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I’m about to confess to a horrible crime (at least in some people’s minds), but first let me say I’m doing a bit of a Dance of Joy because while driving to pick up bird and wildlife food, the theme of my NaNoWriMo project finally came to me today .

For me, theme is like my destination in a cross-country trip. If I don’t know my theme, I don’t know where I’m going. Now I know some of you are saying, “Carolyn, you ignorant slug! (to paraphrase SNL) You’re climax is where you’re going.”

Sure, my climax is my ultimate destination, but if I don’t know my theme, I don’t know my route. I don’t know How I’m going to get to my climax because I don’t know Why I’m taking this trip.

I’ve been to the Grand Canyon several times, alone and with different people. The Grand Canyon is the destination, but how we get there depends upon the reason for going. Is it a must-see stop on the way to a tech conference in Vegas? Or is it the first vacation getaway in 5 years? In the first situation, I’m plotting the fastest, shortest route that leaves as much of my limited time as possible to explore the Grand Canyon before heading on to the conference. In the second event, I’ve got time to meander through some of the other great side trips in the area.

Some folks like to make a beeline to the destination, others like to meander and explore options. I’ve tried both methods of novel plot development — and failed

I’ve come to realize after 3 NaNoWriMo efforts and several other novels-in-progress that if I don’t know my theme, I tend to get lost in the plot and wind up at a dead end. Or worse, I force the plot and wind up fighting dead characters until I accept that no Code Blue plot shock will revive them.

Which brings me to the other thing I need in my novel writing journey — character motivation. Character motivation is my guide to all the sights and side trips I will take.

Don’t you hate it when a character does something totally out of character just to advance the plot? If I’m not clear on my theme, my characters seem to mumble, “But, like, what’s my motivation in this scene?” The dialogue and action may be fine, but it just lies there with all the appeal of a celebutant’s acting debut.

Without understanding my theme, my character development is just a bunch of quirks and tricks that aren’t convincing. Depp’s Capt. Jack Sparrow worked perfectly in the first Pirates of the Caribbean because his character motivation was entirely clear — he’s wants his ship, the Black Pearl, back! But he’s not a total blackguard, so he tries to get it back without cold-bloodedly killing everyone who got in his way. Compare this to Javier Bardem’s Anton Chigurh character in No Country for Old Men. Both Sparrow and Chigurh are motivated by a single-minded pursuit of their goal, but the character development is entirely different because the theme of each story is entirely different.

My character development and motivation comes from knowing my theme.

Here’s Where I Confess My Crime

While conservative participants consider it a NaNoWriMo crime (if not a mortal sin) to write anything before November 1st, I’ve got about 16,000 words of dialogue & first draft on some scenes that I’ve been using to get a handle on my character development and plot. This year I’ve come to realize that I do this pre-NaNoWriMo writing to uncover the true theme to my story so I can establish stronger character development and motivation and build a stronger plot based on how each character will act — and react — in various situations.

Will I be using these 16,000 words when I start my NaNoWriMo project on Nov. 1?

Parts of it will definitely be worked into the project, especially some of the dialogue. Some folks can simply think about their NaNoWriMo project and work everything out in their heads. Others can talk it out with friends or family. I envy them. I, however, work it out on the page.

But I’m also determined to have the complete first draft of my novel done which will be more than 50,000 words and I know that I’ll be re-writing from scratch on Nov. 1. This time, however, I’ll know my destination, my fully-developed characters and their motivations and well-structured plot development because I know my purpose.

Throughout November, I will be posting how things are going, and I’ll be sharing some resources, exercises and tools I’m trying out this year.

The first one I’ve used is my Traditional Plot Development Storyboard which can be downloaded here.

I’d also like to bring your attention to a Kickstarter project that sounds like a wonderful investment for writers facing Writer’s Block here. 

Good-luck everyone!

And if you find any of this useful (or entertaining), please Comment below, Like it, Tweet it, share it — especially the downloads.

Ms. MacDonald refers to these [...]]]> The essential elements of a marketable novel author Janice MacDonald teaches in her writing course are:

• Hook
• Sense of place
• Interesting characters
• Compelling dialogue (she’s English)
• Strong storyline (one with a logical pattern)
• Appropriate pacing
• Distinctive voice
• Particular point of view
• Slowly revealed secret or answer (the presentation of information)

Ms. MacDonald refers to these as the “Furnishings.” She’s speaking of the traditional novel or genre novel. If you’re looking to be the next James Joyce, then I’m afraid your on your own. I guess because I’m a frustrated interior designer and rarely leave furniture in one spot for more than a year, I visualizing the elements of selling fiction as furnishings for the structure that’s my novel. It somehow makes them less intimidating.

Defining the Fiction Writing Furnishings

The Hook or Theme of the Novel

To quote Ms. MacDonald, “The hook is what gives readers clues as to what the story is about, whose story it is…” Is this a journey of profound universal human need, such as love or fear of loneliness? What happened? The theme is the duct tape holding all the elements together into a cohesive human story. Ideally, the theme is a universal one appealing to a wide readership. There’s often a secret or question to be revealed and a puzzle or dilemma to be solved.

There needs to be a rational progression and development; one event must lead to the next with an ever-increasing sense of urgency or tension. Overall, the story structure must lead to an overall theme or objective in which, in the end, the total picture is revealed (but not all in the last few pages and pulled out of a hat like a magician’s rabbit). For the conclusion to satisfy, it needs to be consistent with the reader’s expectations.

And finally, the story must match the intended audience and genre.

Sense of Place

The atmosphere and location must match the mood and genre of the novel. In some situations, the place is almost a character in the story. For example, the isolated hotel in The Shining or the Thames in Three Men in a Boat. But the story needs to be anchored in a location that feels real to the reader.

Characters

It’s the characters responses to an event that drives the plot and the conflict, not the other way around. It should feel the same as real life. Something happens and we do something in response to whatever happens which causes something else to happen.

For example, Sam wakes up late because the alarm didn’t go off which makes him angry (which tells something about Sam’s character — he’s angry, not fearful or accepting). His response is to slam things including the medicine cabinet door which causes the glass to break and cut his foot. His response doesn’t change, he becomes angrier and more reckless in his haste to get to work which leads to his rear-ending an unmarked police car and so and so on. If Sam were to wake up late because the alarm didn’t go off and take a deep breath, repeat a relaxation mantra for a count of ten and then call his office to let them know he’s on his way, we see him as a completely different character.

Characterization is the result of what a character thinks, feels, says and most importantly does.

Characterization is also presented by what others think, feel or say about another character.

Every major character should have a past, or backstory, that has shaped him/her into the person he/she is — however, while you need to know the characters complete backstory, you don’t need to tell your reader everything. The reader only needs to know the backstory that directly relates to the present storyline.

The best plot conflicts come from specific, opposing, internal facets of two well-drawn characters that put them in conflict, often a difference in values or beliefs, instead of artificial plot constructs that force the protagonist and antagonist to take opposing sides.

Readers care about well-developed characters with whom they relate or find compelling. A large goal or life-threatening circumstance does not guarantee reader interest.

Know the goals of your characters, especially your protagonist and antagonist. What are the specific, concrete situation or object do they each need? What events and actions are keeping them from getting to their goal? They must be willing to sacrifice, possibly everything, to reach their goals. Unfortunately, there goals will appear to them to be mutually exclusive.

Plot tension is created as struggle between the protagonist and the antagonist (which could even be something like the weather as in The Perfect Storm) increases in stakes and consequences with each choice made and action taken by the protagonist that’s met by the antagonist. Eventually, the conflict reaches a breaking point or climax.

Plot your story so that at each major turning point, where the protagonist makes a critical decision or choice, something happens to raise the stakes, giving your primary characters more to lose, even when they appear to win.

The protagonist goal should be sympathetic and convincing enough to create a desire on the reader’s part to see the protagonist achieve his/her goal.

Tips on Compelling Dialog

In a 2 character scene, it’s unnecessary to attribute every line of dialog to identify the speaker. Indicate the speaker every 6 plus lines and do so sometimes by a characters action during the conversation.

Keep in mind Elmore Leonard’s Rule #3 in his 10 Rules for Writing: “Never use a verb other than ‘said’ to carry dialogue.”As Leonard explains, “The line of dialog belongs to the character. The verb is the writing sticking his nose in.”

And Rule #3 is immediately followed by Rule #4: “Never use an adverb to modify the verb ‘said,’ he admonished, gravely. To use an adverb in this way (or almost any way) is a mortal sin.”

While I’m not quite as adamant as Mr. Leonard about the adverb, I’ll point out that using an adverb to modify an attribute is telling the reader the characterization instead of showing it. It’s lazy writing. Ideally, the dialog itself or the character’s actions should convey the underlying emotional intent.

Use too little dialog and the story loses its immediacy. Dark, grey pages of long paragraphs indicate your doing more telling than showing, more talk than action.

Use too much dialog and the story may lose its connection for the reader. It’s like listening to a movie without the images to clarify place, tone and character nuance (you need those Cary Grant double-takes or the scenes aren’t that funny). And in print, you don’t even have the soundtrack to help you figure out the emotional tone of a scene!

Try to make each character sound different. Use dialog to develop & distinguish characters. Word choice and sentence length convey character. “Who ya want?” and “To whom do you wish to speak?” create completely different images in our imaginations.

Good dialog should sound natural (for the character).

Avoid excessive dialect, stereotypes, heavy accents. And uh, like, uhm, this, like, includes uhm, interjections, you know? Think of them as seasons in the kitchen — just a dash is enough.

Read your dialog aloud. You may even want to record it and listen to it. Does it sound natural? Does each character have their own voice?

Strong storyline (one with a logical pattern)

The plot is basically a series of incidents, resulting from the characters’ responses to an event in their efforts to achieve a desire or goal, that enable your characters to work through the challenges they face.

Each scene needs a purpose that propels both the internal and external story.

Janice MacDonald’s suggested techniques for developing your storyline:

• Storyboarding — escalating tension moving towards turning points. (Check out my free storyboard templates in PDF format in the post Fiction Writing Plot Development)
• Break the story into scenes. One formula is: a 100,000 word book = 20 chapters at about 5,000 words per chapter divided into 3 scenes per chapter.
• Create a list of twenty ideas for scenes and plot developments. The first 3-4 come easily and the next 5-6 may spur ideas for other scenes.
• Try brainstorming.
• Ask why?
• Ask what if?
• Create a storyline (story arc)
• Write a synopis which becomes your selling tool as well as your working guideline.

Appropriate pacing

The pace of the scene should match the action and purpose of the scene. Longer, compound, complex sentences create a slower pace. Short, simple sentences are snappy and quick. Narrative description usually slows the pace. Dialog usually quickens it. When things are moving slower, paragraphs and sentences can be longer. When things are happening quickly, there should be a lot of white space on the page because of short, sharp paragraphs or dialog.

The book itself should have an overall pace (part of its voice) but contain a mix of faster and slower scenes.

Distinctive voice

Write using an appropriate yet unique voice for the narrative. What do we hate most about majority of text books (aside from being forced to read them and then tested on what we read)? Why do we find them so boring? Because they don’t have a distinctive voice. They’re all written in that bland, generic, corporate voice. It’s why so many of us fall asleep reading them. It’s like listen to someone drone on and on in a monotone.

In her book, Reading Like a Writer: A Guide for People Who Love Books and for Those Who Want to Write Them (P.S.), Francine Prose discusses the problem of voice with this recommendation:

…the question of voice and of who is telling the story (should the narrator be first or third person, close or omniscient?) when in fact the truly problematic question is: Who is listening? On what occasion is the the story being told, and why?

• If you’re having trouble finding your distinctive voice for a story, try telling it to someone else (my cat is a good listener).
• Or try writing it as it were telling it in a letter (e-mail) to your best friend.
• Another technique for finding your voice is to write a rough draft or synopsis in first person. It will often let you see the natural tone of the story.

Be sure that the voice uses the right tone for the story. Imagine Titanic filled with pratfalls and site gags. Now try to imagine Elmore Leonard writing War and Peace or Tolstoy writing Get Shorty. Just reading a few chapters of each of those will give you a could understanding of a distinctive voice!

Particular point of view

James N. Frey , author of How to Write a Damn Good Novel: A Step-by-Step No Nonsense Guide to Dramatic Storytelling (How to Write a Damn Good Novel) (an excellent book with a wonderful chapter on viewpoints) defines as

where the narrator stands in relation to the characters: as an unseen eyewitness acting as objective reporter; as a sort of divine know-it-all, able to read the thoughts and feelings of the characters; or as another character in the story.

A single view point is easiest to handle, but multiple points of view can build tension and suspense. If using multiple viewpoints, its best to keep a single view point throughout the scene.

Frey also states:

To select the proper viewpoint, ask yourself not “what viewpoint?” but rather, “who can tell this story the best? the viewpoint you choose reflects the narrative voice and it is the narrative voice and not the viewpoint per se that is crucial.”

Slowly revealed the secret or answer (the presentation of information)

Basically, this means critical information about the character or to the plot should be doled out in small portions. Huge chunks of undigestible information and background choke your storyline dead.

If you’ve ever read a story and found yourself saying, “Of course! I remember someone mentioning that way back in the beginning of the story.” then the author slipped the critical information in correctly. On the other hand, if you’ve found yourself at the end of novel ranting, “Wait a minute. Where did this come from? No one’s mentioned anything about this before!”, the author dropped the ball.

One the masters of slipping all the critical information painless to the reader is fantasy satirist Terry Prachett (Terry Pratchett’s titles). (He’s also a master of distinctive voice and multiple viewpoints.) In his title, Men at Arms, Pratchett has a poignant scene where one of his protagonist, Vimes, returns to his old neighborhood to gather evidence from a home where an old woman and a baby have died. His remembrances of his childhood and his game of hopscotch appear to be nothing more than a bit of narrative description and characterization leading up to the coffins of the dead being carried to burial. But, in fact, Pratchett uses this small scene to show us Vimes underlying character and motivation, innocuously explore a very deep theme, provide motivation for Vimes next move — and slip in the critical piece of information needed for the climax. And he still manages to include some humor. Not bad for what appears to be a small break scene.

I did, however, get to work tangentially on writing. A friend asked me to be a beta reader on the first draft of her first novel. She’s [...]]]> The plan was to spend January completing the first draft of a memoir and then going back to work on the NaNoWriMo novel revisions. That was the plan.

I did, however, get to work tangentially on writing. A friend asked me to be a beta reader on the first draft of her first novel. She’s published some short things but this was her first complete, 90K word novel. I was honored.

Unfortunately, it’s in a genre I don’t often read outside of a small, narrow group of authors. So this required some research. I firmly believe that you have review things in context. Each genre or category has certain unique needs beyond the basics of good writing. Seriously, would you complain that “King Lear” didn’t have enough jokes? Or that there wasn’t enough romance in Carrie?

So in the course of a couple of weeks I re-read a half dozen titles that were successful financially and/or I considered some of the best of the genre as well as alternating between skimming and scanning about a dozen that were typical. I even plowed through as much as I could stand of the book that had sent me fleeing the fantasy aisle many years ago. (It didn’t get better with age — its or mine.)

I spent the better part of an hour randomly opening paperbacks from the rack at the grocery store. After the first six, I was about to write to my friend apologizing that I was totally unsuited to critique her book because I simply could not read more than a few paragraphs of the standard titles in her genre, when I picked up one last title, opened it at random — and found a delightful bit of good writing. I’m at the library right now, where I found the first of the author’s titles to check out and try. (Sorry, but unless a title or author is recommended by someone I completely trust or has multiple reviews that make it compelling, I always try new authors via the library first. This way I can keep affording to buy new releases, including hard copies, by the good authors.)

The point of all of this, is that I’ve spent the better part of the two months reading as a writer instead of a reader. When I read like a writer, I focus on things like the structure of the plot, how the characterization is handled, the development of tone and style. There are many times I’ve read something as a reader, completely lost in the story and characters, swept along by the pros; and then, I read the story again, this time as a writer noting how the author managed to capture me.

Some writers can write a plot that’s intrigues so completely, I ignore the less than perfect prose (My “potato chip” reads are mysteries). Others create characters that are such lively, fascinating companions, I myopically overlook plot holes — unless I fall in one. Then there are writers who voices are so witty and charming, I’m completely seduced. Often awaking to find a note on my beside table and my wallet emptied. And finally, there are the writers whose prose is so beautiful and graceful, I feel as if my own efforts resemble the first steps of a gawky teenager amongst the corps de ballet.

Periodically, when I feel I need a refresher course in how to read as a writer, I pull out my copy of Francine Prose’s Reading Like A Writer: A Guide for People Who Love Books and For Those Who Want To Write Them. While Ms. Prose (Isn’t that a wonderful name for a writer? I wonder if it’s too late to have mine legally changed?) targets the future M.F.A. candidate and completely eschews anything so plebian as “genre” authors, she does teach me how to read, both my own work and others, critically. And by “critically,” I mean objectively with a discerning eye and ear.

Here’s how she opens her book:

Can creative writing be taught?
…I answer by recalling my own valuable experience, not as a teacher but as a student in one of the few fiction workshops I took… Its generous teacher showed me, among other things, how to line edit my work. For any writer, the ability to look at a sentence and see what’s superfluous, what can be altered, revised, expanded, and, especially, cut, is essential. It’s satisfying to see that sentence shrink, snap into place, and ultimately emerge in a more polished form: clear, economical and sharp.

Here’s an example from her chapter on “Narration”:

… this device enabled me to overcome one of the obstacles confronting the novice writer. This hurdle disguises itself as the question of voice and of who is telling the story (should the narrator be first or third person, close or omniscient?) when in fact the truly problematic question is: Who is listening? On what occasion is the story being told, and why? Is the protagonist projecting this heartfelt confession out into the ozone, and, if so, what is the proper tone to assume when the ozone is one’s audience?

I had always assumed that I was alone in having discerned that the identity of the listener was a more vexing problem than the voice of the storyteller until I heard a writer say that what enabled him to write a novel from the point of view of a rather complicated middle-aged woman was by pretending that she was telling her story to close male friend, and that he, the writer, was that friend.

Ms. Prose goes on to examine and dissect successful examples of narration ranging from Wuthering Heights to Anna Karenina, from Philip Carver to Isabel Walker to Mark Twain to Diane Johnson (Le Divorce, a book alas I didn’t finish because I was simply in the wrong mood. My mood is something else I have to keep in mind when critiquing my own or someone else’s work). I got more out of one trip through Reading Like A Writer than I did from an entire semester of writing class. If nothing else, I learned how a master writes a compound, complex sentence.

After a couple of months of reading like a writer, I’m ready to start writing for myself again. I’m encouraged by how badly some published authors write, humbled by how well some do and greatly inspired by the realization that I can improve my own initial drafts by applying some firm, disciplined manuscript critique.

To the keyboards! Tally Ho!