Sagging Middles

As Bonnie explained on Monday, June 23, we are re-running some of our favorite posts from the past few years. This post first appeared May 30, 2012.

A novel, at its basic reduction, is a series of scenes cohesively held
together by narrative. Picture what we used to call a "granny quilt." It's a collection of crocheted circles or squares attached in rows by basic crochet stitches. Then the rows are connected by another basic stitch. When completed, it's a lovely work of art, that serves a useful purpose.

Scenes in a novel are like those circles and squares. According to The Scene Book: A Primer for the Fiction Writer, by Sandra Scofield, "The scene is the most vivid and immediate part of the story, the place where the reader is the most emotionally involved, the part that leaves the reader with images and a memory of the action" (pg. 3).

That's not to say the narrative is unimportant. Remember, narrative is the stitch that holds the scenes together. It should be written with as much care as the scenes themselves, and should be as engaging as possible. One of my favorite authors is Jamie Langston Turner, who uses a lot of narrative in her novels. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I enjoy her writing very much because her narrative is written with such care, and with such an engaging voice.

But back to scenes. Scenes are immediate. They happen in the present as you read them. Scenes are mini-stories, self-contained, each with a beginning, middle and end. Each scene should contain new and pertinent information, should have a degree of tension, and most importantly, should move the story along. If a scene doesn't accomplish these things it should be re-written with those goals in mind, or if it's entirely superfluous it should be cut altogether. Elizabeth George, in Write Away, has this to say: "Be careful that the scene adds something necessary to the story's development: information, revelation, discovery, sudden change" (pg. 139).

The middle section of a novel is most vulnerable to bogging down the story. If you find your WIP falling victim to a sagging middle, evaluate the story, scene by scene. Is the scene itself tight, adding ever-increasing tension, and moving the story forward? Are the stakes raised with each succeeding scene, resolutely moving toward the climax? If not, re-work your scenes until they are. And if they can't be rewritten to that end, don't hesitate to cut them. "Each scene has a dilemma or a pressure on the POV character, and it is sufficient in its importance that it drives the action and feeling" (The Scene Book, pg. 60).

The antagonist should oppose the protagonist at every turn. The tautness of a scene can be likened to a cord held tightly at one end by the protagonist, and held just as tightly at the other end by the antagonist. One is always pulling against the other. That's what creates the type of tension that makes a book impossible to put down. Tension is built by "holding back information from the reader; introducing questions and then intensifying concerns about the answers; making the reader uneasy about the harmony of relationships" (The Scene Book, pg. 73). Sol Stein in Stein on Writing acknowledges that, "Our instinct as human beings is to provide answers, to ease tension. As writers our job is the opposite, to create tension and not dispel it immediately ... and when it comes to moments of tension, to stretch them out as long as possible" (pg. 106). Elizabeth George says, "And make that conflict rise, as all good conflict should. Don't jump into it with people yelling, screaming, shooting, and having swords drawn" (pg. 139). Stein adds this great piece of writing advice: "The most important moment of tension in a novel is its first use, which should be as close to the beginning of the book as possible. It puts the writer in charge of the reader's emotions" (pg. 107), and that is an important goal of the author.

The narrative between scenes gives the reader a moment to catch her breath. So it too serves an important part. But remember, the narrative shouldn't be expendable, but should be as engaging as any scene.

I'm the type of reader who doesn't ever skip over anything in a novel. I read every word, every time. I love being rewarded with scenes that draw me in and raise my heart rate. And I love narrative that takes me back to level ground without a sense of let-down.

There's so much more to writing scenes that keep the middle from sagging. I recommend all three of these books, but especially the great little primer by Sandra Scofield.

What problems do you run into in the middle section of your novel? How do you evaluate the problems, and what do you do to resolve them?

Where do I begin??

Patti began our Roundtable discussion on Monday talking about what to cut from your novel, particularly at the beginning of a piece. In the Comments section it was asked, how do you know where a story truly begins? And is there a rule about when backstory comes in?

Well, let's see what the pros have to say in reply.

Sol Stein in Stein on Writing (pg. 15), says:

Elia Kazan, brilliant director of stage and screen as well as a late-blooming novelist, told me that audiences give a film seven minutes. If the viewer is not intrigued by character or incident within that time, the film and its viewer are at odds. The viewer came for an experience. The film is disappointing him.

Today's impatient readers give a novelist fewer than seven minutes. Some years ago I was involved in an informal study of the behavior of lunch-hour browsers in mid-Manhattan bookstores. In the fiction section, the most common pattern was for the browser to read the front flap of the book's jacket and then go to page one. No browser went beyond page three before either taking the book to the cashier or putting the book down and picking up another to sample ... first sentences and first paragraphs ... are increasingly important for arousing the restless reader.

I can attest to the truth of the study. If page one of a novel doesn't engage me, I move on. My reading time is precious to me. I don't have time to waste or wade through a slow beginning.

Elizabeth George in Write Away (pg. 65), which is one of my personal favorites, wrote in her journal:

...I'm beginning to have more clarity on the novel. What I haven't seen yet is precisely how or where in the story to begin.

Then, regarding the decision of where to open, she goes on to say:

The way I see it, you have three alternatives. You can begin the story just before the beginning; you can begin it right at the beginning; or you can begin it after the beginning.


Huh?

Well, she actually makes sense as she continues:

Starting just before the beginning, you ... have to come up with a scene that illustrates the status quo of the main characters before the primary event occurs.

If you choose to start your novel right at the beginning, you are making the choice to introduce simultaneously both the characters and the primary event that gets the ball rolling ...

Beginning your novel after the beginning of the story means that you are choosing to start after the primary event has occurred. The ball, in other words, is already in motion and the reader is plunked down in the middle of the action.

James Scott Bell in Plot & Structure (pg. 56), cuts right to the chase and gives us a nice check list:

• Get the reader hooked.
• Establish a bond between the reader and the Lead character.
• Present the story world---tell us something about the setting, the time, and the immediate context.
• Establish the general tone of the novel.
• Compel the reader to move on to the middle. Just why should the reader care to continue?
• Introduce the opposition.

This is all great advice, and by examining our beginnings we can see if we're hitting any of these targets, but it can still be difficult to know if we've hit on the right place to start. Elmore Leonard, who wrote among other things Get Shorty and 3:10 to Yuma, once said, "I try to leave out the parts that people skip." Yeah, me too. That's especially important when it comes to those opening paragraphs and pages, because, like Sol Stein discovered, if a reader isn't engaged by then, he's not going to be.

As an exercise, turn to the beginnings of half a dozen of your favorite novels and study the openings. What was it about those first few paragraphs that kept you reading? Conversely, was there something that nearly derailed you---even if you're glad you kept reading? Judging by the advice of our pros, did those beginnings line up with the advice they gave?

I'll give an example from one of my favorite novels, Blue Hole Back Home, by Joy Jordan Lake. First of all, it was the cover that got me to pick up the book, which was a title I'd never heard of, by an author I'd never heard of. But the cover intrigued me, so I opened to the first page and read:

Likely it was only two dreams crisscrossing paths, one snagging on the other in passing, but somehow the face that walked by me this morning, not four feet away, got tangled up with one from my past ... And I swear time backstitched on itself ...

I loved that last line, loved how it sounded, loved the picture it drew in my mind. But this is what took me straight to the cashier:

In that moment, the smell of espresso got overpowered by the scents of my past: pine needles and boy-sweat, salted peanuts and Coke. I heard bluegrass guitar and banjo all mixed up with rhythm and blues and a rope swing ticking forward and back, keeping time. I was barefoot in the back of a pickup, believing that it was love that makes people brave and gorgeous and clever and kind. Believing, and being wrong.

Man, oh man, that was the line that hooked me. I've read the book several times and recommend it to anyone who will listen, and I grow fonder of it each time.

Besides Blue Hole Back Home, I highly recommend the three books I cited today. I've read each of them more than once, and I learn something new every single time. Write Away has so many notes and sticky tabs it's getting difficult to wade through. It may be time for another copy.

I'd like to hear your observations on the passages I cited. We'll talk about backstory when I post in a couple of weeks.

Shore Up Your Sagging Middle

A novel, at its basic reduction, is a series of scenes cohesively held together by narrative. Picture what we used to call a "granny quilt." It's a collection of crocheted circles or squares attached in rows by basic crochet stitches. Then the rows are connected by another basic stitch. When completed, it's a lovely work of art, that serves a useful purpose.

Scenes in a novel are like those circles and squares. According to The Scene Book: A Primer for the Fiction Writer, by Sandra Scofield, "The scene is the most vivid and immediate part of the story, the place where the reader is the most emotionally involved, the part that leaves the reader with images and a memory of the action" (pg. 3).

That's not to say the narrative is unimportant. Remember, narrative is the stitch that holds the scenes together. It should be written with as much care as the scenes themselves, and should be as engaging as possible. One of my favorite authors is Jamie Langston Turner, who uses a lot of narrative in her novels. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I enjoy her writing very much because her narrative is written with such care, and with such an engaging voice.

But back to scenes. Scenes are immediate. They happen in the present as you read them. Scenes are mini-stories, self-contained, each with a beginning, middle and end. Each scene should contain new and pertinent information, should have a degree of tension, and most importantly, should move the story along. If a scene doesn't accomplish these things it should be re-written with those goals in mind, or if it's entirely superfluous it should be cut altogether. Elizabeth George, in Write Away, has this to say: "Be careful that the scene adds something necessary to the story's development: information, revelation, discovery, sudden change" (pg. 139).

The middle section of a novel is most vulnerable to bogging down the story. If you find your WIP falling victim to a sagging middle, evaluate the story, scene by scene. Is the scene itself tight, adding ever-increasing tension, and moving the story forward? Are the stakes raised with each succeeding scene, resolutely moving toward the climax? If not, re-work your scenes until they are. And if they can't be rewritten to that end, don't hesitate to cut them. "Each scene has a dilemma or a pressure on the POV character, and it is sufficient in its importance that it drives the action and feeling" (The Scene Book, pg. 60).

The antagonist should oppose the protagonist at every turn. The tautness of a scene can be likened to a cord held tightly at one end by the protagonist, and held just as tightly at the other end by the antagonist. One is always pulling against the other. That's what creates the type of tension that makes a book impossible to put down. Tension is built by "holding back information from the reader; introducing questions and then intensifying concerns about the answers; making the reader uneasy about the harmony of relationships" (The Scene Book, pg. 73). Sol Stein in Stein on Writing acknowledges that, "Our instinct as human beings is to provide answers, to ease tension. As writers our job is the opposite, to create tension and not dispel it immediately ... and when it comes to moments of tension, to stretch them out as long as possible" (pg. 106). Elizabeth George says, "And make that conflict rise, as all good conflict should. Don't jump into it with people yelling, screaming, shooting, and having swords drawn" (pg. 139). Stein adds this great piece of writing advice: "The most important moment of tension in a novel is its first use, which should be as close to the beginning of the book as possible. It puts the writer in charge of the reader's emotions" (pg. 107), and that is an important goal of the author.

The narrative between scenes gives the reader a moment to catch her breath. So it too serves an important part. But remember, the narrative shouldn't be expendable, but should be as engaging as any scene.

I'm the type of reader who doesn't ever skip over anything in a novel. I read every word, every time. I love being rewarded with scenes that draw me in and raise my heart rate. And I love narrative that takes me back to level ground without a sense of let-down.

There's so much more to writing scenes that keep the middle from sagging. I recommend all three of these books, but especially the great little primer by Sandra Scofield.

What problems do you run into in the middle section of your novel? How do you evaluate the problems, and what do you do to resolve them?

Threshold

In a comment to John Blase's article Monday, Katy said, "... there's a certain value in a novel ... and that is a window into the author's subconscious ... the reader almost gets to read the author's dreams."

That's exactly what fiction is all about -- the (hopefully) vivid imagination of the author beckoning to the reader to take a giant step over the threshold, because as readers of fiction, we aren't, or shouldn't be, observers, but participants.

When I open a novel, especially one I'm excited to read (which, sadly, isn't always the case), it becomes a three-dimensional experience. I don't stand at arm's length as with non-fiction. As Steve Grove pointed out, "A novel allows you to enter into an experience like nothing else." Rather, I do indeed step over the threshold into the author's fictional world and become a participant.

I quickly develop an affinity with one of the characters, and experience the story as he or she experiences it. And unlike in real life, in fiction there needs to be a lot to experience, particularly in the way of trials and tribulations. We want to go through the crucible with a character so that victory, when it comes, is all the more sweet. Sol Stein, in Stein on Writing, says, "... because touchy subjects arouse emotion, they are especially useful for the writer who knows that arousing the emotions of his audience is the test of his skill" (pg. 74). So don't be afraid to bring controversy to your story. Controversy is your friend, and it comes in many forms. You're bound to find what's exactly right for your characters and your audience.

I've quoted this before but it bears repeating. "Get your protagonist up a tree. Throw rocks at him" (Plot & Structure, pg. 12). Throw every manner of obstacle in your protagonist's path. There should be opposition to your protag's desires and goals in every scene. When the tension is a great as it can be, only then get him down out of the tree. You may say that doesn't sound like much of a dream world. Well, it's not for your characters, but it's perfect for your readers.
That's what creates a lasting story. Consider Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Nothing but trouble at every turn. It doesn't matter that this classic was written as a children's book, it's become a part of our collective consciousness. We still quote from it nearly 150 years after it was written. Who wouldn't love to maintain that kind of influence and staying power?

While entering the dream world is entertaining for the reader, it's pure magic for the writer. I'm still amazed that when I allow my thoughts to play make-believe, I find a character waiting to play along. The latest is a 12-year-old girl whose story is unlike any I've attempted so far. But it's not a story I've imposed on her, it's her revealing her story to me, one layer at a time. I love each and every rendezvous that has deepened my knowledge of her until I now feel I know enough to put pen to paper. I don't know it all, not by a longshot, but I know enough to look forward to the discovery of the rest.

I recently had a funny conversation with my husband after seeing Dolly Parton interviewed. Perhaps one of the most prolific songwriters of our time, she made the statement that for her, "everything's a song." I said to Rick, "I so relate to what she's saying. I'm not a songwriter, but I have these people living inside me with all these stories to tell, and this one girl has shouldered her way to the forefront, saying, "Me first!" Hers isn't the story I thought I would write next, but I find I must. Does that ever happen to you?" I asked. He looked at me as if I'd grown a third eye. "No," he said, "I can't say it does." And we both had to laugh, because therein lies the difference between a writer and a non-writer. After all our years together he's become accepting of my creative quirks, but he sure doesn't understand them.

What about you? What entices you to cross the threshold into the dream world, as a reader and as a writer?

Musings of a Minimalist

I am not a packrat. Okay, let me try that again. I am not a packrat, except when it comes to books. I never have been, never will be. As I look back over the years, there are things I wish I'd kept for their sentimental value, but for the most part I'm not sorry that I regularly cull my possessions.

If you walked into my home, you'd see immediately that I'm a minimalist. The rooms in my house aren't cluttered. My walls aren't cluttered. The furniture in every room is evenly centered, aligned, arranged to everything else in that room, and kept as neat as possible at all times. Pictures are centered on the wall and straightened on a regular basis. I call that good housekeeping; my kids call it anal (although both our daughters are just like me now. Ha! I love it!).

A funny aside to this revealing info about me: My daughter Mindy's mother-in-law is the exact opposite of me. The 100-year-old Victorian home she and her husband have lived in for more than 40 years is chock-full of collectibles and ... stuff, from the basement to the upstairs bedrooms. There's a path that leads from the kitchen and goes through the dining room, into the living room, to the front door. Every other inch of floor space is filled up, and there's hardly an inch of wall space left to hang another picture or Gone With the Wind collectible plate. They were in town visiting Mindy & Corey when Jayden, now 5, was about 2. We all took a drive to Sutter Creek, a quaint little town in the foothills known for its antique shops. We entered the first little shop, which was wall-to-wall merchandise with little room for walking. Jayden took one look around and said, "Grandma? Is this your house?" I couldn't stop laughing.

I'm also a minimalist when it comes to talking. I know people who use 1,000 words to my one, and it boggles my mind that someone could talk that much. Boggles. My. Mind. I'm not the best conversationalist, but I am a good listener, I will say that. I'm not anti-social by any means. I just tend to be quiet.

So it's not surprising that I'm also a minimalist when it comes to my writing. I tend to write novels with just a handful of characters, and only a few plot lines. I'm always impressed with complex novels and wish I could pull off that kind of writing, but my story worlds tend to be small and anything but epic. Maybe that's because I so love to become emotionally intimate with my characters. I want to get inside their heads. Literally. I tend to write in first person, and especially love first person, present tense. In order to pull that off, there's a lot of internal dialogue on my pages. I find that reflective of me, internal dialogue going on inside my head all the time. I'm sure that's true of most writers.

The novel I'm reading now, And Ladies of the Club by Helen Hooven Santmyer, is one of those epics I could never see myself writing. It's historical fiction and spans six decades, with a large enough cast of characters that a family tree or two would have been helpful in keeping everyone straight after the 2nd or 3rd generation. It's typically NOT the type of novel I read, because I much prefer contemporary to historical. But it was on my TBR list for the longest time (not sure how it got there). It took me months to locate it. Finally, my library was able to borrow it from another library so with that much effort I felt obligated to read the almost 1,200 page behemoth. I have about 100 pages to go, and I have loved every word. I plan to write a review about it before long.

What matters most to me in the novels I read, no matter the genre, is being able to truly connect with one or more of the characters. It's so much more important to me than the plot. That doesn't mean I must be able to empathize with a character's situation. I may never experience anything like what they're going through -- for instance, Katniss in The Hunger Games Trilogy. But I want to be able to draw near just the same. Like Debbie, I'm a fan of Stein on Writing (read her She Reads post on Everyday People). I remember reading the quote Debbie cites as I made my way through his book the first time: "I have seen talented writers hurt their chances of publication because they persist in writing about 'perfectly ordinary people' ... characters who are seemingly no different from the run of people we meet who do not seem in any way distinctive." I took exception with it. Because most novels I read and enjoy are stories about perfectly ordinary people ... who find themselves in extraordinary circumstances, doing extraordinary things. I think of characters like Turtle in Joy Jordan Lake's Blue Hole Back Home, Ginny Young in Elizabeth Berg's What We Keep, Dara Brogan in Katy Popa's exceptional To Dance in the Desert. Ordinary people, caught in extraordinary circumstances. How else could I relate to them if that weren't so?

Reading preferences are so subjective that is seems rash to make such a sweeping statement as Stein's. I actually thought it arrogant, though that one statement doesn't alter my opinion of Stein on Writing. It's one of those books I read, re-read and refer back to as I write. But as my daughter Deanne would say, I chew the meat and spit out the bones, and there's a lot of good meat within its pages.

So what about you? If you're a writer, are you minimalist or epic when it comes to your story world? As a reader, which do you prefer? What matters most to you about the novels you read?

Long Moments and Other Things that Drive Me Nuts

On Monday I wrote THE END on a novel I've been working on for two years. It was a difficult story to write, and I really rejoiced when I completed it. So what's next for this manuscript? Well, besides seeking expert input from some of my Novel Matters pals who have time enough to read it right now, I go back to the beginning and start my edits. Some of you love this part of the writing process. I don't happen to. But do I think it's necessary? Absolutely.

I came across an article more than a year ago titled "The Ten Mistakes" by Pat Holt that I thought would be a useful resource once I'd completed this (and future) manuscripts. I printed it out and filed it, then promptly forgot about it. But when I was looking for another resource yesterday, which I still can't find, I came across the article. (Really, I'm not as unorganized as I sound.) It's subtitled "Ten Mistakes Writers Don't See (But Can Easily Fix When They Do). So as I read the manuscript for the big picture things: characterization, conflict, scene evaluation, rising action, etc., I'll also be looking for some of the common mistakes that Holt writes about.

Sol Stein, in Stein on Writing (an absolute must for your writer's bookshelf), suggests the triage method of revision, which is dealing with the big picture items in your first read-through, and then dealing with "trivial corrections" with the next read-through. That's good advice I intend to follow. Besides, who am I to contradict Sol Stein??

But for the sake of this post, let's assume I've done my big picture revisions, and have returned to Page One for the trivial corrections. What are they? According to Stein it's excising every cliche, eliminating unessential adjectives, tightening dialogue. In short, making every word count. Here are a few more according to Pat Holt:

• Repeats -- These are "crutch words" we unconsciously use -- over and over and over. Or they're really good words or phrases that are perfect when you use them once, but that become obnoxious and show-offy when used again. And again.


• Phony Dialogue -- That's when characters talk to each other about things they already know purely for the benefit of the reader. Here's an example of a husband and wife having a Phony Dialogue conversation: "James, darling, my husband of fifteen years, our only son Edward, who attends John Muir Elementary School, needs to be picked up today at noon, because he has an appointment with Dr. Gums, the dentist we've gone to all of Edward's young life. Will you see he gets there, my love?" "Unfortunately, precious, my brother Woodrow, who is three years older than I am, needs me to take him to the airport since his wife Zelda, who took their only daughter Phoebe, and ran away with their accountant last week, is unavailable." Exaggerated yes, but we've all read books with this type of mistake.


• No-Good Suffixes -- There are "ness," "ize," and "ingly" words, to name a few. Example: "He tackled the job with fearlessness." Much better and more straightforward to say, "He was fearless in his approach." "I territorialize my bathroom vanity" vs. "This half is mine, bud!" "I look adoringly at my granddaughter, Abbie" vs. "I adore my little Abi-girl."


• Empty Adverbs -- This happens to be one of my pitfalls. I put them in when I write, then take them out when I edit, because they're (completely) unnecessary. Enough said.

To this list I add an item of my own: Search and Replace. I keep an ever-expanding list of words I use unconsciously that weaken my writing, but they're not quite the same as Holt's "Repeats." Using my list, I search them out and delete them. Sometimes I can do it with a touch of the Delete button, and sometimes I have to rewrite the sentence to strengthen it first. But bottom line, I get rid of them. Many are adverbs, but "got" is near the top of my list. For example, I'll write, "I have got" to do such and such, rather than "I have" to do such and such. The "got" adds nothing to the sentence, but makes the writer sound less articulate. I also search out verbs to which I've added "ing" making them nouns, and rewrite the sentence. Example: "There was a drawing of spectators to the scene of the crash" vs. "The accident drew a crowd."

Holt's article covers other topics such as Flat Writing; The "To Be" Words; Lists; Show, Don't Tell; Awkward Phrasing; and Commas. While I've only touched on a few of the mistakes, the article is worth printing out in its entirety and filing away where it won't be lost.

I'm excited to read through my newly completed manuscript. Unlike other novels I've written. I haven't saturated myself with this one by reading it over and over as I write. Instead, I've written this one with a minimum of looking back, which will make the work fresher as I begin my edits.

What resources do you use when you begin your revisions? What are some of the repeat words you use in your writing that you need to search out and annihilate as you revise? Do you have any particular pet peeves in the way of words or phrases? I do. "Long moment." I see it all the time and it drives me nuts. Honestly, a moment is a moment. If it's long, then it's something else. A writer should try to figure out what that is.

Conflict: The DNA of Fiction

Our second Audience with an Agent contest is underway. This is your opportunity to have your manuscript read by Janet Grant -- one of the premier agents in the industry -- of Books & Such Literary Agency. We will accept manuscripts until April 15. Please go to our Promotions page and carefully follow the guidelines. We look forward to reading your submission.

~
April M. is the winner of last week's giveaway--Seeing Things by Patti Hill. Please contact Patti with your snail mail address through the "contact" button. Congratulations, April!

I hate conflict, hate being at odds with anyone. I do what I can to avoid it, and if a rift in relationship comes between me and another person, I do what I can to correct it. My younger sister, reflecting on our teen years, might argue the point. All I can say is, "Sorry, Janet."

~

But my aversion to conflict applies only to real life. When it comes to fiction, all bets are off, for conflict is the DNA of fiction. To quote James Scott Bell, "A plot is two dogs and one bone." Plenty of room for conflict there.

~

When I first began writing I shied away from this hugely important factor. I liked my protagonists, and since I had it in my power, I wanted to make their lives as easy and pleasant as possible. Or, if conflict came their way, I made sure they suffered in silence, with dignity. All that equaled one thing: B-O-R-I-N-G.

~

In Stein on Writing, Sol Stein says, "Inexperienced writers ... often try to write novels with a relatively passive protagonist who wants little." But "the essence of dramatic conflict lies in the clash of wants ... The essence of plotting [is] putting the protagonist's desire and the antagonist's desire into sharp conflict." Figure out what "would most thwart your protagonist's want, then give the power to thwart that want to the antagonist." That's a perfect recipe for conflict.

~

It may not be in our nature to heap trouble on our helpless heroines, but think about what you're currently reading -- or writing. Take away the conflict and what are you left with? A deflated, lifeless thing that's not worth exploring. The truth is, without conflict we have no story. Ayn Rand says simply, "The essence of plot structure is: struggle -- therefore, conflict -- therefore, climax (The Art of Fiction). There's a lot of talk about essence in those several quotes, which we can also define as DNA. But both words refer to conflict as the critical element to good fiction.

~

As novelists we must give ourselves permission to be mean. American screenwriter, Syd Field, is attributed with this advice: "Get your protagonist up a tree. Throw rocks at him. Then get him down." But throwing rocks can be our stumbling stone. It just isn't in us to be that mean. Fine. Disassociate yourself if you must from the one throwing rocks. Commiserate with your protagonist. Tell her how awful you think that rock thrower is. Just get the job done. Then avoid mirrors for a day or two.

~

Here are some important things to remember about conflict:

1. Conflict can be external or internal. Conflict doesn't just come from one character opposing another. It can arise from a force of nature, from war, from illness, from prejudice. Those are all external sources of conflict. But it can be internal as well, where a character is in opposition to himself.
2. Conflict should be in every scene. Conflict isn't one issue that's dealt with in a plot. If conflict is the DNA of your story, you'll find it everywhere. It must be in every scene, in every passage of dialogue, to a degree appropriate to the scene.
3. Conflict should intensify as your story unfolds. In Between the Lines, Jessica Page Morrell says, "Well-written fiction includes ever-growing dilemma, adversities, and pressure as the story progresses (emphasis mine). The conflict should build with the rising action until it reaches the boiling point. Like a set of stairs, it should be ever climbing till it reaches the top, or climax.
4. Conflict should be equal to the story. The conflict in a romance is going to be quite different from the conflict in a fast-paced thriller.
5. Conflict must matter to your reader. Back to the "clash of wants" that Sol Stein wrote about. He adds this important piece of advice. "You need to be certain that the conflicting wants are ... over something that the reader will view as important." If the stakes aren't high enough, readers aren't going to care.

There's a tremendous payoff when conflict is handled correctly. "A reader who feels anticipation, excitement, interest, or compassion is a reader who is not going to walk away from the novel till the entire story is told" (Elizabeth George in Write Away). And isn't that what we want in our fiction, as both writer and reader?

Perfectly Ordinary Characters

I once attended a seminar taught by a Hollywood screenwriter who said that her company was looking for Christian stories, but that, unfortunately, Christian writers usually wrote small stories about small characters. The conflict was generally internal and the story slow on action. Hollywood was looking for big stories with big characters. Small characters and small stories generally do not sell movie tickets or TV pilots.

I was reminded of this while revisiting one of my favorite how-to books, Stein on Writing by Sol Stein. He makes a very sobering statement: "I have seen talented writers hurt their chances of publication because they persist in writing about "perfectly ordinary people"...characters who are seemingly no different from the run of people we meet who do not seem in any way distinctive." He goes on to say that readers do not want to meet or read about the same boring people they know in real life. But what does it take to make characters extraordinary? Since as Christians we strive to insinuate God's truth into our world, shouldn't our characters be as real as we can possibly make them? And the real people that I know are pretty...normal. Maybe predictable. Even boring. (Did I say that out loud?) But come to think of it, while I love them, I wouldn't necessarily want to read about them.

How many times have you tossed aside a book after reading the first chapter or paragraph, because of an uninteresting hero/heroine? You saw a predictable character with no spark of anything that would make you want to follow them around for awhile. To remedy this in our own writing, Mr. Stein points out that, for the most effective characters, "their eccentricities dominate the reader's first vision of them." A great example would be the opening scene of Leif Enger's Peace Like a River when his father performs a miracle at his birth, commanding him to breathe. It is one miracle among many, we find. The dysfunctional family in Anne Tyler's book, The Accidental Tourist, refuse to answer their house phone because it could be bad news. At this point, I would like to point out that Anne Tyler's stories are about everyday people with lots of internal conflict, but they all have wonderful defining traits and quirks that make them memorable. The dog trainer in this story is another superb example.

So, the challenge is to give our characters some defining, eccentric characteristics that reveal something significant about them and also set them apart without presenting them as clownish or over-the-top. This requires that we know them so well that it seems only natural that this bit of information would manifest itself in that way and not seem contrived.

What characters do you remember due to some eccentric quality? What authors are especially good at accomplishing this? Do you have a character in your manuscript that displays an eccentric quality? We'd love to hear!

Tell me more

I loved Latayne's post on Monday, love talking about writers and the craft of writing. Similes and metaphors, if fresh and unique, can enhance fiction like nothing else. Sol Stein, in Stein on Writing--a book every writer should read and reread--calls them "the wonders of writing...when carried off, especially when a simile is original and a metaphor sings, there is no greater glory in the practice of words." Wow. Quite a boast. And I tend to agree. I know good writing shouldn't draw attention to itself, but I can't help stopping at every great simile I come across, taking a moment to savor it, to praise the author for digging deep.

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Whether we're writers, readers or both, we want the words on the page to sparkle, to sing, to draw us in like a temptress and have their way with us. According to Stein, detail is another way to achieve that. But it's not just "detail that distinguishes good writing, it is detail that individualizes." It's detail that tells us more without employing tired adjectives to get the job done. Stein calls this particularity. Here are some examples from the skilled women I share this blog with. I've italicized key phrases that smack oh-so-nicely of particularity.

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"...Kirsten Young lay on her back, a serene Ophelia in her dusky pond of blood" (Latter-Day Cipher, by Latayne C. Scott). Pool of blood would have gotten the point across in a tired way most readers would have skimmed right over. But dusky pond of blood, well, that sings. You don't skim over a phrase like that. You read it again, and maybe again.

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"Five women as gnarled as driftwood shuffled into the chapel...they smelled of mentholated lozenges and joint ointment" (The Queen of Sleepy Eye, by Patti Hill). What a visual we're given by Patti's particularity to detail. She accomplished more in that first lovely phrase than ten tired adjectives could have.

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Here's a description of one of Katy Popa's memorable characters from To Dance in the Desert: "'...there she was with her long gray hair fanned out on the pillow like the Lady of Shalott. And her hands folded on her chest--with a lily! And her face all sunk down like a badly made bed...' Dara cupped a hand over her mouth to contain the revulsion. She saw too clearly the flesh-draped skull sunk into the pillow, the jaw hung open...Dara peeked over her shoulder and there at the door was the bombshell (the very woman we've been reading about), in--for heaven's sake!--white stiletto heels." Masterful particularity!

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"I grin back and tug on a piece of tape, careful not to tear the brilliant red paper...I laugh and pull off the wrapper. A white box, the kind you use to wrap the sweater you bought Grandma for Christmas. I throw him a toothy grin that I hope covers my disappointment. I don't want a grandma sweater" (Talking to the Dead, by Bonnie Grove). The use of grandma as an adjective to define the sweater tells us so much more about Kate's disappointing expectation than the word sweater alone ever could. Of course, it wasn't a grandma sweater in the box--not even close! But you'll have to read the book to find out what he gave her.

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And this from a courtroom scene in Debbie Fuller Thomas's Christy-nominated Tuesday Night at the Blue Moon. "Dad sat beside me doodling a perfect likeness of Andie on the manila folder stuffed with evidence that argued our right to disrupt her life." That one phrase tells us more dynamically what a whole page of text couldn't, and in a way that packs an emotional punch. But notice the contrast of doodling (a light and whimsical activity) on such a document. That too is a great example of particularity.

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Share some of your favorite passages of particularity for a chance to win this month's giveaway novels: Blue Hole Back Home, by Joy Jordan Lake, and Safe at Home, by Richard Doster. And, if you haven't yet read the novels available from the authors here at Novel Matters, I hope this whets your appetite. Watch throughout the summer for opportunities to win our books.