In the beginning . . .

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By Joe Moore

They say that the most important part of any novel is the beginning. Arguably, it’s the most re-worked portion. I know it seems like I rewrite the first chapter a hundred times before I’m done. But no matter what the story is about, I believe there are a few critical elements that should be present to create a strong beginning. Here they are.

You should always start by showing your hero as a central focal point. Don’t worry too much about detailed descriptions on the surroundings, the weather, and the setting. That can come a page or so later. Just zero in on the protagonist’s state of being.

Firmly establish the situation the protagonist is in. Is she relaxed, nervous, happy, or angry? Consider making the first scene a mirror of what’s to come so that the reader knows right from the get-go what type of person the protagonist is. For instance, if the hero will have to deal with killing someone later in the story, have her see a report of a murder on the news or in the paper and react to it. Is she repulsed by the taking of another’s life or does she think the person on the news got what he had coming? It should be like watching a preview of a coming attraction at the movies. You know what to expect from the character when you get to the meat of the story. So let the opening scene in some way reflect the overall conflict in the book and perhaps specifically predict or foreshadow events to come. Allow the first scene to set the tone for the rest of the story.

Next, give the protagonist something to do that is a primary “tag” to identifying their make-up, their inner core beliefs. You only need one, but it should be a mark of their character that will play a role later. As an example, if the protagonist is able to step in and calm an argument between two co-workers, and do it in a logical manner, it’s a tag that they can solve bigger conflicts later and that their mind works well at problem-solving.

Now comes a vital element in the beginning sequence of any story. You must establish that the protagonist has something important to lose. Conflict must be established from the very first scene. It doesn’t matter what kind of conflict or what’s at stake, but it must be something important to the protagonist. Something the hero cares about has to be threatened. Although some books start with a big scene, perhaps with violence or personal danger, the thing that’s at stake for the protagonist can be as small and personal as forgetting to send a birthday card or neglecting to tell her daughter that she loves her. This shows she has feelings and emotions that are on a basic human level and can be related to by the reader. Even if the big opening scene is a threat on the protagonist’s life, the real thing that’s at stake must be a loss from within her heart, her soul.

Starting with something as big as a threat on her life usually doesn’t work as well because the reader hasn’t had time to get to know the hero and there’s no reason at this early stage to care. Action by itself does nothing to increase the concern the reader has for the protagonist. But regretting that last, missed goodbye sure does. It sets up a relationship between the hero and the reader—a connection of human understanding and emotion that helps the reader care about the character later.

If your book is science fiction or fantasy, it’s a good idea to establish the rules of the road as soon as possible. If the rules say that people can become invisible, go ahead and establish that real quick. The reader must know the rules. Don’t wait until halfway through the book to decide the antagonist can read minds. We need to know about the mind reading thing right away.

Another element that should be present in or near the beginning of your book is the story question. You might think that the story question deals with the protagonist defeating the antagonist. That’s really a plot issue. The story question is much deeper than that and usually deals with an inner want and need of the main character. For instance, in SILENCE OF THE LAMBS Agent Clarice Starling has to find the killer known as Buffalo Bill. But what’s the story question? Can Clarice overcome the childhood trauma she experienced when her policeman father was murdered, then having to deal with living on her uncle’s farm and listening to the terrible screams of the sheep being slaughtered. The story question is answered at the end of the book when Dr. Lecter writes Starling a letter asking her if the lambs have stopped screaming. In the final scene Starling is sleeping quietly and peacefully at a friend’s vacation house at the Maryland seashore. The story question has been resolved.

You should also establish during the beginning of the book your character’s wants and needs. Asking the story question can reflect on what the protagonist wants and what she needs. Clarice wants to catch the killer but she needs to find internal peace from her childhood demons.

Lastly, you should begin your book by establishing your voice and setting the tone and pace of the story. The mood must be nailed down from page one. Your opening scene sets up all of these elements and lets the reader know what to expect from there on out. At this point, you are establishing a contract with your reader to deliver a story that maintains a tone, fulfills their preliminary expectations, and resolves all questions amicably.

What other elements do you think must be present in the beginning to keep your reader turning the pages? Do you always know the story question before you write the beginning of your book? Have you ever bought a book only to find that the author didn’t live up to the contract established in the beginning?

Puzzling over paragraphs, and other story woes

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By Kathryn Lilley

I set a personal record for myself last weekend: I spent the entire weekend–the entire weekend–working on one paragraph. I must have constructed and deconstructed that paragraph a thousand times. By Sunday night I’d whittled and rewritten that sucker until all that remained of it was a grand total of one sentence. One!

At this glacial pace of one sentence every two days, I will not cross the finish line of my manuscript anytime soon. Not good. But I feel like I’m stuck in the mud: I keep developing different ways into the story, then getting unhappy with it, then tearing it up. Hence the endlessly-reworked, bottomless paragraphs. And chapters.

My wheel-spinning is not a total waste–I have tons of pages that will work their way into the story eventually, but right now I feel like I’m playing with a Rubik’s Story-Cube. And I haven’t solved the puzzle yet.

When I described my problem to another writer, her suggestion was to keep going forward with the story without rewriting, and then go back and fix things later.

It’s a good idea, but here’s my problem with that approach: When I’m not happy with my writing, it’s because the elements in the story are wrong. If I write a chapter composed of the wrong elements, it’s like cooking with the wrong ingredients. I would end up with a spoiled dish–a dish that has to be thrown out, not merely reworked.

Maybe it’s time for me to do what I hate the most–write a comprehensive, detailed outline of the entire story. Then all I’d have to worry about is writing the prose itself, not the basic story components.

I heard some sage on the radio the other day–he described a “genius” as someone who persistently examines and reworks a problem until a creative solution is found. If that guy’s correct, I should be getting my Mensa card in the mail any day now.

Have you ever run into this problem, that finding the best path into the story has been unusually difficult? Other than outlining, do you have any good ideas for breaking through this kind of logjam?

The Book Group Experience

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by Clare Langley-Hawthorne

I’ve had many terrific experiences speaking to book groups and, as a member of a book group, I’ve spent many hours debating and (let’s face it) dissecting other people’s novels. While my mother-in-law is visiting, she and I have been talking about the role of book groups and how difficult it is to please many book group attendees. In my mother-in-law’s group it’s rare that any book passes muster – and this got me thinking about the power of book groups and their evolving dynamics.
There’s no denying the power of book groups today – they are the fuel that can propel a literary book to bestsellerdom (think of books like The Kite Runner or The Memory Keeper’s Daughter). I think many publishers are eager to please the ‘book group’ demographic (women aged 35-65) because without the book group ‘word of mouth’ few literary books would probably achieve commercial success.

As an author I love speaking with book groups but there is always the fear that someone will hate the book or tear it to pieces in front of me. Before I was published I never thought twice about ripping into a book I felt was unworthy – now, I confess, my criticism of novels is more tempered (as I know just how bloody difficult it can be to write the darn things!). Still, I cannot help but be impressed by the influence book groups can wield – and I’ve been mulling over just how certain books end up being the perfect ‘book group’ read.

So here are my questions:
  1. Are you in a book group, and if so, how do you select the books you read? Are the bestseller lists influential or is it mainly word-of-mouth (in my groups it’s all word-of-mouth)
  2. How critical are you and other members of the group – are fewer and fewer books these days meeting your standards?
  3. Do you have authors visit – and if so, how do you deal with the thorny problem of members not liking the book? What do you like authors to cover or discuss with the group?
  4. How much notice do you take of the reading group guides publishers provide (either on-line or in the back of the book)?
  5. For all you authors out there – what have your experiences been like with book groups? (…any horror stories you’d like to share?)
  6. And – for God’s sake – tell me, are there any men in book groups these days????

Now I’d better get to reading my next book group read, and sharpening my claws for the inevitable discussion:) on our next read – Night Train to Lisbon by Pascal Mercier.

Will Arrogance Get You Published?

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by James Scott Bell

Let’s talk about arrogance. Because I say so.

We’ve all noticed an uptick in the arrogance factor in society. New York Times opinion writer David Brooks made it the subject of a recent column, stating in part:

When you look from today back to 1945, you are looking into a different cultural epoch, across a sort of narcissism line. Humility, the sense that nobody is that different from anybody else, was a large part of the culture then. But that humility came under attack in the ensuing decades. Self-effacement became identified with conformity and self-repression. A different ethos came to the fore, which the sociologists call “expressive individualism.”

Now, in one sense, “expressive individualism” is what we do as writers. We are boldly sharing part of ourselves, and should do so confidently. But here’s the thing: this confidence should be evident in our pages alone. When it’s off the page and in people’s faces, “expressive individualism” can too easily become slap-deserving arrogance.

There are so many examples of arrogance in culture today. Perhaps the most notable in the last few weeks was Kanye West deciding he could interrupt Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech at the MTV VMA awards. Taking Swift’s microphone, and moment, West extolled the merits of another nominee in front of a national television audience. Why? Because of “expressive individualism” gone awry.

So the idea that it’s all about me and I will make you admit it is part of the zeitgeist, just another move you make to get what you want.

And it’s filtering down like an acid drip into the world of aspiring writers. When I speak at writers conferences I am gratified that most people seem eager to learn and determined to grow. But there has been an increase in those who think that having a chip on their shoulders is an essential part of their campaign to get published.

It’s isn’t.

True, there are some people who are arrogant and who do get published. But they get published in spite of arrogance, not because of it. They get published because they can actually write.

But for the large majority of the new arroganti, such behavior is not going to get them closer to a contract. It will, in fact, hinder their chances.

Confidence, on the other hand, is good. And necessary. But there is a fine line between confidence and arrogance. That line is something called professionalism.

A professional doesn’t waste another person’s time by overstaying his welcome.

A professional knows what someone – i.e., an agent or editor – is looking for, and delivers it in a precise manner.

A professional doesn’t follow up frustrations with nasty notes, diatribes, or slanderous blog posts. Nor tear down other writers who get published.

In other words, a true professional knows when to put a cork in it and get back to the business of learning to write better.

A professional will, over time, gain respect. That leaves doors open for future submissions.

The arrogant burn bridges and find doors slamming.

Arrogance talks smack. Confidence does its talking on the page.

So be bold, be confident, be “expressively individualistic,” but use that energy for the writing itself. Because even if you succeed while being arrogant, even if you land on the bestseller list, it will be a Pyrrhic victory. As writer Michael Bishop puts it, “One may achieve remarkable writerly success while flunking all the major criteria for success as a human being. Try not to do that.”

Locked Down For Lying… And That’s The Truth

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John Ramsey Miller

I really hated to do it, but I was forced to put my chickens on lock down for several days last week. That might not seem like a big thing, but if you sell eggs as “Free-Range” and presently, after a major poultry insurrection, they are in fact “lock-down” eggs… Until they get that we moved their coop two hundred yards into the field so we could have grass over the dirt in our yard… See where I’m going? They keep returning to their old coop and it’s occupied with new baby chickens so we had to gather them up two and three at a time and drive them to the new place on the four-wheeler.

So our printed cartons read, “Susie’s Free-Range eggs” so I had to take one of those fat Sharpies and make truth-in-advertising alterations.
I have this thing about lying. I mean I do it, but I’m not happy about it and I’d like to quit doing it. But the truth is people expect you to do it. If you ever answer truthfully a question like: “Does this hat make my ass look wide?” and it actually does, you are so screwed.

I think about the truth a lot, and I am always working to evade it. I practice denial, often with almost professional results. Sixty is the new forty, I am in the best shape of my life, my mind is a steel trap… There’s nothing wrong with self-delusion if you know how to practice it correctly and with the proper diligence.

Fiction isn’t about lying, it’s about telling a story that originates in your mind, and hopefully could happen, but just hasn’t yet as far as we know, but sure as hell might.

This is not a political statement, but yesterday President Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize, but he hasn’t earned it yet. I don’t blame him for accepting it, but next year, don’t be surprised if Michael Moore gets the Nobel Prize for Economics, and Nicholas Sparks gets it for literature.

Adverbally Yours

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Book #2 of my Jonathan Grave series, Hostage Zero, (July, 2010) is done at last. The bad news is, I blew my deadline by a few weeks; the good news is, I like the story, and it think it advances the characters well. I hope that means it was worth the wait. (Knocking wood and all that.)

I’ve spent many hourse this week revising and trimming in preparation for final submission (trimmed 20,000 words with half my keyboard tied behind my back). I’m sure there’s more trimming to come as we put the final coats of polish on. In doing the rewrites, though, I was shocked by my use of adverbs. My key offenders were, actually, really, nearly, clearly, apparently, exactly and quickly. Not that there weren’s a bunch more, but many, did I hammer the hell out of those. I cut every one that I encountered, though I’m sure a few sneaked by.

Another word that invaded my writing like kudzu is “just”. (Just about, just lazy,just wondering . . .) It’s a word that accomplishes nothing. The adverbs accomplish nothing. Their like parasites on prose, and what I found most stunning is the fact that I know better. I teach creative writing classes from time to time; I consider myself to be a journeyman writer. How come I’m still making rookie mistakes?

I hope it’s because we all make rookie mistakes in the initial drafts, and that professionalism is defined by a writer’s ability to recognize the weaknesses and errors before it’s too late, and the book is inflicted upon the world. It’s not a definition of professionalism that would work for, say, brain surgeons, but for us scribes I’ll take it.

My editor noted in her notes for No Mercy that I was obsessed with arching eyebrows. All the characters did it, and I was oblivious. Taking her remarks to heart, I tamed most of the eyebrows in that book, and pretty much kept them at bay in Hostage Zero. It seems, however, that you can’t tame one writing reflex without tickling another. It’s frustrating.

Am I alone here? Do you find yourself locking onto a repetitive writing gremlin from time to time? Are you likewise plagued by adverb invasions? Come on and share your own prose parasites.

Beware the Clunky Plot Device

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by Michelle Gagnon

So I’m reading a fairly well-known book right now, and hit a passage that almost caused me to stop reading.

The heroine is fleeing a pursuer barefoot. She narrowly escapes, making it to her car. Just when I was starting to worry for her pedicure, the author explains that, thankfully, she keeps an extra pair of shoes on hand for just this sort of situation (since, apparently, barefoot pursuits happen regularly in her day-to-day life). So she will be spared the embarassment of running unshod throughout the remainder of the storyline a la John McClane in Die Hard.

Really?!

This is something that happens all too frequently: the clunky plot device. I understand that there are times when as a writer you need a cell phone to go dead, or to drop a call. And now that I’m a proud AT&T customer, I’ll admit that it actually does happen with alarming frequency- I experience more dropped calls now then in 1997, frankly. (Love the iPhone. Hate the network).

But must it always happen at a critical juncture?

Okay, I get it: particularly in our genre, plot devices are a bit of a necessary evil. Heck, I’ll confess to utilizing some of these zingers myself: dropped calls, failed radio transmissions, the works. Sometimes you need your hero/heroine to be unable to call for help. Sometimes you need them to be shod in suitable footwear. I actually don’t always mind these devices, but for God’s sake, please give me something. Say that the heroine remembered that her gym bag was in the backseat, with a pair of sneakers inside. There, now you’ve given me a reason to buy into what you’re selling. But just an extra pair of shoes? That’s laziness, plain and simple.

Other irritating devices:

* An object that the hero just happens to have in their possession, which ends up saving his/her life. A Bible in the shirt pocket that stops a bullet, for example.

* The hero escapes imminent danger, but then stops to hang out somewhere absurdly close to where he/she was just in peril. This usually results in the hero narrowly escaping death…again…only to have the exact same thing occur pages later. I call this the, “Will they never learn/for God’s sake, keep moving!” plot device.

* “It was all just a dream!” ‘Nuff said.

* Along with the inconveniently dropped call/ dead cell phone, I submit its benevolent twin, the perfectly-timed call that either saves the hero’s life, or provides him/her with a critical piece of information that advances the story.

* An adjunct to the perfectly-timed call is the extraordinarily convenient event that no one could ever predict, which ends up saving the hero ie: a flock of birds suddenly distracting the killer. Or a car passing by at just the right moment. Or a gun materializing within hand’s reach for no good reason.

* The hero ignoring a perfectly good escape route, only to choose a far more difficult path that is fraught with bad guys/demons/molten lava.

Do plot devices bother you? And which do you hold particular esteem or contempt for?

Look who’s talking

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By Joe Moore

I’m in a mentoring program helping unpublished writers tighten up their work and get it ready for submission. I also visit a few writers’ forums each week and contribute my two cents to the basic questions from writers just starting out. One of the topics that comes up often is narrative voice. So here are a few of my thoughts on the subject.

scream Although dialogue plays a critical role in fiction, having a story told completely with dialogue would be out of the ordinary if not downright creepy. No matter how many characters there are in a typical novel, there’s one that’s always there but is rarely thought of by the reader—the narrator. Sort of like the referee at a football game, the narrator’s job is to impart necessary information and, in general, keep order. Someone has to tell us about stuff like the time of day, the weather, the setting, physical descriptions, and the other things that the characters either don’t have time to tell us about or don’t know.

And just like the characters, the narrator—the author—has a voice or persona. Some authors like to be a part of the story and make themselves know through a distinct personality and attitude. Others prefer to remain distant and aloof, or completely transparent. One of the main things that determine the narrator’s voice is point of view.

Most stories are written in either first- or third-person. If it’s first-person, it’s usually subjective. Subjective POV tells the reader all the intimate details of the narrator—her thoughts, emotions, and reactions to what’s going on around her. There’s also first-person objective. This story technique tells us about what everyone did and said, but without any personal commentary. First-person narration is all about “I”. I read the book. I took a walk. I fell in love.

In between first- and third-person is a rare POV called second-person. You don’t see this technique used much, and when you do, it’s about as pleasant as standing in line for hours at the DMV. Second-person narration is all about “you”. You read the book. You took a walk. You fell in love.

Next comes third-person. There are a couple of third-person types starting with limited. As the term implies, this is a story technique told from a limited POV. It usually involves internal thoughts and feelings, and is the most popular narration style in commercial fiction.

We can also use third-person objective. The narrator tells the story with no emotional involvement or opinion. This is the transparent technique mentioned earlier. The interesting advantage of third-person objective is that the reader tends to inject more of his or her emotions into the story since the narrator does not.

Then there’s third-person omniscient. With this POV, the narrator pulls the camera back to see the bigger picture. He is god-like in his knowledge of everyone and everything. This POV works well when dealing with sweeping epic adventures that might span numerous generations or time periods. Unlike first-person subjective which is up close and intimate, third-person omniscient is distant, impersonal, and sometimes cold. The reader has to use his imagination more when it comes to emotions because there’s no one to help him along. Third-person narration is all about “he, she and they”. He read the book. She took a walk. They fell in love.

The other key element in determining narration and voice is verb tense. Most stories use the past tense. This is what most readers are comfortable with. The opposite of this would be the incredibly annoying and almost unreadable second-person present tense. If you’re interested in experimental, artsy writing and want to use this technique, make sure you’re independently wealthy first.

So who does the talking in your books? Does your narrator’s voice seem warm and fuzzy, cleaver and funny, or cold and distant? Do you stick with the norm of third-person past tense or do you like to venture into uncharted territory? And what type of narration do you enjoy reading?

A book that changed your life

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By Kathryn Lilley

Last weekend I heard a great program on This American Life called “The Book That Changed Your Life.”

It reminded me of a recent discovery I made: I learned that a book I gave to a friend 30 years ago had actually changed his life.

Thirty years ago, I was 23 and newly graduated from Columbia Journalism School. He was 22, and a charming slacker. We dated just long enough for me to conclude that he had a serious pot habit (I was naive about drugs 30 years ago, and slow to catch on).
As our relationship hit the rocks, I gave him a copy of a book I was reading at the time, The Republic. I marked up passages that I thought applied to him. I don’t recall which ones they were–probably the sections that described Plato’s concept of a well-ordered society. I’m sure it was a bit of a reproachful gift, a pseudo-intellectual parting shot.

Recently I received a long, thoughtful email from my former friend. It was a thank you note. He said The Republic had had a huge impact on his life; he credited it with helping him give up drugs and recalibrate his approach to life. He’s now a successful businessman.

It’s hard to believe that one book was responsible for all that, but I was glad to hear his story.

I can’t think of any books that changed my life in such a profound way (I do recall faking a southern accent for an entire year after reading Gone With the Wind, and another year of nightmares after reading When Worlds Collide, but those don’t count).

How about you. Have any books changed your life?

Pirates of the Web

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by Clare Langley-Hawthorne

Yesterday’s New York Times ran an article entitled “Will Books Be Napsterized” and I have to confess it felt as though yet another nail was being hammered into the coffin of traditional publishing. Although I’m not at all the kind of person to a) become neurotic about the whole thing or b) don a placard proclaiming the end of the world is nigh (hold it, I’m an author, I’m exactly that kind of person!), recent articles about the digital piracy issue still give me pause.

According to this article there are currently 166 copies of Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol available free on the web – 102 of these copies attributable to one file sharing site alone (RapidShare). Now I’m all for authors promoting free content on the web and encouraging new readers but only when the writers and publishers get a chance to actually authorize this to occur. Although Dan Brown’s book is clearly still selling strong in both traditional and e-book format, you have to wonder what the impact of digital piracy will be in 3 or 5 years from now when e-books account for a much greater proportion of the market. Illegal file sharing could then significantly impact even a bestseller like Brown – but imagine the impact on smaller publishers and authors alike. It could be (as the NYT article says) a Napster like event.
The article cites evidence from multiple studies that indicate that 95% of music downloads are “unauthorized, with no payments to artists and producers”. Given the angst-ridden state of the publishing industry today – can you imagine if this were true for books one day?
Apparently file sharing sites usually try to console the industry by pointing to the success stories of the music industry – who have used free content as a way of building a sustainable fan base. Again, I totally accept and agree that free content is a great way to introduce readers to your work – and that building a readership base who will hopefully go out and purchase more of your work is critical – yet as the NYT article points out, authors rarely get to recoup their artistic investment by playing to packed arenas or using pirated e-books as ‘concert fliers’. The majority of authors are probably totally unaware of pirated copies of their books available on the web (I certainly am – and given my lowly status I can’t say I’m worried now but I certainly would be if I actually became popular:)).
So what do you think? Are the Napster fears justified? Is the promotional value of free content enough to justify some of the existing file sharing? Look into your crystal ball and tell me what you see (but please if you see me destitute on a street corner talking to myself just keep it to yourself…)