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.

Thesaurus Love

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Let’s give a little love to the poor thesaurus. Because there’s a bit of writing advice that’s been floating around long enough to become a critique-group axiom. It has to do with the work of Mr. Peter Mark Roget (1779 – 1869) and the throwing of shade thereon.

I trace this back to an article written for the 1988 Writer’s Handbook (which sits on my shelf) by one Mr. Stephen King. It is titled “Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully—in Ten Minutes.”

In said article Mr. King advises not looking at reference books when writing a first draft. Use them later if you wish. Except the thesaurus. “Better yet, throw your thesaurus into the wastebasket…Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word. There are no exceptions to this rule.”

A similar edict was issued by the author of Robert’s Rules of Writing (a book I am not gifting to Brother Gilstrap): “The minute you pick up a thesaurus, you’ve muddied the waters. Into the clear running stream of your prose, you’ve introduced a foreign agent. Nothing sticks out in a piece of prose like the words you’ve plucked from those long lists of synonyms, each one more obscure than its predecessor.”

Not that these gentlemen have an opinion or anything. But I wonder, is such unqualified vitriol (or should I say contempt? Or disdain?) justified? I think not.

First, King offered his opinion in the context of writing a first draft. He didn’t want a writer stopping to grab a physical reference book off a shelf, thus breaking “the writer’s trance.” Just make a guess or mark the spot, and look stuff up after the draft is done.

That’s valuable advice for writing in “flow.”

But with the digital tools available to us today, you can find synonyms in under ten seconds. Flow isn’t the issue it used to be.

Second, both of the above authors assume that the word one is looking for is a “fancy” word, one that does not traipse easily into the writer’s mind. That word will always be “wrong” they say, because its obscurity will confound the poor reader.

However, it may not be a fancy word the writer is looking for. It might simply be an alternative to the word that he immediately typed. With a synaptical flex of the brain a preferable word may come easily to mind. But if not, a click opens the e-thesaurus for a quick perusal.

Example: In my fourth paragraph, above, I originally wrote A similar command. I didn’t sound right to me; not precise enough. No writing guru has a warrant to command anything.

So I clicked open my Mac dictionary, typed command and hit the Thesaurus tab. Up came this list: order, instruction, directive, direction, commandment, injunction, decree, edict, demand, stipulation, requirement, exhortation, bidding, request. I chose edict right away. This isn’t a “fancy” word, or a word I wouldn’t normally use. Boom, in it went, and I continued typing.

That’s the value of a thesaurus for me—it reminds me of words I do know but can’t quite put my finger on at the moment.

The thesaurus also gives me a more expressive word when I need it. If I type something like He walked into the room I might want a more descriptive word than walked. I can usually think up something better on the spot, but on occasion I’ll pop open the thesaurus for a quick look.

I also will use the thesaurus when editing my previous day’s output. The other day I was editing a short story about road rage, where I’d written that a character driving a car gave a hefty blast on the horn. A few paragraphs later I wrote The monster truck’s horn blasted. That’s what I call an “echo.” I don’t like using the same descriptive word in close proximity. So up came the thesaurus. I chose blared.

I know there are some who might say that’s too much “work” for so little “return.” To which I have a simple rejoinder: Bosh. (I also could have used nonsense, balderdash, gibberish, claptrap, blarney, moonshine, garbage, hogwash, baloney, jive, guff, tripe, drivel, bilge, bunk, piffle, poppycock, hooey, twaddle, gobbledygook, flapdoodle, crapola or tommyrot. But I digress.)

I’ll take this ROI every time, not only because it pleases me to do good work, but because I also believe most readers, even subconsciously, appreciate the effort. (Now is the time to repeat Twain’s oft-quoted aphorism (maxim, adage, precept, dictum): “The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter. ’Tis the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.”)

By the way, you might want to hang on to your printed thesauri (yes, that’s a word), for who knows what AI will do to the digital versions? This is not an idle thought. A few weeks ago I was working on a post for my Substack, about the late George Foreman. I ran it through ProWritingAid and it flagged “Foreman” fifteen times, suggesting (in no uncertain terms) that I change it to “work supervisor.”

A final note: I went to the bookstore and finally found the thesaurus I wanted. But when I got home and opened it, all the pages were blank. I have no words to express how angry I am.

Your turn (chance, moment). Do you ever use a thesaurus? 

(Note: I’m teaching at the Vision Christian Writers Conference at Mount Hermon today, so will check in when I can!)

Recapture Your Mojo

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) began in 1999 as an informal way for writers to accept a challenge: Write a 50,000 word novel in a month. It grew into a non-profit organization, and at its height had hundreds of thousands of writers participating world wide. I was one of those writers. I found the challenge infectious, even joyful. Some critics found it “ridiculous” to think that most writers could come out with a competent novel in a month. But that missed the point.

It was mainly about exercising your writing muscles, learning discipline, and even coming up with a story that you could later whip into shape. It also fostered a supportive and community spirit.

Of late, however, the revenue needed to keep it going just wasn’t there. And now the interim director has announced that NaNoWriMo has come to an end. See her statement here.

You can find what other TKZers and commenters have to say about it, both pro and con, by putting “NaNoWriMo” in our search box. You might start with this one.

Another factor is that NaNoWriMo faced significant blowback last year, as described in this article in the New York Times:

For over 20 years, writers around the world have participated in National Novel Writing Month, or #NaNoWriMo, as it’s known online. The challenge is simple: Write 50,000 words in the month of November. Well, as simple as writing 50,000 words can be. (That’s 1,667 words per day, for those of you doing the math at home.)

Of course, using a generative artificial intelligence platform, like ChatGPT, could make those words go by much quicker. But is that really ethical? In the spirit of the event? Good for the craft of creative writing in general?

These are some of the questions that fueled a heated debate this week among writers, editors and others in publishing who fear the creep of A.I. in their industry. It started with a statement from NaNoWriMo, the nonprofit organization that coordinates the writing marathon every year. It ended — though perhaps there is more to come — with resignations, a lost sponsor and plenty of prickly feelings in what is meant to be an uplifting community.

“NaNoWriMo does not explicitly support any specific approach to writing, nor does it explicitly condemn any approach, including the use of A.I.,” the organization wrote on its website at the end of August. To fully condemn the technology, it said, would be “to ignore classist and ableist issues.”

“For some writers, the decision to use A.I. is a practical, not an ideological, one,” the statement continued, noting the “upfront cost burdens” in the publishing industry as well as the challenges that writers with different mental and linguistic abilities may face. “The notion that all writers ‘should’ be able to perform certain functions independently is a position that we disagree with wholeheartedly.”

More:

Online, the reaction to the statement from many writers was swift and critical. The organization later updated its blog post to emphasize that it was speaking in broad terms and that it was “troubled by situational abuse of A.I,” but it appeared to do little to assuage writers’ concerns.

Multiple writers, including Daniel José Older and Maureen Johnson, announced on X that they would be stepping down from NaNoWriMo’s writers board. 

According to Ms. Johnson: “It was a way of encouraging people to sit down and set aside a block of time to learn to build writing muscle by drafting, by writing badly, by getting over self-doubt and boredom and writer’s block….What I saw in their statement was the opposite of that.”

One of the comments on the article said:

Allowing ChatGPT in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is a nuanced issue. On one hand, using ChatGPT can aid in generating ideas and overcoming writer’s block, aligning with the event’s spirit of creativity and exploration. On the other hand, the challenge is meant to push writers to develop their own narratives and discipline. Extensive reliance on AI might undermine the authenticity of personal effort and creativity that NaNoWriMo aims to cultivate. Ultimately, while using ChatGPT for brainstorming or assistance can be valuable, it’s crucial that participants maintain their own creative control and write the bulk of their novel to stay true to the event’s goals.

This twist was added:

This comment generated by ChatGPT in response to the query, “Should authors participating in National Novel Writing Month be able to use ChatGPT to write their novels? Please answer in 150 words or less.”

I can’t speak to all the ins-and-outs of the controversy. Suffice to say, I much enjoyed doing NaNoWriMo. I even used it to form the foundation for two novels that were eventually published. But most of all it gave me a good jolt of writing energy. I loved the feeling of exhilaration mixed with fear and trembling, what that “eccentric Frenchman” Phillipe Petit must have felt as he walked a tightrope across the Twin Towers in 1974.

There is much value in that for the writer. So what’s to stop you from designing your own NaNoWriMo? Nothing, except perhaps accountability. To solve that, you could put the word out to family and friends. Or you could get with a writing pal or two and do it together.

And if a whole month seems too long, two weeks will do it. Instead of completing a 50k novel, think of it as a 20k start of a novel. That works out to a little under 1.5k words a day.

Or set whatever goal you like, so long as it is a real stretch. How many words can you comfortably write a day? Multiply that by three, and off you go!

Of course, no A.I. during this run. That would defeat the whole purpose, which is to exercise your head.

Sorry to see you go, NaNo. Thanks for the workouts.

Did you ever participate in a NaNoWriMo? Would you ever consider designing your own NaNo?

What Film Noir Can Teach Writers

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

You humble scribe with the “Czar of Noir” Eddie Muller

Recently, I joined my son in Hollywood for our annual ritual—dinner at Musso & Frank, followed by opening night of Noir City, the film festival at the Egyptian Theater hosted by Eddie Muller and Alan K. Rode of the Film Noir Foundation.

There’s always a pre-screening reception in the courtyard outside the theater, where many attendees come dressed in 1940s fashion. Local distilleries provide liquid refreshment, and a band with a torch singer performs vintage songs from the era (classic American film noir ran from 1941 and The Maltese Falcon to 1958’s Touch of Evil).

Just what is film noir, and why does it have such a loyal following?

As the French name implies, this is “dark film.” It always revolves around crime, and who among us hasn’t had a passing thought of such ilk from time to time? Even if it is just to wonder “Could I get away with it?” Film noir allows us to indulge that fascination without getting too close.

Film noir has a distinctive look—rich black-and-white (as opposed to neo-noir, like Body Heat). Indeed, cinematographers, like the great John Alton, were just as important as the writer and director. (See Alton’s masterpiece He Walked by Night sometime).

The noir world grinds out rough justice. No bad deed goes unpunished. A guy makes one bad move years ago, and has managed to find a new life…until that past catches up with him to exact retribution (Out of the Past).

Sometimes, the hammer falls on a decent guy who makes one bad choice.

In Side Street, Farley Granger plays Joe Norson, a mailman working like a dog to support himself and his pregnant wife. One day he delivers mail to a lawyer’s office and, alone there, finds $200 in cash. On impulse, he takes it. What he doesn’t know is the dough is part of the lawyer’s extortion racket.

And then there’s a murder.

Soon enough, the bad guy is after Joe, and so is the law, considering Joe a suspect in the murder. Hoo boy. Can he possibly get out of this? We watch to find out, pulling for the guy. Noir justice happens, but exacts a heavy price.

Not all noir leads are good guys who make a bad choice. Sometimes they’re bad guys through and through, and we watch to see if he gets away with it (Touch of Evil). Heist noir (Criss Cross; The Asphalt Jungle) is like that.

Thus, shades of black and white mix, which is just like life.

And makes for compelling fiction, too. The character with a “moral flaw” is more interesting—and more realistic—than a pure, immaculate hero. We relate to characters like that because deep down we know we have flaws, too, and that should our flaws get out of hand, it will lead to disaster.

In a way, noir is like classic Greek tragedy. The purpose of tragedy was to create “catharsis” and warn us of what happens when we follow the dark side.

Thus:

  • Give your Lead a moral flaw, and show it via inner conflict and the “mirror moment.”
  • Indeed, give all your characters, even minor ones, a moral flaw. Even if those are never revealed, it help you come up with more original actions and dialogue.
  • Consider exacting a price the Lead must pay for justice to prevail, a “wound.”

If you want to explore film noir more deeply, I recommend Dark City by Eddie Muller (affiliate link). There are also scores of B-movie noirs available for free on YouTube.

Here are ten of my favorites:

The Maltese Falcon (1941, Dir. John Huston)
Double Indemnity (1944, Dir. Billy Wilder)
Out of the Past (1947, Dir. Jacques Tourneur)
Too Late For Tears (1949, Dir. Byron Haskin)
Act of Violence (1949, Dir. Fred Zinemann)
The Asphalt Jungle (1950, Dir. John Huston)
99 River Street (1953, Dir. Phil Karlson)
The Hitch-Hiker (1953, Dir. Ida Lupino)
Pickup on South Street (1953, Dir. Sam Fuller)
Touch of Evil (1958, Dir. Orson Welles)

Are you a film noir fan? What are your favorites? 

Write Like Melted Butter

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Back in the day (and for you kids, when an author of my vintage uses “back in the day” that’s a bit further than when The Big Bang Theory was a hit) there was a TV commercial for Thomas’ English Muffins. A narrator extolled the benefits of said breadstuff, then a smiling kid held one up and said, “And lots of nooks and crannies to hold the melted butter!”

I salute the ad man who came up with this line, because back in that same day the federal gummint guidelines had butter on its dietary hit list. Bosh, thought the ad man. That smooth, warm taste of liquified gold coating the taste buds is the most enjoyable part of this culinary treat.

Which is how I think about style in fiction. When the prose has nooks and crannies of “unobtrusive poetry” (as the great John D. MacDonald put it) my reading pleasure buds pop with delight and I am likely to search out more offerings from that writer.

Which brings me to the subject of metaphors and similes. They are the melted butter of prose.

For example, Raymond Chandler would have been just another detective fiction scribbler were it not for the magic of his style. Here are a few of my favorites:

It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window. (Farewell, My Lovely)  

I lit a cigarette. It tasted like a plumber’s handkerchief. (Farewell, My Lovely)

She lowered her lashes until they almost cuddled her cheeks and slowly raised them again, like a theatre curtain. (The Big Sleep)

Here are some from other authors:

All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances. (Shakespeare, As You Like It)

“Sit down, Montag. Watch. Delicately, like the petals of a flower. Light the first page, light the second page. Each becomes a black butterfly. Beautiful, eh?” (Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451)

She faced the children’s mother, a young woman in slacks, whose face was as broad and innocent as a cabbage and was tied around with a green head-kerchief that had two points on the top like a rabbit’s ears. (Flannery O’Connor, “A Good Man is Hard to Find”)

She was the third beer. Not the first one, which the throat receives with almost tearful gratitude; nor the second, that confirms and extends the pleasure of the first. But the third, the one you drink because it’s there, because it can’t hurt, and because what difference does it make? (Toni Morrison, Song of Solomon)

I shall now lay down the rule (yes, I said it) for metaphors and similes: they must be in the words that the viewpoint character would actually say or think. If they are not, it is no longer unobtrusive. It’ll stick out like a garlic breath burp at a dinner party. (Hey, not bad.)

There is only one exception to this rule, and that is if the voice of the author is the selling point, the raison d’etre of the book’s allure. Old-school Omniscient POV (e.g., Dickens) had it. So did the post-realist novels of the 60s and 70s (e.g., Vonnegut, Pynchon). Almost always it is found in comic novels, e.g., Douglas Adams, and most abundantly in the writing of the late Tom Robbins. You read his books for the flights of literary fancy, the voice of mushroom-laced, hippie-dipped, Zen-flavored farce:

Every toilet bowl gurgled like an Italian tenor with a mouthful of Lavoris, and the refrigerators made noises at night like buffalo grazing. (Jitterbug Perfume)

Like a neon fox tongue lapping up the powdered bones of space chickens, the Rising Sun licked away at the light snow that had fallen during the night. (Skinny Legs and All)

It was as if the dishwater, as gray and oily as a mobster’s haircut, washed away his arrogant confusion. (Skinny Legs and All)

So how can you find your own melted butter? Wide reading of authors who do this well is, of course, a given. In addition, I offer a couple of writing exercises to expand your style muscle. Note, this means you do the heavy lifting in your own brain; it can’t be handed to you by a machine. It’s fun, costs nothing, and will improve all of your writing.

People Pegging

Go to a public place—a park, a coffeehouse, a mall—and people watch. Home in on someone for a few seconds, then write in your notebook the following:

  1. He walks like a __________
  2. If he were an animal, he’d be a ____________
  3. His mood is the color of a ___________

Detail Digging

Wherever you are, pick a random item within your sight—pen, cough drop, lip balm, glasses, book, cup. Then:

  1. Write five things this item reminds you of.
  2. How would an advanced-race alien describe this item?
  3. Imagine this item appearing in your novel. From your Lead character’s POV, write three metaphors—one based on sight, one on touch, and one on smell.

Spend just an hour doing one or both of these exercises and you will actually feel your style improving.

Which is so worth it. Raymond Chandler would have told you that. This observation was found in one of his notebooks after his death:

“Without magic, there is no art. Without art, there is no idealism. Without idealism, there is no integrity. Without integrity, there is nothing but production.”

Don’t just produce. Monkeys can do that. AI is doing it now. Who cares?

Bring a little magic to your prose.

Write like melted butter.

Do you think about style when you write and/or edit? Do you search out fresh metaphors and similes? Do you love it when a writer is able to pull off “unobtrusive poetry”?

What Artificial Intelligence Can’t Give a Writer

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Kathleen Turner in Romancing the Stone

This is a long one. Pack a lunch.

I hesitated to write yet another post about AI. The blogosphere is jam-packed with thoughts, opinions, screeds, exaltations, and jeremiads concerning this quantum leap in machine capacity.

For writers, there is no end of discussion on the use (or abuse) of AI in the writing of a book. For me, that consideration boils down to this: AI is an amazingly powerful tool—and time saver—for things like research, brainstorming, book descriptions, synopses, series bibles and so on. But where the rubber meets the road—or the words meet the page—is when the machine writes the actual prose that will appear in the final product issued under the author’s name. That is a line I refuse to cross. Why I don’t is the subject of this post.

Before I get to the main point, allow me a small excursus on writing for money. It’s okay to do that! The pulp writers of old wrote for money, especially during the Depression. They learned the formulae for romance, mystery, fantasy, and adventure. They churned out stories for which they were paid. That’s called free enterprise. The best of them added their unique voice to set them above the average pulpster. You had the sharp leanness of Dashiell Hammett, the thunder and lightning of Robert E. Howard, the cynical snap of Raymond Chandler.

But now AI can churn out formulaic novels with a few clicks of the Return key. Anyone with a modicum of computer sense (not really a “writer” if they don’t do the actual writing) can produce a product that can be sold online. Such a producer might turn out five, ten, fifteen books a month, in the hope that sheer volume will return some hearty ducats.

It’s possible to tell Chat or Grok or some other machine to come up with a complete outline for a fantasy, and then tell it to write scenes “in the style of” Brandon Sanderson or George R. R. Martin or Patrick Rothfuss and boom, a day or two later you’ve got a novel.

That’s legal. But is it ethical? I decided to ask Grok (**irony alert**). Here’s the result. (I’ve redacted author names as I did not secure permission to include them.)

Yes, there are writers using AI to produce novels quickly, sometimes in a matter of days, and some are attempting to mimic the styles of famous authors. This practice is becoming more common as AI writing tools improve, but its legitimacy—both in terms of ethics and quality—is a subject of debate.

Several documented cases highlight this trend. For instance _____, a science fiction writer, used AI tools like ChatGPT, Anthropic’s Claude, and Midjourney to create 97 mini-novels (up to 5,000 words each) in just nine months. Each book took him six to eight hours, a fraction of the time traditional writing might require. Similarly, _____ generated a novel … in three hours using 66 prompts, winning second prize in a 2023 sci-fi competition.

As for mimicking famous authors, AI tools like NovelAI and Sudowrite allow users to train models on specific styles or prompt them to emulate authors like Agatha Christie or Stephen King. [A 2023 novel] was composed with large language models, drawing on styles of detective fiction writers like Raymond Chandler. However, the results often require human editing, as AI struggles to maintain coherence over long narratives or fully capture the nuanced voice of a specific author.

Is This Legitimate?
The legitimacy depends on perspective:

  • Creative and Practical Legitimacy: From a production standpoint, it’s legitimate in that it works—AI can generate readable content quickly. Some authors argue it enhances their creativity, acting as a tool to brainstorm and draft. _____, an indie author, uses Sudowrite to meet tight deadlines, producing a novel every nine weeks. Tools like Squibler and Jasper also market themselves to authors, offering features to generate outlines or full drafts in minutes. Readers often buy these works (selling for $1.99-$3.99), suggesting some market acceptance.
  • Quality Concerns: Critics argue the output lacks depth. Significant human curation is needed to stitch AI outputs into a cohesive narrative. Off-the-shelf models like GPT or Claude often produce generic or inconsistent prose when tasked with mimicking complex styles, as noted by writers like _____, who found AI-generated text fell short of his voice.
  • Ethical and Legal Issues: The ethics are murkier. Many authors, backed by the Authors Guild (over 10,000 signed a 2023 letter), argue that AI tools trained on copyrighted works without permission constitute theft. If a writer prompts AI to “write like Dan Brown,” it’s likely drawing on his style without consent, raising ethical questions. Legally, AI-generated works face copyright ambiguity—U.S. law traditionally requires human authorship, and the extent of human involvement (e.g., editing vs. pure generation) complicates ownership. There’s also the question of transparency: should authors disclose AI use?
  • Cultural Reception: Some see it as a betrayal of the craft. Traditional authors value the slow, personal process of writing, as expressed in a 2023 Los Angeles Times piece, fearing AI erodes the human eccentricity that defines literature. Others view it as a practical evolution, akin to using a thesaurus, especially for indie authors under pressure to publish fast on platforms like Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing.

Conclusion

Yes, writers are using AI to churn out novels in days, sometimes in the style of famous authors, enabled by tools like ChatGPT, Sudowrite, and NovelAI. It’s technically feasible and has a niche audience, particularly in self-publishing. However, its legitimacy is contested: it’s a powerful tool for speed and ideation, but the quality often lags, and ethical-legal concerns linger. For now, it’s a hybrid process—AI accelerates drafting, but human skill is still key to polish and authenticity. Whether it’s “legitimate” depends on your stance: a pragmatic shortcut for some, a creative compromise for others.

Got all that? Want to put out a novel a day? You won’t get arrested. And maybe the actual output, with help, can produce competent fiction.

But I believe there’s something you will miss, something AI can never give you: truly and deeply experiencing the lives of the characters you lovingly bring to life on the page. A machine can’t hand you that feeling; it can only come from inside you, churning through the heart, flowing through your fingertips as you type the words. And when you finally type The End there’s a certain euphoria that is only bequeathed to the writer who has “opened a vein.” The lifeblood of a story can’t be given by transfusion. It has to come from within.

Ray Bradbury wrote in Zen in the Art of Writing:

If you are writing without zest, without gusto, without love, without fun, you’re only half a writer. It means you are so busy keeping one eye on the commercial market, or one year peeled for the avant-garde coterie, that you are not being yourself you don’t even know yourself. For the first thing writer should be is excited. He should be a thing of fevers and enthusiasms. Without such a vigor, he might as well be out picking peaches or digging ditches; God knows it’d be better for his health.

I’ve experienced zest with every novel I’ve finished. A few times the experience has been overpowering.

Case in point. I wrote a trilogy, the Ty Buchanan series. Over the course of these legal thrillers there’s a love story. When I typed the last line, the most perfect I’ve ever written (for me, at least) I burst into tears. I mean, just like that first scene in Romancing the Stone where Kathleen Turner, at her keyboard with headphones on, types the last word of her novel. Weeping and laughing she utters, “Oh, God, that’s good!” It happened to me because I both created and experienced every emotion of every character over a three-book span.

I will not trade away that feeling. Besides, I believe it has value for the reader, too. I believe most readers sense when a book’s been written from a vibrating human heart, or hasn’t. As Carl Sandburg once said, “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.”

Secondarily, I’m also wary of too much “cognitive offloading.” Another reason I write the words is to keep my brain in shape. If AI does that for me, my synapses stop firing. It’s like watching pickleball on TV every day instead of playing it yourself. Doesn’t do the body much good, does it? As one source puts it: “The long-term reliance on AI for cognitive offloading could also erode essential cognitive skills such as memory retention, analytical thinking, and problem-solving. As individuals increasingly rely on AI tools, their internal cognitive abilities may atrophy, leading to diminished long-term memory and cognitive health.”

I’ll finish with this. In my favorite movie, Shane, there’s a magnificent moment in the beginning where Shane, the mysterious stranger passing through, has been shown hospitality by the Starrett family—Joe, his wife Marian, and their boy, Joey. After a hearty meal, Shane excuses himself and goes outside. He’s about to express his gratitude without words. For in the yard is a big old stump that Joe has long been chopping away at.

Shane picks up an ax and starts hacking. Joe joins him and the two work into early evening.

They make their final push on the stump. It barely moves.

Joe’s wife sensibly suggests they hitch up a team of horses to pull it out. Joe says, “Marian, I’ve been fighting this stump off and on for two years. Use the team now and this stump could say it beat us. Sometimes nothing will do but your own sweat and muscle.”

Joe and Shane lay into that stump and with a final, mighty push, uproot it.

I guess I feel like Joe Starrett. There’s some things that won’t do for me as a writer but my own “sweat and muscle.”

I’ve gone on too long and I’m still thinking this all through. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments!

Here’s that scene from Shane:

Romancing the Reader

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

I’m no expert in the romance genre. I do know it’s the best selling slice of the fiction pie and is dominated by female authors (along with some guy named Sparks).

And I’m pretty darn sure of this: there’s a romantic relationship in these novels. (Check me on that.)

Reasons given for the popularity of romance novels include deep emotional connection, vicarious pleasure, escapism, and the satisfaction of a “happily ever after” ending.

Which is why the romantic subplot is so often utilized in other genres. Everyone (or almost everyone) loves a love story. Whether that’s the subject of the book, or merely an aspect of it, love and its machinations draw readers in and connect them to the characters in a singular fashion.

Someone who I’d say has a handle on this is Nora Roberts. She’s published a few books (I think the number is 225 right now, but may have just ticked up). Most of them landed at or near the top of the NYT list.

I was going through one of my many binders full of clipped Writer’s Digest articles (dating from 1988) and came across a profile of Roberts from 2001, back when she’d published “only” 130 novels.

The reason I saved it was three-fold. First, because of her work ethic. For most of her career she’s held to an 8-hour writing day, five days a week. She says she had an advantage in being educated by nuns. “I was raised with discipline and guilt—they’re wonderful writer’s tools.”

Also of interest to me is her method. Her practice is to “pants” a “short” first draft. It gives her the basic story. Then she goes back to the beginning and adds elements to fill things out. Then there’s another pass (a “polish”) and she’s done. (I do think that’s a fine way to write a novel. I would call that short first draft actually a very long outline! That’s one way to “discover” your story.)

And third, she gave her thoughts on what makes a successful commercial novel:

Your characters have to jump off the page. They have to appeal to the reader in some way. If you don’t care about the people, then it’s all action, and who cares about that if you don’t care about who drives the action or who the action happens to? It’s all about who these people are.

(Horn toot: there’s a book out there on how to write “jump off the page” characters.)

Roberts says, “Character is plot. Character is everything and the story wraps around them.” I’d add that plot is also character, in that the story wrapping around them has to challenge them to the max, and force their true character to be revealed and, in most cases, transformed.

A romantic subplot, as I mentioned, is a powerful way to add flavor to a novel, in any genre. All my series—Kit Shannon, Mallory Caine, Ty Buchanan, and Mike Romeo—have a romance element. I’m a sucker for love, too.

There’s another, equally potent plot device which I call the “Care Package.” It refers to a relationship the Lead has before the book begins, one where the Lead cares deeply about someone else. Katniss Everdeen has her mother and Prim. Luke Skywalker has his aunt and uncle. Dorothy has Toto.

The bottom line is that we always root for a) people who fall in love; and b) people who care about other people, with no thought of personal gain. We want decent people to succeed.

That’s how an author can romance the reader. And readers who fall in love with your book will be anxious to buy another one.

Comments welcome.

The Shadow Knows

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Orson Welles as The Shadow

For years, classic radio audiences thrilled to this opening: “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows.” This was followed by a sinister laugh. (Orson Welles played the role for a couple of years.)

The Shadow was a good guy, a vigilante who stopped bad guys. It was the secret identity of one Lamont Cranston, a wealthy young man who spent time in the Orient and learned a hypnotic power “to cloud men’s minds.” Thus, he could make himself “invisible” to the criminals, who could only hear his haunting voice.

There’s also an invisible part of every novel you write. And once again, the Shadow knows!

I refer to what I call the “shadow story.” That’s what’s happening off the page. Meaning that when a scene is unfolding before us, characters who are not in the scene are still active. They are reacting to plot developments, and planning and carrying out counter moves.

You may choose not to know about any of that, but in your story’s world, it’s happening nonetheless.

Why not harness its power?

When you identify the shadow players and track their moves, it offers abundant fodder for shocks, red herrings, and twists in the plot that is “onscreen.”

Now, I know many a successful mystery writer has “pantsed” a plot. That was Sue Grafton’s method, though each day she “interacted” with her unfolding story by writing notes to herself before she worked on the WIP. She’d ask questions and list possible answers. In other words, she was developing the shadow story alongside her developing plot.

Another well-known “discovery/intuitive” mystery writer said he will pants along and find himself writing something that comes to him on the fly. For instance, a potted plant in a fancy vase will jump into his imagination, and he’ll put it in, not knowing how or when it would pay off.

This author also admits he’s had many novels that stalled and were discarded. Yet he still produces successful books.

Be that as it may, I’ve found that plotting the shadow story early is indispensable in my own writing. Knowing who the villain is from the jump, I can drop in all sorts of happenings that deepen the mystery and how it will all be wrapped up at the end.

As I plot the book, I include scene squibs that won’t show up in the finished product, but are there to suggest mysterious happenings that won’t be explained until the end.

That’s one of the nifty things about Scrivener.

Scrivener lets you write a scene (or chapter) and record a summary of it on an “index card.” You can look at the cards on a corkboard, and also in the outline view.

Further, you can color code the cards. I have colors for the main plot and subplot(s).

I also have a color for the shadow story. These are index cards with squibs on what the offscreen characters are doing. In the “Inspector” pane I hit the “Metadata” tab, then uncheck the box that says “Include in Compile.” That way, when I compile the manuscript for editing, the shadow story doesn’t show up in the manuscript.

But at any point I can print the outline view, with the shadow story scenes showing. This gives me a nice overview of the proceedings, and I can tweak things and get ideas for upcoming scenes.

Here’s how it looks in the Binder View (click to enlarge):

And in the Outline View (click to enlarge):

As I write, one of my scenes might need a twist or surprise. I can then turn to my shadow story outline, and add to it, and use that for the twist.

Yes, there are many ways to write a novel. I offer the shadow story as a tool, and a powerful one. If you use it, as you write feel free to hum the old standard, “Me and my shadow/Strolling down the avenue…”

What about you? Do you ever give thought to what characters are doing off-page?