Being Found: Writing for Your Audience

Factoid: Some people make sticky scar tissue.

I'm raising my hand. I have sticky scar tissue. Some don't. If you're  a non-sticky scar tissue person, get down on your knees and thank Jesus.

Sticky scar tissue is quite pesky as it can adhere to things you don't want it to adhere to and give you bigger problems than what you started with.

(This post is about writing, I promise.)

When the sticky scar tissue happens, a very strong but heartless person must dig around your wound (I have two) and tear apart the scar tissue.

I would rather give birth to a full-grown porcupine, breach!

It hurts.

A lot.

Ice is my friend.

So how is this related to the writing life? Because when you're a writer, everything is related to writing.

I've been, as you know, trying to figure out how an author can give away over 20,000 books, get great reviews, and not sell enough books to cover one month's groceries. A great mystery.

An even greater mystery is what to write next. Commercially speaking, series are golden in the Kindle world. Can I come up with one series idea that makes my heart pitter-patter? Of course not!

I have five great stand-alone ideas. Ugh.

And then I read this:

Listen up: Do not keep the marketplace in your head while you are in a creative mode. Writing with the marketplace in mind is no way to write. Learn your craft, write lots, and when you are ready, the marketplace will be ready.-Barbara DeMarco-Barrett, Pen on Fire

She's talking to students, but this is what I needed to hear. My audience will find me. They will. And until they do, I must keep writing better and better books. Stories that are dangerous and embracing at the same time. I can do it!

Here's the tie-in with the scar tissue: Shifting from marketplace thinking to storytelling thinking, which aren't mutual exclusive, I know, but I've gotten out of kilter, putting more emphasis on the marketplace than creativity. And fun. And so, it's time to break up, tear, scrape (all words used in the process of scar tissue taming) away the paralyzing hold that market-driven writing has on me.

It's gonna hurt. But I'll be better storyteller in the end.

We do not have to talk about scar tissue, but we should discuss what motivates us to write. Is it the marketplace? Many authors have made handsome livings doing this. Think Nora Roberts and Danielle Steele. Is it notoriety? You might do better running down Main Street naked. Is it validation? Is it ministry, a calling? Can our calling to write change? Do you ever attend a writers' conference to behold a sea of eager would-be authors and wonder if they aren't all a bit delusional? 

Writing Opposite-Gender Characters

I think it's safe to say very few of us have written/will write a novel populated exclusively with characters of our own gender. So that means most of us have written characters of the opposite sex. But writing primary characters of the opposite sex is different than writing secondary characters of the opposite sex, because primary characters are so much more complex. The danger is that we resort to cliché, and cliché is never good, no matter what. Men writing women protagonists tend to make them more sexual than what is reasonable, more physically perfect than what is reasonable (okay, we women make our female characters a little too perfect as well, and our male characters too), and either uber-competent or uber-dependent, depending on the plot. In short, they're characters with whom we can't sympathize. Women writing male protagonists tend to make them overly sensitive, way too in touch with their feminine side, in a way that doesn't ring true. I realize I'm painting with a wide brush, but I think this generally holds true.

So how do we create primary characters of the opposite sex who are real and relatable? Is it even possible? Yes, of course it is. Margaret Mitchell did a pretty darn good job with Rhett Butler, but, well, quite truthfully a good example of a male novelist writing a true and honest female protagonist doesn't come as readily to mind. I will say, however, that Tennessee Williams did an excellent job of creating Amanda and Laura Wingfield in The Glass Menagerie. My husband Rick and I had the great pleasure of seeing Sally Field play the part of Amanda a few years ago at the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC. This 4-person play was outstanding.

Most of the novels I write have female protagonists, and multiple secondary characters who are female. It's not that I intentionally avoid writing male characters; it's just the nature of the stories I write. However, I have written a novel, as yet unpublished, where the protagonist is a nine year old boy. His story came to me one day as I was cooking dinner, when this young guy said this to me:

I decided long ago if I was ever to write a story, it would be about Annie. And Mama. And all of us. I'm Annie's brother Charlie, and it's my fault she died.

Well, I just had to follow up on that, which resulted a year later in a novel.

So how do we as women get inside the head of a man, and vice versa? Because it's getting inside the head of our characters that make them come alive. I've been married to Rick for 42 years as of two weeks ago. And as well as I know him, I can't say I honestly know how he thinks. I can usually predict what his response will be in any given situation---as he can me---but responses and thought processes are two different things. Chris Bohjalian, our guest author on July 22, talks about writing opposite-gender characters in an audio interview on Pen on Fire/Writers on Writing. It's worth listening to.

I also came across an article written by author K.M. Weiland with some good points to consider when writing opposite-gender characters. (I sought permission to reprint, but didn't hear back. But follow the link for the specific points.)

For fun, try this exercise: Take a scene from a novel you love that includes both a male and female character, and that's written from the POV of a character who's the same gender as you. Rewrite that scene from the POV of the opposite-sex character, then tell us about it.

Project! The Art of Voice in Fiction

I’m eyeball-deep in a writing challenge, a sort of shark tank for the ever-developing writer. I’m writing in four—count ‘em!—four voices. My greatest fear is making them all sound alike. And so, I’ve been studying the topic of voice, reading The Fire in Fiction by Donald Maass and Write Away by Elizabeth George, and listening to a podcast with Anne Lamott. Allow me to share what I've gleaned from these skilled teachers.

Elizabeth George defines voice (how brave of her) like this: “The narrative voice of your novel is the point-of-view character’s defining way of speaking and thinking.” Voice is the tone that comes through the narrative, and tone is the product of knowing my characters better than myself.

Before I started writing my current work in progress, I knew all about Lucy, Ada, Mercy, and Pete. I'd created very detailed backgrounds for each. Their voices were determined by their level of education, formal or acquired. And even though they are American-born, they have positions in society and family histories wrought with material. They're nice, of course, to a point (no anti-heroes this week), but the better I get to know them, I discover their prejudices and biases, their inclinations and desires, their bad habits and poor hygiene habits. Each of them has a well-developed belief system, even if they can’t express it. It's my job to know this about them. Once my characters are fully developed, they have unique, powerful voices.

Maass is especially adamant that characters must offer strong opinions to have a voice worth appreciating. This made a little light glow over my writer head. A character who makes judgments about her world is far more engaging. Consider the importance of opinion in your narrative, your story. Perhaps you've walked past a window of mannequins and thought something like this: Good grief, ugly must be the new black this year. No one older than eight could squeeze into that skirt. They must be selling fashion design diplomas on QVC.

Seeing in your head is fun, interesting, provocative. We give that same thrill to our readers by sounding opinions through our POV narrator.

I’ve rambled on. Indulge me another point.

Donald Maass also has this to say about details in relation to voice: “Even the most ordinary people have a life that’s unique. The details that make it so are a secret source of what critics glibly refer to as voice…Details are an automatic voice all in themselves.”

Here’s an example of details fueling voice from Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See:

Three days before my wedding, I began the ceremonies associated with the Day of Sorrow and Worry. Mama sat on the fourth step leading to the upstairs chamber, the women of our village came to witness the laments, and everyone went ku, ku, ku with much sobbing all around. Once Mama and I finished our crying and singing to each other, I repeated the process with my father, my uncle and aunt, and my brothers. I may have been brave and looking forward to my new life, but my body and soul were weak from hunger, because a bride is not allowed to eat for the final ten days of her wedding festivities. Do we follow this custom to make us sadder at leaving our families, to make us more yielding when we go to our husbands’ homes, or to make us appear more pure to our husbands? How can I know the answer? All I know is that Mama—like most mothers—hid a few hard-boiled eggs for me in the women’s chamber, but these did little to give me strength, and my emotions weakened with each new event.

I walk each morning while listening to a podcast called Pen on Fire (highly recommended). The hosts interview the most amazingly talented storytellers, like Anne Lamott. In a recent podcast, the host asked Lamott what advice she had for new writers on the topic of voice. Lamott is the perfect writer to ask. She has a distinctive voice and isn't afraid to give opinions--some that make me wince.

Lamott answered with typical honesty that nothing comes easy for her, including voice. If her writing sounds "conversational and natural," this only happens by writing "draft after draft after draft." Also, she sees improvement with her writing as she ages. What her pride demanded she keep in as a younger writer, age allows her to jettison. I found this encouraging. By the time I'm as old as Methuselah, I should have the voice thing down.

This is only an opening discussion on voice, but these fine authors and writing teachers have offered great pointers for developing voice for our characters. First, know your characters. Second, allow your characters to voice opinions. Third, add details that ground your character's voice in a culture. And last, be prepared to work for voice...and welcome birthdays.

Details of a story line may fade, but the voice remains forever in our memories. Share a story you have read with a distinctive voice. Any ideas about how the author achieved this? What helps you develop a unique voice in your stories? Is it okay to use yourself as a model for voice?