two Castles is set in a fantasy Middle Ages, so I read about daily life during the period, but when I needed to know about medieval banquets, I returned to the books. (I don’t want to pass the novel off as historically accurate. It’s not. When my plot was incompatible with the facts, the facts went out the window.)

As far as deadlines go, I try to make mine distant enough that I don’t have to stress over meeting them. This mystery novel that’s giving me so much trouble isn’t due until 2014. At this point I’m still pretty secure about making it.

For those who don’t know, if a writer misses a deadline with a book, the book gets rolled over to the publisher’s next list, the next season. My editor assures me this wouldn’t ever be a problem, but I suspect otherwise. Editors move to other publishing houses. Publishers change direction. It’s best to be on time if you can.

Revision deadlines are tighter, but I’m a revising warrior and I blast straight through. I’m known for meeting deadlines, which, I think, gives editors a nice comfort level.

BUT meeting a deadline comes second to making the story as good as you can make it, and often that can’t be rushed. Of course, some working writers don’t have the luxury of lengthy rewriting and repeated fresh starts if the deadline can’t be moved. Then they have to settle for the best they can do in a limited time. Kilmeny of the Ozarks, I missed your mid-April deadline, but for others who are taking courses or attending school, this is another situation where you may have to accept a result you’re not entirely satisfied with. You have to meet school deadlines or sacrifice a good grade, but you can continue with your revisions later if the project interests you.

Kilmeny of the Ozarks, I hope the instructor’s comments that caused all your changes were helpful, even exciting and you thought something like, Wow! If I do this, then I can do that, and it will work in this new way I never thought of before. When I make a u-turn in a manuscript, it’s usually because I’ve glimpsed a better way to go forward. I may not celebrate the hundred or two hundred or three hundred pages I have to rewrite, but probably I should. The understanding I come to, which seems obvious in hindsight, I couldn’t have reached without the blunders.

Every writer has a unique process. You may have to re-outline. Do it or you try a different way of working. I think it’s good advice when possible to just keep going when the story changes, advice that I often don’t have the self control to follow. A friend once told me one should continue even if the gender of the main character changes! I can’t, not when the underlying assumptions of a story shift. Otherwise I soldier on.

When rewriting against a deadline, when actually writing, not taking a shower or walking the dog, put the deadline out of your mind. It’s a distraction. You’re doing the work, which is hard enough without also worrying.

Writing speed varies from writer to writer. Some of us can bang out a novel in three months, some in five years. Ella Enchanted took me two years and I was working full-time at a non-writing job; Fairest took four years and I had quit my day job. Sometimes it depends on the book. Charlotte, you may spend seven years on this book and finish the next one in six months. I find that my struggle alternates: hard book (hard to write), easier, hard, easier. I suspect my subconscious is so exhausted by the difficult ones that it sends me a simpler project next.

On the other hand, maybe what your subconscious is sending up is fear, fear of finishing, fear of sending your work out, fear of rejection, fear of never having another good idea. All of these fears are unsurprising, whether you have them or other readers of the blog do. So maybe it’s time to stick with the latest plot, improve it as much as you can, and move on. Whatever happens to it ultimately, you’ve learned from the writing.

The worth of a book has nothing to do with how long it took to write. The reader doesn’t know if we spent a decade laboring over it or a fevered twenty-one days. He can’t tell if we revised a gross of times or if it went straight from our computers to the copy editor, who didn’t change even a comma.

I had a lot of help with Ella. I was taking a writing class and I belonged to a critique group, but that didn’t stop me from detouring two-hundred pages while my teacher and my critique buddies kept wondering out loud where I was going. When I got back on track I did revise a great deal. I always know I’m done when I find myself changing words and then changing them back.

Writing is weird and mysterious. We control the story and yet it feels like we have no control at all. And both are true.

Prompt time!

∙ Your main character, Eraxo, has an awful case of writer’s block and a looming deadline. Although his writing is blocked, his ingenuity isn’t. In the time freed up by not writing he invents a device to slow time and give himself as long as he needs to work through his writing paralysis. He sits at his strange machine, dons the headset, turns the dials, lifts the levers, and pushes the start button. Everything works. He’s slowed time. But he discovers that place changes with time and that creatures live here who are invisible at humanity’s ordinary tempo, and they are not happy about being discovered. What happens?

∙ Your main character, Eraxa, recognizes she lacks the writing spark, but she wants it. She loves books and the glamour (ha!) of being an author, and her ethics are not strong. She’s as clever as her brother Eraxo, so she invents a time-travel machine. She will go into the future and steal a bestseller, then return to the present and submit it to the book’s publisher as her own. However, in the future she makes a dire discovery about the future of books and reading and publishing. When she returns to the present she has new and unexpected choices that challenge her questionable moral fiber, her courage, and her foresight. What happens?

Have fun, and save what you write!

Getting to Know You

More new stuff on the website: All my book tour appearances are now posted. Just click on News and then on Appearances and you’re there. But to give you an idea, the cities I’ll be in or near are Chicago, Salt Lake City, L.A., Houston, and Boston. I’ll be in Orlando and Milwaukee too, but no signings. This came up the last time I toured, so I’ll repeat that I don’t simply sign at a signing. I read from the new book, talk about it, and take questions before I start signing, and generally there’s time to get a little acquainted. Hope to see some of you!

Also new on the website: The first chapters of all my books have now been posted, so you can take a look. Let me particularly direct you to my least known novel, Dave at Night, which may be my favorite.

Since I’ll be touring for the next two weeks the appearance of the blog is iffy, but I’m going to try to keep it up.

On March 3, 2011, maricafajaffa wrote, …I have this habit of jumping right into the plot. In the story I have been writing, the characters are introduced with a small amount of background and then suddenly the main plot line is introduced. I have tried to stretch it out but I haven’t been able to work it out properly. Please help me. You can read my story on one of my blogs:
http://maricafajaffa-writemyfuture.blogspot.com

and maricafajaffa later added:

I’m not sure if it is bad, but I just get the feeling that I’m getting into the story too quickly and there isn’t much for readers to really get acquainted with the characters.
Then Charlotte commented, @maricafajaffa– sometimes I find you need to write a bunch before even you can get acquainted with the characters. I know I’ve found that it really doesn’t matter how much I figure out about my characters before I start writing (I’m a total fan of the age/gender/height/weight/likes/dislikes/etc forms), because once I’m in the story, they often end up going off and doing their own thing anyway. I guess what I’m trying to say is that there’s always time to add more about who your characters are in the beginning AFTER you’ve written enough to know that yourself. There’s a huge difference between the first draft and the final product. You don’t have to get it perfect on the first try. Heaven knows I never have. 🙂
Hope this has been helpful…

Thanks, Charlotte. Very helpful, I believe.

maricafajaffa, if you’re worried about us readers, we aren’t likely to care about the characters until they’re in at least a tiny bit of trouble or somehow at risk, no matter what their backgrounds are. Let’s imagine Irena, an abused teenager, for example, in a foster home, living with Mr. and Mrs. Nembler. Irena has her own bedroom and she’s on the phone with her cousin Jeb from her old life. She tells Jeb how much better her situation is now, and the conversation reveals a lot about her. We hear her voice. She says “You’ll never believe” frequently. She tells Jeb about the shopping spree her foster mom took her on. From the elaborate description we get Irena’s fashion sense. From her enthusiasm we realize that her fashion sense has rarely been indulged. We sympathize with her. If she asks Jeb what’s going on with him we see she cares about other people and we may begin to like her. But the stakes are low.

Suppose she ends the phone call and lights a cigarette. Uh oh. A seed of worry has been planted. Is she allowed to smoke in her room? Do her foster parents know she smokes? Is she sabotaging her wonderful new place? We may wonder where she got the money for cigarettes. When the cigarette dwindles to a nubbin she puts it out between her thumb and forefinger. Youch! How self-destructive is this girl? The conversation with Jeb has put us on Irena’s side, and now we’re worried. Now we care.

A million other things can pull us in. The Nemblers’ youngest son, theirs by birth, can announce he doesn’t want Irena living there. Mr. Nembler can enter Irena’s room and close the door behind him, enough to tinkle our alarm bells. Another foster child can warn Irena about Mrs. Nembler’s temper.

I’m naming mundane but potentially important problems; however, you don’t have to go that way. Irena can go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. She glimpses Mr. Nembler in the living room watching TV. She knows it’s him because he’s wearing the same University of Kentucky sweatshirt, only his human head has been replaced by the head of a horse.

I agree with Charlotte. We need to put our characters into a situation and imagine what they might do. Sometimes they’ll take matters into their own hands and act independently seemingly without our intervention. But more often, especially at the beginning of a story, we have to consider the options for them and pick. If we have a sense of the story we’re telling, we think of possibilities that will take our character where we want her to go. Best not to force her. We don’t want to make her do something strange just because our plot needs her to.

If we ourselves don’t have a clue about Irena, we may have her do something generic when the action begins or behave as we would, and the results may not be as interesting as we’d wish. If I were Irena I’d sneak out the back door and go to the police. But first, being a cautious soul, I’d peek in the police station window to make sure the cops don’t have horse’s heads too. That’s me and one version of Irena. One of my friends adores horses. She’d probably imitate a whinny and march right in and strike up a conversation. Another friend would be likely to question her own sanity. Sometimes it helps to think of actual people you know to develop options. What would your best friend do? How about your daredevil cousin? Your older brother? Your mother? When you finish running through actual people, imagine other options. Might Irena wonder if Mrs. Nembler has a horse’s head too? Might she go back to her room and push the bureau against the door? And so on.

Whatever Irena does in this situation, or in any of the other scenarios, begins to establish her character for both the reader and the writer more vividly than any amount of background can. Once you have a start on her – once she begins to act – then future options are narrowed. The girl who marches into the kitchen to speak to the horse is unlikely to run away when Mrs. Nembler comes out of the bathroom with the head of a sheep in place of her human head. Irena may bolt, but if she does, you have to explain.

The events that follow also depend on what Mr. Nembler says or does, how his personality shapes up and the personalities of the other people in the family, possibly the town.

I’ve written this before, that sometimes I start with a character’s back story because I need to know his history before jumping into the present problem, but the back story gums up my beginning and the book doesn’t get off to a clean start and I wind up amputating the back story. So I think it’s generally fine to get into the action quickly. And, yes, I agree with Charlotte that in revision you’ll be better able to see what you need in order to introduce your characters. When the whole sweep of your story is behind you, your perspective clarifies.

You’ve probably guessed the prompt. Write about Irena in any one or more of the difficulties I suggested. She’s self-destructive; a member of the family doesn’t want her; Mrs. Nembler has a terrible temper; Mr. Nembler, and possibly others, is transformed at night. He doesn’t necessarily have to get a horse’s head, either. The animal could be far less benign. Also, you can give Irena problems I haven’t even dreamed of.

Have fun and save what you write!

Inspired

First off: We put the first chapter of A Tale of Two Castles up on my website. Click here to read it: http://www.gailcarsonlevine.com/tcas_prev.html. And click here for the cool book trailer that HarperCollins created: http://www.gailcarsonlevine.com/video/tcas_trailer.mov. If you have trouble opening it, you can also watch it on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK05DTpbOn8.

Also new on the website, we added first chapters to three other of my books, Dave at Night, Fairest, and Writing Magic. We hope to have the rest available soon.

And, if you click here, http://www.gailcarsonlevine.com/news.html you’ll see the latest photograph of puppy Reggie, who grows more adorable every day, in our opinion. And housebreaking is starting to take. Whoopee!

February 20, 2011 Piper wrote, …where do you get your inspiration?

I don’t think of myself as an inspired writer so much as one who plugs away, so when I use the word in the post, I’m not certain I’m using it in the way inspiration is commonly used or even that I’m answering the question, but here’s hoping.

That concern aside, my inspiration for being a writer is my childhood reading. Reading ranked just below breathing in importance when I was little. Privacy was in short supply in our cramped apartment. I shared a bedroom with my older sister, who believed I had been created to plague her. Books pulled down the walls that confined me. The ones I read as a child made me a writer for children. I still love to read, but reading isn’t as important to me now as it was then.

The books I attached to were mostly old: Louisa May Alcott’s novels, L. M. Montgomery’s, Heidi, Bambi, Black Beauty, Peter Pan. I relished books about Robin Hood and King Arthur, tall tales, and of course fairy tales. If I liked a book I read it over and over. Through my favorite books and rereading them I absorbed a sense of plot, character, language, even grammar and usage. The old books didn’t limit their vocabulary to what a child would know. What a gift!

When I write, I’m writing for my younger self, which is probably my most fundamental and continuing inspiration.

There are certainly writers for children, however, who weren’t big readers when they were small, some who may be inspired to write because they disliked reading. They want to write books for their younger selves, too, in their case books for today’s children who pick up a book only when they have to for school. These writers may eschew difficult vocabulary words for the reasonable reason that they hated them. I once got a letter from a child who didn’t like Ella Enchanted because of the made-up languages, which he or she (I don’t remember which) didn’t understand. Hard words can frustrate a child and make her feel stupid. I don’t avoid them, but I understand why some writers do.

In 1987 when I started to write for children, I read the books in the Newbery bookcase at the library. I found in many of them the same old-fashioned approach to storytelling that I knew from my childhood, which made me feel right at home and as if I could join in. Another inspiration.

I took writing courses, too, and met fellow writers. My favorite class was a workshop. Every week our teacher would read three or four selections of student work that had been submitted to her the week before. After she read, the class would comment and then she would. Many published writers took this course. The same writing issues (like the ones that come up on the blog) would appear in different guises week after week, so advice would be repeated. The effect was much like rereading books; I absorbed the comments of the more experienced writers, and now their voices are in my mind when I write. I hear them ask me what my characters are thinking and feeling or if I’ve written information that the reader doesn’t need to know and that only I do. My teachers and my classmates are another inspiration.

Today, my writing friends inspire me. Every month two friends come over for lunch. There’s no purpose. We don’t critique each other’s work. Sometimes we shop talk about publishing. Often our own writing comes up. It’s rarely smooth sailing for any of us, which is a comfort and, in an odd way, an inspiration. My critique buddy and I meet monthly too. My book deadline isn’t looming, so having pages for her is a goal.

I still go to fairy tales for ideas and inspiration. The book I’m struggling with now was inspired by a nineteenth century fairy tale called “The King of the Golden River” by John Ruskin, a morality tale about greed. Two rapacious brothers are turned into black stones and their younger, generous brother is rewarded. What I love about the story is the gothic atmosphere. The wind roars into the brothers’ house; the king of the river is a golden mug that melts; the brothers have to climb a forbidding mountain. I wondered what the story’s sequel might be if the stone brothers came back to life. Then my tale changed, and it isn’t about that any more, but the seed probably remains.

What keeps me writing may be the internal-ness of the process, the communion with myself. Like reading, writing is intensely private. We’re fishing in our own minds, and sometimes we pull out magic fish.

There’s also the fact that I earn my living as a writer, which, if not an inspiration, is a goad. What else? Meditating, which I used to do more regularly before Reggie arrived, sometimes causes ideas to bubble up. Exercise also. Plus the drive that artists have to create. I’m at a loss if I’m not working on something.

So here’s something for you to work on, some classic themes that you may have enjoyed as children. Write a story about one or more of these:

• a dog, horse, or any pet who thinks in language and is separated from her owners.

• an orphan traveling to an unknown place.

• a child separated from her family by war.

• a stowaway on a ship of the royal fleet.

• a family struggling with poverty.

• an outlaw set against an unjust society.

Have fun and save what you write!

Enhancing experience

February 19, 2011, Alice wrote, ...do you have any ideas for writing realistically about a cross-country road trip when you’ve never actually taken one yourself, and you can’t go on one because your whole summer is completely booked?

Alice’s question applies to any writing outside one’s first-hand experience. When you read this, I hope you’ll apply my ideas to your own stories.

First off, Alice, you know a lot about road trips even if you’ve never crossed the nation on one. And even if you had, you’d have only one experience, which might not be enough. You need those shorter trips to draw on, all your experience of car trips.

You can start with your knowledge of humans in cars then move onto your characters. Any story needs conflict, and the cramped space in an automobile, where personalities can’t help but rub up against one another, is perfect.

We all have different driving styles and different styles of being a passenger. If the driving is shared, that can be a source of trouble. And the radio! Or CD player or iPod. What kind of music to listen to? Who prefers news or a recorded book? Open window? Closed window? How high to crank the heat or the air-conditioner? Who pays for gas? Who sits in front? Anybody gets carsick? Conflict galore. As well as opportunities to make peace. The emotional ride can be bumpy!

And what about the car itself, inside and out? Are soda cans rattling around on the floor? Does the car smell like the family dog? Or does it still have a new-car smell after seven years? Is it in good repair? Is it a junker? Does it have a spare tire? Jumper cables? Whose car is it?

My parents loved and respected each other – ordinarily – but they were at their worst in the car. We lived in New York City, where a car and a driver’s license aren’t necessary. My father didn’t get either one until he was in his early forties, and my mother didn’t get hers until the last year of her life, after my dad had died.

My father’s late start and his diffidence combined with my mother’s nervousness and her inability to tell her left from her right (this was long before GPS) made every excursion an expedition into the unknown. If we (my parents, my sister, and I) had set off across country from northern Manhattan where we lived, we might well have driven three thousand miles and wound up in the Bronx, five miles from home.

We played word games in the car and sang car songs. What stands out in memory, however, is the mounting tension. We inevitably got lost, and my parents each blamed the other. Then, at the end of the trip, we had to go home, and it happened all over again.

What I’ve described applies to ordinary trips, and this is a magic ice cream truck (a lovely idea). Still. How does the truck look? Smell? Does Sam the ice-cream man keep the driver’s cab clean? Has the engine had its latest inspection? How high are the driver and passenger from the road? Is the truck noisy? How does it feel different from being in a car? And of course there’s the magic part.

What sort of driver is Sam? Does he love to tell stories and forget to watch the road? Or does he demand silence so he can concentrate? Does he tailgate? Drive too fast? Too slow?

What kind of passenger is the girl, whom I’m calling Honey? Relaxed? Or nervous? Chatty? Silent?

What time of year is the trip? What sort of weather might they encounter?

All this – the characters, the car or truck – are available to the writer before the engine has even turned over. And you don’t have to know the slightest thing about cross-country trips to write this part.

For the cross-country aspect, there’s lots you can do. You should certainly consult a map to plot the truck’s course. Get online directions for the recommended route and alternate routes. Find tourist attractions along the way. Explore the topography. Pretend you were planning the trip for yourself. Decide if Sam and Honey want to go through cities or skirt them. Are they going to stay in motels or camp out? Can they live in the truck? If so, where are the recreational vehicle camps? Research traveling in an RV if that’s going to be their choice.

Before starting this post I googled “worst car trip.” I was thinking conflict again. Lots of items popped up. I read only one, so I don’t know what’s out there. You can google “cross-country road trip” and see what you find.

Also, I’d suggest you ask people you know about their cross-country and long-distance car trips. Here’s a wacky idea: Listen to “Car Talk,” a weekly car-repair program on National Public Radio. You can stream it online. The program is more than car-repair; it’s funny, and you may hear a wealth of material that you can fictionalize.

Readers of the blog, you can help Alice by posting reminiscences of long road trips that you’re willing to share.

Of course, the danger of research is not knowing when to stop. We fall in love with all the discoveries we’re making. You may want to stay in road-trip-research land forever and never progress to the rougher terrain of writing land. So I’d suggest that you research enough to get you started. Then, if Sam and Honey are riding through the Sonoran desert, for example, and you need to know what the landscape looks like, return to the research phase until you’re ready to continue. When you began you might not have known that they would detour into the desert. You certainly wouldn’t have known they’d decide to go to a fancy restaurant for dinner and you have to learn about Southwest cuisine.

When I wrote my historical novel, Dave at Night, I started with general research about New York City in the 1920s, especially about Harlem and the Lower East Side. Then I started writing. Dave’s father dies at the beginning of the book, the first page. A little further on I needed to know what route the hearse would take to the cemetery in 1926. Back to research. Later on, Dave is on the street outside a Harlem rent party in 1926. (A rent party was held when a tenant couldn’t pay the rent. She’d hold a party, serve food, bring in jazz musicians, and collect a small admission fee, which would bring in enough to cover the rent.) These parties were egalitarian affairs. Poor folk and rich attended. I wondered what kind of cars might have been parked at the curb near where Dave stood. This led me to reading about classic cars and interviewing a classic car expert.

Even when I’m writing fantasy, I research. For example, in For Biddle’s Sake, one of my Princess Tales, the fairy Bombina loves to turn people and things into toads, so I researched toads. I used little of what I learned, but knowledge made me more confident. In A Tale of Two Castles (out soon!) one of the major characters is a dragon. To describe him I googled images of dragons, but I wasn’t satisfied, so I looked at Komodo dragons (online, not in person), and that’s what I described, except for the wings, which I made up. Research helps with detail, and, as we all know, detail brings stories to life.

Naturally these prompts revolve around car trips. Perry is invited to vacation with his best friend Letty Pewer and her parents. They are traveling from Minnesota to Florida for a winter week in the sun. Below are some possibilities to fool around with. Pick as many as you like or make up your own or do a combo of mine and yours.

• Letty’s father is peculiar. You decide how.

• Letty’s mom is a dangerous driver. You decide how.

• Letty’s younger brother and older sister are coming along. They don’t get along with Letty and dislike Perry.

• The car is older than Perry. The radio doesn’t work. There is no iPod, no CD player.

• The Pewers are economizing and haven’t bought a GPS. Good old maps are good enough for them. They plan to camp out and save on motel costs as soon as they reach warm enough weather.

• The car is bewitched – not in a good way.

• This is the snowiest winter in the history of Minnesota and surrounding states.

• The scenic route will take the family and Perry through an old mining town. Unbeknownst to the authorities, one of the abandoned mines is now occupied by squatters who may be dangerous.

Have fun, and save what you write!

Seeking conflict

I’m hoping to see a few of you tonight at the library in Chelsea, Michigan! Details on my website. Many more Reggie photos on David’s for you puppy-ophiles.

On February 17, 2011, bluekiwii asked, How do you find out what the major conflict of your story is and why do you stick to it?

I just looked up The Lord of the Rings trilogy on Wikipedia. According to that source, and I haven’t done further research, Tolkien didn’t realize right away that it was all about an evil ring held by the forces of good and desired by arch-villain Sauron. Originally, Tolkien thought Bilbo would run out of the treasure he’d found during The Hobbit and would go adventuring for more. Then Tolkien remembered the ring and developed that idea.

In the case of The Lord of the Rings, conflict is evident. Good and evil fight it out in situation after situation, battle after battle. But conflict can be much softer. Take Pride and Prejudice, for example, my all-time favorite, or any of Jane Austen’s novels. Maybe the conflict is always “the battle of the sexes,” but that trivializes what Austen does. Maybe the conflict is women against society, although against is too strong. In each book, the problem may be a particular woman, beautifully drawn in the Jane Austen way, finding happiness (and often economic security) in marriage against many odds. Or maybe the conflict is the individual in opposition to the family.

Often conflict arises out of a character’s desire and the obstacles to obtaining it. Ella Enchanted runs on Ella’s need to get rid of her curse. Black Beauty is an interesting example of this. Throughout, the horse wants to live and be treated well, but he’s a horse and can do little to influence his fate. It’s quite an achievement to write an exciting book about a passive main character. In most stories about animals, the animal manages to take matters into his own hooves or paws or mandibles or whatever.

I’d be hard pressed to say what the major conflict in my book, Fairest, is. Aza would like to be beautiful, but she doesn’t do much to get what she wants, because success seems unattainable. The conflict could be a girl against her own body. Possibly, but it doesn’t play out exactly that way. Mostly she’s struggling against the selfish and screwy Queen Ivi, and there’s also her budding romance with Prince Ijori, and also the politics of a kingdom under despotic rule.

The point is, you may not know what your major conflict is. You may write the whole story and not know. Your readers may debate the issue. As I said in my last post, holding reader interest is what counts, not what the major conflict is or anything else, and there are many ways to accomplish that.

I don’t know if you have to stick with one conflict. In my book, The Wish, Wilma gets her wish to be the most popular student in her middle school. The first part of the book is about her adjustment to popularity; the last part deals with what happens when she discovers the catch to the wish. There’s also the love interest with an unpopular boy. The theme throughout is popularity, but the story looks at the topic through a variety of moments. (If you read it, notice that the dog, an important character, is an Airedale coincidentally named Reggie.)

Another example, in my opinion, is Gone With the Wind. Initially, Scarlett O’Hara wants forbidden love; later she wants to survive. Then, later still, it’s back to love, or I’m not sure what she wants at the end.

The conflicts that I stick with, at least temporarily, are the ones that lead me to further incidents and more action – the ones that stimulate ideas. For instance, suppose we’re writing a science fiction story about space exploration. Inga is our heroine. Do we want her to have her own spaceship? Could be. Technology in the world of our story has advanced to the point that a single person can do everything to run a spaceship. If she lands on an unexplored planet alone, she’s in the middle of it with no one to turn to for help. Assuming the planet is populated with an alien life form, she has only her own resources to lean on to figure the aliens out. The advantage of this is that there’s no one to save her if she gets into trouble. The disadvantage is the absence of the complexity of personalities acting on one another. Such complexity may arise once Inga gets to know the aliens, or maybe not. If I were going to write this story, I’d think about what kind of aliens they might be and what crew mates she might have, and as I wrote notes, one of the two options would excite me, would start me thinking, more than the other, this could happen and this and this. That’s the one I’d go with, and eventually I’d start writing.

Please notice: I’m not saying that I stick to a certain major conflict because it’s good. I try not to make such judgments while I’m writing, because if I start making them, I’m more likely to think it’s bad. I keep going with something when I can. I’ve been bewailing the number of times I’ve restarted Beloved Elodie, and that’s because I reach a point where I recognize the thing isn’t working, not because I think it’s bad. In my longest attempt so far (about 250 pages) I came to a dead end when I realized that the mystery I’d set up couldn’t be solved. The next-to-longest attempt, about 140 pages, I abandoned because I’d forgotten to include any suspects. Basically when I’m onto something that I can stick with and get to the end, I do.

I’m not a very analytic writer. I don’t think about what my major conflict is, at least not in those terms. I’m more engaged in events as they happen and as far ahead as I can see. Sometimes I know what the ending is going to be. There are writers who work out what they’re doing ahead of time, who think of rising action and falling action, who number their crises and know exactly when the last lap should begin and the resolution should be formed. My method is more muddle and a dim belief that if I crawl along I’ll get to the end eventually.

I can imagine starting a story and finding that I object to where I seem to be going on, I guess, ethical grounds. Something like that happened to me when I tried to write a novel based on “The Twelve Dancing Princesses.” I discussed this in my post on fairy tales, my favorite post for the comments it sparked. In the original fairy tale, the princesses are complicit in the deaths of an untold number of young men, and yet they’re the heroines of the story. I couldn’t write it, and I had to move the story in a new direction, to what eventually became The Two Princesses of Bamarre.

At least as important as the major conflict is what you do with it. For instance, a brother and a sister are feuding. That’s the problem. But how are they feuding? Sending each other angry emails? Subtly ruining one another’s lives? Gathering armies to conquer the other one’s half of the kingdom? Having a pillow fight?

Here are a few prompts on the theme of major conflict:

∙ Write about the feuding brother and sister. Write the seeds of the feud and how it’s expressed.

∙ Write a story in the Black Beauty mold. Write about a helpless main character and make it exciting. This is hard. See what happens.

∙ Decide for yourself whether Inga is alone in her spaceship. If you’re so inclined, try it both ways and see what happens to the story.

∙ Rethink The Lord of the Rings. Write what happens if Frodo claims the ring for his own.

∙ Lord of the Rings again. Write a story that follows the action of the final book. Come up with a new major conflict.

Have fun, and save what you write!

When to press the trigger

Before I start, there are pictures of Reggie the puppy on my website. Click on News to see them. And if you haven’t had enough, there are more on my husband’s website, www.dmlevine.com.

Also on the website are details about my appearance next week at the public library in Chelsea, Michigan. For this, click on News, and then on Appearances. Hope to see some of you in Michigan!

On February 17, 2011, Grace wrote, How long can one write without introducing the main problem of a story? In my newest project I have my main character in a new place with a lot of wacky characters I love to write about. They’ve had some small problems that keep the plot going thus far but I’m getting on 20k words now and I still haven’t introduced the main conflict that will guide the story and hopefully the rest of the planned series. Is this too long? Do you think the reader will get bored? I hesitate to rush the plot too much because then the characters would have to leave their current location and I really love where they are right now and all the characters there.

Many of you commented most helpfully on Grace’s question, and you can go back and read what everyone said. Some mentioned foreshadowing, and I have a future post coming up on that subject, so you can keep an eye out for it. I’m including Erin Edwards’s comment in the post, because it’s so helpful. Here it is:

@ Grace – Lots of really good published books seem to put off the main problem and they do a really good job of immersing the reader in the story world – but they aren’t necessarily ones who would easily get an agent or publisher in the current climate. Getting to the main problem quickly is kind of a trend right now, especially when agents and editors only read the first 10 pages! But really you shouldn’t worry too much about getting published as you write; a lot can happen in revising.

    Things you can keep in mind:
    – Keep writing. It may be that after you finish you can reorder your scenes and alter this scene you love into a middle scene.
    – Go back over what you’ve written and see if you can drop hints about the main problem that’s to come. Build the anticipation.
    – Or maybe, your main problem that you have in mind isn’t going to work and that’s why you’re avoiding it. As you keep exploring you may come up with a better main problem.
Writing is rule-free territory, so there’s no rule about how quickly the main story problem needs to start. Some books have no main story problem, or the main problem is soft-edged. Going back to Little Women, which we discussed two weeks ago, what’s the thrust of the story? Beth’s death? No. Jo’s love life? No. A family enduring poverty? I don’t think so. The girls don’t engage in a get-rich scheme to reclaim the family fortune or pack a bag and set off into the Civil War to find their father . We’re propelled through the story by our interest in the characters and the series of incidents Louisa May Alcott presents. The theme, I suppose, is growing up.

Time and Again by Jack Finney (middle school and up, I’d guess), a time-travel novel I love, doesn’t get moving for fifty pages, and the first fifty, in my opinion, are dull. I used to be a more forgiving reader than I am now, so I hung in. Then the story, once it got going, was impossible to put down. I read the book many years ago, so I don’t remember if those first fifty pages were essential, and I still recommend the book heartily. It’s charming and light-hearted and full of details about old New York City.

In a writing class I took over and over when I was getting started, our teacher would read a few students’ chapters out loud every week and then ask for comments. Often, when she read a first chapter, people said that we’d heard just “back story,” information that the writer needs to know but the reader doesn’t. The advice would be to keep writing and find the story’s real beginning later.

Grace, it sounds like you do have a strong story line in mind. What you’ve been writing may be back story, which you may need to cut later. Or maybe you’re writing a different book in the first 20,000 words. Maybe you want to split the two apart.

If you need to cut, remember the writing advice from William Faulkner to “kill all your darlings.” I think what he meant is that we protect our most gorgeous phrases, our most fascinating scenes. We write around them; we twist our plots so our beautiful lines can stay. After a while, they just get in the way and they have to go.

But they don’t have to vanish. I save my “darlings” for each of my books in a document I call “Extra.” I’ve eliminated more than a thousand pages in the course of writing my books, possibly over two thousand. Of course, most of those weren’t darlings, but some were. In my case, the darlings are usually scenes of exquisite character development, and it hurts to give them up, but I do, because writers have to be ruthless.

This is a prompt in the middle of the post: Become aware of your darlings. Go through a story you’re working on and underline the parts you would rather chop off your arm than cut. Save your old version, then delete those bits and see what happens to your story. Does it become cleaner? Is it better? Is it worse? If worse, put the parts back.

I’m a plot-driven writer. My stories don’t depend on the charm of the characters, although I hope some are charming. My books focus most of all on action. Alas, you might not be able to tell that from Beloved Elodie, which I’ve started yet again. The book begins on a boat. In the next-to-next-to-last version the action then moved to an inn, where I introduced the suspects but I held off on the mystery. Ho hum! said the reader. Why do I care about these people? Nothing is at stake.

To make matters worse, I had my characters journey together for pages and pages before they reached the place where the mystery was going to begin. Meanwhile, they revealed motives for committing the crime whenever we got to it. My critique buddy asked me, in the kindest possible way, what the heck I thought I was doing.

So I realized I could move all my suspects to the place where the mystery would start. Elodie could meet them when she arrived. Still, I kept the scene in the boat and then took her to the inn, where the problem was introduced in a theoretical way, and I didn’t get to the scene of the action until page 59. Double-ho-double-hum!

In this latest revision I’ve kept the scene on the boat, which is essential, and I begin the crisis there, on page 10. In revision I may trim even more, but the first nine pages are pretty exciting.

On the other hand, in A Tale of Two Castles, which you will soon be able to read (Yay!), the mystery takes even longer to get going, but it’s okay, because Elodie has a pressing problem at the beginning, and the reader cares about that. So it’s fine.

As usual, the key is reader interest. If the reader falls in love with your wacky characters, Grace, and is as happy to read about them spreading jam on toast as escaping from a burning building, all is well, and you can delay conflict as long as you like. However, it’s very hard to keep a reader engaged when there’s nothing to worry about. Also, conflict will bring out sides of these marvelous people that the reader wouldn’t see in a pleasant scene around the breakfast table. For example, Melba is having lunch with her friends in the school cafeteria. She’s the one who goes back for more ice or helps mop up spilled apple juice. But when a fire starts, she may behave unexpectedly, and the reader will see her in a new light.

Grace and anyone else with this question, you may want to show your story to a fellow writer or a good reader. Ask him if he longed for something to worry about. Have him tell you the spot where he began to feel frustrated and also to point out the places where the story picked up again, if it did.

Here’s another prompt: After school, Melba is going to discover that her house has vanished. She has no idea, however, that this is going to happen, and neither does the reader. Write a scene with Melba and her two best friends before she goes home. Let the reader get to know Melba a little. Try to keep up his interest without foreshadowing. Introduce minor problems, but hold off on the house disappearance. Feel when you think the reader is detaching, and stop before boredom sets in. Feel free to write more of the rest of the story after the disappearance.

Have fun, and save what you write!

Tempo!

I’m posting early because I’m traveling tomorrow.

Oops! Erin Edwards, you commented on Jenna Royal’s question from last week when she asked it in February, and I intended to include your comment along with my own response, but I didn’t look far enough down my list to see it. I agreed entirely, so here it is: @ Jenna Royal – while you’re waiting for Ms. Levine’s post on pacing, you might find it interesting to try to read Inkheart again and figure out *why* the romance change didn’t work for you. What little insights could have made it easier for you to believe? Like did you need a little hint that she was starting to get dissatisfied before she dumped the first boyfriend and how many times does that need to be mentioned and how early?

And I had promised a post on pacing and didn’t get to it. I am getting to it now in response to this from Caitlin Flowers on March 4, 2011: I have trouble pacing my stories. I’d enjoy writing action or an important moment for the characters more than writing the necessary slower scenes to give the reader a chance to keep up. Do you have any suggestions?

Seems to me there’s more than one question here, if I’m understanding right. There’s balancing high-action scenes and low-action scenes, and there’s fitting information in that the reader needs to know. I’ve written some about the latter in my post on flashbacks on May 5, 2010, so you may want to take a look.

But here’s some more. I’ve said this before too. We don’t want Millie to say to her brother Noah, “Remember the day Mom and Dad split up and we had to come here to live?” She wouldn’t say this unless Noah has amnesia and she’s checking to see if his memory has come back. Of course he remembers, but the reader doesn’t know. The dialogue is artificial; it’s manufactured solely to clue the reader in.

However, there’s nothing wrong with conveying information in direct narration. Say Noah is making dinner for his younger sister, which he’s had to do since the separation, whether they’re staying with their mom or their dad. He can think something like, I was trying my hand at frittatas. I never even made toast when Mom and Dad were together. I felt lousy when they split up, but cooking was cool. The narration can stop there or continue on to, I wished we still had the island from our old kitchen. Mom’s whole apartment wasn’t much bigger than that island. Dad’s wasn’t a lot larger, and his kitchen was just a wall at one end of the living room. The reader gains an impression of the setting and learns that both parents have less money now.

You don’t need a whole scene to convey information; you can just tuck it in here and there in narration in whatever POV you’re using.

Onto pacing. I’ve been having a pacing problem in my new mystery. Without giving much away, night is coming. Elodie can spend it in a cottage with her parents or in the stable with her employer, the dragon Meenore, and there has to be some discussion about which it will be. I had a stomachache over how boring the conversation was going to be, a malady I’ve been experiencing often in writing this book. It got so bad that I sent my manuscript so far to my editor for her feedback.

I’ve never ever before sent in a partial manuscript. Ordinarily I like my editor to come fresh to the entire thing. This was an act of desperation. You may have read on the blog that I’ve started this book over four times, and each time an alarm has gone off in my mind that it wasn’t right. My editor wrote back that she thinks the trouble sinking the book is that the danger hanging over the story is too abstract and not nearly immediate enough to engage the reader. Wonderful editor that she is, she suggested a solution that may do the trick.

Naturally, I’m going to have to go back to the beginning again.

Of course I’m lucky. Because I’m published and my editor has edited several of my books, I can avail myself of her help. If you’re just getting started, you’ll have to rely for manuscript first aid on critique buddies, teachers, librarians, and the good readers in your lives.

Caitlin Flowers and others with pacing issues, you may have the same problem I do. The action and the big character scenes bring the story temporarily to life, but the in-between segments fall flat because there isn’t enough overall for the reader to worry about.

I got it right in Ella Enchanted. As long as Ella is under the curse of obedience, the reader is going to stay engaged. I can get away with a relaxed scene here and there, like the scene with the elves. Nothing earthshattering happens, but the reader meets these charming creatures and gets a break from the tension. Such relief heightens the scenes that are full of action or feeling. If a story is constant crisis, it plateaus and the high points don’t stand out. It’s like listening to loud music; there can never be a crescendo. You may know someone who gets upset over the smallest thing. When genuine trouble comes along, he lacks emotional range.

A variety of kinds of scenes livens up a story. Unless the tale demands it, move your characters to different locations. If Noah and Millie, for example, have been in the kitchen for a few pages, move them into the backyard or, better yet, to school. After they’ve been alone together for a while, separate them or bring in another character. End a scene and start the next one in a different place or at a later time. If you’re writing from an omniscient third person POV, switch over to entirely different characters for the next scene.

If you can, also alternate the kinds of scene. In Ella Enchanted again, there are romantic scenes with Char and conflict-filled scenes with Hattie and Olive and scary scenes with ogres and I-don’t-know-what-kind of scenes with Mandy.

Most important of all, the reader has to care about the main character. By now I know a lot of writing tricks (which I’m sharing as they come up), but nothing works if the reader doesn’t care. Take Noah. He may be misguided and may be handling his parents’ separation badly. We may groan at his idiotic attempts to repair his family and himself. We’ll even endure when he hurts his sister Millie as long as he isn’t callous, as long as we can connect with his humanity and see our own flawed selves in him. We’ll put up with a slow scene or two (since no book is perfect), if Noah has a firm grip on our feelings and our imaginations.

Here are two prompts:

• Noah is in the kitchen with his sister, Millie, while their mother is on her first date since the breakup. Sister and brother are reacting according to their separate natures. Mix dialogue with action in writing the scene. Be sensitive to your own intuition about when the situation is starting to drag. Change something to wake the story up again – the location, the characters. The phone can ring or one of them can get a text message. Some cooking catastrophe can occur. Whatever. If you like, keep writing.

• This is a battle scene. A troop of elves is holding their mountain keep against an attack of trolls. In the midst of action-action-action, work in a soft, feeling moment between two characters. Then return to the action.

Have fun and save what you write!

Fickle

On February 5, 2011 Jenna Royal wrote, …in one of my novels, my MC falls in love twice. The first person he falls in love with is someone he’s not supposed to, and it doesn’t work. It starts out that way. Throughout the book, he tries to keep away from the girl, and he ends up with another girl a lot, whom he doesn’t like well at first but over time he falls in love with her instead. Is this too complicated with readers’ emotions? The reason I’m asking is because a couple years ago I read a trilogy (Inkheart by Cornelia Funke) where the MC had the same boyfriend for most of the book but then decided she wanted a new one at the end. I felt the MC was a little unfair, and I found it to be a bit of an unsatisfying ending. What are your thoughts on this?
Hmm…I haven’t read Inkheart, but I’m thinking of Jo in Little Women deserting Laurie for Professor Bhaer. Now I’m thinking of Elizabeth in Pride and Prejudice switching from Wickham to Darcy. Changing boyfriends – or, in your case, girlfriends – isn’t uncommon in literature.

I’ve never been entirely happy with Jo’s choice. I suppose Laurie isn’t right for her, and I guess the professor is, but, gee, Laurie is so romantic and interestingly difficult, like Jo, and the professor is dullsville! (I’m not being fair to him.) I certainly don’t want Amy to get Laurie. It would be better, in my opinion, if he never marries and regrets Jo and his own character limitations forever.

But I’m delighted about Darcy and Elizabeth, although I do root for Wickham in the beginning. Austen does a great job of convincing me that Wickham is a cad, and we see how smitten Darcy is with Elizabeth – which may be the key. We love Elizabeth, and Darcy appreciates her just as much as we do, so we think well of him. Wickham, on the other hand, doesn’t value her nearly highly enough, since he prefers any rich wife to any impecunious one.

Near the end of Pride and Prejudice the narrator implies that Elizabeth is going to improve Darcy’s sense of humor, make him unbend a little, and he’s going to expand her mind, so there’s equality. But, if I remember Little Women correctly, Jo is the sole one to benefit. Professor Bhaer is going to make her better, but he’s already perfect. He’s good for her, like a multivitamin, and vitamins are not romantic.

Also Professor Bhaer comes on the scene late, and Laurie has been in the book almost from the beginning. We don’t have a chance to get to know the professor or to see in slow motion how he falls for Jo.

Maybe I’m all wet. I haven’t read Little Women in many years, but I reread Pride and Prejudice regularly. Anyway, I think your hero can go through scads of girlfriends if your real heroine is there all along, on the sidelines, being delightful, appreciating him more completely than anyone else.

There are other approaches too. You may know couples that you can’t figure out. He’s so nice and she’s so full of herself. Or she’s terrific, but you can count on him to say the wrong thing on every occasion. Fictionally, you can make the first girlfriend so loathsome that we’re totally relieved when he moves on.

Or the first girl is terrific, but there’s a tiny thing wrong with her, like she’s a ghost or she lives a thousand miles away and they can be together only online or she’s a six-hundred-year-old elf or she’s from another galaxy. Again, the reader is likely to be glad when our hero finds someone more possible.

Or he could act badly in the first relationship and their romance sours. It’s his fault, but he ends it, recognizing that the damage he’s done is irreparable. We see him start fresh. A moment comes with the new girl when his buttons are pushed, but he chooses to behave better. Whew! we think. This time they’re going to be happy. Yay!

Or many other possibilities.

In the interest of not jerking the reader around, you probably want to make it clear that the old relationship is over before the new one starts – unless the story is about the hero’s flip-flops.

Generally, we don’t want to stop loving the main. In the case of Little Women, Jo goes down in my estimation for choosing Professor Bhaer because he’s good for her. I like her emotional side – her temper, her storminess – which humanizes her. I don’t want her with a man who’s going to smooth her out. When your main chooses a new love for reasons the reader doesn’t understand, the reader disconnects a little or a lot.

I’m also not pleased when a character unaccountably changes. In Jenna Royal’s example, let’s suppose the main, Lester, say, loves a woman, Peony, in a rival clan. His family and the girl’s oppose the match and try to keep the two apart, but they find ways to meet because they’re wild about each other. They take a long walk together on the beach. If Lester, whom we’ve known to be a guy with good values, notices she’s knock-kneed and her speech is less educated than his and he loses interest, we’re likely to feel confused. This isn’t the Lester we know and care about. If, however, Peony repeats hostile remarks she’s heard about his clan, like they’re dirty and they steal, we’re right with him if he dumps her.

Even if the new love interest arrives near the end of the story, it may be important to devote at least a few pages to their fresh beginning. Sometimes not, but you don’t want the ending to feel rushed.

Three prompts:

∙ It’s the beginning of senior year in high school. Justin and Flora are an item as are Peter and Rose and Horace and Tulip. They spend a wilderness weekend together with their class, and by the time they return home, the romances have shifted twice to different people in their group. Write how it happens.

∙ In my book, The Wish, Wilma magically becomes the most popular person in her middle school. All the boys want to go to the graduation dance with her. This doesn’t happen in the book, but imagine Wilma holding an audition for being her date. Write the audition. For extra credit, manipulate the reader’s feelings so that he roots for one boy after another. If you like, keep going and show Wilma’s decision and how she arrives at it.

∙ Let’s complicate the situation for Lester and Peony. They take their beach walk, the longest time they’ve ever spent together, and he realizes she’s not right for him. She’s not bad, but maybe she chatters, and he finds himself getting impatient, and maybe she has a nervous laugh that grates on him – or whatever qualities you pick. The trouble is that the objections of his clan members make it hard for him to give her up. He’s angry at them, and he doesn’t want them to think they were right. Besides, she’s risked a lot to be with him. Take it from there.

Have fun, and save what you write!