Author Archives: James Scott Bell

About James Scott Bell

International Thriller Writers Award winner, #1 bestselling author of THRILLERS and BOOKS ON WRITING. Subscribe to JSB's NEWSLETTER.

Show Us the Good Stuff

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Gather round for another of our first-page critiques. The genre is Mystery. My comments to follow.

A litter of russet leaves curled over the hood of the taxi as it pulled up to the curb. Chad had accepted a lift from the airport from Claude Durand, and now he was regretting it. 

“I think it’s braveof you, to support Follett publicly,” Claude said.

Chad avoided eye contact. Was it brave to be honest? It shouldn’t be.

“Mind you, I wouldn’t stake your reputation on his. After what he did—”

“What he did? You mean what was done to him.”

Claude raised his palms. “Ecoutez-moi. I think you will find that many people at this tournament lost money when they invested in Chess Maestro.”

“An investment is always a risk.”

Claude surveyed him coolly. “You probably think you’ll be winning chess tournaments for the rest of your life.” With an extra tang of bitterness, he added, “Nice to be young.”

Outside the car window, the seaside hotel soared into the blue September sky. And on the front steps stood David Follett, with a fedora pushed back on his head and his chin raised.

“Well,” Chad said half-heartedly. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

Claude raised a palm again. “I’ve been studying your moves. You’ve got possibilities.” He put his hand on the door handle. “Don’t waste them.”

Chad left the car. He loved playing chess more than anything else in life. But he wasn’t always sure how he felt about other chess players.

“Good to see you, brother,” David said, crossing over to shake hands with him. “D’you have a good trip?”

“All but the lecture at the end.”

David grinned, showing the wrinkles around his eyes. “I’ll bet. But on a day like this, I feel magnanimous with the whole world. Even the Claude Durands. I think this is going to be a good tournament. You?”

“I’m feeling good.”

“That’s it, brother. Don’t let it all get to you. It’s just about the fun of the game.”

As Chad turned away, David placed a hand on his arm.

“Remember, the most dangerous game you’re playing is the one in your head.”

David Follett was always saying cryptic things like that. Chad never really understood what they were supposed to mean, but this time the words would come back to him with cruel significance before the day was done. David would be found floating face down in the hotel pool, his final game all played out.

***

JSB: Let’s start at the end. You hear it over and over: show, don’t tell. There’s good reason for that—it works. It’s the difference between an immediate, emotional experience (which is what a reader craves) and a dull lecture.

Yes, there are times to tell, but almost always that is in order to get from one scene to another quickly, so you can start showing again.

And for goodness’ sake, always show the most important, emotion-charged part of the scene in all its vividness.

Here, the most interesting thing that happens on the page is the body floating in the pool. But we’re only told about it. Worse, it hasn’t even happened yet, taking all the potential of emotional impact out of it when it does.

Dead bodies must be shown or reported in real time. (Unless they are part of a character’s backstory.)

So my first bit of advice for our writer is to cut something: the last paragraph.

Now let’s go to the beginning.

A litter of russet leaves curled over the hood of the taxi as it pulled up to the curb. Chad had accepted a lift from the airport from Claude Durand, and now he was regretting it. 

That first line doesn’t give us a POV. It’s just there. Who is seeing these leaves?

Apparently Chad, according to the second line. Except the second line is written in the past tense, then switches to the present. This is confusing. Make a note of this: your opening page should always be present tense action through one POV. That will never, ever hurt you. Once you become world famous, you can mess around with style if you wish. But I wouldn’t advise it.

Oh yes, and avoid giving characters names that start with the same letter. It’s too easy to confuse Chad and Claude.

“I think it’s brave of you, to support Follett publicly,” Claude said.

I wouldn’t italicize “brave” in this instance. In fact, don’t italicize dialogue unless it’s necessary for emphasis, e.g., “I can’t believe you let him kiss you!”

Chad avoided eye contact. Was it brave to be honest? It shouldn’t be.
“Mind you, I wouldn’t stake your reputation on his. After what he did—”
“What he did? You mean what was done to him.”

You’re introducing a note of mystery here, which is a good move. And look! Italics might be called for, i.e., “What he did? You mean what was done to him.”

Claude raised his palms. “Ecoutez-moi. I think you will find that many people at this tournament lost money when they invested in Chess Maestro.”

I can’t think of a good reason to have Claude saying, Ecoutez-moi. Unless someone speaks French rather well, it just looks odd. I know it characterizes Claude as something of a continental sophisticate, but you can do that in other ways.

Claude surveyed him coolly. “You probably think you’ll be winning chess tournaments for the rest of your life.” With an extra tang of bitterness, he added, “Nice to be young.”

Okay, here is the first indication of who is who and what is what. Chad is a young chess master. Fine. But who is Claude? What is Claude’s relationship with Chad? Why should Chad listen to him?

Outside the car window, the seaside hotel soared into the blue September sky. And on the front steps stood David Follett, with a fedora pushed back on his head and his chin raised.

Again, that first sentence is passively objective. Put it in Chad’s head. Have him seeing the hotel. And by the way, where are we? Sounds like France, but this is where you can add specificity so the reader knows we’re at, say, the Soufflé Puant Hotel.

Chad left the car. He loved playing chess more than anything else in life. But he wasn’t always sure how he felt about other chess players.

Okay, here’s the heart of the matter. What’s missing in this scene is a character to bond with and a disturbance. Those are two crucial elements of any first page. The first question a reader has is, Who am I reading about? Whose story (or at least chapter) is this?

The second question is, Why should I care?

We’ve covered the first issue. Firmly establish we’re in Chad’s POV, and stay there. But further, what is there about him that we can empathize with? His love of chess might work, but the problem is you tell us he loves it. We need to feel him feeling it.

Here is where a bit of backstory can help. You’ll sometimes hear a critique-group sheriff announce in no uncertain terms, “No backstory in the first thirty pages!” This is not good advice.

There is fair warning about too much, however. So what’s the answer?

I’m here with JSB’s Backstory Prescription (JSBsBP). I’ve given this to students many times with wonderful results.

  1. In the first ten pages (approx. 2500 words) allow yourself three sentences of backstory, used all together or separately.
  2. In the second ten, three paragraphs of backstory, all together or separately.

So here on the first page, give us some blood pumping in Chad about chess, such as:

Ever since he was seven, when his dad taught him the moves, Chad had been in love with chess. When he starting playing tournaments at age eight, the joys of victory deepened his love into a devotion bordering on obsession.

Now we’re starting to bond. What will cement that bond is a disturbance.

What trouble is there? Chad is arriving for a chess tournament of some sort. Claude tells him he’s being “brave.” You tell us he isn’t sure about some of the other chess players. David tells him not to “let it all get to you.” That’s not enough.

Give us something specific Chad can worry about.

  • Death threats.
  • Being charged with cheating.
  • A female chess player who dumped him is going to be there.
  • He’s experiencing sudden fatigue or anxiety.

Brainstorm. Come up with something that tells us it’s not smooth sailing arriving at this plush resort for a tournament.

Whew. I think I’ll stop here in order to make a suggestion. Try writing this first page in all dialogue. Not even attributions. This is for you only. Figure out how to put in all the crucial information we’ve talked about in a tense dialogue exchange between Chad and Claude. Include the disturbance in this exchange. (See my post on hiding information inside confrontation. See also P. J. Parrish’s Dos and Don’ts of a great first chapter.)

After that’s done, drop in two or three sentences of backstory, as prescribed earlier.

You’re going to love the result. As will potential readers.

And then—keep writing!

Good luck.

Comments welcome.

 

Major in Minors

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

W. C. Fields as Wilkins Micawber; Freddy Bartholomew as David in MGM’s David Copperfield (1935)

When it comes to minor characters, what you don’t want is the bland leading the bland. That’s why I call minor characters “spice.” Just the right amount can turn an average reading experience into a tasty delight. It’s the difference between plain yogurt and Rocky Road, or chicken broth and mulligatawny.

Minor characters, as I use the term, are to be distinguished from Main and Secondary characters.

Main characters are Rick, Ilsa, Laszlo, Louis in Casablanca. They have the most to do with the plot.

Secondary are recurring characters who have some importance to the plot, like Major Strasser and Sam the piano man.

Minor characters are those who appear for various reasons to complicate or relieve matters (comic relief is a great tool in thrillers and suspense). In Casablanca there are a number of these, from Ugarte (Peter Lorre) to the desperate Bulgarian wife (Joy Page) to Carl the waiter (S. Z. “Cuddles” Sakall).

A subset of minor characters are those who appear once, necessary to a scene. Taxi drivers, doormen, barbers, and the like.

Consider now the uses of minor characters.

Essential Plot Information

There are any number of times when a main character needs some inside information. The cliché is the shoeshine guy who knows what’s happening on the street.

My favorite send-up of this trope is from the old TV show Police Squad, starring Leslie Nielsen as the cop. He gets into the shoeshine chair and slips Johnny a bill to tell him what’s what. The hilarious part is that while Johnny knows everything going on crime-wise, he also knows everything about everything. So when a priest sits down and asks, “What do you know about life after death?” Johnny answers, “I wouldn’t know anything about it.” The priest slips him a bill. Johnny says, “You talking existential being or anthropomorphic deity?”

It is Ugarte in Casablanca who delivers the MacGuffin to Rick—the letters of transit.

Deepening Main Characters

How a main character interacts with a minor character can reveal a great deal.

Here’s some advice from James “The Love Doctor” Bell. If you plan to get married, observe how your intended treats the server in a restaurant, or the checkout person at the grocery store.

What I call the “Pet the Dog” beat can be used for this. Think of Dr. Richard Kimble in The Fugitive (see my post here). He takes a risk to help a dying boy in the hospital, even though it leads to more trouble.

Or Rick, who helps the husband of the Bulgarian wife get the money they need to buy papers, instead of her having to sleep with Louis to get them. Louis observes this and makes note of it. More trouble for Rick.

Setting Richness

A minor character can lend color to an unfamiliar setting. This is a good addition to description. Seeing and hearing characters in their element adds to the tone and feel of a scene.

In the Harrison Ford movie Witness, John Book (Ford) is a cop who has to hide out among the Amish to avoid assassination and protect the Amish boy who can identify a murdering cop (played by Danny Glover). His interactions with various characters and their ways are evocative:

Scene Tension

Here’s an underused tip: put two minor characters in opposition in a scene as the main character is trying to advance the plot. In Long Lost I have two elderly women who volunteer at the reception desk of a local hospital. As my main character attempts to gain access, the two of them, dubbed Curls and Red by the main, snipe at each other, adding a further obstacle. I got this idea from my great aunts, one a widow and the other a divorcee, who lived together. When I’d visit, they’d put out the See’s candy and give each other little verbal jabs as they recalled family stories.

Plot Juice

Raymond Chandler famously said that if things get slow, just bring in a guy with a gun. Of course, it doesn’t have to be a guy or a gun, but a minor character with something of importance.

Hammett does this in The Maltese Falcon. Spade has had no luck finding the black bird. Then one night a man riddled with bullets stumbles into his office, hands him a bundle, and dies. Turns out the stiff is the captain of a ship and the bundle is, you guessed it, the falcon.

Wrapping Up a Mystery

Sometimes you get to the end of a book and there are plot threads that need to be accounted for (you pantsers know what I’m talking about!). Now what?

Well, a minor character can show up with the essential information. You can create such a character on the spot. But then you have to do something else—go back into the book and find a scene or two to plant this character. Otherwise, it will be a Deus ex machina.

I’ll leave you with a couple of tips for creating memorable minor characters.

Avoid stereotypes. They are usually the first picture to spring to mind because we’ve seen them so many times before. The bartender wiping a glass. The truck driver in boots and cowboy hat or baseball cap. Just take a moment to change things up. Maybe the bartender knits. Maybe the truck driver is a woman who likes dresses. You’re the writer, come up with something new.

Tags of manner and speech. Give each minor character one unique tag of manner and one of speech. Dickens was a master at this. Think of Uriah Heep, always rubbing his hands together and smarmily talking about how ’umble he is. Or Wilkins Micawber, who always uses twenty words when five would do. David describes him as—

a stoutish, middle-aged person, in a brown surtout and black tights and shoes, with no more hair upon his head (which was a large one, and very shining) than there is upon an egg, and with a very extensive face, which he turned full upon me. His clothes were shabby, but he had an imposing shirt-collar on. He carried a jaunty sort of a stick, with a large pair of rusty tassels to it; and a quizzing-glass hung outside his coat,—for ornament, I afterwards found, as he very seldom looked through it, and couldn’t see anything when he did.

That’s how you major in minors.

Who are some of you favorite fictional minor characters? How about in you own fiction?

When Can You Call Yourself a Writer?

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

First thing I did when I decided to become a writer (even if I couldn’t learn like they told me in college, even if I failed) was go to a bookstore and buy a black coffee mug with WRITER on it. I wanted to look at it every day, and believe it. I don’t think I ever drank coffee from it. It’s still here in my office. I still look at it every day.

At first, when people would ask me, “So, what do you do?” I could never get myself to say, “I’m a writer.” I was still practicing law and running a small law book business. That’s really what I did to put food on the table.

Then I got published. Only when I had four or five books out there and a new multi-book contract was I comfortable enough to say “Writer.” Even then it took some getting used to.

That’s because the inevitable follow-up would be, “Oh! What do you write?”

“Fiction.”

“I love fiction. I wonder if I’ve read any of your books.”

I’d then be forced to give a few titles and watch the dead, uncomprehending eyes of my questioner blink, and see a half smile of abject pity crease her face.

Well, like the existentialists say, it is what it is. I’m better prepared now.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a writer.”

“Oh! What do you write?”

“Thrillers.”

“I love thrill—”

“Thanks! Here’s my card. You can check out my books on my website.”

So what about you? Do you feel comfortable calling yourself a writer?

Does there have to be a certain level of accomplishment first? (See Kay’s excellent reflections on “success.”)

Early on I clipped this from The Writer magazine. It’s by Malcolm Bradbury, from Unseen Letters: Irreverent Notes From a Literary Life:

I write everything. I write novels and short stories and plays and playlets, interspersed with novellas and two-hander sketches. I write histories and biographies and introductions to the difficulties of modern science and cook books and books about the Loch Ness monster and travel books, mostly about East Grinstead….I write children’s books and school textbooks and works of abstruse philosophy…and scholarly articles on the Etruscans and works of sociology and anthropology. I write articles for the women’s page and send in stories about the most unforgettable characters I have ever met to Reader’s Digest….I write romantic novels under a female pseudonym and detective stories…I write traffic signs and “this side up” instructions for cardboard boxes. I believe I am really a writer.

That’s how I felt at the beginning, though I quickly began to specialize in full-length thrillers. Even so, I love to write. Novels, novellas, novelettes, short stories, flash fiction, micro fiction. I’ve written a lot of nonfiction on the craft, starting with Writer’s Digest and moving from there to Writer’s Digest Books, to a spot on TKZ, and by publishing indie books on several aspects.

And still I want to write more. There’s a kind of nonfiction piece that’s not easy to categorize, and as far as I know only two collections of such exist: Obituaries by William Saroyan, and Some People Are Dead by yours truly. You might call them Eclectic Musings, or Eccentric Escapades. But I’m calling them Whimsical Wanderings—Reflections From the Fringes of Normalcy. They are riffs that follow a random thought through a mind maze and into an unanticipated point.

You will find this on my Substack, and I’d like to invite you to join. Just type in your email and you’ll get it spam and ad free. For a paid subscription there’s extra content and a podcast, too. (Yes, podcast. Gilstrap isn’t the only one around here with a mellifluous voice!)

The purpose of all this is to provide a lift in the middle of your week, an oasis away from all the ranting and raving and name calling and general hooting.

So yes, I finally believe I am a writer.

Comments welcome.

When to Be a Crazy Dumbsaint of the Mind

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Jack Kerouac

Every college boy who wanted to be a writer back in the day when I trod the quad of my institute of higher education, went through a Jack Kerouac phase. This usually followed a Hemingway phase. In my case, I went through both simultaneously, which will blow your mind, man.

Hemingway, master of lean prose; and Kerouac, who spilled words on paper like Pollock tossed paint on canvas. Both authors had the added attraction of a personal brand—Hemingway, the man’s man, running with the bulls; and Kerouac, the “angel-headed hipster” driving freely across America in search of beatitude, with a jazz soundtrack.

Kerouac (1922-1969) was dubbed the bard of the Beat Generation for his novel, On the Road (1957). He famously typed it on a 120-foot-long scroll of paper so he wouldn’t have to stop his flying fingers. In three weeks, fueled by Benzedrine and coffee, Kerouac produced the first draft of the book that made him famous. I do not recommend this method.

A second novel, The Dharma Bums (1958) cemented his reputation.

After that, in the humble opinion of your scribe, his prose became increasingly unreadable. No doubt his drinking had something to do with it—booze killed him at the age of 47.

He once typed out his writing advice, and from the looks of it he was, perhaps, stimulated. Fasten your seatbelt:

  1. Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy
  2. Submissive to everything, open, listening
  3. Try never get drunk outside yr own house
  4. Be in love with yr life
  5. Something that you feel will find its own form
  6. Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind
  7. Blow as deep as you want to blow
  8. Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind
  9. The unspeakable visions of the individual
  10. No time for poetry but exactly what is
  11. Visionary tics shivering in the chest
  12. In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you
  13. Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition
  14. Like Proust be an old teahead of time
  15. Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog

Okay, pause to catch breath. Yes, Kerouac was a “wild” “crazy dumbsaint” writer. Because of that, some of the prose in On the Road is exquisite. Like this oft quoted passage:

…and I shambled after as usual as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”

But I can’t let #5 go without comment. The form of his later books seems to me to get increasingly messy (experimental) like the floor of a VW microbus driven across country by the Merry Pranksters. I think his “spontaneous prose” worked best in On the Road and The Dharma Bums because those already had a structure—they are really autobiography with the names changed, and much of the material was already in Kerouac’s journals. He was recording his experiences, not making up fiction.

  1. The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye
  2. Write in recollection and amazement for yourself
  3. Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea
  4. Accept loss forever
  5. Believe in the holy contour of life
  6. Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind
  7. Don’t think of words when you stop but to see picture better
  8. Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning
  9. No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
  10. Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it
  11. Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form
  12. In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness
  13. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better
  14. You’re a Genius all the time
  15. Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven

This all reads more like a window into Kerouac’s writer-mind than, say, an outline for a writing workshop. But there is one takeaway I might recommend.

I think the pursuit of writing gems, of style that elevates certain moments in your novel, is worth it. Maybe now more than ever what with AI cranking out colorless, soulless prose. Want to stand out in the tsunami of AI-generated cr*p? This is one way to do it.

What I do when I come to a moment of intense emotion is start a fresh document and begin “wild…pure…typewritten pages” telling “the true story of the world in interior monolog.” I type without “literary grammatical and syntactical inhibitions” to get to “bottomless from bottom of the mind.” I stay “submissive to everything, open, listening.”

When I’m done I’ll have 250 – 500 words of be-bop prose rhapsody, “swimming in language sea.” From that I can select, rearrange, tweak, and choose the best parts. Maybe even just one sentence, but that sentence will be choice.

So did any of these “tips” resonate with you? Blow as deep as you want to blow.

Timeless Writing Advice

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Louisa Parr (1848 – 1903), via Wikipedia

I’m a fan of Gutenberg.org, which comes out with digitized versions of public domain works every day. I get their alerts, and the other day was interested to see On The Art of Writing Fiction, published in 1894.

It’s a series of chapters written by various authors, one of whom was Louisa Parr, an English novelist of some repute. I found her advice rather contemporary. Here is some of it:

To start, then, we will suppose that you are the possessor of a story which for some time has dwelt in your mind, and has taken such a hold of you, that you are engrossed with the plot and the actors in it. These creatures of your brain become so familiar to you, that they stand out in your imagination like real persons. You give them names, you invest them with qualities, you decree that they shall be happy or miserable, and, having sealed their fate, you are seized with the desire to make others acquainted with them.

Here Mrs. Parr advises the writer not sit down to write a novel until “possessed” of the potential story. That means both plot and characters, to the extent that you are “seized” by the desire to bring both alive on the page. I think she’s on to something. Unless and until you are “possessed” or “seized” by the story possibilities, you’re not going to bring anything original or vital to the page.

For some of us, setting out to write without a plan often leads to that state of possession—and should, if we’re to keep on going. For others, myself included, a time of brainstorming and writing a “white hot” document gets us to that place faster. It may also tell us we’re not ready to start that novel (without writing 20k words first).

Too frequently the young writer is not content to set down what is to be said with the straightforward simplicity that would be used if this story had to be told vivâ voce. There is a desire to explain, to digress, to elaborate. It is thought necessary to tell the reader that this person is very clever and witty, that that one is stupid and odious, much in the same way that a child draws some strange creature, under which it writes, “this is a cow—this is a horse.” We smile at its being necessary to inform us of what we ought to see for ourselves. Yet it is the same in fiction—the dramatis personæ of your tale should themselves discover to us their idiosyncrasies, and by their actions and conversation reveal to the reader their dispositions and characters.

This is great and modern advice, such as we dispense on TKZ frequently in our first-page critiques. It’s warning against the dreaded info dump. Better to “act first, explain later.”

Starting with the supposition that you have well thought out your plot, have conceived your characters, and some of the situations in which they are to be placed, my advice is that you endeavour to give a graphic relation of your story in words to a friend, so that you may hear how the arrangement of the incidents and events stand…

Interesting! A bit of market research to see if you’ve got enough for a complete story. When I was in film school the writer-director Paul Schrader came up for a lecture, and told us would-be screenwriters to gather some friends, make them spaghetti, then tell them your story and see if their “butts start to move” (meaning, they’re getting bored). I’ve never tried this because I don’t like talking about my story-in-progress with anyone. That’s why I’ve never been in a critique group. But I’m not dead set against them, either. What do you think?

About the length of a novel it is best that you should not trouble. When you feel that you have told all you have to tell, the book should come to an end. New pens should know nothing of padding, which is distasteful to every good writer and reader.

Hey, sounds like the discussion we recently had here.

If you are a true author your creation will have become very dear to you, and in launching it into the world you will suffer a hundred hopes and fears, and, perhaps, disappointments.

We’ve all been there! She ends with this:

The clouds of distrust are certain to cast their shadows over you, but if you have the assurance that you have spared no pains, that you have given your best, do not fear that they will overwhelm you; there is a moral satisfaction in having done good work which no one can rob us of.

There really is “moral satisfaction” in knowing you’ve done the best you can with what you have (this was the legendary basketball coach John Wooden’s definition of success).

I’ve never quite bought the idea of “Do what you love, the money will follow.” Rather, if you love what you do and work at it, day by day (and when you love it, such work is fun and satisfying) then the dough will rise. Maybe not enough to buy a yacht, but surely enough to fund a latte habit and a buy some writing books.

Comments welcome.

 

A Villain’s Charm Offensive

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Snidely Whiplash

We all know the first rule (wink) about villains is to not make them like Snidely Whiplash. Those of you too young to understand this reference are culturally bereft, so I’m here to help. Snidely was the name of the foil for Dudley Do-Right of the Mounties, a cartoon character who first appeared on the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, which was the creation of the great Jay Ward staff of writers. Both Dudley and Snidely were caricatures from the days of silent movie serials, where the mustache-twirling bad guy tied the girl to the railroad tracks and other nasty things.

Pure evil villains are, therefore, stereotypical and boring. We need to give them a backstory, a justification (they think they are in the right), and even a little sympathy.

What I want to consider today is charm. For me, the most memorable villains are those whose personalities attract rather than repel. For as the Bible notes, Satan may appear as “an angel of light.”

My top two villains in this regard are:

  1. Iago

We’ve all heard of Shakespeare’s Iago, and perhaps picture him as a conniving, nasty reprobate. But that’s not how the characters in the play see him. Othello himself calls him “honest, honest Iago.” Cassio trusts him implicitly, would like to be like him. Harold Bloom brings out the obvious comparison to Satan in Milton’s Paradise Lost, the latter undoubtedly inspired by the former.

I always wanted to play Iago. Earle Hyman, a great Othello, told me I’d be perfect because of my open, honest face (ha! I became a lawyer instead). Iago drives the play. He has eight soliloquies (Othello has but three) and they are valid insights into human nature, twisted to suit Iago’s purposes. In one famous speech he tells the love-struck Roderigo to get over it through the power of his will:

Virtue? A fig! ’Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners. So that if we will plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness or manured with industry, why the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most prepost’rous conclusions. But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts—whereof I take this that you call love to be a sect, or scion.

He goes on to tell Roderigo that what he calls love “is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.” Iago then appeals to his manhood: “Come, be a man!” and “Put money in thy purse.” When Roderigo toddles off to do as Iago suggests, Iago faces the audience and says he has “made my fool my purse.”

Great villains have the charm to turn people into fools.

  1. Harry Lime

Lime is the villain in Carol Reed’s classic The Third Man (1949). Played by Orson Welles, Lime dominates the film even though, for the first hour, he’s not even seen! When he first appears, one can see immediately why the beautiful Anna (Valli) loves him and why his best friend Holly (Joseph Cotten) wants so badly to find him. His magnetism radiates off the screen. Watch his duly famous intro:

Holly learns that Harry is running a black market business in diluted penicillin. At first he refuses to believe it, but Major Calloway (Trevor Howard) shows him the undeniable evidence at the children’s hospital. One of the dark consequences of Lime’s penicillin are the horrible outcomes to children who got dosed for meningitis. As Calloway says, “The lucky ones died.”

So here you have the most heinous of crimes, done by the most charming of evil doers. What does that do to us? The emotional cross-currents take us more deeply into the story than we can experience any other way.

Thus, I have advised writers to give their villains a closing argument, as if standing in front of a jury. Lime actually has one and delivers it to Holly. They are in a car on a Ferris wheel and, looking down at the ant-like people, Lime asks:

Would you really feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever? If I offered you 20,000 pounds for every dot that stopped, would you really, old man, tell me to keep my money? Or would you calculate how many dots you could afford to spend? Free of income tax, old man, free of income tax.

As they are about to part, Lime gives him the conclusion to his closing argument:

Who isn’t charmed by that? The audience certainly was, and the fan letters came pouring in…for Welles! So much so that they created a radio show called The Adventures of Harry Lime. It was a prequel to the movie, with Welles reprising his role and playing it more as a lovable rogue than an evil black marketeer.

Thus, the charming villain is the most dangerous villain of all.

Your Unique Writer Proposition

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

“Build a better mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door.” That old chestnut is usually attributed to Emerson, who actually put it this way:

“If a man can write a better book, preach a better sermon, or make a better mousetrap than his neighbor, you will find a broad hard-beaten road to his house.”

We would all like to believe that readers will beat a path to Amazon—or a local bookstore—to read “better books.” It’s true that doesn’t always happen; or, at least, as often as it should. But the odds are better with “better.” We can always improve our writing, which is one of the things I love about the craft. And that’s what we talk about most here at TKZ. Today I want to talk about what you as a human author (as opposed to AI!) bring to the table. It springs from the concept of what businesses call a Unique Selling Proposition (USP).

The USP is that factor or consideration presented by a seller as the reason their product or service is different from and better than that of the competition.

With so many products out there in every category, consumers are looking for the best bang for their buck, and the best (e.g., most efficient, most convenient, most entertaining, etc.) product available.

Someone bringing a new product to market has to find a way to make it stand out from other products in its category.

But if I try to sell a mousetrap that’s just like all the others, how can I expect to win over new customers?

Or readers, who have an overwhelming amount of content to choose from. You as an author need to give them a reason to choose you.

Every author needs a Unique Writer Proposition––UWP.

Think of it this way. Say you’re a reader who loves detective novels and your favorite writer is Michael Connelly. You don’t really analyze why you dig Connelly, you just know that at the end of one of his books you’ve had an experience you want to repeat.

Now here comes Benny Wannabe, a new author, who is putting up his own detective novels for sale. When you read one, nothing about it really stands out. You finish it, and it’s okay, but you are not left with the feeling you have when you read Connelly.

How likely are you to go seeking out Wannabe’s other books?

Thus, I propose that you become more purposeful about developing a UWP.

  1. Look Within

When I started out in traditional publishing, the buzzword brand was just coming into fashion. Every author was supposed to have one, because that’s how publishers sold them to bookstores, and bookstores to readers.

My brand at the beginning was as a lawyer writing legal thrillers. There were only about nine million other authors with the same profile. At a brainstorming session with some other writers, where we came up with taglines for our brand, I took the title of F. Lee Bailey’s autobiography, The Defense Never Rests, and changed it to, The Suspense Never Rests. That would be my goal: total, page-turning suspense.

Next, I asked what I burned with. What is that fuels my inner fire? The answer came: injustice. I hate it, I loathe those who traffic in it, and ache for the victims of it. So the quest for justice was an obvious add-on to my UWP.

Try this: Ask yourself what type of fiction you most like to read. What is it about those books that attracts you? Is it fast-moving plots? Colorful characters? Lean prose, or beautiful style? Then ask what gets your blood pumping. How will you integrate that into your fiction?

  1. Added Value

Now look at your work and ask yourself three questions:

  1. What do I do well?
  2. What can I do better?
  3. What are my unique “add ons”?

I did this twenty years ago. I decided what I did pretty well was plot and dialogue. What I needed to do better was character and scenes. So I instituted a self-study program in both areas.

What were some of the things I brought to my fiction that were particular to me? I found:

  • A bit of humor mixed in with the suspense (a la my favorite director, Alfred Hitchcock).
  • Entertaining minor characters.

Ask this: What do you bring to your writing that is a distinctive? What is your “personality on the page”?

  1. Deliver the Goods

Once you have determined your own UWP (and it’s good to write it down in 100 words or less, and tweak it from time to time), you have a model to shoot for. You write your book and revise the draft, keeping these things in mind.

Look at the seven critical success factors of fiction—plot, structure, characters, scenes, dialogue, voice, and meaning (or theme). Make it your goal to improve in each of these areas in a year’s time. It’s not a daunting task to spend a few weeks of self study in each area.

Picture this: As you write, keep a picture in your mind of a tired mother or father, a busy professional, an overextended student. They have a small window of time for reading pleasure and they’ve picked up your book.

Be unique. For them.

What is something about your writing that is unique or personal to you?

[This post is adapted from The Mental Game of Writing.]

We’ll All Be Grunting Soon Enough

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Unfortunate autocorrect at a Canadian pizza joint. (Click to enlarge)

It’s no secret that grammar is as endangered as the Chinese box turtle. It used to be thought, and taught, that knowing how to put sentences together into a coherent form was the foundation of education, communication, indeed civilization itself. Without it, we can’t pass on ideas or cooperate in an enterprise (as the builders of the Tower of Babel found out. “Hey Gomer, hand me a trowel!” “Eh???” “A trowel, curse you, a trowel!” “Unh???”)

Now, I’m not a “get off my lawn” kind of fellow (unless, of course, you are on my lawn), but I have to ask what in the hey-diddle we’re doing to ourselves. Seems like every day I run across sloppy language online. I’m not talking about X or that ilk, which is a lost cause due to haste, sloth, and/or indifference. I mean in (formerly) legit newspapers and serious blogs.

In the good old days when journalists were actually reporters who wanted to get a story right, they studied grammar and style. They all had Strunk & White and the AP or Chicago Manual of style on their desks. They had editors who knew their stuff and could hammer that stuff into you.

All that’s gone now. Everybody it seems is a grammar rogue, and just don’t care.

Here are 12 examples of grammar/style transgressions I’ve collected. See if you can spot the errors. Answers to follow:

  1. Brock Purdy, Iowa State alumni and current San Francisco 49ers quarterback is engaged to girlfriend Jenna Brandt.
  2. Headline: Kirby Smart Shares Heartwarming Story About Stetson Bennett And His Son.
  3. It’s been a wondrous collaboration for Bill and I. He and I have complimentary careers.
  4. Apple optioned Haberman’s book – which was an immediate bestseller – earlier this year but the project is now off the cards.
  5. Of course, non-Catholics, and even many Catholics, will find these claims incredulous.
  6. It was very, very illegal. Mirco was definitively out of play and the penalty flag was thrown as players from both sides got up in each other’s faces and exchanged pleasantries….Mirco was defenseless and it could have ended very poorly.
  7. Orlando trial lawyer John Morgan, a longtime Democratic donor and former employer of Crist, sounded glum in an interview with CNN: “I think Charlie has a very, very tough road to hoe. And I’ve pissed money away before.”
  8. Prince Philip died in 2021 aged 99, just two months before his century.
  9. The Colts were knocking on the doorstep.
  10. Trying to figure out when this will happen essentially amounts to a speculative guessing game.
  11. Which doesn’t quite jive with Sunday’s piece.
  12. I don’t know if the victory that’s already been had will get the attention commiserate with its significance.

Answers:

  1. Alumni is plural. The proper word is alumnus. If you really want to get into the weeds (and be sure to bring your weed whacker for protection) these are male nouns. Alumna and alumnae are female nouns. But pointing all this out is liable to result in a plethora of exploding crania, so you know what I’d use? The colloquial alum. Problem solved! (There should also be a comma after quarterback.)
  2. Stetson Bennett doesn’t have a son. Kirby Smart does. Should have been: Story About His Son And Stetson Bennett.
  3. While the word wondrous is technically okay, the better word is wonderful. Wondrous usually connotes fantasy. In the second sentence the word should be complementary (meaning harmonious). Not complimentary (which means flattering). And in the first sentence is the ubiquitous mistake of using I where me is the right choice. Just stop doing that! It’s such a simple thing to correct if you’re confused. Just say the sentence with only you in it. It’s been a wonderful collaboration for I. Does that sound right to you? (If you said Yes, stop right here and give me twenty pushups…on my lawn.)
  4. It’s either off the table or not in the cards.
  5. Incredulous always refers to a person or persons. Incredible is the right word.
  6. While I would have chosen definitely, the word definitively is okay in this context. But not very, very illegal (as opposed to just illegal?). The word very is flabby. Using it twice does not add anything, nor even once at the end. If you thought other’s might be an error and others’ correct, the simple rule is that after the word each the word other is always singular.
  7. When speaking (or writing dialogue) a person may use very, very colloquially. But it’s very, very hard to hoe a road. Farmers prefer hoeing rows.
  8. Centenary.
  9. You have to take a knee to knock on a doorstep. Knocking on the door is much easier.
  10. Redundant. All guessing games are speculative.
  11. Unless you’re dancing, jibe is the word.
  12. Unless you’re in mourning, the word is commensurate.

And while things go wrong all the time in tweets (or Xs), and it is too easy to hop on mistakes, sometimes typos are howlers, like this self-defeating line: Your ignirance is not a good look.

So please, people, don’t be ignirant about your grammar.

What say you? Is good grammar a lost cause? As Jimmy Stewart puts it in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, “Sometimes lost causes are the only causes worth fighting for.” Is this one worth it?

Visual Branding

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Forty years ago this month, three significant events took place.

First, George Orwell’s novel, 1984, hit its mark. It’s the story of a totalitarian government keeping an eye on everyone, eradicating free speech, forcing group think, and cancelling those who resist. (Luckily, nothing like that could ever happen here.)

**Clears throat**

Second, Michael Jackson’s hair caught on fire during the shooting of a Pepsi commercial. A pyrotechnic explosion sent embers into the singer’s mane, setting it ablaze. At first he didn’t notice and kept right on dancing. But then he collapsed and, as one witness described it, “All his hair was gone and there was smoke coming out of his head.” He was rushed to the hospital and eventually recovered, but later said the accident got him addicted to pain killers.

Third, Steve Jobs gave the Macintosh to the world. It was famously introduced during the Super Bowl, in what is arguably the most famous commercial ever made. Directed by Ridley Scott (of Blade Runner fame) it riffed off the Orwellian Big Brother theme. The idea, of course, was that the staid, colorless world of personal computing was about to be disrupted by a bold new way of doing things. In the off chance you’ve never seen it, here it is:

For me, it was love at first sight (which meant sorrowfully leaving my first love, the KayPro. But such are the machinations—pun intended—of the heart). The day it came to a local store I went to see it. So small, yet…you could paint hello and any other word on it. The screen wasn’t black with green characters. It had a mouse for point-and-click (cool!). And I knew I wanted to be on the hammer-thrower’s team, not a gray conformist. (No disrespect to you PC users out there. Some of my best friends are gray conformists.)

It’s been me and Mac ever since, through all the ups and downs, the firing of Steve Jobs, the bringing him back. There was a time many of us thought the Mac might fall into a niche category, overwhelmed by the power of Microsoft. Although when Windows came out, looking suspiciously like the Mac interface, I recall a cartoon that had Bill Gates sitting under a tree, a la Isaac Newton, with the Apple logo falling on his head.

What saved Mac was what I consider the best ad campaign ever (Apple ads always seemed winners). That was the “I’m a Mac. I’m a PC” series. The branding was so perfect—a cool kid (Justin Long) as Mac, and a stodgy schlub (John Hodgman) as PC. You can watch ’em all here. But I have to share my favorite. It was when the ill-fated Vista operating system came out for the PC and had all sorts of issues:

So the foundation of the Mac brand is visual. The hammer thrower…the screen with hello…the cool kid. A print ad in a magazine captured the exact vibe I wanted for my writing life. I cut it out and taped it up in my office so I could see it every day  (click  to  enlarge):Happy to say I made it (albeit without the penthouse view of New York and the cat).

So when we talk about an author brand, we usually start with books and genre. Those are, of course, essential parts of the branding package. But I suggest starting with Mac logic—the visual.

A few years ago our own Terry Odell wrote about being at SleuthFest with her Triple-D Ranch series. When on a panel, she wore a cowboy hat. But when strolling through the hotel lobby, hatless, she was summoned by a “top gun” at Penguin Putnam, Neil Nyran. “Terry. Where’s your hat?” She was floored that he even knew her name. Terry said she wasn’t on any panels that day, so the hat was in her room. He responded, “It’s your brand. Wear it.”

Visual.

Even when walking around in a conference. (See, e.g., Reavis Wortham. You’re not going to catch him in a homburg.)

Start with your author photo. What does it “say” to the world about you as writer? James Patterson is all business. His photos say, “I write books that you won’t be able to put down, so there.” Harlan Coben, on the other hand, laces his thrillers with a bit of humor. Thus, in his author photos he always has the start of a wry smile.

You can go too far with this. Years ago a popular writing couple came out with a big historical mystery. On the back of the hardcover this couple was dressed as the characters. That struck me as a gimmick. It was trying too hard, plus it applied only to that one book.

So take some time to sit alone with a cup of joe and visualize yourself as a successful author, someone a reader wants to get to know, who writes the kind of books they want to read. What should you look like? What do your covers look like? How would you dress at a conference?

And speaking of conferences, where much of the important interactions take place at the bar or in the lobby, how is your personality? This is also visual in the sense that it gives off an impression. Don’t try to be something you’re not. Work with yourself. You can be soft-spoken and be classy. Or if you’re outgoing and love a crowd (a la Brother Gilstrap sipping his signature Beefeater martini) lean into it. Just remember the most important piece of advice of all, something that can sink your brand faster than the Lusitania. John gave it in his post in response to Terry’s: “Don’t be an a-hole.” (Applies to all your social media, too. I’ve chucked several authors off my to-be-read list because of ill-advised tweets…I mean Xs.)

So, to paraphrase Olivia Newton-John, “Let’s get visual, visual, let’s get into visual.”

Thoughts?