Cheeky Characters Write Themselves

Yesterday, I had the sad job of watching a story die on the page. It shouldn’t have died, I figured – it was the prologue. It had all the elements of a good prologue – a protagonist scorned, a world of injustice, the start of a very long journey. And yet the story stopped. I made it halfway to the end of prologue and found nothing more to write. This bothered me because the novel’s already half-written. After 42,000 words of novel, what’s a few hundred words of prologue? Why would it be so hard to write a stirring introduction to a story that’s already halfway done?

The problem was expectation. As I noted in “Hit Your Muse With a Rock,” expectation can kill inspiration where it counts most – on paper. As writers, we struggle with two expectations – we expect a certain quality in our words, and we expect a certain ability in ourselves. In good writers, these expectations are not necessarily in agreement, but they are in harmony. The writer expects that he or she can write, and the words produced generally meet the expectation of decent work. But most beginning writers face the problem of low self-esteem coupled with an intense desire to write something good, to write something incredible. The low self-esteem results from lack of practice, and the desire is a natural product of Barnes and Noble. Today, we are surrounded by good books. Even the second-tier authors we rarely hear of are very good writers. As human beings, we feel that we have to match their performance in order to join their ranks.

This expectation of great work kills the creative process. It turns writers into control freaks. We spent hours mulling over the meaning of a single line, lose precious minutes trying to decide between “he said” and “said he.” The momentum of the moment stalls as the process of writing gives way to the process of frustration.

Unfortunately, lesser expectation often creates the same problem. Yesterday, my prologue had little chance of greatness. I wasn’t looking for great – I was looking for an introduction, a way to explain the character who stars in my novel. When the story stalled, I shrugged and walked away. I figured inspiration would come to me, but it didn’t. The expectation that killed this work was a desire to mold the character myself, to control the outcome of this prologue to match the novel. I had turned into a control freak of limited scope, but the effect was equally devastating – the story stopped. The words ran dry. The prologue sat unfinished.

My story needs a prologue, so I’ll start it again. But on the second try, I will remember the cardinal rule of fiction – the best protagonists write themselves.

Now, you’re wondering how I can label this the “cardinal rule.” If I had a dollar for every “first rule of writing” I’ve heard, I wouldn’t need to publish to pay the rent. But the fact is, life is about conflict. Great stories are about conflict. Readers sit riveted because they want to know what happens next, because they can’t predict from page one the outcome of page two. But if you want to keep readers in their seats through page four hundred, you must maintain the same unpredictable tension on every page of the book, whether it’s page one, two, or three-seventy-three.

There are two processes you can use to accomplish this. In the first process, you can carefully plan out a riveting story and then write it. I don’t recommend this. Very few writers can pull it off. This method fails because the inner control freak gets free reign. In the outline, every plot twist seems simply stunning. But in the manuscript, as you’re trying to foreshadow and trying to build tension and trying to insert the critical plot twist – everything just like it says on the outline – the story stagnates. It sounds dry. It’s a lot of trying and not a lot of “let’s see what happens next.”

The second process is better. Start with your character, and then write. You don’t need to know exactly where you’re going to write a good story – in many ways, it’s better if you don’t. Pick your favorite fictional protagonist – I’m fond of Jane Eyre, myself – and think about what you enjoyed about that character. Was it the way the character reacted to the world? The words the character said? The way they always managed to do the “right” thing, even if it was unexpected or simply outrageous?

Characters don’t achieve this kind of free-spirited winner-take-all success through outlines. They become flesh-and-blood heroines through their own quirks and their own ways of viewing the world. They become realistic because the author allows the character the freedom to pick what comes next. Stories are about conflict, yes, but they are most riveting when they are about personal conflict, the kind of struggle that rocks the protagonist to her bones.

The prologue I couldn’t finish failed in that regard. I inserted my protagonist, but then I withheld the conflict. I made it a secret. She didn’t know that she was walking into a trap, or that she was about to start her long journey. She had nothing to do but stand and wait.

Readers hate waiting. And it’s a dull theme to write. I grew bored, and the writing stopped. When I start again – from the beginning – the protagonist will know the conflict. She’ll know what she’s fighting for – or at least what she’s fighting against. And I’ll have an idea of what the protagonist will do, but I won’t know. That part’s up to her. As a full-grown character, she has to make decisions. She has to be an adult because that’s what readers want to see – an adult making grown-up decisions regarding her own life, regardless of how twisted the world she’s written into.

So as you go forth and write, remember to ease up on your protagonists. Allow them the freedom to make the choices that you yourself would not make. If the protagonist wants to try something outside your plans for the story, go with it. Try it out. Let the characters speak for themselves. You’ll have more fun, as will your readers.

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About Ryan Edel

Style and Popular Literature

One of my favorite writing teachers, Bill Henderson, addresses a fundamental question on his blog:

Are commercial bestsellers poorly written?

If you have a chance, definitely check out his post at TrueVoice - The Blog. I've included my response below, but there are several great perspectives on TrueVoice regarding the role of style in popular (and successful) fiction.

Style and Popular Literature

I'm afraid I have great respect for certain popular writers. The latest Harry Potter book was filled with dozens of horribly structured paragraphs, and there are some Stephen King books simply not worth reading, but I enjoy these authors. I appreicate what they can do with a character, how they can bring a story right up to the edge and somehow create a happy (and believable) ending.

At the same time, I have incredible respect for some of the literary short-story authors I've read lately. I can't remember their names, and I only remember their stories from which magazine I found them in (e.g. Georgia Review or Ploughshares). But these are stories I could not have read six years ago. I hated them, dreaded them. In college, the complex literary stories made me avoid the serious literature classes (quite a feat for an English major). I wanted to study creative writing - I didn't want to get bored out of my mind and then start pulling C's. I didn't understand story structure well enough then to appreciate what these stories accomplish. And what I understand now I learned from writing. Workshops taught me how to read stories in-depth, and I will never again enjoy my cherised "pop" novels which happen to be filled with run-on sentences and poor speech attribution.

Most readers, though, are like my mom - they don't write. Hand her Ann Rice and she'll pass the time; hand her Moby Dick and she'll talk about the ex-cousin-in-law who dropped out of his Ph.D. program. Readers like my mom enjoy a good story, and they rarely notice adverbs or participles that dangle into space. If they're good readers, they might feel queasy as the brooding superhero was saying his words darkly, but not always. To many readers, good writing is a product of deep thought. They think that "specificity of detail" means using phrases like "the fact that" and "he was verbed adverbly." They use these phrases themselves, and then they tell people like us (their friends/neighbors/bartenders who claim to be writers) things like "oh, yeah, I'm working on a book, too. It's about..."

Do I begrudge the bestsellers they're fame? Not really. They tell stories that are fun and witty and enjoyable despite transgressions of style. Honestly, I despise awards committees who slap labels like "A Genre Essential Book" on novels that lack either plot or fully realized characters. I worry about the editor who let it go when dozens of poorly-worded paragraphs in Harry Potter 7 crossed the desk. I feel robbed of my time when the books are bad and robbed of an even better read when the books are good but flawed.

Is style important? To us, certainly. To the typical reader? I'm not sure. I feel like an elitist saying this, but I remember the days when I could read a book without critiquing the word order on every other page. When I was younger, I had no patience for many of the books we call "literary." I read E.B. White because the book was about King Arthur, not because I understood the meaning of clean prose. Pride and Prejudice was a favorite because I thought Elizabeth Bennet was fun.

This, I think, is where the popular books excel - they develop characters who readers relate to. They provide compelling plots and exciting action to help readers quickly escape this world of work, taxes, and parking tickets. They reveal that it's possible to write a compelling story despite structural mistakes. It's the kind of trick I'm still trying to pull off.

In the meantime, though, I'll keep working on the fundamentals of style. I'm already much better at sentence structure than conflict, but there's always room for growth. When the day comes that I discover my compelling blockbuster story, I want the style to back me up all the way. I want the the story to read fast so the reader can dive in and forget that the images dancing through his mind are the product of black ink on white paper.

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About Ryan Edel

Best King Arthur Book

The Once and Future King

by T.H. White

Fantasy - as a genre - suffers under the weight of its own legends. Hobbits have taken on a life of their own, spawning jokes and wisecracks that Tolkien himself would have never imagined. The stereotype of the Dungeons and Dragons acolyte who has no friends except the other players huddled around the cardboard map has made it's way now through multiple generations - I've heard D&D players as a group denigrated by college students to veteran army parachute instructors. There is a perception among some that fantasy stories are no more than an escape from the now, a way to ignore real problems while avoiding people.

To truly appreciate the fantasy genre, though, we must go back to the roots from which the legends came. Long before there were books, we've had heroes. Tired nomads huddled around fires telling the stories of the great men and woman who redefined society. Over time the tales grew old - names were misplaced, new castles replaced the crumbling forts, the achievements of a lifetime were condensed into the magical power of an instant. The role-playing games of today simply reflect the human urge to connect with heroes, to engage in mighty quests and accomplish superhuman tasks. Fantasy novels are indeed an escape - an escape from a society that provides little outlet for true heroism.

It is the rare novel which encapsulates the best of epic fantasy with the common frustration of the modern human being. The eternal quest of Arthur and his Round Table Knights is often viewed as a wholesome fantasy, a kind of "that's nice, now let's hold open the doors for the ladies" kind of story. We know of the quest for the Grail, and we understand that Lancelot - the greatest knight of all - betrayed his own king, but many consider this simply the stuff of legend. But what's the point? Isn't Arthur supposed to come back? If it was really true, I mean?

T. H. White's The Once and Future Kingaccomplishes a unique feat in the Arthurian realm - the novel truly humanizes the legend of Arthur. Unlike recent movies, which have relied upon changing the story itself and replacing the characters as convenient, White's novel remains true to the original Le Morte d'Arthur in terms of the legend. Where he varies the pitch is in the casting of his characters. We see Arthur progress from boyhood to adulthood and into the twilight of old age, and we experience the downfall of his own ideals. It's saddening toward the end, to see how the stubborn hope for that simple moral justice is itself a flawed ideal, but White writes so well that the eventual fall of Camelot becomes inevitable. This book, though good for all ages, is not written as a children's book. The very real failings of Lancelot and Guinevere are cast in an adult light. Death comes to the knights hidden by their shields, and White provides a faces for these men and their ladies.

Already a timeless legend of justice, betrayal, and the quiet hope for civilization gone wrong, the tale of Arthur the King is truly developed in White's novel. I highly recommend this book to any reader who wants to understand a magical world that is, in its own way, very real.

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Why Fantasy Novels are Overlooked

Our waking hours are limited. In the free moments left to us after e-mail and dinner and getting the kids to bed, we do our best to be productive in our leisure. For many, this means skipping the dragons and ignoring the elves in favor of lighter fair – that unread copy of Macbeth, perhaps, or another shot at page twenty of Moby Dick.

To many, fantasy novels are not literature. These readers view fantasy as cheap escapism, simply another way to the forget the boss and ignore the economy – except that there is no chance of Merlin installing a round table in the White House. Thinking that in reading they should “better themselves,” many readers choose books that they believe will directly apply to their lives. They pick up John Grisham and Tom Clancy because certainly those books hold a grain of truth – people get sued every day, and you never know which wars our nation may be fighting outside the view of CNN. Stephen King is a harder sell, but he writes so believably that, for a moment, a reader could imagine those horrible evil things lurking in the shadows under the refrigerator. But fantasy? Dragons that belch flame? A world of dirt roads and enchanted chain mail? Pardon me, but I have work tomorrow.

Unfortunately, this nagging literary discrimination has become quite widespread. It affects many genres – fantasy, science fiction, romance, even Westerns. Part of this ironically results from the high demand for novels in these genres. Readers who love the likes of John Wayne and Captain Kirk will buy many, many books – as a result, genre novels are often not as well written as a New York Times bestseller. Readers unfamiliar with a genre – especially fantasy – see these rows of books at Barnes and Noble and don’t know what to look for. They get swamped by the cover illustrations of damsels and unicorns and knights in heavy armor. They might spend a few minutes reading the back covers before giving up and heading for the bestseller racks. If they’re brave and happen to buy a book, they’re often disappointed. It’s hard to make sense of a good fantasy without at least some familiarity with the standards of the genre. But a poorly-written fantasy novel? Our realist reader might put down the book at chapter one and never go back.

As these mainstream readers face their own poor experiences with fantasy, they spread the word. Instead of “oh, I didn’t like this book by author X,” it becomes “I tried reading a fantasy once – it just didn’t make sense to me.” These views, unfortunately, are still further reinforced by the popularity of the genre. As “typical readers” go about their daily lives, they run across people who love fantasy novels and are very vocal about this love. Renaissance Fairs coupled with Dungeons and Dragons players dressing up for their weekly game leave mainstream readers thinking that fantasy novels are more of a subculture than simply another form of literature. Like Brahmin avoiding Untouchables, these readers avoid “that guy” at the office who spent his weekend dressed in a tunic while turning a pig at a spit – chances are he still smells like boiled grease. Never mind that pig-turning-tunic-guy has always been a little nutty – the fact that he talks about warlocks and magic amulets makes it seem as if it was the books that made him this way. No one really considers the cute secretary down the hall who adores Tolkien and C. S. Lewis and R. A. Salvatore – she never talks about books because she doesn’t want to get lumped in with greasy weirdo dude or (worse yet) encourage him to talk to her.

As this pattern continues, most readers become turned-off to the idea of fantasy novels. They might pick up a copy of Harry Potter because everyone says it’s good, but they’ll never browse the fantasy section looking for it. It’s unfortunate that this happens – these readers miss a very entertaining and insightful genre. Well-written fantasy novels provide more than a magical setting. They develop a metaphorical world for readers to explore, a world that is different from our own but always close to home. But the only way to visit these worlds is to first find a book – a good book – and dodge the ever-watchful eyes of the literary purists.

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