Tag Archives: #writetip

New Crow Saga and Writing Tips

Posted on by

For the past three weeks, a baby red-tailed hawk — let’s call him “Red” — visits every morning after I feed Poe (crow) and family, Navi (squirrel) and family, Hip (chippie) and family, and Meep (blue jay) and family.

Red came here for one reason, and one reason only — revenge for killing his mother.

Crows and hawks are mortal enemies. But crows are so intelligent and protective of their territory, they are usually the aggressors. Self-preservation at its finest. In battle, it’s safer to stay on offense than defense.

Red was smaller than a full-grown American Crow — fledglings usually are — but that didn’t stop him from trying to attack Poe. Every time Poe flew from tree to tree, the hawk followed.

As Poe slalomed through the trees with Red inches from her tail-feathers, my heart stalled.

Fun fact: A crow’s tail-feathers detach without pain, allowing them to break free from a predator.

It struck me as odd that Poe didn’t retaliate. Not once! I couldn’t figure out why. Did she feel bad about killing Red’s mother? Nah. That didn’t make sense. Poe protected her family. An adult red-tailed hawk will kill a crow fledgling, if they can catch ’em.

Captivated by the aerial pursuits for almost two solid hours, I got the feeling Poe was amused by Red’s antics. Cute little guy trying to act like a big shot. She purposefully flew in front of Red to wind him up. I swear she enjoyed tormenting him. Poe’s such a rascal. To me, it felt more like a game of Russian roulette. But hey, I’m not an expert aerialist like her. Crows can outmaneuver most birds. Hence why they’re so successful as a species.

When Red got too aggressive, Poe let out an alarm call. Within seconds, her murder soared in.

All sixteen crows surrounded Red in neighboring trees. The little guy didn’t stand a chance. Hawkeyed 😉 on Poe, he also refused to leave.

Vendettas… they can warp one’s sense of reality.

Hours bled into days. Every morning, I gaped, panic risen in my chest but helpless to do anything about it. Though I’m Team Crow, I kinda felt bad for Red. An emotional rollercoaster of my own creation because of a similar experience.

Two years ago, this enormous sharp-shinned hawk targeted Poe’s family, and I watched in awe as the murder gathered with military precision. Poe and Edgar stomped on one wing, Allan and Thoreau lifted the other, and they barrel rolled this monstrous bird till she spiraled to her death.

I jolted to my feet and cheered.

The happy buzz didn’t last long.

The sharp-shinned hawk had a new fledgling, who must’ve been hiding in the trees. This little dude flew to the asphalt and attempted to drag his mom off the road before the crows could feast.

Tears flooded my eyes. Even the murder stopped, quieted, and bowed their heads.

Sure, they protected their family, but corvids are empathetic beings. They feel a lot more than humans give them credit for.

In the last decade or so with Poe, I’ve witnessed a wide range of emotions, from the depths of despair from losing one of their own to unadulterated excitement and joy, and the beautiful bonds of love shared between lifelong mates. I was also present when Allan tried to woo a female, and felt the sting of rejection when she flew off with a different suitor. Poor baby sulked in my yard for days.

Another hawk hadn’t died in my presence till the red-tailed mother targeted Poe’s fledglings a few weeks ago. And again, the baby hawk (now known as Red) hid among the safety of the woods and watched his mother fall to her death.

For those who may judge Poe for her actions, lest we not forget natural selection — only the strong survive.

If a predator entered your home, would you kill to protect your family? In my state, it’s legal to do so.

On the holiday weekend, I had plans to drive to the seacoast on Friday. I hated to leave, but what could I do? Still, everything within me warned me not to go.

Would Poe be all right when I returned on Tuesday? The question whirled on an endless loop for the 2.5 hour drive south, reappeared during quiet moments, and returned with a vengeance for the entire ride home.

The moment I stepped out the driver’s door, Poe cawed from the tree beside me. I could breathe again. The next morning, I’d barely stepped inside my sunroom/office after feeding my furred and feathered family when Red barreled across the yard after my beloved Poe. Only now, Red’s chest had filled out. He still stood shorter than Poe but not by much.

Once again, Poe refused to retaliate. The murder surrounded Red like before, but it didn’t faze him. In two weeks, he’d packed on the pounds by feeding on chipmunks, jays, cardinals, mourning doves, and any other little bird or critter he could catch.

Today, Red matches Poe wing to wing, head to tail. Edgar, Allan, and Thoreau still outweigh him but not for long. Red’s transforming into a dangerous predator who’s hellbent on punishing Poe.

While writing this story, I stopped three times when the aerial fights heated up. Think Poe will give the call to retaliate? Still no. And it’s killing me! What is she waiting for?

None of the crows seem all that bothered by Red. Maybe he’s not big enough yet to be considered an actual threat? No idea. All I know is, if this feud doesn’t end soon, I may need a cardiologist.

On Friday (Nov. 1), I’m heading out of town to go house-hunting. By the time I return, Red will be even bigger. It’s like Poe’s waiting for a worthy opponent to emerge. Let’s hope she doesn’t wait too long. Red has the heart of a lion, the drive of a cheetah, and the attitude of a hippo king.

Sorry to say, the saga continues… I’ll fill you in once I have an ending.

As writers, what can we learn from this story?

  1. The hero needs a worthy opponent. Otherwise, they’re playing a foolish game.
  2. Every motivation has a reaction. To see this in action, read this story about Poe and a sweet raven named Rave. The corvid saga concludes with a fun way to test your story with color.
  3. Stories need conflict and obstacles. Don’t let anyone achieve their goals easily.
  4. Face your fears, dear writer. Don’t avoid the blank page because you suffer from imposter syndrome or fear failure. No one can edit a blank page. If you’re having trouble or feel blocked, do writer sprints or free write, as JSB advised a time or two.
  5. White space is your friend. Don’t overwhelm the reader with long blocks of text. Test paragraphing on your Kindle, tablet, or e-reader app.
  6. Don’t end your story with a cliffhanger. I had no choice, but in fiction, we need a believable ending.
  7. Like the POV character, the villain must want something. What drives each of them?
  • I want peace.
  • Poe wants to protect her family.
  • Red wants revenge.

I think that about covers it. Did I miss an obvious writing lesson?

Characters: Round and Flat

Posted on by

“You can never know enough about your characters.” —W. Somerset Maugham

* * *

In his work Aspects of the Novel, E.M. Forster introduced the concept of round and flat characters (i.e., three-dimensional and two-dimensional.)

Round Characters

Basically, round characters are defined by their complexity. They are likely to have complicated personalities and wrestle with life’s issues.

According to masterclass.com,

“A round character is deep and layered character in a story. Round characters are interesting to audiences because they feel like real people; audiences often feel invested in these characters’ goals, successes, failures, strengths, and weaknesses.”

Characters cited as examples of roundness are Elizabeth Bennet in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, Jay Gatsby in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, and Huck Finn in Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Forster says most Russian novels are filled with round characters. He believed all the principal characters in War and Peace and all of Dostoevsky’s characters are round. Russian authors are apparently fond of complexity.

When we discuss characterization on TKZ, we often talk about adding complexity to our characters, whether they’re major or minor. We want multi-dimensional characters that engage the reader. But according to Forster, the use of flat characters can be very effective as well.

Flat Characters

For example, here’s an excerpt about flat characters from Aspects of the Novel:

“In their purest form, they are constructed round a single idea or quality: when there is more than one factor in them, we get the beginning of the curve towards the round.”

Forster goes on to explain that flat characters are easily recognized and easily remembered by whatever one quality defines them.

Flat characters are often humorous, and readers have a certain comfort in knowing the flat character won’t change over the course of the story. Their singular quality will remain intact. The bumbling sidekick is one such character. He breaks the tension in the story, and you know he’ll trip and fall into a mud puddle or spill coffee in someone’s lap whenever he appears.

Flat characters can often be summed up in one sentence. For example, in his audio course “Writing Great Fiction: Storytelling Tips and Techniques,” James Hynes defined Huckleberry Finn’s father, Pap Finn, as flat. Pap could easily be described as “a mean drunk.”

Although we think of flatness mostly in terms of minor characters, major characters can also be flat. Forster cites the author Charles Dickens as a case in point.

“The case of Dickens is significant. Dickens’ people are nearly all flat…. Part of the genius of Dickens is that he does use types and caricatures, people whom we recognize the instant they re-enter, and yet achieves effects that are not mechanical and a vision of humanity that is not shallow.”

In his lecture, James Hynes also mentioned Sherlock Holmes as an example of a main character who is flat. Holmes rarely changes in Doyle’s novels. He’s always the perfect human automaton who solves crimes by his amazing powers of deduction. Yet Holmes was such a wildly popular main character that when Sir Arthur killed him off, the public outcry was so loud, he had to find a way to bring Holmes back for future books.

* * *

But whether your characters are round or flat,

“Remember: Plot is no more than footprints left in the snow after your characters have run by on their way to incredible destinations.”—Ray Bradbury

* * *

So TKZers: What fictional characters would you describe as round or flat? How about characters in your novels?

 

Private pilot Cassie Deakin struggles with her distrust of Deputy Frank White when she has to team up with him to solve a murder mystery.

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

Choosing A Unique (But Fitting) Talent for Your Character

Posted on by

I’m traveling today, so I invited the uber-talented Becca Puglisi to fill in for me. Don’t be shy in leaving her comments. I’ll join you tomorrow when I return from vacation. Enjoy!

I truly believe that excellent stories require excellent characters. And with so many books already out there—4 million published in the US in 2022 alone—we’ve got to be able to deliver compelling and realistic characters to set our stories apart. How do we do it? By focusing on the details. And one of the markers that can really boost individuality and memorability for a character is their particular talents or skills.

Every person has something they’re good at. Sometimes it’s a gift they’re born with that comes naturally; for others, it’s a carefully nurtured and honed ability. Many times, a character’s talent says something about who they are: it may tie into their belief system, meet a missing need, honor an influential person in their life, or reveal associated personality traits.

But despite the many talents and skills out there, we tend to see the same ones in books all the time. Now, if your story requires your character have a certain ability, that’s fine; sometimes, we don’t get to choose their special abilities. But if you’ve got more latitude, consider one of the following techniques for coming up with a skill that’s a little more original.

Go for Something Unusual

Sometimes it’s as easy as thinking beyond the obvious options. Instead of being a strong runner or artist, maybe your character could have a talent that’s a little less mainstream, like sleight of hand, lip-reading, or a knack for languages. Do you need them to be an athlete? Consider a sport readers haven’t seen a million times, like cricket, curling, water polo, or parkour. Your skilled forager could be urban rather than rural, fishing goodies out storm drains or dumpsters.

If you’re writing in a genre with fantastical elements, you can get really creative by giving your character an extrasensory ability or something that’s specific to your fantasy or paranormal world. Their skill will obviously have to work within the overall story and the world you’ve created, but you have more choices than you know, so don’t be afraid to branch out and try something new.

Encourage Your Character to Specialize

One way to come up with an unusual ability is to take a popular one and make it more specific. If your character is mechanically inclined, they may be particularly adept with machines from a certain region, time period, or industry. A marksman might specialize in one weapon, and maybe it’s not the typical rifle (Crossbow? Darts? Slingshot?). Your assassin may prefer to work with and have extensive knowledge of poisons. Breathe new life into a ho-hum strength by narrowing the focus.

Give a Common Talent a Twist

It’s not always necessary to reinvent the wheel; often, you can come up with something new by tweaking a popular talent. If musicality is your character’s thing, don’t make her a singer or piano player; maybe she really shines by writing music or crafting certain instruments. A character’s photographic memory may only be reliable for a few hours after events have happened. A person who blows off steam by knitting might use their talent to create blankets for preemies or hats for the homeless. In the latter case, the talent can also hint at personality traits (empathy, selflessness, generosity), hobbies, or other areas of passion.

We get more bang for the buck when our characterization and description elements do double duty, so if a character’s skill can also say something about who they are, that’s a bonus for readers.

Pair It with an Unexpected Personality Trait

Many skills are associated with certain traits because they often go together. For instance, people who are good with numbers are usually pretty analytical. But that doesn’t mean the two have to go together. A character with this ability could be highly creative or emotional, instead, and you’d end up with someone unexpected. Likewise, you could have a gifted public speaker who is painfully shy, stumbling their way through one-on-one conversations. This trick can be especially helpful when your story requires a common talent; get creative with your character’s traits, instead, and you can come up with something new that will pique readers’ interests.

In conclusion, an area of skill is a great way to individualize a character—but remember that it can’t be random. There are reasons people embrace and nurture certain talents. They come from somewhere: a natural aptitude, a shared passion with a loved one, the desire for approval or acceptance, etc. So a special ability shouldn’t be chosen at random. Always know the why behind it. Once you’ve ensured it ties naturally into their overall character profile, use these suggestions to take a character’s talent or skill to the next level.

Becca Puglisi is an international speaker, writing coach, and bestselling author of The Emotion Thesaurus and other resources for writers. Her books have sold over 1 million copies and are available in multiple languages, are sourced by US universities, and are used by novelists, screenwriters, editors, and psychologists around the world.

She is passionate about learning and sharing her knowledge with others through her Writers Helping Writers blog and via One Stop For Writers—a powerhouse online resource for authors that’s home to the Character Builder and Storyteller’s Roadmap tools.

 

How Did I Get Here?

Posted on by

With Memorial Day upon us, many folks will be on the road, listening to music or daydreaming while stuck in traffic. Nothing at all interesting about it. Though we want our stories to mimic real life, showing every moment or mile gets boring and repetitive fast.

My characters are constantly on the move. If I showed the entire drive, boat ride, or flight, I’d destroy the pacing. Instead, move characters from point A to B by skipping the boring parts.

via GIPHY
When we jump ahead, tell the reader how much time has passed.

Nothing is more jarring than a character at home one minute and in the next paragraph they’re in a new location with no explanation of how they got there. Ground the reader in the first sentence. Or at least, in the first paragraph. Some writers include a scene break between paragraphs — either white space or *** — but that still does not absolve us from orienting the reader.

Show the characters getting into the car. Add a few lines of plot-related dialogue or trees zip past the window to show movement. And boom, they arrive at their new destination. Or, if nothing interesting happens, write something like…

Forty grueling minutes later without air conditioner, I arrived at the hotel with a wet scalp and my t-shirt molded to my chest.

A new chapter signals a time or POV change and/or a new setting.

It’s fine to speed past uneventful stretches in a story. In fact, it’s encouraged. Just be sure to give the reader a sense of how much time has lapsed, especially at the start of a new chapter. Even if we include a timestamp, we should still mention it as many readers will only recall whether the previous chapter took place during daylight or darkness.

Don’t make them have to backtrack to guess where or when the chapter begins.

If the action continues from the previous chapter, it’s still a good idea to set the scene with a brief mention of any time gaps or sensory cue to ground the reader. It doesn’t have to be complicated. “A few hours later” does the trick.

Establish who is present in every scene.

Nothing irks me more than a character appearing out of nowhere to offer a clue when they weren’t in the scene earlier. Too convenient. And frankly, obvious and lazy.

Again, adding a character to a scene needn’t be complicated…

The screen door slapped open, and Jack strolled out to the porch.

Now the reader knows he’s there, so when he offers that all-important clue, it makes sense within the scene.

Change in POV

As a reader and a writer, I don’t understand the fad of including the POV character’s name at the top of each chapter. In my opinion, it’s unnecessary. If we ground the reader in the character’s POV right away, they should know whose head they’re in without a label. If they don’t, then we’ve failed to set the scene. I prefer rotating POVs. They’re easy to follow and add to the overall rhythm of the story.

If you want to include the POV character’s name as a chapter heading, then by all means do so. It’s your story.

The main takeaway for this post is to orient the reader, whether the characters are on the move or we switch to a new POV.

For writers: How do you handle travel or signal a change in POV?

For readers: Have you ever been jarred out of a story due to a change in space or time?

Happy Memorial Day to TKZers in the U.S.!

Clerihew, Haiku, and You

Posted on by

A word fitly spoken
    is like apples of gold in a setting of silver.

–Proverbs 25:11

* * *

A few months ago, James Scott Bell posted Micro Fiction for Your Writer’s Brain on TKZ. It was about writing fiction that was less than 500 words long. (I’ll wait while you go back and review.)

That post gave me an idea for writing about even shorter form fiction, and I came across a few types that are both fun and challenging.

The Clerihew

The clerihew is a form of poetry that was invented by E.C. Bentley, the author of Trent’s Last Case and other novels. Bentley’s full name happens to be Edmund Clerihew Bentley. I guess when you have a middle name like Clerihew, you may as well come up with some clever and inventive use of it.

Here’s the definition of clerihew from Wikipedia:

A clerihew (ˈklɛrɪhjuː) is a whimsical, four-line biographical poem of a type invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley. The first line is the name of the poem’s subject, usually a famous person, and the remainder puts the subject in an absurd light or reveals something unknown or spurious about the subject. The rhyme scheme is AABB, and the rhymes are often forced. The line length and metre are irregular. Bentley invented the clerihew in school and then popularized it in books.

Here are a couple of examples:

Sir Humphry Davy
Abominated gravy.
He lived in the odium
Of having discovered sodium.

Did Descartes
Depart
With the thought
“Therefore I’m not”?

Here’s my humble attempt:

Albert Einstein
Had a very great mind
While in his prime
He relativized time

* * *

The Haiku

Back in 2021, Steve Hooley and his sister, Joyce, wrote a wonderful TKZ post on haiku poetry.

Dictionary.com defines haiku as

a major form of Japanese verse, written in 17 syllables divided into 3 lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables, and employing highly evocative allusions and comparisons, often on the subject of nature or one of the seasons.

Here are a couple of rather famous ones:

“A Caterpillar” by Matsuo Basho

A caterpillar,
This deep in fall –
Still not a butterfly.

 

“A Poppy Blooms” by Katsushika Hokusai

I write, erase, rewrite
Erase again, and then
A poppy blooms.

 

And another one by me:

Azalea blossoms
Pink, but ragged on the edge
Tomorrow’s lovers

* * *

The Limerick

Here’s what Britannica.com has to say about this poetic form:

Limerick, a popular form of short, humorous verse that is often nonsensical and frequently ribald. It consists of five lines, rhyming aabba, and the dominant metre is anapestic, with two metrical feet in the third and fourth lines and three feet in the others. The origin of the limerick is unknown, but it has been suggested that the name derives from the chorus of an 18th-century Irish soldiers’ song, “Will You Come Up to Limerick?” To this were added impromptu verses crowded with improbable incident and subtle innuendo.

 

Here’s a non-ribald example.

A tutor who taught on the flute
Tried to teach two tooters to toot.
Said the two to the tutor,
“Is it harder to toot, or
To tutor two tooters to toot?”

Personally, I love limericks. I occasionally compose one in honor of politicians or other strange creatures.  😎 I won’t share any of those, but here’s one I made up just for today:

My computer decided to die
Just as the deadline drew nigh
When the publisher screamed
I knew I was creamed
So I kissed my contract good-bye

* * *

So TKZers: What do you think about these poetic short forms? Pick one or two (or all three) and astound us by entering your work in the comments. Include something in your poem about one of your books if you’re so inclined.

* * *

There once was a pilot named Cassie
An intrepid sleuth was this lassie
She flew into danger,
But it didn’t change her
And she found the murderer fastly.

A 2024 Eric Hoffer Grand Prize Award Finalist

Buy on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play, or Apple Books.

One Word Holds Power

Posted on by

Have you ever received a text from a family member or close friend and knew something was wrong even though the words indicated the opposite?

I’ll show you what I mean with a real-life example.

The Kid planned to drive up to deliver ducks to the couple who lives at the top of our mountain, off-the-grid in a year-round camp surrounded by tall pines, oak, birch, and maple trees. By 10 a.m. that morning, we still hadn’t heard from The Kid, which is unusual. He’s always been an early riser.

So, I shot him a text. “Still planning to come up today?”

Several minutes dragged by before he responded. “Yes.”

My intuition tapped me on the shoulder. Something’s wrong. He never responds with one word. Besides, a simple yes didn’t give me enough information. If he brought all three grandkids, I would need to plan to feed six rather than three.

Plus, I let my little fur-babies run around my office during the day, but our grandchildren have a habit of leaving doors open. So, when they visit, it’s safer to leave them in their guinea pig habitat.

I texted back, “The Joe and the chicks coming, too?”

Another long pause. “Just The Joe.”

“You okay? You sound… I dunno… off.”

The Kid knows I’m tuned into him. Over the years I’ve learned to trust my intuition, and it has never failed me. Lying would be pointless.

“I was chasing ducks.”

“Okay, cool,” I texted, but something told me “chasing ducks” wasn’t the full story. Regardless, I didn’t want to push the issue via text. “I get the feeling you won’t be staying long.”

“We can stay for a bit.” The five-minute pause seemed to last twenty. “The longer the better. LOL”

And there it was—the first hint of the real reason he seemed off. Which he’d spill in person. It’s much harder to hide behind a false façade while staring into a concerned parent’s eyes. Though I’d never want to come across as pushy—he is a grown man, after all—I can’t take it when my kid is hurting. I don’t care how old he is. I’ll always be fiercely protective of his beautiful heart.

I do have a point to all this.

With that one simple word—Yes—I, the reader, knew to pay attention. That yes held power. That yes held unlimited power, more powerful than if he’d written an entire paragraph.

Writers should do the same. It’s a simple but effective way to add tension to a scene, cause a disturbance, and cue the reader to pay attention. The one-word, staccato sentence is a tool used for emphasis.

Run. Now.

It’s short and to the point. It calls attention to itself and exploits a reader’s emotions. Varying sentence structure holds a reader’s attention.

The following example looks like an exaggeration, but I once had to critique the first few pages of a novel written just like it.

As he stared at me, I could not look away. As I moved around the room, his stare held me hostage. As he moved closer, I told him to stop. As I backed away, he kept coming.

Every sentence began with “As” for three, never-ending pages. Not only is it grueling and repetitive, it’s annoying to read.

Rewrite:

His wolf-like stare held me hostage. Stop. Please stop. He moved closer. I backed away. Dear God, no. Not again. My spine hit the wall, my fingers searching behind me for the doorframe.

See how much more immediate the second example sounds? We don’t want to overdo it, but nothing can replace a well-placed staccato sentence here and there.

Writers have access to a plethora of writing tips, but it’s important not to overlook simple ways to hone our craft, like the act of reading and sentence structure.

Thoughts? Let’s discuss. 

 

Warriors battle a ruthless animal trafficking ring in Yellowstone. They will protect the sacred lineage of American Buffalo by any means necessary.

Even murder.

Download a sample on Amazon

 

How To Use White Space

Posted on by

When I was first learning the craft, I studied many novels, searching for how the author drew me in, held me in suspense, and propelled me to turn the page. Still do. 😉 One of the things I noticed was their use of white space — the blank field around the words and paragraphs.

White space can help create drama, emotion, or add a quiet pause before the storm hits. With so many “rules” or guidelines, sometimes white space can get overlooked. Yet it’s a powerful tool when used with intent.

Let’s look at a few examples. The first two are from our own James Scott Bell.

Last Call from JSB:

“Yo,” she said. “Go back to your table, okay?”

He stiffened and his smile melted into his beard. “Real friendly.” He shook his head as he went back to his table. He turned his laptop around then sat with his back to her.

Just like the rest of the world.

Long Lost from JSB:

With the wind blowing outside, Stevie fell into a calm sleep. Deep like the desert night.

He woke up with a rough hand over his mouth. Pressing him down. Maybe it was Robert playing a game. But it wasn’t. It was something big.

A monster.

 

The eye is drawn to the last line in both examples. They’re sharp and dramatic when sectioned by white space.

In the Eyes of the Dead by Jordan Dane:

I wanted to fight it, but I couldn’t. The hopelessness of becoming a victim rushed over me like a floodgate opening. I nearly choked on the magnitude of it. Images of my ordeal bombarded me. I caught glimpses of another face. It all happened too fast, I wasn’t sure I could retain what I’d seen.

Just like last time.

Again, Jordan could’ve set the last line in the same paragraph, but it would lose its punch there.

We can also use white space to break up dialogue.

Here’s an example from Skinwalkers by Tony Hillerman:

“Then you know that if I was a witch, I could turn myself into something else. Into a burrowing owl. I could fly out the smoke hole and go away into the night.”

Silence.

“But I am not a witch. I am just a man. I am a singer. A yataalii. I have learned the ways to cure. Some of them. I know the songs to protect you against a witching. But I am not a witch.”

See how “silence” added to the drama? Had he put all the dialogue into one paragraph, it wouldn’t be as effective, even with an intriguing conversation.

The Killing Song by PJ Parish:

The cold nub that had formed in my gut was growing. I was never one to trust vague feelings. I was a reporter and trained to believe only what I could see, what I could prove.

But the feeling rising up and putting a choke hold on my heart now was real.

Mandy was gone.

That last line smacks you in the face — because it’s separated by white space.

Blonde Hair, Blue Eyes by Karin Slaughter:

The line finally moved, and Julia went into the first stall. She felt her pager vibrate as she started to unbutton her jeans. She didn’t scroll the number right away. She sat down on the toilet. She looked up at the ceiling. She looked at the posters taped to the back of the stall door. She finally looked down at the pager. She pressed the button to scroll the number.

222.

Her heart broke into a million pieces.

222.

Julia looked up, trying to keep her tears from falling. She sniffed. She counted to a slow one hundred. She looked down again, because maybe she was wrong.

222.

 

The repetition also draws you in. If the author were to continue too long, the rhythm would lose its value. When done with intent, it’s dramatic and effective.

The last example is from my new thriller, Savage Mayhem (releases once my designer completes my cover).

A hair-raising screech stopped me mid-stride, my heartbeat quickened to a fast pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter. Quaking aspen leaves trembled as we passed. Night owls slalomed through the trees, oarlike wings emitting a whoosh with each stroke. To my left, sticks crunched under heavy paws. Or hooves.

Bear?

Moose?

Wolf?

Here, I used white space for a dramatic pause and to draw attention to each individual threat. Which allows the reader to wonder. I also used Onomatopoeia words to deepen the scene.

White space can help fix long, rambling passages of text, pacing issues, and story rhythm. It’s a tool we should never overlook. Use the precious real estate to your advantage.

With the exception of mine (this is NOT a shameless plug), I recommend all these books. They’re fabulous.

Have you read any of them? Did you notice the white space while reading? Do you pay attention to white space in your writing?

How To Write a Dance Scene

Posted on by

I was eavesdropping on Quora again and stumbled across a thread about how to write a dance scene. Because I included a sensual dance in the WIP, the question piqued my interest. I’ve written dance scenes before, but my characters spent most of their time spying on bad guys. Nothing like the scene I wrote in the WIP (which also ties into the plot).

The writers who responded on Quora had such great advice, I had to share.

Each answer attributed to the writer, of course.

Original question: How can you describe a dance in writing?

Emma Thomas, Novelist wrote:

Here’s two examples of how not to do it.

She stepped onto the floor and awed them all with her dancing.

Under-descriptive. Dancing is such a physical and emotional movement that you have to balance those two in your writing and neither happened here (Sue: She means in the above example).

She gazed across the lacquered wooden tiles and, with a sudden burst of courage that she hadn’t known she’d possessed, stepped onto the dance floor. As the thrumming rhythm of classical music whispered into her ears, she began to dance.

Sliding her right foot back and the other one forward, she dropped low so that her dress brushed the ground, then sprang back up again, so quickly that she got whiplash. She threw her arms out and waved them from side to side, perfectly in tune with the beat, before jumping into the air. Her dress spun around her and for a moment it felt like she was flying … then the ground was beneath her again.

That hurt as much to write as it did to read. I shouldn’t be telling the reader each one of the movements that our dancer makes, unless I want an incredibly monotonous one-hundred page instruction manual on how to jump up and down and fling your hands in the air, like what the MC is doing here. Did you catch that? Possibly not; it sounded like it had taken an hour for her to dance when it was really just a split-second.

When you write about someone dancing, make sure that it’s obvious. It’s okay to say the word “dance.” Not everything has to be a ten-page description — but not everything can be a one-word summary, either. Tie in enough of the surroundings to establish a mood and a sense of place. Lastly, make sure that the dance conveys what you want it to — if it’s careless, make it sound careless. If it’s more meaningful, make it sound like that.

Let’s try this again.

She was dancing. Arms flailing in the sky above her, she whirled around and whooped her happiness into the sweat-stained air. Foot forward. Back. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done this — why had she ever stopped? A hand grabbed hers and she was swung backward, dipped low, then soaring into the air, the flashing colors momentarily blinding her … she touched ground again and skidded to a smiling, breathless halt.

That’s a rough paragraph but it conveys what it needs to. It established a sense of place, action, and a connection with the dancer. Not under-descriptive or over-descriptive, just effective.

Aaaand that’s it. Hope it helped.

Shreya Pandey wrote:

Do not describe each and every dance step in detail. It’ll get complex and it’ll sound very mechanical. Describe one step, then follow it up by describing how a character felt while they did it. Do they feel dizzy? Happy? Feel an adrenaline rush? Feel scared?

Describe what they see. Does the room start to spin? Do they see the audience looking at them in awe? Describe the way their body moves. Is it effortless? Are they having trouble remembering the steps? Is any part of their body sore?

Describe the atmosphere. Are they dancing at a party? What kind of music is playing in [t]he background? What kind of beats does it have? Can they fee the bass thumping through their body? Is it a popular song? How many people are there? Are they dancing in a crowd, or alone on a stage? What are they wearing?

Give meaning to the dance. It must be significant if you are introducing it in your text. Why is it significant? Is it about how liberated, happy and care free the character feels when they dance? Is it an intimate dance sequence the character shares with someone they love? Does the dance bring back memories? Is it demonstrating their hard work? Is it something they are doing to lose some steam? Do they have a purpose behind it?

The dance scene is always more than just the movement of the character’s body. It is significant to the plot in some way. You need to subtly highlight that significance. At most, if it isn’t anything serious, it can be used to manipulate the reader’s senses. Make them feel, hear, touch, smell, move, see, etc. Transport them. Make them feel as if they are dancing, or as if they are the audience and they are watching someone dance from up close. Writing the perfect atmosphere perfectly is the key.

And my favorite answer…

James Sams, Writer/Editor wrote:

I’d like to caution you against “over describing”. Books are not movies. We can see every step of the Tango in a movie, but no one wants to read what every step is. If you write things like…

“He moved his left foot backward in a smooth motion, sliding across the slick floor. She slid her right foot forward, chasing his retreating foot with hers, like a fox on the hunt. Dipping forward and looking into her eyes, his fingers tightened on her ribs as his left foot came forward again, surprising her foot and chasing it back. They stopped, toe to toe, and he pulled her hips in close to his.

Threatening to brush his lips against hers, he looked to the left, and then to the right. She mimicked him, turning her head opposite. To the right, then to the left.

He pushed her away as though she were too terrible, yet to[o] wonderful, to be near, yet he held on to her left hand with his right, catching her as their arms pulled taut and spinning her out and away. Then he reeled her back in, unable to give her up.

She fell into him, his strong arms wrapping her tight, protecting her before casting her out again.”

… you can get away with it for a paragraph, maybe two. Even with the nice similes and small details, it will soon become agony for a reader to get through. You have become a puppet master, forcing the reader to imagine each foot, each hand, each head motion exactly the way you want it to be. Readers don’t like that. They like to use their imaginations. They want you to give them a coloring book outline and then hint at what colors they should use when they color it in with their imagination.

To give them those subtle colors, only give sweeping descriptions, and add in the senses. Put in the emotions, even if they are only faux representative ones [that] describe the types of movement.

The best thing you can do with a dance, is keep it short, at least in your description. Focus on the characters’ feelings, fears, hopes and thoughts, and then come back for another quick description. If you took the dance I wrote above and stretched it out for the full dance, describing every move in detail, I guarantee even an editor will begin skipping over it as they read. Even if you don’t give every little dance step, it will be too long and people will just let their eyes slide over it, looking for the place you stop describing and get back to the story.

Don’t be afraid to use a dance, just remember, readers are reading for the characters and their thoughts, feelings, and stories. The descriptions, backgrounds, clothes, etc. need to always take a back seat.

I hope that helped.

What do you think, TKZers? Have you written a dance scene? If so, did you follow these guidelines? Any other tips to share?

Situational Awareness

Posted on by

I can’t change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination. –Jimmy Dean

* * *

Did you know the deadliest aviation accident in history happened on the ground? Yes, you read that correctly. It occurred in 1977 when two 747’s collided in dense fog on a runway in the Canary Islands. Here’s how it happened:

An incident at the airport on Gran Canaria Island had diverted aircraft to the smaller Los Rodeos Airport on Tenerife Island. The Los Rodeos Airport had only one runway and an adjacent parallel taxiway with several smaller taxiways connecting the two. Because of the increase in aircraft that had landed at Los Rodeos, several aircraft were parked on  the taxiway.

Two 747’s were lined up at one end of the taxiway, ready to depart. A KLM aircraft was to be first, followed by a PanAm flight. Because of the wind direction, each aircraft would have to move from its current position to the opposite end of the runway, but they couldn’t use the main taxiway because it was blocked by other aircraft.

An air traffic controller in the Los Rodeos tower instructed the KLM plane to taxi down the runway to the end and turn 180° in preparation for takeoff. While the KLM plane was taxiing, the controller told the PanAm plane to taxi on the same runway (which would put it behind the KLM) and then exit at a connecting taxiway. That way, the PanAm plane would be off the runway before the KLM started its takeoff roll.

Because of the fog, the crews of the two planes could not see each other, and the air traffic controller could not see the planes. They were relying on accurate communication to guide their movements. If the crews of both planes had obeyed the controller’s instructions, the accident would not have happened.

The KLM completed its taxi and turning maneuver and was positioned at the end of the runway. Now, an aircraft must have specific clearance from ATC before starting its takeoff roll. The tower never gave the KLM flight clearance to take off, but the captain of the KLM plane thought he had been given the okay. Because of his misunderstanding and his inability to see clearly, the giant 747 began barreling down the runway, unaware that the other plane was in its path.

The takeoff plane was traveling at approximately 160 mph when the crew spotted the other plane dead ahead. They were only one hundred meters apart. There was no time to stop or swerve to avoid the other plane. The captain of the takeoff plane pulled the nose up sharply in an effort to “leapfrog” over the other one. He didn’t make it. The lower part of the KLM aircraft struck the PanAm plane and crashed onto the runway, exploding in a huge fireball.

Although the crews of both planes were experienced, five hundred and eighty-three people died in that accident. All the people on the KLM flight perished, and most of the passengers on the PanAm plane also died. And it happened because the captain of the KLM plane lacked “situational awareness”, or the ability to fully understand his environment. He acted on an assumption that the runway was clear. He was wrong.

* * *

Situational awareness applies to many aspects of life, not just flying. Fortunately for authors, lack of such an awareness will not endanger our lives, but it just might endanger our livelihoods!

So what is situational awareness for writers? Most writers (I hope) know what they want out of writing. It may be fame, financial success, independence, self-fulfillment, a way to touch other people’s lives, or just the experience of writing a very good book. But in order to achieve his/her goals, the writer has to know what the current landscape is. After all, if you don’t know where you are, how can you figure out how to get where you’re going?

If you’re a pilot, you depend on the air traffic controller to direct your flight. When you drive, you may use your car’s GPS system to get you to your destination. For those of us who are new to publishing, we rely on experts in the field to lead us. Add to that the notion that the publishing world keeps shifting beneath our feet, it’s more important than ever to be well-informed.

When I began writing my first novel, I understood early on that I needed an editor/mentor to help guide me. Imagine my surprise when she told me my omniscient narrator was out of style and I’d have to take a different approach. After I got over my “Well, it’s my book and that’s the way I want to do it” reaction, I realized I didn’t understand the big picture of where I was in this new world. I needed a map.

Fortunately for me, the first two resources that were recommended to me were Plot and Structure by James Scott Bell and Self-editing for Fiction Writers by Renni Browne and Dave King. Along with my editor, these books laid the groundwork for my moving forward.

Luckily, authors have an abundance of good information in craft books, podcasts, blogs, and a semi-infinite number of online resources. The information is there. We just have to take advantage of it.

Whatever methods you use to get you where you want to go, best wishes for a successful journey and a happy landing!

* * *

So TKZers: What are your writing goals? What tools do you use to get you to your destination? Books? Blogs? Podcasts? Courses?

* * *

Private pilot Cassie Deakin has her feet firmly planted in the air. But when she lands on the ground and has to help disentangle a murder mystery, the landscape isn’t nearly so friendly. 

Buy on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play, or Apple Books.

 

 

The Chronology of Story: Flashbacks

Posted on by

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

Bears all its sons away;

They fly forgotten, as a dream

Dies at the opening day.

–Isaac Watts

 * * *

We live in a four-dimensional world. For most of us, the three dimensions of space can be manipulated at will because we can move around and change our position on the Earth. We can climb the stairs in our homes, sail across oceans, or fly through the air. However, we have no control over the fourth dimension: time.

Albert Einstein famously told us that time is relative, and I sort of understand that. But the clock on my office wall doesn’t know anything about relativity. It just ticks away, recording one second after another. And despite what our friends in quantum physics tell us, my time goes in only one direction. Yes, I’ve heard of Kurt Gödel, worm holes, and theories that say traveling backwards in time is possible, but to my knowledge, no one has accomplished that feat. I know I haven’t. So, for the purposes of this post, we’ll use this definition from dictionary.com:

Chronology – noun – the sequential order in which past events occur.

Unless you’re writing a time-travel fantasy book, the events in the story you’re creating occur in a chronological sequence. But the telling of it doesn’t have to. Authors are a lucky bunch because we can tell a story in any way we want to. Even in a non-fantasy novel, we can take time and twirl it around our little fingers, make it do somersaults, or leap forward and backward in great bounds.

But why would we do that? Well, to keep the reader interested, of course. And how do we do it? One way is by the use of flashbacks.

* * *

What is a flashback scene?

Smartblogger.com defines a flashback as

“a literary device where a story breaks away from the present narrative to delve into the past, by showing us a past event or a scene from the past.”

 

According to novelist James Hynes in his Great Courses lectures entitled Writing Great Fiction,

“One of the fundamental principles of plotting is the withholding of information.…  A plot is the mechanism by which the writer decides what information to withhold, what information to reveal, and in what order.”

If the reader knows there was some disturbance in the protagonist’s past, but doesn’t know the full story, he/she will be compelled to keep reading to find out. When the author decides to reveal that fact, it may be effective to use a flashback scene.

The Power of a Flashback Scene

According to writingmastery.com,

“The beauty of flashbacks is that they give writers the freedom to fully show instead of tell the details of a traumatic or significant event in a character’s history, at the moment when it will be most powerful.”

 

How to move from the present to the past

Transitioning to a flashback scene can be achieved by a character remembering something from his/her past. Or it can be a break in the story that presents some important background information that is crucial to the narrative. In either case, it’s important that the reader understand where he/she is in the story. To that end, transition can be accomplished in several ways:

A change in verb tense: If the story is written in the past tense, switching to past perfect will clue the reader in.

The use of italics: Although some readers don’t like long passages in italics, I’ve seen this device used and found it effective.

A specific date: A flashback can be a separate chapter or scene that is clearly dated to indicate a previous time.

However you decide to handle a flashback, it’s a device that can add strength to your story.

A Word of Caution

In his book Plot & Structure, James Scott Bell warns us about the overuse of this plotting device.

“There is an inherent plot problem when you use flashbacks—the forward momentum is stopped for a trip to the past…. If such information can be dropped in during a present-moment scene, that’s always a better choice.”

But if you feel the flashback scene is necessary, then JSB advises to make sure it works as a scene.

“Write it as a unit of dramatic action, not as an information dump.”

* * *

Examples of flashbacks in literature

The entire book is a flashback

Most of the articles I read about flashback scenes describe a character who remembers something, and the flashback scene ensues from that. One example is The Catcher in the Rye which starts with Holden Caulfield’s first-person account of his current situation. “If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like,…”

Then the second paragraph begins with a transition to a flashback: “Where I want to start telling is the day I left Pencey Prep.” The rest of the book is a continuation of the flashback.

Other examples of stories written almost entirely in flashback are Wuthering Heights and To Kill a Mockingbird.

Flashback scenes sprinkled throughout the book

Another type of flashback is used by Jane Harper in her debut novel, The Dry. The story begins when Federal Agent Aaron Falk returns to his hometown to attend a funeral. As the story progresses, we learn that Falk left his hometown as a child after being suspected of the murder of one of his friends. As the reader gets more and more intrigued about Falk’s history, Harper fills in backstory through the use of flashbacks dropped in strategic chapters to show Falk and his friends as youngsters. These scenes are written in italics so it’s easy to know when you’re reading a flashback scene. The main narrative is written in Falk’s third-person POV, but the flashback POVs vary.

A single flashback scene to describe a life-changing moment in the plot

I included a flashback scene in my latest novel, Lacey’s Star. When Cassie Deakin’s uncle regains consciousness after being attacked and seriously injured by thieves, he explains that the assailants stole a package he had recently received from his unreliable and long-lost Vietnam war buddy, Sinclair. I wanted to include a flashback scene at that point in the narrative as a powerful display of Sinclair’s drunken despair changing to hope when he finds what he thinks is proof that his young sister was murdered 40 years earlier. In order to ensure the reader understood it was a flashback, I subtitled the chapter “Alaska – Three Weeks Earlier” and wrote it in italics. The novel is written in Cassie’s first-person POV, but the flashback is in Sinclair’s third-person.

* * *

And just in case those guys are right about time travel, here’s a clock that might be useful:

* * *

So, TKZers. What do you think about flashback scenes? Have you used them in your stories? What’s your opinion of the power of the flashback?

* * *

When Sinclair Alderson wakes up from a drunken binge to find himself in the home of a kind stranger, he pours out his despair over the death of his young sister 40 years earlier. Only then does he discover the note that could identify her killer.

Buy on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play. or Apple Books.