Good grief, how did this happen? Am very busy these days but didn't think it had been that long since my last post. You may or may not know that I've now signed my contract with US Penguin imprint Berkley Books for the first two of my historical crime series - set in Georgian England.
Hence am on a deadline for Book Two and every spare moment is concentrated on writing it. Life, of course, intervenes and so my normal activities have still got to be done. I'm sure I wrote a blog a while back on the theme of life versus writing life.
You don't want to know about the horrors of getting an ITIN number (this is your official US tax identification) and ensuring you are allowed to invoke the tax treaty with the UK so you don't have 30% of your earnings withheld by the IRS. It's still pending....
I've only got one little snippet of advice today. It pays to decide as a writer that you will always deliver on your promise. I'm not talking about deadlines, but that too. What I mean here is that if you set out to give the reader something, you need to deliver on it.
Examples: If you hint at troubles and crises to come, make sure they happen. If you give the idea your character is an introverted brooding bastard with a heart of gold, show it in the story. If your character looks ahead to an oncoming storm (internal or external - battle, row, whatever), we want to see it - and make it a humdinger.
In other words, don't promise what you can't deliver. And deliver everything you promise. If you can't deliver, just cut the promise. You lose your reader if you set something up on the horizon and then the story goes flat and it all fizzles out. Like Christmas without the pudding and the presents.
And on that note, I hope everyone manages to get through the snow to their festivities and you all have a terrific time on Christmas Day.
Sunday, 19 December 2010
Monday, 15 November 2010
Motivation - okay, why?
Because motivation is why. It's not just a case of why a character has a goal - which I think comes under backstory - but why is he feeling, doing, saying anything.
In drama, there's a general rule that if you can't remember a line you're missing a "thought bridge". How do you get from one line to the next? The character may be prompted thoughtwise by another character's line, but actually there is almost always a thought bridge from their own last line to this one. It's what Stanislavski calls the "through line of action" and what is normally thought of as subtext. The thought behind the line is the why of saying the line.
Once again, we have the advantage as writers to be able to express the thought bridge to the reader in the character's head. It's not always needed - trust your reader to put it there himself if you've primed the ground. And as a writer you won't need to think this through because it's almost always automatic. But if you stick, this is a good way to unstick yourself.
Look at your character's last set of thoughts. Do they progress logically from what has gone before? Has, for example, our hero been extremely rude so that our heroine has lost it and isn't thinking straight? OK, so now she's calming down and realising what she said back, which provides the why of what she says or does next - apology or defiance, depending on the circumstances.
As a director, you see the play as a series of moments, and direct it moment by moment. Similarly with a novel. It progresses moment to moment - regardless of whether the next moment happens two months later. Each moment has its prompter behind (the why) and in itself provides the next prompt to feeling, thought, speech and action.
If you think with why, you automatically create depth and character because motivation is the meat upon which we all feed and operate in life, and which dictates who we are and who we become.
In drama, there's a general rule that if you can't remember a line you're missing a "thought bridge". How do you get from one line to the next? The character may be prompted thoughtwise by another character's line, but actually there is almost always a thought bridge from their own last line to this one. It's what Stanislavski calls the "through line of action" and what is normally thought of as subtext. The thought behind the line is the why of saying the line.
Once again, we have the advantage as writers to be able to express the thought bridge to the reader in the character's head. It's not always needed - trust your reader to put it there himself if you've primed the ground. And as a writer you won't need to think this through because it's almost always automatic. But if you stick, this is a good way to unstick yourself.
Look at your character's last set of thoughts. Do they progress logically from what has gone before? Has, for example, our hero been extremely rude so that our heroine has lost it and isn't thinking straight? OK, so now she's calming down and realising what she said back, which provides the why of what she says or does next - apology or defiance, depending on the circumstances.
As a director, you see the play as a series of moments, and direct it moment by moment. Similarly with a novel. It progresses moment to moment - regardless of whether the next moment happens two months later. Each moment has its prompter behind (the why) and in itself provides the next prompt to feeling, thought, speech and action.
If you think with why, you automatically create depth and character because motivation is the meat upon which we all feed and operate in life, and which dictates who we are and who we become.
Sunday, 7 November 2010
Building atmosphere
When you direct a play, you have to think about what's usually called the mood line. You can check this against any good movie and see it in action. Works like this:
Opening: pre- and during credits, your director tells you what kind of movie this is going to be, using sound, light and images. He plays on your emotions by setting the atmosphere. Example: the drone of aircraft and a gradual increase of light to an image of a squadron of bombers on the runway waiting to take off is the opening to Catch 22. Sometimes, you'll get silence and then building images, or birdsong, or a cityscape accompanied by music appropriate to the genre.
With a novel, you have the added advantage of being able to introduce the character's thoughts. But you can also use visuals, sound and exterior forces (weather, for example) to create your opening atmosphere. Think of the emotional impact you want to have on your reader, and then build the word picture to give them that.
The mood line goes on from there, running alongside your plot-line to build in highs and lows, changes of pace and tension, shifting into high gear for the climax and coming down for the denouement. Atmosphere at any point contributes to the mood line. I recall an editor critiquing the "relentless pace" of my then novel, giving the reader no time to breathe. She was right.
The key is to surprise your reader, but make the progression from one mood to another logical. Be careful of shoving in a completely inappropriate scene that will confuse genre on your reader. For example, you can't expect to suspend disbelief if you have your rom com heroine kidnapped at knife point, unless you're writing a comedy thriller.
Because in the last analysis, genre to a large extent dictates the atmosphere. A great deal depends on fulfilling reader expectations. On the other hand, any drama has its lighter moments, and vice versa. Try not to stray too far at any point from the basic atmosphere you created in your opening, because that tells your reader what sort of story to expect.
Opening: pre- and during credits, your director tells you what kind of movie this is going to be, using sound, light and images. He plays on your emotions by setting the atmosphere. Example: the drone of aircraft and a gradual increase of light to an image of a squadron of bombers on the runway waiting to take off is the opening to Catch 22. Sometimes, you'll get silence and then building images, or birdsong, or a cityscape accompanied by music appropriate to the genre.
With a novel, you have the added advantage of being able to introduce the character's thoughts. But you can also use visuals, sound and exterior forces (weather, for example) to create your opening atmosphere. Think of the emotional impact you want to have on your reader, and then build the word picture to give them that.
The mood line goes on from there, running alongside your plot-line to build in highs and lows, changes of pace and tension, shifting into high gear for the climax and coming down for the denouement. Atmosphere at any point contributes to the mood line. I recall an editor critiquing the "relentless pace" of my then novel, giving the reader no time to breathe. She was right.
The key is to surprise your reader, but make the progression from one mood to another logical. Be careful of shoving in a completely inappropriate scene that will confuse genre on your reader. For example, you can't expect to suspend disbelief if you have your rom com heroine kidnapped at knife point, unless you're writing a comedy thriller.
Because in the last analysis, genre to a large extent dictates the atmosphere. A great deal depends on fulfilling reader expectations. On the other hand, any drama has its lighter moments, and vice versa. Try not to stray too far at any point from the basic atmosphere you created in your opening, because that tells your reader what sort of story to expect.
Monday, 1 November 2010
What about conflict then?
According to the kids when I was teaching drama, conflict was people shouting each other down. Seems to work for Eastenders too. But conflict isn't simply one view opposing another. It goes deeper. There has to be a goal involved.
A frequent problem in manuscripts I assess is uncertainty about the goals of the main character. If you haven't got that, you won't get conflict. You can't have a character tossed about from pillar to post because of outside opposition and call that conflict. Real conflict comes from opposition hitting against what your character wants and is trying to achieve.
You also want to think with exterior and internal conflict. What flaw or lack within them stops them from getting there? That's opposition too. Of course you will have opposing forces - other characters who want something else, the forces of nature or circumstances militating against the goal. But balance this with the character's own uncertainties and traits that also work to prevent them reaching the target.
In drama, you automatically look within the character for what is stopping them from making it. Clues are in the script. What they say about themselves, what others say about them and to them, and stage directions. In fiction, you are working from the inside out. Your character develops as you write and from inside their head you tell the reader their fears and insecurities as well as creating the external forces that oppose them.
The point is that conflict from within impels your character to dig down deep inside the core of themselves and find the inner resources to overcome their flaws and fears. The best superheroes show us their own vulnerabilities before they vanquish the baddies. So it should be with your fictional hero.
A simple guideline. What does this person want? What within them stops them going for it? Who or what external force is going to work against them? Answer these questions and you've got worthwhile conflict.
A frequent problem in manuscripts I assess is uncertainty about the goals of the main character. If you haven't got that, you won't get conflict. You can't have a character tossed about from pillar to post because of outside opposition and call that conflict. Real conflict comes from opposition hitting against what your character wants and is trying to achieve.
You also want to think with exterior and internal conflict. What flaw or lack within them stops them from getting there? That's opposition too. Of course you will have opposing forces - other characters who want something else, the forces of nature or circumstances militating against the goal. But balance this with the character's own uncertainties and traits that also work to prevent them reaching the target.
In drama, you automatically look within the character for what is stopping them from making it. Clues are in the script. What they say about themselves, what others say about them and to them, and stage directions. In fiction, you are working from the inside out. Your character develops as you write and from inside their head you tell the reader their fears and insecurities as well as creating the external forces that oppose them.
The point is that conflict from within impels your character to dig down deep inside the core of themselves and find the inner resources to overcome their flaws and fears. The best superheroes show us their own vulnerabilities before they vanquish the baddies. So it should be with your fictional hero.
A simple guideline. What does this person want? What within them stops them going for it? Who or what external force is going to work against them? Answer these questions and you've got worthwhile conflict.
Saturday, 23 October 2010
Speaking of drama, what price "subtext"?
OK, sorry but it's not conflict today either. Went to amateur show last night and had a realisation about the difference between amateurs and pros. In a word, subtext. For those not in the drama know, this means what's going on underneath the words rather than the meaning of the words - ie thoughts.
What does this have to do with writing? It's the luxury we have in fiction. We get to write down the thoughts. Your playwright doesn't have this, which is why you need "interpretation" by actors and director. They create the "show, don't tell" part. In fiction, we have to dramatise the action with the thoughts going alongside.
That's the real meaning of "show, don't tell". Which is why we are always talking about getting inside the character's head and telling the story from their viewpoint. This is also where using all the senses comes in. The reader becomes involved with what your viewpoint character is seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, tasting (external atmosphere). Not forgetting the sixth sense which gives you interior atmosphere or vibes.
And then we add the subtext: what effect does the above have on the character which dictates the kind of thoughts going through the mind? Finally, what effect do the thoughts have on the character's body or vice versa?
Example: Sudden whoosh of cold air = shiver = riffle of fear = who's out there? = tightening of stomach = mustn't be seen = flick off the light = shortness of breath = footsteps = they're coming this way! = escalation of fear = cold of concrete as flatten against wall = holding breath = flash of bright light in face = shock = paralysis...
See what I mean? Let it roll, one thing leading to the next.
What does this have to do with writing? It's the luxury we have in fiction. We get to write down the thoughts. Your playwright doesn't have this, which is why you need "interpretation" by actors and director. They create the "show, don't tell" part. In fiction, we have to dramatise the action with the thoughts going alongside.
That's the real meaning of "show, don't tell". Which is why we are always talking about getting inside the character's head and telling the story from their viewpoint. This is also where using all the senses comes in. The reader becomes involved with what your viewpoint character is seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, tasting (external atmosphere). Not forgetting the sixth sense which gives you interior atmosphere or vibes.
And then we add the subtext: what effect does the above have on the character which dictates the kind of thoughts going through the mind? Finally, what effect do the thoughts have on the character's body or vice versa?
Example: Sudden whoosh of cold air = shiver = riffle of fear = who's out there? = tightening of stomach = mustn't be seen = flick off the light = shortness of breath = footsteps = they're coming this way! = escalation of fear = cold of concrete as flatten against wall = holding breath = flash of bright light in face = shock = paralysis...
See what I mean? Let it roll, one thing leading to the next.
Tuesday, 19 October 2010
Is that Sod on the horizon again?
Quick post. Life will insist on taking over. Already late blogging and then put the back out again on the weekend. Got the thing fixed up first thing yesterday and then the car packed up. Waited two and half hours for the RAC, had to have a new battery and then raced to eat lunch and get to appointment for one o'clock.
Why go on about this on a writing tips blog? Because it's part and parcel of the writing life. The most difficult part, I think, is keeping a schedule going. If you go out to work, your boss expects you to be there for the duration - barring emergencies. If you work at home, you're available.
Sod - you know that guy whose law we are always running into? - says if you only have three writing days, at least one of them is going to be wrenched out of your hands by "life". And once he gets his teeth into you, Sod can be a right b-----d, because he figures if he can grab one day, he can grab the lot. Often enough he's right.
What do you do? Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again, as the song says. The only true test of a writer is your ability to do just that. Persistence is the name of the game, and all of the above is why you need persistence.
Next time, conflict and drama as promised - barring another visit from you know who.
Why go on about this on a writing tips blog? Because it's part and parcel of the writing life. The most difficult part, I think, is keeping a schedule going. If you go out to work, your boss expects you to be there for the duration - barring emergencies. If you work at home, you're available.
Sod - you know that guy whose law we are always running into? - says if you only have three writing days, at least one of them is going to be wrenched out of your hands by "life". And once he gets his teeth into you, Sod can be a right b-----d, because he figures if he can grab one day, he can grab the lot. Often enough he's right.
What do you do? Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again, as the song says. The only true test of a writer is your ability to do just that. Persistence is the name of the game, and all of the above is why you need persistence.
Next time, conflict and drama as promised - barring another visit from you know who.
Monday, 11 October 2010
What does drama have to do with writing?
Actors turned writers have this advantage - a sense of the dramatic. I spent years treading the boards when writing was still a hobby. By the time I made the switch, I had also swapped acting for teaching drama and directing, which made me realise just how much correlation there is between the two arts.
No surprise, really, when you think about it. Whether performed or written, we are portraying or commenting on the human condition. Which means conflict, motivation, characterisation, atmosphere, mood line, emotional life and goals. Not forgetting that most performance art requires a writer's input.
Coming from theatre to writing gave me a head start. I automatically thought in terms of what if, who and why. Your "who" had to have their own voice, manner and behaviour as well as objectives. A character's emotional life was meat and drink to me. Atmospheric effects - whether external or internal - generated the mood line of the story. Most important of all, without conflict there is no drama.
An actor learns all this as a matter of course, through training and practice. But it was only as a teacher and director that I started thinking about it. It took analysis to realise how much my dramatic experience had informed my writing.
I plan to do some blogs on these areas where drama and writing overlap and see if I can nail how they work for me by way of the crossover. Next time, conflict.
No surprise, really, when you think about it. Whether performed or written, we are portraying or commenting on the human condition. Which means conflict, motivation, characterisation, atmosphere, mood line, emotional life and goals. Not forgetting that most performance art requires a writer's input.
Coming from theatre to writing gave me a head start. I automatically thought in terms of what if, who and why. Your "who" had to have their own voice, manner and behaviour as well as objectives. A character's emotional life was meat and drink to me. Atmospheric effects - whether external or internal - generated the mood line of the story. Most important of all, without conflict there is no drama.
An actor learns all this as a matter of course, through training and practice. But it was only as a teacher and director that I started thinking about it. It took analysis to realise how much my dramatic experience had informed my writing.
I plan to do some blogs on these areas where drama and writing overlap and see if I can nail how they work for me by way of the crossover. Next time, conflict.
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