Novel Writing Words of Wisdom

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Writing a novel is a big undertaking, especially at first. It took me years before I discovery-drafted my first novel. Three more novels followed, all written by the seat-of-my-pants.

However, it wasn’t until I began studying the craft of novel writing and getting feedback on my novels, as I had done earlier for short fiction, that I began to make actual progress. Learning how to write a novel took time, as did learning how to write a fantasy novel which worked, and later still, how to write a mystery novel that spun a convincing mystery.

Today’s Words of Wisdom looks at three diverse aspects of writing novels. First, James Scott Bell gives us the three rules of writing a novel. Then, Elaine Viets shares succinct advice on how-to-write a mystery, given by a fictional detective. Finally, Robert Gregory Browne looks at the idea of knowing how to write a best-selling novel.

RULE # 1 – DON’T BORE THE READER

Can anyone disagree with that?  Doesn’t it make sense that this should be emblazoned across the writer’s creative consciousness as the most foundational of all rules?

If you bore the reader, you don’t sell the book. Or, at least, if the reader does manage to make it to the end, you don’t sell your next book.

It’s a rule. In fact, it’s a law, just like gravity.

Which leads to:

RULE #2 – PUT CHARACTERS IN CRISIS

Novels that sell are about people in some kind of trouble. Conflict is the engine of story. You can create “interesting” or “quirky” characters all day long, but unless they are tested by trial they wear out quickly (here I will issue a confession: I’ve never been able to get past the first 50 or 60 pages of A Confederacy of Dunces, and I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried).

Now, trouble can be generated in many ways. The narrator of Nicholson Baker’s The Mezzanine is simply trying to get from the lobby of his office building to the next level via an escalator. That’s the whole story, and the trouble is inside his head.

At the other end of the spectrum are the commandos in The Guns of Navarone. 

The point is, every novel must have some fire, not just a layout of kindling and logs. That’s a rule.

RULE #3 – WRITE WITH HEART

I admit this rule is somewhat difficult to define. It’s a bit like what a Supreme Court justice once said about obscenity: “I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it.”

The novels that not only sell, but endure, have something of the author’s beating heart in them. We could run off a list of such novels, from To Kill A Mockingbirdby Harper Lee to the Harry Bosch series by Michael Connelly.

In my seminars, when we work on voice and style, I mention two novels that were publishing in 1957. They were as different from each other as Arbuckle and Keaton, and challenges for the publishers. Yet they both became bestsellers and, more to the point, continue to sell thousands and thousands of copies today.

They are Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand and On the Road by Jack Kerouac. No matter how you ultimately come out on the merits of either book, what can’t be denied is that every page pulsates with the author’s voice and vision.

So put your heart in every scene of your novel. It’s a good rule.

Now, when a writer says, “There are no rules,” I suspect what he’s really saying is there is no one way to do the things we’ve been talking about here. And that is mostly correct.

I say mostly because, over time, it has been demonstrated that there are fiction techniques that generally work better than others. A good teacher (or editor) is able to help students learn the things that tend to work and avoid the things that tend not to.

And then it’s up to the writer to make choices. If a writer decides not to follow a tried and true method, at least she should know why.

For example, we talk a lot about starting a novel off with a hook (or, as I like to put it, a “disturbance.”) But what if you want to start your historical with ten pages of setting and description? Well, you’re certainly allowed to. And maybe you’ll manage to make those ten pages so interesting that readers will wish they’d go on and on.

But the odds are you’ll bore them, as they keep on asking Who is this story supposed to be about? Why should I care about any of this?

You might then decide it’s better to use the technique of starting with a disturbance and dropping in details within the action. A technique you can learn and practice.

James Scott Bell—September 23, 2012

How do you write a mystery?

    There are whole books on this subject.

    But the best short advice is in Grafton’s new Kinsey Millhone novel, “W Is for Wasted.”

    Private eye Kinsey Millhone talks about how she started investigating two mysterious deaths. One victim was a sleazy PI and the other was a homeless man.

     Kinsey was drawn into the mystery by a call from the coroner’s office. The coroner was “asking if I could ID a John Doe who had my name and phone number on a slip of paper in his pocket,” Grafton wrote. “How could I resist?”

    That had me hooked. But then Kinsey explained how to write a mystery:

    “Every good mystery takes place on three planes – what really happened; what appears to have happened; and how the sleuth, amateur or professional (yours truly in this case) figures out which is which.”

    There it is. The art of mystery writing in one succinct sentence. We writers are supposed to set up the story for the readers, help them find out what really happened, and tell it, giving enough clues to play fair but not give away the ending.

    Grafton gives us another dollop of advice in Kinsey’s next sentence:

    “I suppose I could put everything in perspective if I explained how it all turned out and then doubled back to that phone call,” she wrote, “but it’s better if you experience it just as I did, one strange step at a time.”

    New writers and experienced ones need to remember Kinsey’s advice: Tell the story, one strange step at a time.

    Many newbies try to be too clever. They don’t have the skills to deliver a twisted tale. They get lost in the maze they created.

    Experienced writers get bored with the format after writing book after book. We try to start in the middle, or start at the end, or switch narrators, often to amuse ourselves. Too often, it simply confuses our readers.

    Following the straight path, in Grafton’s footsteps, can be far more difficult.  But she kept me interested for 496 pages.  She also made me care about two people society considers worthless: a crooked PI and a homeless man who doesn’t even have a name.

Elaine Viets—January 16, 2014

But here’s the thing…

EVERYONE WANTS TO WRITE A BESTSELLER,

BUT MOST AUTHORS NEVER WILL

Because it’s completely out of your control.

If you sit down to write a “bestseller,” you are taking a wrong-headed approach to writing. Writing great fiction has nothing to do with writing bestsellers. Bestsellers are, by and large, flukes. Right place, right time. And not all bestsellers are created equal.

I can name a dozen of my friends who do everything right and should be on the bestseller lists, and authors who are and don’t belong there.

When I wrote Trial Junkies, I just wanted to write a great book. I had no idea it would go on to be an indie bestseller. Sure, it was something I hoped for, but I certainly wasn’t rubbing my hands together in anticipation of mega-sales. I just wrote the book I wanted to read and decided to let fate take care of the rest.

So don’t put all your energy into trying to write a bestseller. You should simply write the best book you can possibly write. A book you’re so excited about that you don’t care if you ever make a dime off of it.

I spent many years writing stuff that I knew would never sell. In fact, I didn’t even try to sell it, because I knew it wasn’t good enough. But I kept at it for several years. I wrote story fragments and screenplays and teleplays and partial novels and while I knew what I was producing was not quite there yet, I also knew, with great certainty, that it would be one day.

Sure, I had dreams of being Stephen King or Dean Koontz. We all do. But the reality is that most writers never make it to the lists, yet they still manage to have wonderful careers.

Should you forget about your dreams?

No. Sometimes they’re all you have.

But any thoughts of bestsellerdom should be relegated to the back part of the brain. You have a story to write. And that’s all you should be thinking about.

If you publish it and it manages to reach one of the bestseller lists, that’s just gravy.

So there is no How to write a bestseller.

Robert Gregory Browne—May 4, 2016

***

There you have it, three pieces of advice on different aspects writing novels. Now we’d like to hear from you.

  1. Do you have any “rules” to share for writing a novel?
  2. What do you think about Kinsey Mallone’s advice for writing a mystery? What advice would you add?
  3. Do you have dreams of bestsellerdom? What keeps you writing your novel?
  4. What is the most challenging part of writing a novel, for you? What is the most enjoyable?

Reader Friday-The Funniest Story Ever Told

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By Deb Gorman

My husband’s 30+ year career as an in-home electronics repairman yielded some amazingly funny stories.

Like the one about the folks who kept a bathtub filled with water. Why? Well, it seems they had a horse whose pasture was right outside the bathroom wall.

A horse who would sidle over to the hole they cut in that wall so he could drink out of the bathtub. Who would’ve thought?

My human lets me drink *in* the house! 🙂 (Image courtesy of Pixabay)

And this one he told me just the other day. Seems a lady called and reported her TV would change channels all on its own. Do I hear Twilight Zone music . . .?

Collection of antique remotes

Now this was back in the day before infrared/Bluetooth remotes–instead, they worked with ultrasonic sound to talk to your TV and switch channels when the button was pressed.

My husband reported for duty in her living room, but could find nothing wrong. He said, “Have a nice day,” and left.

What’s your cat’s superpower?

And went back a second time when she called. While there, he observed the channel-switching phenomenon for himself. At the same time the channel magically changed, the lady’s cat jumped off the couch. The cat with a bell on its collar–which rang when he jumped.

My husband jokes that he told the lady to “remove the bell, and that’ll be a hundred dollars, please.”

 

Okay, it’s your turn, TKZers.

What’s the funniest story you’ve ever heard or told, and have you used it in your writing?

Slipstream — A Unique, Hybrid Fiction Cross-Genre

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Recently, I was Zoom chatting with a writer friend. She asked me how it was going with my current work-in-progress—a project titled City Of Danger. I chuckled and said, “I’m intentionally breaking all the rules.”

“What genre is it in?” she asked.

I kept chuckling. “Hard to put a finger on it. It’s kind of a dog’s breakfast. Part hardboiled/noir detective crime fiction. Part thriller and suspense. A lot of historical nostalgia from the 1920s. And some sci-fi from a dystopian future. It involves malevolent AI and time travel. I might even throw in a touch of romantic comedy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m not doing what every editor, agent, and publishing guru always says to do. ‘Strictly write to one genre.’ Nope. I gotta be different.”

“Sounds like Slipstream.”

“Slipstream? What’s that?”

“It’s a unique, hybrid fiction cross-genre. The style has been around awhile, but it’s really gaining traction. Slipstream pushes creativity boundaries. It explores the depths of human experience, the human condition, in novel ways.”

“Damm. I thought I was inventing something new.”

She laughed, and we moved on to other things. When we were done, she’d piqued my interest. I Googled “Slipstream” and asked Chat about it. Did I ever get my eyes opened, and it fit exactly with what I stumbled upon while building City Of Danger.

Among other information, I found a great article in The Write Life titled How to Write Slipstream Fiction—Full Guide and Definition. Here’s the link and the piece’s opening words which don’t need me rephrasing:

In the ever-evolving genres of fiction, Slipstream emerges as a genre that defies the traditional boundaries of storytelling, offering a unique blend of the real and the surreal. This genre, sitting at the crossroads of speculative fiction and literary fiction, challenges our perceptions of reality, inviting readers and writers alike into a world where the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

If you’re intrigued by the idea of crafting narratives that transcend conventional genres, Slipstream fiction may be the creative avenue you’ve been searching for. This article is your comprehensive guide to understanding, appreciating, and ultimately writing Slipstream fiction that captivates and resonates.

What is Slipstream fiction?

Slipstream fiction is a genre that thrives on ambiguity, challenging both writers and readers to explore the spaces between the known and the unknown. Let’s dive into the core aspects that define this intriguing genre.

Our Slipstream fiction definition

Slipstream fiction is notoriously difficult to pin down with a single definition, but at its core, it represents a narrative that straddles the line between the speculative and the literary, often blurring the boundaries of reality and the fantastic. This genre is not just about fantastical elements or futuristic settings; it’s about invoking a sense of wonder, unease, or the uncanny through stories that feel both familiar and deeply strange.

Slipstream challenges our everyday understanding of reality, pushing readers to question what they know about the world around them.

It is this unique blend of the real and the surreal that sets Slipstream apart from more conventional genres, making it a fascinating field for writers who want to explore the depths of human experience in novel ways.

What are the key characteristics of Slipstream fiction?

Before we delve into the characteristics that define Slipstream fiction, it’s important to understand that these traits work together to create a distinctive reading experience that defies easy categorization. Here are the seven most important characteristics of Slipstream fiction:

  1. Ambiguity: Stories often leave more questions than answers, challenging readers to find their interpretations.
  2. Cognitive dissonance: The narrative may combine elements that traditionally don’t coexist, creating a sense of unease or perplexity.
  3. Surreal atmosphere: The setting or events have an otherworldly quality, even if rooted in the familiar.
  4. Emotional resonance: Despite the fantastical elements, the core of Slipstream fiction lies in its ability to evoke deep emotional responses.
  5. Intellectual stimulation: These narratives encourage readers to think deeply about themes, ideas, and the nature of reality itself.
  6. Genre blending: Slipstream fiction often incorporates elements from various genres, refusing to be boxed into a single category.
  7. Metafictional elements: There’s often a self-awareness within the narrative, playing with literary conventions and reader expectations.

Keep in mind that Slipstream fiction is by its nature a genre that blends elements and influences from a wide range of sources. As a result, feel free to use or ignore whichever characteristics of Slipstream depending on what your story requires.

———

So, now I was really intrigued. I spent the better part of a day digging into Slipstream, and I did what I do with most things that intrigue me. I encapsulated it visually on an 11×17 inch sheet. It came out looking like this:

Some of the takeaways from my research were the terms cognitive dissonance, cognitive equilibrium, and cognitive consonance. I wasn’t quite sure what they meant and how they meshed with the Slipstream style. Here’s what my little AI friend said:

Combined, these three terms encompass aspects of cognitive psychology related to the harmony, conflict, and resolution of beliefs, attitudes, and behaviors:

Cognitive Dissonance highlights the discomfort that arises when there is inconsistency between beliefs, attitudes, or behaviors. It emphasizes the tension that individuals experience when they hold conflicting cognitive elements.

Cognitive Equilibrium refers to the state of mental balance or harmony that individuals strive for, wherein their beliefs, attitudes, and understanding of the world are consistent and coherent. It reflects the desire for stability and coherence in one’s cognitive processes.

Cognitive Consonance underscores the psychological comfort that individuals experience when their beliefs, attitudes, or behaviors are in agreement with one another. It signifies a state of alignment and consistency in cognitive processes.

Together, these concepts provide insights into how individuals navigate the internal conflicts and seek harmony in their cognitive processes, whether by resolving inconsistencies (cognitive dissonance), striving for balance and coherence (cognitive equilibrium), or experiencing comfort in consistency (cognitive consonance).

The concepts discussed in this thread—cognitive dissonance, cognitive equilibrium, and cognitive consonance—can intersect with the genre of Slipstream in intriguing ways.

In Slipstream literature, there’s often a deliberate blending of genres, a crossing of boundaries between the familiar and the strange, resulting in narratives that defy conventional categorization. This blending can mirror the cognitive tension of cognitive dissonance, as readers encounter elements that challenge their expectations and beliefs.

Moreover, Slipstream narratives often disrupt traditional narrative structures, creating a sense of cognitive imbalance akin to cognitive dissonance. The stories may provoke a sense of unease or uncertainty, inviting readers to question their assumptions and perspectives, much like cognitive dissonance prompts individuals to confront conflicting beliefs.

At the same time, Slipstream literature can evoke a sense of cognitive equilibrium through its exploration of the surreal and the ordinary coexisting. Just as individuals seek cognitive balance by assimilating new information into their existing frameworks (cognitive equilibrium), Slipstream narratives integrate disparate elements into a cohesive whole, inviting readers to find meaning in the juxtaposition of the familiar and the unfamiliar.

Cognitive consonance also finds resonance in Slipstream, as readers may experience a sense of satisfaction or resonance when seemingly incongruent elements in the narrative coalesce into a coherent whole. This alignment of disparate elements can evoke a feeling of harmony, akin to the psychological comfort of cognitive consonance.

In summary, the concepts of cognitive dissonance, cognitive equilibrium, and cognitive consonance offer a lens through which to explore the cognitive dynamics at play in Slipstream literature. The genre’s blending of genres, disruption of narrative conventions, and integration of disparate elements can evoke cognitive tensions and resolutions reminiscent of these psychological concepts.

———

Me — This is all well and fair, because the object of all fiction is to suspend disbelief in the reader and take them on an exciting, memorable journey. Mixing genres has been successfully done by many writers with many stories over time. Here are some of the Slipstreams that made it big:

Ficciones by Jorge Luis Borges.

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

Station Eleven by Emily St, John Mandel

Cloud Atlas and The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood

Hardboiled Wonderland and the End of the World by Haruki Murakami

The City & the City by China Mieville

The New York Trilogy by Paul Auster

The Arrival by Shaun Tan

Her — the movie by Spike Jonze

However, the granddaddy of Slipstream, and one of the early ground breakers, was The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. It’s about a guy who wakes up one morning and finds that he’s turned into a giant insect and has to deal with a situation that truly sucks. Here’s the opening paragraph:

Kill Zoners — Who has heard of the Slipstream style? Has anyone read Slipstream, and what do you think of wildly mixing genres? And has anyone written anything that resembles Slipstream? Let’s get a discussion going and share experiences.

Smackdown: English Instructor vs. Freshman

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By John Gilstrap

By the time I got to college, writing and public speaking were my things–the niches I’d cut out for myself. I wasn’t nearly as good at either as I thought I was, but that’s what being a freshman is all about, right? I wanted to be a good student and I wanted to get good grades, both of which came so easily in high school but then proved to be elusive at the College of William and Mary in Virginia, where I was surrounded by students for whom such things likewise came easily in high school.

Western Civ kicked my ass. Honestly, who can possibly read all that stuff? As a science, Geology looked a lot better in the catalogue than it turned out to be in the classroom. Anthropology was cool, but again, what’s with all that reading? Holy crap! The Yanomamo are interesting, I suppose, but not for five hundred pages!

English 101 was supposed to be my happy place, the slam-dunk. I’d been editor of my high school paper, for crying out loud. I’d never gotten less than an A in any English class in my life. Welcome to college, kid.

This was 1975 and Mr. Greene (not Professor, mind you, making him only an instructor of English, apparently an important distinction) was a groovy, happening guy. With shoulder-length hair and a porn star mustache, he wore bellbottoms and sandals–the kind with the leather loop around the big toe. While he never did it around us, I’m confident he toked maryjane in his off hours. I would not have been surprised to learn that he owned a set of finger cymbals.

Our very first assignment from Mr. Greene was to write a one-page descriptive essay. Easy-peasy.

My Pop-Pop Bonner had passed away shortly before, so I wrote of seeing him laid out in the funeral home for the first time. I’d never seen a corpse before, and I’d never encountered the overwhelming smell (stench, actually) of all those flowers. I wrote of my hesitation to approach the casket and of my refusal to touch his hand as my mom wanted me to do. The payoff of the piece was that Pop-Pop had always been a working man, and there in the casket was first time I’d ever seen the lenses of his glasses be clean. I cried when I wrote it. I thought it was great. I turned it in with the naive confidence of an easy A.

Next class, Mr. Greene handed it back to me ungraded, with the note, “See me.”

I saw him. He told me that my piece was non-responsive to the assignment. He wanted a descriptive essay. I gave him a story. He gave me till the next class meeting to try it again.

I did try it again. I described the bejesus out of that scene. I talked about my uncomfortable shoes, about the crucifix on the wall, the light through the windows, the color of the carpet–everything. If nothing else, I demonstrated my knowledge of adjectives. I turned it in.

“SEE ME.” Note the caps.

I saw him. “What is this? Are you mocking me?”

I honestly don’t remember my reply. I might not have replied at all. Being a keen reader of body language and listener to words, I knew that I’d done something wrong, but I for the life of me didn’t know what it was. I certainly was not mocking him. Then. I most definitely am now.

I got a third swing at the ball. Lucky me.

Back at my dorm, I vented to my buddy Paul who lived next door (and is now a professor of accounting), who, as luck would have it, also had Mr. Greene but at a different time, and declared the descriptive essay to be the simplest assignment in history. He let me read what he’d written.

Oh.

My final rewrite was about a vase with flowers in it. No action, no emotion. Just flowers and a vessel to hold them. I got my A.

To this day, I do not understand the point of that exercise. For a reader to bond with a scene–with the description–movement and emotion are essential. Looking back, I must have instinctively realized the importance of point of view in creating a scene. In reality, plot, setting character can never exist effectively without interacting, all of it filtering through point of view narration.

My version was better.

And I still miss Pop-Pop.

Me Talk Pretty One Day
And Maybe Even Write Better

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Val d’Orcia in Tuscany, where the homecoming scene in “Gladiator” was filmed

By PJ Parrish

Buongiorno, cani del crimine!

Okay, fair warning. This post is going to be full of digressions. Because I am of a wandering mood today.

As you read this, I am probably having dinner somewhere in Tuscany. Am writing this ahead of departure, however, so I don’t have a clue where I will actually be. I travel with my husband Daniel, my best friend Linda and another old-friend-couple Roon and Athena. We’ve had great luck traveling together so we’re off again – The Traveling Wilburys.

First digression: Most of you have probably heard of the real Traveling Wilburys. They were a super-group composed of George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, Jeff Lynne and Roy Orbison. You had to be special to be a Wilbury. Not everyone had the creds and soul to be a Wilbury.

On a Sirius XM Tom Petty channel, Petty talked about how they used to sit around and muse about who could be a Wilbury and who could not. Jack Nicholson = Wilbury. Richard Dreyfuss = great actor but never a Wilbury.

This is how we feel about our little travel group. You have to have the right stuff. Our Wilburys like the countryside, not big cities. We seek out eateries discovered on the wing, not Michelin-mandated must-tries. We love to sit in cafes and watch the world go by, not face the selfie-hoards around the Mona Lisa. I am convinced conflicting travel vibes is behind the failure of many marriages.

But I digress.

I have been trying to learn some Italian before this trip. I do it because I think it’s necessary to have good manners as a visitor and because I found it so darn frustrating on my first trip to France in 1985 that I couldn’t talk to folks.

After much agony and decades, I can speak enough French to get by. As David Sedaris wrote of his own sad attempts to learn French: Me talk pretty one day. From his essay of the same name:

Learning French is a lot like joining a gang in that it involves a long and intensive period of hazing. And it wasn’t just my teacher; the entire population seemed to be in on it. Following brutal encounters with my local butcher and the concierge of my building, I’d head off to class, where the teacher would hold my corrected paperwork high above her head, shouting, “Here’s proof that David is an ignorant and uninspired ensigiejsokhjx.”

My only comfort was the knowledge that I was not alone. Huddled in the smoky hallways and making the most of our pathetic French, my fellow students and I engaged in the sort of conversation commonly overheard in refugee camps.

“Sometimes me cry alone at night.” “That is common for me also, but be more strong, you. Much work, and someday you talk pretty. People stop hate you soon. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

But I digress.

Learning a new language isn’t just for the benefit of the foreigners you might meet. It’s good for you. Like at a cellular level.

Everyone’s brain is made up of neurons, and things called dendrites, which are the connections between neurons. This is what we call “grey matter.” Bilingual folks have more of these neurons and dendrites compared to the rest of us. This means that their grey matter is even greyer.

Bilingualism also has an impact your brain’s white matter. This is the system of nerve fibres which connect all four lobes of the brain. This system coordinates communication between the different brain regions. This helps you learn new stuff. Bilinguals have a lot of white stuff.

Yeah, but it’s hard, darn it. Kids, well, they tend to pick up languages pretty easily. We old farts really struggle. But it’s worth it. Just the process of trying to learn Italian gives my brain a workout and protects me from dementia. So I can say with great confidence that after six months suffering through Babbel Italian, I can now say “Where are the car keys?” (Dove sono le chiavi della macchina?). But I still have trouble finding my car in the lot at Home Depot.

Scientific studies have shown that learning a language also helps you stay awake. Just one week studying a new language helps students’ levels of alertness and focus. This improvement was maintained with continuous language study of at least five hours a week.  And get this: Improvement in attention span was noted across all age groups up to 80. This gives me great hope because napping is my new hobby.

But I digress.

Okay, so learning Italian is good for:

  1. Polite manners
  2. Finding a bathroom in Cortona
  3. Helping your memory
  4. Keeping you awake

But what does all this have to do with writing novels? (And you thought I didn’t have a point today). Well, turns out that according to studies, learning a foreign language helps you communicate better in your native language. It also boosts your powers of empathy. And maybe the best benefit: It increases your ability to see things from a different perspective. To put it another way, foreign language study:

  1. Enhances your command of English
  2. Makes you understand human nature
  3. Allows you to walk in another person’s shoes. Madame Bovary, c’est moi.

Don’t we novelists need all three of those in spades?

In trying to learn French, I had to respect the structure of the language (if you put an adjective in the wrong place, it can change its meaning completely). I had to learn the nuances of the accent and subjunctive tense (One neglected subjunctive and a kiss is not a kiss, it’s a shag). In trying to learn Italian, the biggest lesson I learned was that sometimes you just have to go with the flow.

Italian is a very quirky language. I’m a tad anal and I drove myself crazy trying to analyze the whys behind it. I was always looking for the theory and sense behind its structure. I finally gave up and just tried to speak. I hear that the Italians are a very forgiving people.

I love idioms and my favorite in Italian so far is this one:

Non tutte le ciambelle riescono col buco.

This translates literally as “not all donuts come out with holes.” It means, roughly, that things aren’t going according to plan but, hey, don’t sweat it. Que sera. It’s a verbal shrug. Which is pretty good advice in any language for any situation, right?

But I digress.

A presto, amici!

 

Arm Your Antagonist with This Important Weapon

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I’ve got a special treat for you today. Becca Puglisi joins us with tips on how to flesh out antagonists. Please help me welcome her back to TKZ.

Cover linked to Amazon

We all know the importance of tapping into our character’s feelings and conveying those clearly to readers. When we do this, readers connect with our characters and become invested in the story. This is how we keep them engaged beyond the first few pages or chapters.

But sometimes our characters don’t want to “go there” emotionally. Maybe they’re resistant to change and have a death grip on the status quo. They might be uncomfortable with certain emotions and will try to hide or repress them. Un-dealt-with trauma may cause them to avoid their feelings. There are a lot of reasons a character might need an extra push to get them out of their emotional comfort zone. And the best way to do this is with an amplifier. Emotion amplifiers are specific states or conditions that influence what the character feels by disrupting their equilibrium and reducing their ability to think critically.

Distraction, bereavement, and exhaustion are examples. Emotionally speaking, these states destabilize the character and nudge them toward poor judgments, bad decisions, and mistakes—all of which result in more friction and increased tension in the story. And that’s often what we want.

But we’re not the only ones invested in making life difficult for our characters. Villains, rivals, frenemies, antiheroes, and other morally flexible characters will often seek to undermine other characters as a means of controlling them or manipulating their circumstances. A strategically used amplifier is a great tool for bringing those devious pursuits to fruition. Here are a few examples of short-term goals your bad guy or girl may pursue and how an amplifier can help bring them about.

MANIPULATING MOOD

Mood is a temporary state of mind—tending toward negative or positive—that is often influenced by external stimuli. It affects a character’s perception of themselves, other people, and their situation and influences their decision-making.

Someone with a vested interest in changing the character’s mood can easily do so with an amplifier. Maybe they purposefully put the protagonist into a state of exhaustion by disrupting their sleep, or they force them to endure the hardship of cold temperatures by killing their heater in winter. As the character’s mood swings, they go right where the adversary wants them: emotionally elevated, irritable, and distracted from what really matters.

ENSURING COMPLIANCE

Antagonists tend to crave compliance; after all, it’s a lot easier to dominate others when they’re not actively fighting against you. If the protagonist hasn’t yet recognized their enemy, all the adversary has to do is quietly manipulate the situation to weaken them. Then they can step in and lead the character in the wrong direction, offer self-serving advice, or magnify any cognitive or emotional dissonances already in play.

In the movie Ghost, Molly’s husband Sam is dead, and she’s in the throes of bereavement. Her good friend Carl (who, unbeknownst to Molly, was responsible for Sam’s death) is now subtly putting the romantic moves on her. His attempts are unsuccessful, so he takes a different tack by pushing her deeper into grief, deliberately using her situation to make her more vulnerable and open to suggestion—a despicable but frequently successful way to gain control and influence over someone’s decisions.

Another way a character can ensure compliance is by introducing an amplifier to create an undesirable situation, then using that situation to “rescue” the victim. Consider a greedy land baron who wants to take over a town, if he can just depose the matriarch. So he uses his considerable resources to create a local famine. Crops fail, people and animals go hungry, and the coming winter promises even greater suffering and death. Fear becomes as abundant as food once was. The matriarch, unable to identify the cause of the famine, is powerless to resolve the problem.

Then a stranger comes to town. He expresses sympathy for the villagers and reverses the famine to provide food until the next harvest. The indebted villagers begin to view him as more capable and resourceful than their own matriarch, and voilà! Through a fabricated disaster fueled by hunger and fear, the antagonist has earned the trust of the people and is on his way to claiming the village for himself.

CAUSING A PSYCHOLOGICAL DERAILMENT

But what if it’s not enough to simply win people over? In extreme cases, an antagonist may need to break down their opponent mentally and emotionally before building them back up in their own image. Leveraging the following amplifiers can help accomplish this.

Isolation: Separating a character from other people and even the wider world creates an unmet need in the area of social connection (love and belonging on Maslow’s hierarchy). Isolated characters make easier targets because of their emotional vulnerability and their longing to be accepted by others.

Confinement: Trapping or restricting a character in some way makes them emotionally volatile and reliant, forcing them to depend upon their captor for release, information, or whatever they need to survive.

Forced addiction: Creating a dependency on drugs, medicine, or other substances alters the character’s mental state, tempting them to sacrifice their moral code and reconstruct their priorities as the substance becomes the most important thing.

Torture and trauma: These potent tools, applied directly to the character or indirectly to loved ones, make the protagonist more fragile and easier to break.

Brainwashing. Thought reform through altering the character’s beliefs, attitudes, and behaviors is the tool of a morally destitute antagonist. This subtle process twists fear and hope in a perverse way to rewire the subject’s brain to align with the adversary’s own ideas.

These are difficult notions to consider, particularly as we know these amplifiers are used in the real world for heinous purposes. As such, writers shouldn’t deploy them casually. But they are legitimate options for a corrupt character who’s motivated enough to use them.

There are so many ways a character may seek to achieve their nefarious goals, and an amplifier can be the most effective. Make your antagonist a force to be reckoned with. Arm them with amplifiers that will make them more powerful, create challenges for the protagonist to navigate, and encourage readers to keep turning pages to see who wins.

 

For more information on amplifiers and how they can empower antagonists (and steer story structure, encourage character growth…the list goes on!), keep an eye out for the 2nd edition of The Emotion Amplifier Thesaurus, releasing on May 13th. Available now!

Happy Release Day, Becca!

Becca Puglisi is an international speaker, writing coach, and bestselling author of The Emotion Thesaurus and other resources for writers. Her books have sold over 1 million copies and are available in multiple languages, are sourced by US universities, and are used by novelists, screenwriters, editors, and psychologists around the world. She is passionate about learning and sharing her knowledge with others through her Writers Helping Writers blog and via One Stop For Writers—a powerhouse online resource for authors that’s home to the Character Builder and Storyteller’s Roadmap tools.

The Writing Biz: Noncompete Clauses and New Careers

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Two things caught my eye this week I think you should know about.

1. The End of the Noncompete Clause?

Traditionally published authors authors take note (and discuss with your agent): The Federal Trade Commission has issued a rule banning noncompete clauses. Under the rule, existing noncompetes for the vast majority of workers will no longer be enforceable after the rule’s effective date on Sept. 4, 2024.

The Authors Guild applauds the rule:

The Authors Guild has long objected to non-compete clauses and advised their removal in our contract reviews. These clauses, which are purportedly designed to protect publishers’ investments by preventing authors from selling the same or substantially similar work to another publisher, are often too broad. Authors are routinely asked to agree not to publish other works that might “directly compete with” the book under contract or “be likely to injure its sale or the merchandising of other rights.” Even more broadly, they may be asked not to “publish or authorize the publication of any material based on the Work or any material in the Work or any other work of such a nature such that it is likely to compete with the Work.”

Such open-ended non-compete clauses can prevent authors from pursuing other writing opportunities. If a new project even arguably deals with the same “subject” as the book under contract, the non-compete can be invoked to prevent an author from publishing elsewhere. For writers specializing in a particular subject, this could be career-derailing.

Certainly an author shouldn’t “compete” with their trad book by, say, self-publishing a similar book in the same season, etc. The publisher does deserve some protection for their investment, and your full marketing effort to help the book succeed.

On the other hand, a writer should be free to make more dough without the threat of a noncompete hammer coming down upon them. Thus, I have advocated for a more specific and fairer noncompete. But that may be moot in view of this new rule.

However, keep watch, for there are grounds for a lawsuit challenging the rule. Indeed, one of the Commissioners strongly dissented:

The rule nullifies more than thirty million existing contracts, and forecloses countless tens of millions of future contracts. The Commission estimates that the rule could cost employers between $400 billion and $488 billion in additional wages and benefits over the next ten years—and does not even hazard a guess at the value of the 30 million contracts it nullifies.

His reason for dissenting is that “an administrative agency’s power to regulate … must always be grounded in a valid grant of authority from Congress. Because we lack that authority, the Final Rule is unlawful.”

We shall see.

2. Can New Writers Still Have a Career?

It is “staggeringly difficult,” according to industry vet Mike Shatzkin.

You don’t have to be an insider to know that there were 500,000 titles in English available in 1990 and that more than 20 million are available from Ingram (thanks to print-on-demand) today. And that everything that was ever made available remains on sale through “normal channels” (which is “online”, not “in store”) forever. It doesn’t take a math genius to reckon that a pretty stable total book purchasing and readership constituency will result in dramatic reductions in sales per title.

In a meeting with publishing vets, he came away with this:

One agent has two clients who are successful self-publishers (there are subsidiary rights and foreign rights to occupy an agent.) Two things stood out about them. One is that they both published exclusively with Amazon, without the complement (which I would have thought would be “standard”) of also working through Ingram. The other thing was that they both started working their genres (and they publish exclusively genre fiction) in 2008 or so, before the rush of self-publishers in genres had saturated the market. So they established their brands in their genre marketplace when the competition was still minimal. The agent reports that both of these authors don’t believe they’d be successful starting to do this today.

JSB: I don’t agree with the last statement as a “rule.” The goal for a writer today is not wide distribution, but growing an “own list.” That can still be done, if the quality is there. True, the “breakout novel” is rarer than ever, but it has always been the exception. The writers who make a good chunk of change over time deliver quality product that grows a readership, which they nurture via email list and some social media presence.

It is, indeed, almost impossible to get a significant advance from a publisher unless sales are assured either by a highly branded author or an author platform of some kind that has significant promise for marketing and sales.

JSB: True that! And if that noncompete rule holds up, I would expect advances to be lower to nonexistent.

Comments welcome.

Splitting Personalities

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After struggling for years, maybe decades, you The Writer gets published. Celebrations! Parties! Champagne! Now you can legitimately call yourself an author. The book is a modest success and if you’re lucky, there’s a two or three book contract and eventually a world of your own making grows in print.

Like most of us have experienced, it probably won’t be that hoped-for blockbuster, because as I read last weekend, there are a million traditionally printed books released each year, and if we add in self-publishing, it jumps to four million titles clamoring for attention. That equates to about eleven thousand books hitting the figurative shelves each day. To put it simply, all this makes it hard to get noticed.

But you’re published and the fruits of your imagination are out there for everyone to read and enjoy. If you produce two novels in the same genre, you’ve most likely established a “brand.” You now write thrillers, mysteries, cozies, science fiction, fantasy, and any number of other genres.

Let’s say you write thrillers. The cover bears your name, and you’ve figured out how all this works. Unlike that first one that you toiled and sweated over, the second manuscript comes a little easier, mostly because you have a contract specifying a delivery time and by golly you’re gonna make it.

The next book comes out, and a year later, another. Though you still haven’t made the bestseller list, the checks keep coming in and the reviews are great. You’re on a roll.

The phone rings. “Uh, Author? We’re negotiating the contract for a new book.”

“While you do that, I’m going to write something different. I have an idea for a romantic thriller.”

“That isn’t what you write.”

There. You’re pigeonholed to only do what you’ve done in the past, but is that a bad thing? Most authors have stories that swirl like the little birds around a cartoon character’s head. You’ve been reading thrillers and after finishing the last one you told yourself, “I can do better.”

You’ve always wanted to be published, and so should you just settle in and stay in that lane?

My answer is no, if you want to experiment with ideas outside of what you’re doing. After writing mysteries for several years, you want to do something different and that’s perfectly understandable. You and your readers love those characters and the fictional world you created, but if you read everything from thrillers, to westerns, to nonfiction, you might feel a calling to trying something different.

Is it a career killer to switch genres?

Ask A.A. Milne. He wrote murder mysteries, after he tried his hand in writing humor and plays before Winnie the Pooh was born.

Cormac McCarthy wrote literary fiction for years before releasing his outstanding western titled, Blood Meridian. He also penned a number of contemporary westerns and eventually moved on to the apocalyptic novel, The Road before writing historical fiction.

With more than 225 romance novels in her backlist, Nora Roberts decided she wanted to write futuristic police procedurals. You might know her as J.D. Robb.

And did you know that fun movie that came out in the 1968 with Dick Van Dyke as the lead character was written by the creator of James Bond? Ian Fleming wrote Chitty Chitty Bang Bang in 1962.

Dean Koontz began his writing career by producing lean mystery novels, many under pen names early in his career such as Brian Coffey (Blood Risk in 1973), before moving to horror, (Intensity), and now a flood of suspense thrillers. But within these current pages, he also adds elements of horror, fantasy and science fiction. He’s blending genres.

Larry McMurtry wrote western novels such as the nontraditional western Horseman, Pass By (1961), to Moving On (still another contemporary western about marriage and adult relationships), and literary fiction utilizing dark comedy and romance (The Evening Star). He concentrated on these genres for years before writing the Pulitzer Prize-winning western novel, Lonesome Dove. In his later years, McMurtry switched from one genre to another, even producing nonfiction books on the old west.

You roll your eyes at these examples. “Yeah, but these folks are famous!”

They are now, but they all started out with that first novel, then the second, until they gained enough experience and confidence to branch out, despite possible warnings from friends, publishers, and agents.

In my opinion, and with the examples above as evidence, you don’t have to “stick with what brung you,” to borrow and old southern saying.

It’s your work, your brand, and your name, and you should follow your instincts. For some authors, producing only one novel a year is almost overwhelming but satisfying and that’s enough. For others who like to play with their imaginary friends, two, and maybe three books a year is a real possibility, and that gives you the opportunity to experiment and branch out.

No matter how you do it, under your own name, or with a pseudonym, do your own thing.

Reader Friday-Worst Advice Ever

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You said to do what?? (Image courtesy of Pixabay)

By Deb Gorman

We’ve discussed in these halls the best/worst advice ever given to us, particularly in the realm of writing.

Today, let’s flip that around.

What’s the worst advice or counsel you’ve ever given to someone else–come on, we’re all friends here–‘fess up!

I’ll start: Decades ago at my (first) wedding, I advised my Mom to not go looking for my little brother, age 10, who was the junior groomsman. She wanted to make sure he was properly kitted up in his miniature tux. I told her he knew how to dress himself, and to please stay with me.

Boy howdy, was I wrong!

He was given black socks to wear with his tux and spit-polished black dress shoes, but instead, he chose to wear his bright orange fuzzy tube socks. (Remember those?) They shone like a beacon under his too-short by two inches slacks.

I didn’t notice, being a very nervous bride, and family and guests were given strict instructions not to tell me. The professional photos were a sight to behold.

Not exactly a tuxedo, but the socks are orange! (Image courtesy of Pixabay)

 

 

Okay, your turn . . . worst advice you’ve ever dished out to someone else. We’re all ears–

 

 

 

The Case of the Bird-Brained Witness

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By Elaine Viets

   The witness to the murder could repeat every word the killer and the victim said during the fatal confrontation.  The witness was alive, but not human.

          What was the witness?

          A parrot. An African grey to be exact.

          While researching A Scarlet Death, my new Angela Richman, death investigator mystery, I learned about parrots as murder witnesses. This information has been compiled from news stories.

          Consider the 2017 case of the woman in Michigan convicted of her husband’s murder, thanks in part to his parrot. Police first thought someone had murdered the husband and tried to kill the wife. The woman survived being shot in the head. But the parrot repeated the husband’s last words. The parrot said, “Don’t f—-ing shoot!” in the husband’s voice. Turns out the woman murdered her husband and then tried to kill herself. The details of the shooting were remarkably vivid, as reported by the parrot. It was an African grey.

          In 2018, another parrot witnessed the rape and murder of a woman in Argentina. Her parrot repeated the whole terrible crime, saying, “No, please. Let me go,” which investigators believe were the last words of the woman.

          My favorite case was the parrot who knew too much. In the mid-1990s, Echo was put into witness protection. The New Orleans parrot belonged to a crime boss who was suspected of child abuse, among other crimes. Late at night, the bird would sometimes cry like a child, then sound like it was moaning in pain, and then make a noise like whack, or thwack! as if someone was being hit. The bird had to be hidden because it knew too much and wouldn’t shut up.

        When an animal seriously harms or kills a person, it’s often put down. But in past centuries, the beast was given a trial.

          Pigs for instance. Whether you think pigs are cute little animals, or pork chops on the hoof, they have a bad reputation. People who live in farm country know the stories of farmers who had heart attacks out by the pig pen and were eaten by their animals.

          In the Middle Ages, pigs were tried for murder. In 1386, a sow mauled a child so badly, it died. The pig was arrested, imprisoned and stood trial for murder. The homicidal hog was found guilty and executed by hanging.

Weirdly enough, the sow was dressed in men’s clothes when it was hanged. There’s no record if the defendant was eaten.

          In my new book, A Scarlet Death, Buddy, a murder victim’s African grey parrot seems to recount details of its owner’s brutal death.

          Chouteau Forest death investigator Angela Richman and attorney Montgomery Bryant are discussing the parrot’s testimony over dinner.

          “Let’s go back to the parrot,” Angela said. “Any chance that talking birds will be allowed to testify in court? They’re very smart.”

          “Too many problems,” the lawyer said. “How do we know Buddy the parrot actually heard the victim being murdered?”

          “Because of what he said. And Buddy’s words match the facts.” Angela speared a tender piece of chicken breast.

   “But what if we don’t know the facts?” Monty asked. “Or what if Buddy is imitating something he heard on TV? People could be convicted on the word of a parrot that watched CSI.”

          “But Buddy said the killer’s name.”

          “He did. How do we know the parrot didn’t just drop that name in there because he heard his owner say it on the phone?”

          “OK, I get it,” l said. “But I wish we knew what animals were saying to us, don’t you?”

          “Some of them, like cats and dogs.”

            Monty finished his last bite of burger and said, “However, I’d just as soon not know what this cow was saying on the way to the slaughterhouse.”

           So, did Buddy the parrot help the police solve his owner’s murder? You’ll have to read A Scarlet Death to find out.

Enter my contest to win a free ebook of A Scarlet Death. Send your name and email address to WinEVbooks@aol.com. Contest closes midnight, May 31.