Category Archives: #writing

Words of Wisdom: Rules for Writers

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Are there rules for writers? Some say yes, some say no, while some say rules are meant to be broken. I believe there are rules. Perhaps they are really more like guidelines, to paraphrase Hector Barbossa from Pirates of the Caribbean, but they are guidelines worth knowing and heeding. If there’s a good reason to break one, especially if it helps the story or unblocks you, by all means break it, but it helps to know the rule (guideline) first.

Today’s Words of Wisdom dives into the TKZ archives to find an intriguing grab bag of rules. Joe Moore lays out the rules of writing, with humor, wit and more than a little wisdom. I share the first fifteen on his list, and it’s worth clicking on the date-link at the bottom of this excerpt to read the other nineteen.

Next, John Gilstrap gives us his “Ten Rules for Manuscript Evaluation,” thoughtful advice on how to approach a manuscript you plan on submitting for feedback at a conference. His first five rules are included in this excerpt, and again it’s worth clicking on the date-link below to read all ten.

Finally, James Scott Bell looks at science fiction grand master Robert A. Heinlein’s “Five Rules for Writers,” and provides commentary on each. Here too it’s worth clicking on the link to read his full commentary.

Who said there are no rules for writers? Of course there are:

  1. Verbs HAS to agree with their subjects.
    2. Prepositions are not words to end sentences with.
    3. And don’t start a sentence with a conjunction.
    4. It is wrong to ever split an infinitive.
    5. Avoid clichés like the plague.
    6. Also, always avoid annoying alliteration.
    7. Be more or less specific.
    8. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are (usually) unnecessary.
    9. Also too, never, ever use repetitive redundancies.
    10. No sentence fragments.
    11. Contractions aren’t necessary and shouldn’t be used.
    12. Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.
    13. Do not be redundant; do not use more words than necessary; it’s highly superfluous.
    14. One should NEVER generalize.
    15. Comparisons are as bad as clichés.

Joe Moore—December 17, 2008

Over the years, then, I have developed a list of Gilstrap’s Ten Rules for Manuscript Evaluation:

1. Number your pages and put your name or project title on every page. The reality is that I will lose your paper clip and I will drop your papers on the floor at least once. I don’t do this on purpose; it just always happens. Sometimes the pages get separated in my briefcase. However it happens, jumbled papers are jumbled papers. It helps to know which ones belong to whom, and in what order.

2. Have confidence in Times New Roman 12-point type. Reducing the font size to sneak in more story does not slip past unnoticed. I recently participated in a conference where someone actually gave me 15 pages of double-spaced 8-point type. Ignoring the fact that it pissed me off, I literally could not read the text. While I like to think of myself as young, my eyes are marching toward old age.

3. For me to believe that your story has any hope of success, something must happen in the first two hundred words. That’s the length of my interest fuse. Billowing clouds, pouring rain and beautiful flowers are not action. Characters interacting with each other or with their environment is action.

4. If you insist on walking into the whirling propeller that is a prologue, check first to make sure that your prologue is in fact not your first chapter in disguise. Next check to verify that your prologue is truly for the benefit of the reader, and not a crutch for the writer who needs to dump a bunch of backstory so that the first chapter will make sense.

5. Ten pages are plenty. Actually, five pages are plenty, but I understand that conference organizers can tout the larger number more easily. In my experience, unless dealing with a journeyman writer, the sins committed in the first few pages are replicated throughout. It’s rare that I discover a new issue on page thirteen or fifteen that hasn’t been noted several times previously.

John Gilstrap—July 22, 2011

Robert A. Heinlein’s “Five Rules for Writers.” They are as follows:

Rule One: You must write.

Rule Two: You must finish what you start.

Rule Three: You must refrain from rewriting, except to editorial order.

Rule Four: You must put it on the market.

Rule Five: You must keep it on the market until it has sold.

I’d like to offer my commentary on this list.

Rule One: You must write.

Pretty self-evident. You can’t sell what you don’t produce. The writers of Heinlein’s era all had quotas. Pulp writers like W. T. Ballard and Erle Stanley Gardner wrote a million words or more a year. Fred Faust (aka Max Brand) wrote four thousand words a day, every day. They did so because they were getting a penny or two a word, and they needed to put food on the table.

I always advise writers to figure out how many words they can comfortably write in a week, considering their other obligations. Now up that number by 10% and make that the goal. Revise the number every year. Keep track of your words on a spreadsheet. I can tell you how many words I’ve written per day, per week, per year since the year 2000.

Rule Two: You must finish what you start.

I remember when I finished my first (unpublished, and it shall stay unpublished) novel. I was still trying to figure out this craft of ours and knew I had a long way to go. But I learned a whole lot just from the act of finishing. It also felt good, and motivated me to keep going.

Heinlein was primarily thinking about short stories here, so the act of finishing was an easier task. With a novel, there’s always a moment when you think it stinks. When you wonder if you should keep going for another 50k words. Fight through it and finish the dang thing. Nothing is wasted. At the very least you’ll become a stronger writer.

Should a project ever be abandoned? If you’ve done sufficient planning and have the right foundation, I’d say no. If you’re a pantser … well, the temptation to set something aside is more pronounced. But you chose to be a panster, so deal with it.

Rule Three: You must refrain from rewriting, except to editorial order.

This is a bad rule if taken at face value. Again, Heinlein was thinking about the short story market. With novel-length fiction, the old saw still applies: Writing is re-writing.

I’ve heard a certain #1 bestselling writer state that he only does one draft and that’s it. Upon closer examination, however, that writer is revising pages daily as he goes, so it comes out to the same thing—re-writing.

As for “editorial order,” Heinlein meant that once a story sold—which meant actual payment—you made the changes the editor wanted (that is, if you wanted him to send you the check!)

For all writers, a skilled editor or reliable beta readers give us an all-important extra set of eyes. Don’t skip this step. There’s always something you need to fix!

James Scott Bell—December 11, 2018

***

There you have it, three different sets of rules for writers. Do you believe that there are rules for writers? Do any of these resonate with you? What rules have you broken, and if so, why?

What Writers Can Learn From The Twilight Zone

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Submitted for your approval, the greatest TV show of all time: The Twilight Zone.

Rod Serling

It was the brainchild of Rod Serling, who served as executive producer and host of the anthology series. He had a voice like a modulated tension wire, with which he delivered the intro and outro of each episode. He also wrote 92 of the 152 scripts, an amazing output considering the fresh twists and turns that were the hallmarks of the Zone. Two other prolific contributors were Charles Beaumont and Richard Matheson, each of whom wrote some of the most memorable offerings. With writers like that it is no wonder the show was high in the ratings from 1959 to 1964.

And it’s a gift that keeps on giving, as each new generation gets to discover it via the July 4th “marathons” on the Syfy and Heroes & Icons networks, not to mention streaming. You’ll also see many famous actors early in their careers, like Robert Redford, William Shatner (“There’s a man on the wing!”), Robert Duvall, Jack Warden, Martin Landau, Leonard Nimoy, Elizabeth Montgomery, Charles Bronson, Lee Marvin and on and on. Sometimes the actors were in the twilight of their careers, like Ed Wynn and Buster Keaton.

I was a bit too young to appreciate the original airings, but the show has never been out of reruns. When I did see them, the impact was palpable.

I’ll never forget the profound gut punch I felt when I first watched “Time Enough at Last” (written by Serling) which is consistently voted the most memorable episode. That’s the one with Burgess Meredith, and I shan’t get within miles of revealing the twist. Hunt it down and watch before you read anything about it. (This should be your ironclad rule for any episode of the Zone!)

Equally stunning is the other episode that gets the most votes, “Eye of the Beholder” (Serling).

For you youngsters out there who’ve never seen a Zone, let me say I envy you! You’ve got some incomparable experiences coming. As a public service, I shall give you my personal list of favorite episodes (adding to the two just mentioned):

  • “The Howling Man” (Beaumont)
  • “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” (Matheson)
  • “The Hitch-Hiker” (Serling)
  • “Perchance to Dream” (Beaumont)
  • “The Monsters are Due on Maple Street” (Serling, and an episode that absolutely speaks to us today)
  • “It’s a Good Life” (Serling)
  • “To Serve Man” (Serling and Damon Knight)

And my all-time fave, the second episode of the first season, written by Serling, “One for the Angels.” I shall give you here Serling’s outro which does not contain spoilers, but sums up the heart of the episode:

Ed Wynn in “One for the Angels”

Lewis J. Bookman, age sixtyish. Occupation: pitchman. Formerly a fixture of the summer, formerly a rather minor component to a hot July. But, throughout his life, a man beloved by the children, and therefore, a most important man. Couldn’t happen, you say? Probably not in most places – but it did happen…in the Twilight Zone.

I’ve long thought a good personality test would be knowing a person’s favorite Zone. So what does this episode tell me about me? That I’m a lot like Rod Serling. He had a soft heart and many of his episodes end on a redemptive note. That’s me. I love redemption. And justice.

Which reminds me that Serling wrote the script for one of my favorite political thrillers, Seven Days in May. What a cast! Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas, Fredric March, Ava Gardner, Edmond O’Brien, Martin Balsam. I won’t give any spoilers here, but if you like you can hop over to my Substack and see what I wrote about it (reproducing one of the great movie lines of all time!)

The lesson here is that twists and turns that are tightly woven into the plot are the golden threads of reading pleasure. But what makes that gold truly glitter is heart.

Maybe you’re not a softie. You still have a heart (I’m assuming). What is it you care most deeply about, besides selling books? Tap into it. Draw from it. Make it thrum throughout your work.

Rod Serling came to prominence in 1950s television, with a special empathy for the working stiff. Several of his episodes dealt with the pressures on executives and salesmen. “A Stop at Willoughby” is a notable example. Here’s the intro:

James Daly in “A Stop at Willoughby”

This is Gart Williams, age thirty-eight, a man protected by a suit of armor all held together by one bolt. Just a moment ago, someone removed the bolt, and Mr. Williams’ protection fell away from him, and left him a naked target. He’s been cannonaded this afternoon by all the enemies of his life. His insecurity has shelled him, his sensitivity has straddled him with humiliation, his deep-rooted disquiet about his own worth has zeroed in on him, landed on target, and blown him apart. Mr. Gart Williams, ad agency exec, who in just a moment, will move into the Twilight Zone—in a desperate search for survival.

Here’s an exercise: Write a Twilight Zone intro and outro for your WIP. This will tell you directly whether you’re tapping a vein or just spinning your wheels hoping for traction.

So what is your favorite Zone? (Try to avoid spoilers if you can, for there may be a young writer out there who has the series waiting to be binged.)

What does your favorite episode tell you about yourself and your writing?

***

If you’re interested in what made Rod Serling tick, I highly recommend you take twenty minutes to watch this interview from 1959, back when Mike Wallace and his guest could light up and carry on a meaningful and substantive conversation. Serling was intelligent, articulate, self-aware and honest about what he wanted to be as a writer. One of my heroes.

 

The Backwards Law for Writers

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I stumbled across the subject of The Backwards Law by accident—a happy accident that led me to The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck. Excellent book that I devoured in two sittings.

The Backwards Law proposes the more we pursue something, the less satisfied we become. For writers, the constant pursuit of “more” causes us to feel horrible about where we are and what we’ve achieved. The harder we try, the less likely we are to succeed.

On the surface, it seems like the opposite of perseverance, doesn’t it? But it’s not. The Backwards Law goes much deeper than that.

Think of it this way:

  • Trying too hard to be creative or write something brilliant often leads to writer’s block, self-doubt, and a feeling of being disconnected from the work.
  • Only focusing on the end result—recognition, success, publication—causes unnecessary anxiety and pressure.
  • The fear of making mistakes or writing poorly will paralyze a writer and often will lead to abandoning the WIP.

“Wanting a positive experience is a negative experience; accepting a negative experience is a positive experience.” Mark Manson – The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck.

Alan Watts, the philosopher who coined the phrase, describes The Backwards Law as being in a lake. If you relax and put your head back, you’ll float. But the more you struggle and flail to try to stay afloat, the more you will sink.

Often our search for “more” has the opposite effect. It shines a spotlight on what we lack.

Life Examples

  • The more we cling to a loved one, the more they will feel suffocated and in need of space.
  • The more we obsess about accumulating money, the more poor and unworthy we will feel.
  • The more we pursue trying to feel happier all the time, the more we will reinforce this idea that we are fundamentally lacking and irreparable.

Do you even know what you want?

Sure, selling millions of copies of your book sounds great, but is that why you wrote it? Or maybe, you can’t define what you’re chasing. You just want more.

“Two reasons that you don’t really know what you want. Number one: you have it. Number two: you don’t know yourself, because you never can. The Godhead is never an object of its own knowledge, just as a knife doesn’t cut itself, fire doesn’t burn itself, light doesn’t illuminate itself.” ~ Alan Watts

In The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, Mark Manson tells the story of a talented young guitarist who was kicked out of his band in 1983, after they had just been signed by a record label. No warning. No reason given. No discussion. They woke him up and handed him a bus ticket.

After much self-pity on the ride home to LA, the guitarist vowed to start a new group that would be so successful, his old band would seethe with jealously. And so, with only that thought in mind, he worked tirelessly to find the best musicians. He wrote dozens of songs. Practiced day and night. Revenge became his muse.

Within two years, a record label signed his new band. One year later, their first record went gold. The guitarist’s name? Dave Mustaine, lead guitarist in the heavy metal band Megadeath, which went on to sell over 25 million albums and tour the world many times. Mustaine is considered one of the most influential musicians in the history of heavy metal music.

Sounds like the story has a happy ending, right?

Not quite.

The band who kicked him out was Metallica, which has sold over 180 million albums worldwide and is considered by many to be one of the greatest rock bands of all time.

Because of Metallica’s fame, Mustaine considered himself a failure. Despite all he’d accomplished, in his mind, he would always be the guy who got kicked out of Metallica and nothing more. Whether he realized it or not, Mustaine used Metallica’s success and popularity as his life-defining measuring stick. Even after all of Megadeath’s success, he could never be happy, because he based his self-worth and music career on something he had no control over.

This story perfectly illustrates The Backwards Law in action.

Accept imperfection and you’ll feel perfect. Accept loneliness and you’ll feel content alone. Accepting a negative experience is a positive experience. But fighting a negative experience means you’ll suffer twice.

  • When we stop trying to be happy, we’ll be happy because there’s nothing we need beyond what is.
  • When we stop trying to be rich or massively successful, we’ll live in abundance because we’re content with what we have and anything on top of that is a bonus.

Thus, the only way to have what we want is not to want it. And that’s what The Backwards Law teaches us.

Being aware of the workings of The Backwards Law doesn’t mean that we should never set goals, never have ambitions, or never chase our dreams. Rather, The Backwards Law teaches us not to be fooled by the idea that the pursuit of happiness (whatever that looks like to you) leads to happiness. When in fact, the opposite is true. And with that knowledge, we’re able to enter the blissful state of enjoying the journey.

“The mystery of life is not a problem to be solved but a reality to be experienced.” ~ Alan Watts

How do we get what we want without trying?

Depends on what we want. If we strive to write the best damn book we can, the following tips should help.

Mindful Writing: Practice mindfulness while writing. It’ll help you become more aware of your thoughts and feelings without judgment, allowing you to be more present in the moment.

Step Away: It’s okay to step away from the WIP to clear your head. Go for a walk. Take a shower. Read a book. Exercise. I do this all the time when I’m working out a plot issue. Nine times out of ten, the answer reveals itself as soon as I stop thinking about it.

Accept Imperfection: Give yourself permission to make mistakes in early drafts. It’ll allow you to experiment and explore different ideas without fear.

Stay Present: Enjoy the journey of bringing your idea to life. Have fun with your characters. Revel in that perfect sentence or paragraph you wrote yesterday, then continue on.

The Backwards Law for writers is about shifting from a place of striving and pressure to a place of flow and acceptance. 

By letting go of the need to control the outcome and embrace the process, we’ll unlock creativity and produce more authentic and fulfilling work.

Have you heard of The Backwards Law? It’s as true for writing as it is for life.

High Impact Interval Writing

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

My favorite philosopher/comedian is Steven Wright, master of the pithy weird-but-somehow-connected observation, such as, “I used to work in a fire hydrant factory. You couldn’t park anywhere near the place.”

He also invented a microwave fireplace. “You can lie down in front of a fire for the evening in two minutes.” (He also put instant coffee in a microwave and almost went back in time.)

Which reminds me that we are all pressed for time these days (I’ve determined to work 25 hours a day on my book, which means I have to get up an hour earlier).

This goes for keeping the ol’ bod in shape. Which is why I’m into HIIT. That stands for “high impact interval training.” It’s a workout that alternates intense bursts of activity (sometimes as little as 30 seconds) with a short rest, then another burst, rest, etc. This way, so “they” say, you can get great cardio benefits in as little as four minutes. Which beats driving to a gym, waiting for a machine, working out for thirty or forty minutes, showering, getting dressed, and driving home while thinking, “Where has the day gone?”

I’ve integrated HIIT into my routine, along with strength training on an official Chuck Norris Total Gym. I want to be like Chuck. When he does a pushup, he does not actually push himself up; he pushes the Earth down.

I thought about this the other day when I was quota challenged. I needed words and needed them fast, but I was tied up with my inner editor, the pest, and indulging in too much thinking and strategizing. This wasn’t about my outline, with my signpost scenes. It was about those spaces in between, in the scenes, that were giving me pause.

Frustrated, I opened up a blank text note and just started writing without thinking, typing to oil the gears, writing (in Ray Bradbury’s phrase) by jumping off a cliff and growing wings on the way down.

What happened was the first few lines came along, but without much meat on them. Then the wings started to form. I was writing in flow, flapping wildly, and the words were coming from that magical place just beneath the surface. As I wrote I didn’t stop to analyze; I just felt the rich vein of story I’d tapped into and wanted to record it as fast as I could.

When I stopped I checked to see how many words I’d written. I kid you not, it was exactly 250. If you’ve read my craft articles long enough, you’ve probably run into my idea of “The Nifty 250” (sometimes enlarged to 350). I like to do that early in the morning, to get a jump on the writing day. But it also works when you’re well into the day and feel stuck.

That gave me the idea for HIIW—high impact interval writing. Why not do this all the time? Why not work in increments of 250 words? Write them, get up, walk around, deep breathe, stretch, sit back down, analyze, and integrate the good stuff into your draft. Then do it again.

This is a bit like the Pomodoro Technique, developed by entrepreneur Francesco Cirillo when he was a university student.

Cirillo recognized that time could be turned into an ally, rather than a source of anxiety. The Pomodoro Technique essentially trains people to focus on tasks better by limiting the length of time they attempt to maintain that focus and ensuring restorative breaks from the effort. The method also helps them overcome their tendencies to procrastinate or multitask, both of which are known to impair productivity.

Try this next time you’re stuck:

  • Open up a blank document. (This gives you total freedom to write)
  • Start writing, and let it flow, forgetting about trying to shape into anything. Get the words down fast and furious. Go for 250 words (that’s about one page, double spaced, 12 pt. type).
  • Get up, stretch, take a deep breath, pour yourself some more coffee or tea, then look at what you wrote.
  • Highlight the gold nuggets and expand on them if you like.
  • Copy-paste the nuggets into your draft.

I’m mostly an old school, butt-in-chair writer. If I’m going good, even after meeting my quota I’ll keep on writing until I sense the beginning of diminishing returns. With HIIW, I’ve found the words come faster and fresher. As the great Ray put it:

“This afternoon, burn down the house. Tomorrow, pour cold critical water upon the simmering coals. Time enough to think and cut and rewrite tomorrow. But today—explode—fly apart—disintegrate! … It doesn’t have to be a big fire. A small blaze, candlelight perhaps…Look for the little loves, find and shape the bitternesses. Savor them in your mouth, try them on your typewriter.” — Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing

What kind of writer are you? Sit down and grind it out? Write when you feel like it? Or something in between?

Let’s Talk Turkey #WriteTip

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I moved into my new place last week. Hence why you haven’t seen me in the comment section. It took two weeks to pack. I’m now unpacking. I found a cozy little abode on the New Hampshire seacoast, near the Massachusetts border. It’s the best of both worlds — two minutes from anything I might need, yet a quiet country setting with plenty of wildlife.

As I gazed out my kitchen window for the first time, five huge male turkeys stood sentinel in the yard. Soon, twenty-five more joined them to socialize, feast, and play. The original five Toms guard the property all day. There’s also an adorable opossum and three albino skunks — stunning all white fur — who come nightly to eat alongside the resident stray cat. All four share the same bowl.

Why can’t humans put aside their differences like animals can?

For my fellow crow lovers out there, a murder of crows arrived on day two. Or Poe and the gang followed me. Sure sounds like Poe’s voice, but I can’t be certain until I set up their feeding spot and take a closer look. My murder has white dots, each in different spots, which helps me tell them apart. Plus, Poe has one droopy wing.

As I watched the five Toms this morning, it reminded me of a post I’d written back in 2017 (time flies on TKZ, doesn’t it?). So, I thought I’d revamp that post a bit, and tweak for our pantser friends.

***

Clare’s recent post got me thinking about craft and how, as we write, the story inflates like a Tom turkey. If you think about it long enough and throw in a looming deadline, Tom Turkey and story structure have a lot in common.

Stay with me. I promise it’ll make sense, but I will ask you to take one small leap of faith — I need you to picture Tom Turkey as the sum of his parts, constructed by craft. And yes, this light bulb blazed on over the Thanksgiving holiday. We are now having spiral ham for Christmas dinner.

But I digress.

Story beats build Tom’s spine. Think of each milestone as vertebrae. Pantsers, let the story unfold as it flows. You can always check the beat placement after the drafting stage.

The ribs that extend from Tom’s spine liken to the equal parts that expand our beats and tell us how our characters should react before, during, and after the quest.

Broken into four equal parts, 25% percent each, this is the dramatic arc. It’s a natural progression that many writers do instinctually. If you want to check your work after the drafting stage, pantsers, the dramatic arc should look like this…

  • Setup (Page 1 – 25% mark): Introduce protagonist, hook the reader, setup First Plot Point through foreshadowing, stakes, and establish empathy (not necessarily likability) for the MC.
  • Response (25% – 50% mark): The MC’s reaction to the new goal/stakes/obstacles revealed by the First Plot Point. MC doesn’t need to be heroic yet. They retreat, regroup, and have doomed attempts at reaching their goal. Also include a reminder of antagonistic forces at work.
  • Attack (50% – 75% mark): Midpoint information/awareness causes the MC to change course in how to approach the obstacles; the hero is now empowered with information on how to proceed, not merely reacting anymore.
  • Resolution (75% – The End): MC summons the courage, inner strength, and growth to find a solution to overcome inner obstacles and conquer the antagonistic force. All new information must have been referenced, foreshadowed, or already in play by 2nd Plot Point or we’re guilty of deus ex machina.

Tom Turkey is beginning to take shape.

Characterization adds meat to his bones, and conflict-driven sub-plots supply tendons and ligaments. When we layer in dramatic tension in the form of a need, goal, quest, and challenges to overcome, Tom’s skin forms and thickens.

With obstacle after obstacle, and inner and outer conflict, Tom strengthens enough to sprout feathers. At the micro-level, MRUs (Motivation-Reaction-Units) — for every action there’s a reaction — establish our story rhythm and pace. They also help heighten and maintain suspense. If you remember every action has a reaction, MRUs come naturally to many writers. Still good to check on the first read through.

MRUs fluff Tom Turkey’s feathers. He even grew a beak!

Providing a vicarious experience, our emotions splashed across the page, makes Tom fan his tail-feathers. The rising stakes add to Tom’s glee (he’s a sadist), and he prances for a potential mate. He believes he’s ready to score with the ladies. Tom may actually get lucky this year.

Then again, we know better. Don’t we, dear writers? Poor Tom is still missing a few crucial elements to close the deal.

By structuring our scenes — don’t groan, pantsers! — Tom grew an impressive snood. See it dangling over his beak? The wattle under his chin needs help, though. Hens are shallow creatures. 😉 Quick! We need a narrative structure.

Narrative structure refers to the way in which a story is organized and presented to the reader. It includes the plot, subplot, characters, setting, and theme, as well as techniques and devices used by the author to convey these elements.

Now, Tom looks sharp. What an impressive bird. Watch him prance, full and fluffy, head held high, tail feathers fanned in perfect formation.

Uh-oh. Joe Hunter sets Tom in his rifle scope. We can’t let him die before he finds a mate! But how can we save him? We’ve already given him all the tools he needs, right?

Well, not quite.

Did we choose the right point of view to tell our story? If we didn’t, Tom could wind up on a holiday table surrounded by drooling humans in bibs. We can’t let that happen! Nor can we afford to lose the reader before we get a chance to dazzle ’em.

Tom needs extra oomph — aka Voice. Without it, Joe Hunter will murder poor Tom.

Voice is an elusive beast for new writers because it develops over time. To quote JSB:

It comes from knowing each character intimately and writing with the “voice” that is a combo of character and author and craft on the page.

That added oomph makes your story special. No one can write like you. No one. Remember that when self-doubt or imposter syndrome creeps in.

If Tom hopes to escape Joe Hunter’s bullet, he needs wings in the form of context. Did we veer outside readers’ expectations for the genre we’re writing in? Did we give Tom a heart and soul by subtly infusing theme? Can we boil down the plot to its core story, Tom’s innards? What about dialogue? Does Tom gobble or quack?

Have we shown the three dimensions of character to add oxygen to Tom’s lungs? You wouldn’t want to be responsible for suffocating Tom to death, would you?

  • 1st Dimension of Character: The best version of who they are; the face the character shows to the world
  • 2nd Dimension of Character:  The person a character shows to friends and family
  • 3rd Dimension of Character:  The character’s true character. If a fire breaks out in a crowded theater, will they help others or elbow their way to the exit?

Lastly, Tom needs a way to wow the ladies. Better make sure our prose sings. If we don’t, Tom might die of loneliness. Do we really want to be responsible for that? To be safe, let’s review our word choices, sentence variations, paragraphing, white space, grammar, and how we string words together to ensure Tom lives a full and fruitful life.

Don’t forget to rewrite and edit. If readers love Tom, he and his new mate may bring chicks (sequels or prequels) into the world, and we, as Tom’s creator, have the honor of helping them flourish into full-fledged turkeys.

Aww… Tom’s story has a happy ending now. Good job, writers!

For fun, choose a name for Tom’s mate. Winner gets bragging rights.

The Art of Misdirection

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“There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn’t true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true.” — Soren Kierkegaard

* * *

One of the most interesting aspects of mystery novels for me is the author’s ability to construct a story that leads the reader “down the garden path.” Then when the truth is revealed, the reader smacks him/herself on the side of the head in recognition that they picked the wrong person as the villain. They should have seen it coming.

When I told a friend of mine about my interest in constructing novels that use this technique of misdirection, she was astonished. “It sounds like you’re deliberately manipulating what the reader is thinking.”

“Right,” I said. “That’s the point. If the author can present information to the reader so they react to the scenes in the story in a predictable way, it will produce an entertaining and satisfying experience for the reader.”

My friend said she didn’t like the idea of being fooled, but I think she’s fooling herself.

At its heart, a mystery novel is a game, a challenge to the reader to see if they can put the puzzle together correctly. The reader has all the necessary information, but the author uses several devices to misguide the reader into putting their trust in the wrong characters or the wrong clues.

Foreshadowing, Clues, and Red Herrings

In his article in Writer’s Digest,  Robert McCaw put it well:

“Misdirection also requires subtlety. The reader will feel crassly manipulated if the surprise ending arrives without sufficient hints or foreshadowing. Ideally, good misdirection makes the reader look back at various telltale clues peppered throughout the story, hopefully leading them to admire the author’s skill in setting up and obscuring the ultimate surprise.”

Perhaps the cleverest red herring of all time was created by Agatha Christie in her novel And Then There Were None, in which ten people on a remote island are being killed off one by one in a way that mirrors the nursery rhyme Ten Soldier Boys. When they get down to three people left alive, one of them (Vera) says

“You’ve forgotten the nursery rhyme. Don’t you see there’s a clue there?” She recited in a meaning voice: “Four little Indian boys going out to sea; A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.” She went on: “A red herring—that’s the vital clue. Armstrong’s not dead… He took away the china Indian to make you think he was. You may say what you like—Armstrong’s on the island still. His disappearance is just a red herring across the track…”

A clue that references the very words “red herring” is clever. But it turns out the clue itself was a red herring. Now that was really clever.

The Unreliable Narrator

In a novelsuspects.com article, Emily Watson writes

The term “unreliable narrator” was introduced in 1961 by Wayne C. Booth in his book The Rhetoric of Fiction. Typically, for a narrator to be unreliable, the story needs to be presented by a first-person narrator. And since first-person accounts of stories and events are often flawed and biased, you could argue that all first-person narrators are by nature unreliable. But Booth explains that for a narrator to be unreliable, they must either misreport, misinterpret, misevaluate, underreport, under-interpret, or under-evaluate.

Once again Agatha Christie claims preeminence in misdirection with the unreliable narrator Dr. Sheppard in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.

The False Ending

Robert McCaw also addressed the topic of false endings in his article in Writer’s Digest.

“Another of my favorite techniques is the false or penultimate ending. In this case, the narrative comes to a neat close. The protagonist solves the mysteries and identifies the culprit. There are no loose strings. The story is over, except it’s not. Instead, another chapter surprises the reader with a new and different take on the ending, often creating the opportunity to begin a new story, perhaps in another book.”

An example of this is the French film He Loves Me… He Loves Me Not directed by Laetitia Colombani. While not exactly a mystery, the movie’s unusual structure is a good example of misdirection, unreliable narration, and a false ending.

The movie was released in 2002 and starred Audrey Tautou, the actress who had previously been best known for her performance as the main character in the movie Amelie. Casting Tautou as Angelique in He Loves Me was a brilliant way to manipulate the viewers into immediately trusting the adorable girl.

In this movie, Angelique is an accomplished young artist in love with a married man, Dr. Loic Le Garrec (Samuel Le Bihan). The movie begins in a flower shop where Angelique is sending a pink rose to Le Garrec on his birthday, and it tracks the plot through scenes where Angelique appears to get closer and closer to her goal of breaking up Le Garrec’s marriage so the two of them can go off together.

Then something goes awry. Angelique realizes her plan has failed, and she decides to commit suicide. It seems this will be the sad end to a young woman’s life, but that’s the false ending. The movie is only at the halfway point.

As Angelique lies down on the floor in front of a gas stove, everything changes. It looks like the movie is rewinding in Fast Backward mode, and suddenly we’re all the way back to the beginning at the flower shop.

But this time, the movie presents the actual events, not just Angelique’s fantasy, and the viewer comes to understand Angelique was suffering from a mental illness called “erotomania.” The first half of the movie showed only a partial truth, but one that convinced the viewer of a lie.

In the actual ending, Angelique has survived her suicide attempt and is incarcerated in a mental institution. The final end of the movie is yet another false ending that I won’t spoil for you.

* * *

So, there you have it. Red herrings, unreliable narrators, and false endings. All devices to trick the reader into enjoying a wonderful story.

“Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken.”
― Jane Austen, Emma

* * *

So TKZers: There are many ways to lead the reader astray. Have you been fooled by misdirection? Have you used misdirection in your books? What books or movies would you recommend that gleefully mislead the audience?

* * *

Was it a clue to murder? Or just a small child’s fanciful note? Private pilot Cassie Deakin must find her way through the labyrinth to solve the puzzle.

Available at  Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play, or Apple Books.

First Page Critique – MURDER, MYSTERY AND MISDIRECTION

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by Debbie Burke

@burke_writer

Today let’s welcome a Brave Author who submitted the first page of a humorous cozy mystery with fantasy elements including a talking cat.

Please enjoy the read then we’ll discuss on the flip side.

~~~

“Peekaboo!” I burst through the front door, Ryan in my wake. I stopped in the hallway and looked for any sign of the orange cat who was currently on my sugar (I don’t like to swear) list. It only took a moment before the little creature stepped primly into the hall.

“I was napping,” the grumpy feline said, shooting me a gold-eyed glare. She waited for me to continue.

“I acknowledged them,” I said, deadpan.

“Oh.” Peekaboo’s snooty manor fell away, and she lowered those gold eyes.

“That’s all you have to say?” I stood, arms crossed, my eyes shooting daggers. Ryan, my boyfriend, stood mutely watching. He couldn’t hear Peekaboo.

But I could. Oh, boy, could I. My sweet little inherited orange cat bestowed on me, by way of tripping me on my way down the front porch steps, the “gift” of being able to communicate with her. Oh, and see ghosts. To be fair, her motives were pure. She needed me to have a near-death experience so I’d wake up and be able to listen to her.

Maybe I should back up, so you know what I’m talking about.

I used to live in Los Angeles. When I was twenty-one, I broke up a mugging and saved a dear little old lady. She was so grateful that seven years later she left me her estate in her will.

In addition to a house, an SUV and a large amount of money, I inherited Peekaboo, the talking cat. Of course, I didn’t know she was a talking cat at the time. After glaring at me for a few days, she apparently thought I was hopeless and pushed me down the stairs. So, I woke up in the hospital and saw a doctor with a clipboard walk through a wall. But that’s really immaterial to my story. My neighbor, who found me splattered on the porch steps, had called 911. When I was released from the hospital, Elsie, the neighbor, told me I’d flatlined and it took ten minutes of the paddles to bring me back to life.

As I hobbled into my house after Elsie brought me home from the hospital and made sure I was alright to be left alone, subject cat started talking to me. I thought I must have a brain tumor…somebody get me back to the hospital! I grabbed the fireplace poker and used it to keep her at bay. I think she may have rolled her eyes at me.

Then, before I was comfortable that she was talking…and I could understand her…she trotted out the ghost of Alice, the sweet little old lady who’d left me her house. Apparently, this whole episode was so I could see Alice and solve her murder.

That little task resulted in me, and my best friend Susie, and my boyfriend Ryan, who wasn’t my boyfriend at the time…he was the homicide detective I had to convince to help me solve said murder…and DC, a PI that Peekaboo had led me to…I didn’t mention that she’s psychic, did I? That’s how she knew I wouldn’t die when she tripped me on the stairs. Oh, brother….

~~~

Let me confess upfront: fantasy is not a genre I’m very familiar with. I don’t know the tropes and conventions so I hope more knowledgeable readers will chime in about this piece.

What did strike me immediately was the voice. It was humorous and conversational, which I enjoy. It felt like a friend relating a story after a few drinks…quite a few drinks.

Jumping back and forth in time on the first page is risky. The reader is not yet grounded in the story and can easily be confused. Too many events told out of order with too many characters being introduced all at once may frustrate the reader.

But that herky-jerky conversational tone is important to the humor. So, it’s a tightrope walk between smiles and irritation.

What I do know about fantasy is that world building is an important element. The author introduces an unfamiliar universe governed by its own rules. Those rules are different from the reality most people know. Readers need certain information to understand the imaginary world they’re stepping into. However, not all those elements need to be presented at once. Allow them to unfold during the course of the story.

But this example feels more like being hit with a firehose—too much information too soon. I’d be more interested and engaged if I understood a few ground rules.

My suggestion is to quickly establish a world in which only the narrator can hear a talking cat. Something like:

Peekaboo is a sweet orange cat I inherited from a dear little old lady named Alice I had saved from being mugged when I was 21. Seven years later Alice died, and to my great surprise, she left me a large sum of money, an SUV, a house, and Peekaboo, the talking cat.

You’re probably saying “Oh brother!” and I don’t blame you. I’m the only one who can hear Peekaboo, making it hard to convince people I’m not crazy.

Did I forget to mention the cat is psychic? And she wants me to solve Alice’s murder?

Let me back up a bit to when Peekaboo pushed me down the stairs (on purpose—the little brat) and knocked me out, so you understand how all this happened.

 

Regarding craft and word usage details:

Manor should be manner. The preferred spelling for alright is all right. Otherwise the manuscript didn’t have spelling errors. Good job.

Nice, smooth way to establish the narrator’s age (21 plus seven years later makes her 28).

Splattered sounds like blood or brains, and is not accurate for the scene described.

“I acknowledged them,” I said, deadpan. I have no idea what this sentence means. It  has no relation to the sentences before or after it. Who or what does “them“ refer to?

Run-on sentences are tricky. They can convey humor but can also be confusing.

That little task resulted in me, and my best friend Susie, and my boyfriend Ryan, who wasn’t my boyfriend at the time…he was the homicide detective I had to convince to help me solve said murder…and DC, a PI that Peekaboo had led me to…I didn’t mention that she’s psychic, did I?

In a 55-word-long sentence, the reader is introduced to three characters (Susie, Ryan, DC), two professions (homicide detective and PI), the history of the romance (at first Ryan wasn’t her boyfriend), a problem (how to convince the detective/boyfriend to help the narrator solve a murder), and Peekaboo’s psychic ability.

Please slow down, Brave Author. Introduce the characters and establish their relationships to each other. Layer in the problem of solving a murder. Then add the punchline that Peekaboo is psychic.

The narrator’s disjointed thoughts have a curious logic that’s all her own, rather like listening to someone with early dementia. Obviously, the intelligence is still present, but connections keep shorting out.

That wacky voice can endear her to the reader but becomes frustrating and annoying if overdone. Preserve the humor and delete the babbling. 

Brave Author, the concept of a talking, psychic cat is humorous, charming, and intriguing. If you don’t confuse the reader, you have the potential for a delightful mystery. Thanks for sharing this first page with us.

~~~

TKZers: What elements of this first page appealed to you? What turned you off and why?

If you read humorous-cozy-fantasy genre, please educate those of us who are not familiar with it. What are reader expectations? Does this story meet those?

Should You Write a Prequel?

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When Dexter: Original Sin came out, I had my doubts. The ending of Dexter: New Blood left a bad taste in my mouth (I won’t spoil it for you).

Jeff Lindsay isn’t to blame for that. New Blood and Original Sin are based on the characters from Lindsay’s long-standing series but don’t have a direct novel equivalent. The television franchise creator, Clyde Phillips, made changes to the story for the show.

Dexter: Original Sin is also a prequel that shows Dexter’s early years… how his father created “the code” to keep his “dark passenger” under control, his internship at Miami Metro Police Department, and his first kill.

Without basing the prequel on a Lindsay novel, I was more than a little reluctant to watch it. But I love Dexter! Which is a great reason to write a prequel. If you have a beloved character, readers might be interested in their early years.

Upside of Prequels

Character depth: Write a prequel to show the origin story of a beloved character or cast to explain their motivation and how they became who they are in the original series.

World-building: Write a prequel to provide a deeper look into the world before the main events i.e., history, politics, culture, etc.

Fresh perspectives: Write a prequel to showcase lesser-known characters and their perspectives.

Downside of Prequels

Unnecessary recap: Don’t write a prequel to rehash plot points from one of the original novels or the series as a whole.

Disappointing character portrayals: Don’t write a prequel to capture the essence of an established character or cast, or you’ll risk undoing all the characterization in the series.

Quality: If you don’t believe the prequel can live up to the high standards of the series, write something else.

The last thing you want is for readers to think:

  • “Was the prequel necessary?”
  • “Meh. It was okay, not nearly as good as the original novels.”
  • “What did I just read? I feel tricked, like everything I believed was a lie.”
  • Or the fatal blow: “Doubt I’ll even buy the next book in the series now.”

Too many franchises use prequels to pad the bank account, and few live up to the original series. While it may be fun for readers/viewers to revisit the characters and story world they love, too often prequels fall flat. Either they’re filled with inconsistencies in characterization, or they attempt to skew previous storylines to fit the new narrative.

Neither apply to Dexter: Original Sin.

Phillips did a masterful job of showing Dexter’s early years. A young actor named Patrick Gibson plays Dexter, but Michael C. Hall — whom we all grew to love in the original television series — narrates Dexter Morgan’s inner voice. Genius! The main reason I waited to watch the show was because, in my opinion, no other actor could play Dexter Morgan. ’Course, I never thought anyone could play a believable Hannibal Lecter, either, but Mads Mikkelsen proved me wrong.

From the first episode of Dexter: Original Sin, the screenwriter captivated me with how he portrayed the origin story. Let’s look at everything he did right.

In the first five episodes, Phillips never tried to change the character of Dexter Morgan. Instead, he merely filled in the blanks of what we missed in the original series. Patrick Gibson (young Dexter) didn’t overplay his role. The trailer misled me by zooming in on young Dexter’s evil expression — and not in a good way — when in fact, 20-year-old Dexter is simply learning to deal with the duality within him.

  • He knows he’s different from other people.
  • He questions why he’s different.
  • He fights the desires of his “dark passenger.”

Conflict, conflict, and more conflict.

Discussions between Dexter and Harry Morgan turn almost heartwarming. Regardless of subject matter, the love between a father and his adopted son shines through. They’re doing the best they can under impossible circumstances.

As a homicide sergeant at Miami Metro PD, Harry taught Dexter “the code” shown via flashbacks in the original series.

For years, Dexter believed Harry created the code, but in season eight of the original series, we learned he had help. Dr. Evelyn Vogel, a neuropsychiatrist who specializes in the treatment of psychopaths, noticed Dexter had psychopathic tendencies as a child. So, she and Harry developed the Code of Harry as a way for Dexter to safely satisfy his needs and help rid society of dangerous predators.

Dexter: Original Sin provides an in-depth look at the code in real time, as the prequel takes place fifteen years before the original series.

Code of Harry

  1. Don’t get caught.
  2. Never kill an innocent.
  3. Targets must be killers who have evaded the justice system.
  4. Killing must serve a purpose. Otherwise, it’s just plain murder.
  5. Blend in socially to maintain appearances.
  6. Fake emotions and normality.
  7. Control and channel the urge to kill.
  8. Be prepared. Leave no trace or evidence.
  9. Never make a [public] scene. Stay calm and collected.
  10. Don’t make things personal because it clouds judgment.
  11. Don’t get emotionally involved.
  12. No preemptive killing.

The prequel never tries to rewrite the well-established Code of Harry. Instead, Phillips shows mistakes by both Harry and Dexter as they attempt to navigate their new normal. We also see Dexter’s first kill, which broke several rules for a valid reason, and learn more about Dexter’s birth mother and her relationship with Harry.

Dexter: Original Sin succeeds because it enhances Lindsay’s original series. And that may be the best reason of all to write a prequel. Otherwise, writer beware — penning a decent prequel is not an easy endeavor.

Have you ever considered writing a prequel? 

If you’ve written a prequel, what was your deciding factor? What did you hope to achieve? How did readers respond?

Have you read a prequel that blew you away?

What prequel failed to meet your expectations, and why?

Torn Between Two Projects

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

There was a hit song back in the 70s called “Torn Between Two Lovers” (not to be confused with the Hannibal Lecter hit, “Torn Between Two Livers”).

In the song, a woman is telling her first love that he’s great, and everything she’s told him about her feelings is true. But there’s this other guy she’s met who fills an “empty place” inside her. Now, she says, I don’t love you any less, and I don’t want you to leave me just because I’m torn between the two of you. I’m feelin’ like a fool because that’s breakin’ all the rules, but still I want you around…

I always thought that first guy should have written a song in response, with the simple refrain: Buh Bye.

But I digress.

What I really want to talk about is being torn between two projects. It’s happened to me a few times in my thirty years at this gig.

Before I was published, I wrote a wild novel that was a complete joy. I had fun every day creating a pastiche of comedy and commentary. I fancied it a cross between Tom Robbins and Douglas Adams.

It was original! Surely a publisher would want original. Because that’s what they’d say. “We are looking for an original voice…”

That was only partially true. I quickly found out the second part: “…but not too original.”

In other words, they wanted a fresh voice for an existing market.

Perfectly legit, as the book business is, gasp, a business.

So when my original work of surpassing genius was rejected faster than a Snoopy story (remember the Snoopy-as-writer strips from Peanuts? He once got a letter: “To save time we are enclosing two rejection slips, one for this story and one for the  next story you send us.”)

Thus, it occurred to me that maybe I should spend a little time considering “the market” before deciding what to write.

Around this time, a good friend (and published author) said to me, “You’re a lawyer. Why aren’t you writing legal thrillers?”

Duh!

So I wrote a legal thriller and got a contract.

But then there were a few times when I had two ideas for a next book to fulfill a contract. Which one should I spend six months on?

So I made up a self-test. In a fit of modesty, I named it “Bell’s Pyramid.”

The base of the pyramid, PASSION, is the foundation, the most crucial factor. I came up with a list of questions and assigned a score, from 1-10, for each.

  1. How excited are you about the concept as it stands now?
  2. How invested are you in the main character?
  3. Does the main character have potential to deepen?
  4. Is there a theme involved for you?
  5. As a prediction, how excited do you think you’ll be about the book two months from now?

For POTENTIAL:

  1. How marketable is the plot?
  2. How are the stakes life or death (physical, professional, or psychological)?
  3. How likely is it that you can raise the stakes?

For PRECISION I would write a logline for each project. A logline is Hollywood-speak for a sentence that captures both the essence and market potential of a script. For example:

A great white shark hunts for food in the waters of a New England town at the height of tourist season.

Teenager Marty takes a time-traveling DeLorean into the past, where his young mother gets the hots for him, and where he must get his father to win her again before Marty ceases to exist. 

Then I’d assign a score, 1-10, on which logline best captures essence/market potential.

Add up all the scores, and there’s your WIP.

And the best part is that your project will not be angry that you have another “lover.” You can develop that other project on the side even as you write the first one.

So how do you decide what book you’re going to write next?

#WriteTip: To Fix a Scene, Sniff Out the Tick

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Not her, but she wore a similar expression.

Last weekend, I was lovin’ on an adorable Chihuahua/Fox Terrier when I spotted an abscess under her left eye. She’s a little furball. The abscess hid under a mess of blonde curls.

When I brought the problem to her human’s attention, we discussed possible reasons for it. Did she scratch herself? Why was she scratching? Do her eyes itch? If so, why? Or did she accidentally catch the skin with her nail while cleaning her face?

Over the years, I’ve treated many abscesses on friends’ animals. For some reason, they all call me when something’s wrong with their furbabies. I’m not a vet, but some problems are easy fixes that don’t require dishing out hundreds of dollars and leaving the furbaby in distress while they wait for an appointment.

Like we did with the dog, if a scene in the WIP feels off in some way, we need to acknowledge there’s a problem. Only then can we gain enough clarity to fix it.

The first step in treating an abscess is to find the root cause. When we examined her eye, we found a dead tick attached to the inside rim of her lower eyelid. The rubbing of the tick against her eyeball caused her to scratch while her human was at work. We also found a small red mark in the corner of the abscess from her nail(s).

The first step to fix a scene is to find the root cause. Why doesn’t the scene work? Is the pacing off? Does it lack tension/conflict? Are there no obstacles to overcome? Does each character have a scene goal? If so, what are they? How does the scene advance the plot?

Once we removed the tick, we treated the abscess by applying hot compresses. Heat loosens the pocket of infection and relaxes the skin. The goal is to let the existing wound open on its own.

When examining a scene, go slow and sniff out the problem. First, look at the structure. Does it follow the micro-beats of scene and sequel?

SCENE

Goal: What does the POV character want? If you don’t know, that could be the problem. The character’s goal must be clear from the start, even to the reader.

Conflict: What are the obstacles standing in the way of the character reaching their goal? Obstacles can be external or internal. If there aren’t any, you’ve identified the problem.

Disaster: Even if your character overcomes the conflict, your job is to make things worse. Ideally, the scene should roll into the sequel with the feeling of, “Oh, no! Now what?”

SEQUEL

Reaction: How does your character react to the scene disaster?

A well-crafted sequel clues the reader into the character’s internal journey, presents a compelling dilemma, and ends with the character setting a new goal. Sequels are where major decisions, reversals, and growth happens. They set up the character’s next move.

Dilemma: The dilemma is the problem your character faces because of the scene disaster. Make sure your character has no good options, or at least they can’t see a way out of the tricky situation they’re in. If the sequel lacks a dilemma, it’ll destroy the structure because the choice they make leads to the next micro-story beat.

Decision: How will they deal with the new dilemma? The decision often becomes the goal of the next scene. If they have no idea what to do, you at least need some sort of decision here, even if they choose to retreat.

Also not her, but same happy mood.

After a few rounds of hot compresses, blood and puss drained from the abscess. The inner lid where we removed the dead tick stopped bleeding, the skin relaxed into place, and the wound under her eye sealed closed.

No one was more relieved than the sweet, little furbaby. We accepted payment in the form of kisses, tail wags, and happy prances.

The next time a scene in the WIP doesn’t work, search for the tick. It’s hiding in there somewhere.