On Writers and Characters: Alone

 

 

 

 




At times, we all feel alone. Whether we’re facing seemingly overwhelming obstacles or feel as if we’re drowning in a shark-infested sea and being swamped by waves of opposition, we feel as if we’re on our own and getting to safe harbor, whatever that might be, is solely up to us. There is no lifeguard, no rescue coming, no help on the horizon. We sink or swim alone.

And we feel . . . abandoned, betrayed, even angry.

Those are human reactions, and not unexpected. But there are other times when we feel alone and we resent it. Times that are celebratory. We seek a goal for a long time and finally achieve it--and have no one to celebrate with us. We experience a life-changing event, and have no one to tell. We have climbed the career ladder and gotten to the rung we sought, and the world doesn’t notice. We devote our lives to accomplishing a purpose, and do it, and look around and we stand alone. Not only is no one there to celebrate, no one notices or cares.

And we feel . . . let down, abandoned, betrayed and even angry.

In mentoring, I run into this a lot. Writers so dedicate themselves to learning the craft, the business, to networking and promoting and marketing and writing and producing that they sacrifice everyday life. Depending on where you start, singleminded devotion for a time might be needed to achieve your goal. The college of seeking to master your chosen path, so to speak.

But that college can become a treadmill that the writer stays on for decades or even a lifetime, and if s/he does, there are going to be problems that spill over into the emotional realm. Why is that?

There’s a strong correlation between physical and emotional. What we experience in one, manifests in the other. You can think yourself sick, exhaust yourself physically and tumble into emotional instability.

During the course of a career on that treadmill, there are many inclines and declines. You’ll know moments of joy so complete you pinch yourself. You’ll also know moments of such profound disappointment and disillusionment that you don’t want to pinch yourself, you want to escape.

Too much of a good thing is like a prison. Doubt it?

Have you ever walked out into the bright sunlight and been blinded by it? Walked from the bright sunlight into a darkened room and been blinded by it? On either side, you can’t see a thing. It renders you immobile--in writer’s terms, frigid. You can’t move because you can’t see--unless you have something else present to counter and restore balance. Something bigger, that resides inside you that acts as an equalizer.

If you’re walking from light into the dark, that something might be memory of where things are positioned. Saying you’re entering your own home. You know the entry has a rug--so you don’t trip. You know that in two steps if you turn left, you need to skirt a table with a vase on it. Or it’s ten steps to the living room. You know what’s where. That gives you the confidence and certainty to walk on. But what if you’re walking into a stranger’s home?

Odds are pretty good you’re going to pause until your eyes adjust. You’re going to have the discipline to hold on until you can assess your surroundings and not trip, walk into a wall, bump the table and knock the vase to the floor where it shatters. What makes you do that--pause, wait, have the discipline to hold-on? The fear of injury, of doing damage, of making a mistake, of misstepping. It’s some emotion driving the physical action.

Whether you’re dealing with a character’s character traits or the character traits of the writer, there’s a direct relation between physical and emotional. As a writer, you might want to jump on the epublishing train, or not. Your decision will be made, consciously or subconsciously, based on both physical circumstances (as they are or as you see them and potential as you see it) and emotional circumstances (as they are or you see them and potential as you see it).

If you have a great working relationship with your publisher and are content with what you’re producing, you’re less inclined to want to change something. But if you’re not content with your current circumstances, you’re more inclined to want to change. Your emotional reaction to your physical circumstance weighs in more heavily.

Let’s say you’re getting on well with your publisher but you suddenly experience artistic differences. The publisher wants more of the same kind of books but you want to write a different type of book. The publisher isn’t interested in that type of book from you. Your emotional reaction to that circumstance well might drive you to seek another or an additional publisher--or to epublish yourself.

Now you might be fearful of doing it, you might assess and deem it a fiscally sound move, but you will go through a process where you weigh the publisher’s reaction--will or won’t they drop you for doing this? Will or won’t they demand exclusive publishing in your next contract? Will or won’t they continue to market and promote at the same level or a higher one? If so, you have one emotional reaction. If not, you have another emotional reaction. You, of course, can choose to go either way. But you’ll endure the process in coming to your decision, weighing the physical and emotional.

As human beings, we all go through this same sort of process, which means our characters should go through it too.

Now one aspect that I’ve neglected thus far other than to allude to it as that something inside you that acts as an equalizer is on par with the physical and the emotional. That is the spiritual.

It’s often neglected overtly but is in truth most powerful. The spiritual aspect of a human being is home to beliefs, motivations, judgments, purpose. It’s the core that stirs together all of the intangible things the writer or the character considers of greatest value and highest import.

This core that is uniquely our own trumps the physical and the emotional. It leads to tackling insurmountable obstacles, into taking risks and doing that which all logic deems impossible. When we’re leaden and weary, it drives us to keep trying. When we’ve been knocked down over and again, it gives us the strength and endurance to get up one more time. When all signs say stop, it’s a pipe dream, a waste of time, it says go, go, do it! It’s what enables a mother to lift a car, a man to dive into raging water to save a stranger, a fireman to run into an inferno building thousands are trying to escape.

The spiritual side of writers and therefore characters is the home of heroes and villains. Like everything else, that of greatest value and most import can be used for good or evil. It is here, in the spiritual realm, that those choices are made and those judgments defining good and evil are housed.

If your characters lack spiritual aspects, they lack essentials that make them not just human but uniquely human and memorable. Something significant is missing. And its that something that ties and binds between writer and character and then between character and reader.

If the writer fails to acknowledge his/her unique spiritual aspects, then s/he is going to experience a lot of moments--some really long ones--where s/he feels s/he is walking around with a big hole in the chest. See, it’s these spiritual aspects that generate the fulfillment and contentment that resides in the heart.

Now let’s put this all together. If your reason for writing is to earn a lot of money, that’s physical. Bluntly put, it’s not enough. If your reason for writing is to be famous, that‘s not enough. Yesterday’s celebrities are forgotten names today. If your reason for writing is seated in purpose, then fulfillment is possible. And by leading yourself from the spiritual aspect, you factor in the emotional and physical. Odds of success are far greater, because you’re addressing all aspects with balanced weight.

When you do that, you engage balance. And with balance engaged, you and your characters are still going to experience inclines and declines, but they won’t do it alone. The force behind the purpose of it all is there with them.

Another human might not be present, but that gut-wrenching sense of loneliness is not.

There is an enormous difference in being lonely and being alone. Many stand in a room surrounded by people they know and feel alone. The challenge for them is they’re looking outward for someone to make that loneliness go away. But the answer to it, to filling it, lies within.

So in your writer’s life and in your characters, be aware of the dimensional aspects of the whole person/character. Understand that balance defines character. Gaps and absences define flaws and conflicts. And plunder the spiritual aspects of your character first, because it’s where the best of the best and the worst of the worst resides.

It’s where you’ll discover how to be alone on those inclines and declines and still be content.

 

Blessings,

 

Vicki

 

Novel Writing: Scandals and Credible Characters

Writing Books/Articles on Kindle

My assistant Cheryl has been working to fill your requests of putting my writing books and articles up on Kindle.  She still has a lot to do, but she's gotten a good bit done on this project (see photo above).

You can read excerpts on the ebooks page on my website at: www.vickihinze.com, or read them on the Kindle site by clicking HERE.  (Note that there are two pages.)

When the next batch are up, I'll post a note to let you know.

As always, I hope the information is of use to you, and wish you every success in your writing.

Blessings,

Vicki

scene, structure, conflict, narrative, novel elements, fictional dream, writing and staying sane, one way to write a novel, mistakes we make, writing in the fast lane


 

THE POWER OF SILENCE

Novelist I Am: Writer's Block and How to Avoid It

Once I believed that Writer's Block didn't exist. Sincerely, truly, and--I thought--irrevocably. Then, I woke up.

Actually, that wake-up call came in the form of it being pointed out to me that soldiers who go to war (and people in accidents) and lose limbs still feel toes or fingers no longer attached to their bodies. READ ARTICLE

WHY WRITERS SHOULD BE READING #IRANELECTION ON TWITTER

WARNING: This is a no-edit zone...


I’m interrupting my Mistakes We Make posts, because this opportunity will not wait.


As writers, we write about people. About the human condition. We connect with readers through emotion, which means writers must be students of emotion.


Right now the people of Iran are risking death--and indeed some are dying--and being imprisoned for a cause well known to Americans: freedom. With 140% of the population voting in many districts, the people feel betrayed, disrespected and undervalued by their leaders. They are passionate and their emotions are raw.


When emotions are raw, there is no veneer. You see actions and reactions that are impassioned and that cut close to the bone. If you want to know what someone is really thinking, observe them in an emotional situation. The more intense the emotion, the more honest and overt the reaction.


As human beings, we have felt many of the emotions being felt in force right now. Betrayal, hurt, feeling helpless and hopeless and small and insignificant. I am but one. What can I do? We’ve felt that. In observing it, we remember it, and we feel the violations all over again. That creates a bond of empathy, which is why if you are following on Twitter and have been since the weekend, you see posts that say things like, “Stay safe, my brother” or “today we’re all Iranian.” It isn’t that the speakers are related or they’ve changed their allegiance to their own country, it’s that they empathize so intensely with the injustice the other person is feeling, they align.


I’ve seen acts of great courage. One man posted before going to march in the first protest that he didn’t need to sleep because “today I die.” He believed--and for just cause since 7,000 were executed for defiance before--that if he went, he would die. But he went. And thousands on Twitter held their collective breaths until he returned and posted. We all understand fear. We all recognize courage. We all . . .


READ ARTICLE


Tags: character, emotion, empathy, creative writing, author, writer, novelist, books, #iranelection, writers library, vicki hinze

Writers: A Common Mistake

READ ARTICLE

ONE MIND OR TWO?

READ ARTICLE

People of Substance: CHARACTER

EACH DAY YOU CHOOSE…

ARE YOU A PERSON OF CHARACTER OR A CHARACTER LACKING HUMANITY?

We’ve heard since the cradle that no man is an island. No woman is, either. Every day we interact with others: friends, relatives, coworkers, strangers. And with each encounter we are presented with both challenges and opportunities–and the choices are ours to make.

These aren’t necessarily enormous choices, though they can be. But what is really on my mind at the moment are the little things. Those everyday choices that present themselves unexpectedly and require decisions on our part that won’t change the world, but certainly can impact us and our feelings about ourselves as well as those within our sphere of influence. READ MORE

NARRATIVE V EXPOSITION

If you’re confused about the difference between narrative and exposition, don’t worry. Most writers use the terms synonymously. Both are portions of the work/scene that are engaging but non-active. The author's telling versus showing.

For a clear picture on the difference in narrative and exposition, we have to go back to Aristotle. When he was talking about his "beginning, middle, and end," he also said that exposition has no profluence. Narrative, according to The Art of Fiction's John Gardner, does have "some profluence of development."

So if we take stock in what Aristotle and Gardner have to say and translate it to normal writer talk, then we'd say:

Exposition is information the reader needs to know but it doesn't contribute to the forward momentum of moving the story along.

Narrative is information the reader needs to know (for what is happening at the time to make sense to the reader) and does contribute to the forward momentum of moving the story along to some degree.

Frankly, in my humble opinion, it's hair-splitting. Narrative and exposition (in contrast to scenes with action and dialogue) are essentially stagnant blocks of information inserted into scenes. These blocks create psychic distance between the reader and character; remind readers they're reading. Sometimes you, the writer, want that and sometimes you don't.

Regardless, no matter how engaging and well written, narrative and/or exposition won't hold a reader's attention for long. Why?

Because while the author is telling the reader what's going on, nothing is actively happening or going on in the story. The reader isn't experiencing the action. So regardless of which it is in our work, exposition or narrative, we want to be certain it's balanced and it doesn't drag down the novel's pacing--and our novel with it.

Below is an excerpt from an article/post/lecture (I don't recall which now) I did at one time on Effective Narrative. (Regardless, the entire article is in the Writers’ Aids Library.) I hope this excerpt will eliminate any confusion.

Excerpt from Effective Narrative Article:

When is narrative effective?

Narrative is effective . . .

•when the writer wants to convey necessary information to the reader quickly and efficiently. There are times when expository or background information is essential for the reader to grasp the severity of an event, or to understand the significance of something currently occurring in the story. When this situation arises, narrative can be the best means of effectively conveying that information in a minimum of space, thereby negating a long disruption in the forward momentum of the plot. Narrative often does stop this forward momentum, and it reminds the reader that they’re reading. Too many disruptions, or halting this momentum for too long, and the reader grows dissatisfied and antsy to get back to the story event where the reader is immersed in "real time" happenings. So give the reader essential back-ground quickly, and then get back to the active story event.

•when the writer wants to create emotional and/or psychic distance between the reader and the point of view character. Generally speaking, the writer is tasked with creating and maintaining the fictional dream in such a manner that the reader is totally immersed in the story and an active participant. Yet sometimes disclosing information or events is necessary for the reader to understand character conflict and/or motivation that the writer does not want the reader to experience firsthand. For example, if you are writing a romance novel, and your heroine is a former rape victim, it’s likely that you don’t want the reader to experience that rape with the heroine. Yet the rape is instrumental to your heroine’s inner conflict, and its resulting emotional devastation impacts her motivation for specific novel actions. The reader needs to know she was raped or her conflict and motivation lack conviction and the power to be convincing. Because this is a romance novel, and in a romance novel the focus is on the development of the emotional relationship between the hero and heroine, you want to convey the rape as background information. Narrative is an effective means. It allows you to convey the event and yet maintain psychic distance between the event and the reader.

•when the writer wants to smoothly transition, moving the characters/reader from one time or place to another. The individual segments of a novel--scenes and chapters--lead the reader from page to page through the book, from beginning to end. At times, the writer skips ahead in time, or flashes back to previous times. The writer also takes the reader from one setting to another. The most common means of accomplishing these changes is by incorporating transitions.
A transition is simply a bridge that fills the gap between Point A and Point B. It helps the writer to think of theses transitions as bridges. The longer the span, the weaker the bridge. So make transitions as short as possible. Some writers use an object to do this.
For example. Two characters are talking on the phone. The first is the point of view character. When the call begins or ends, the point of view changes from one character to another with just a few words.

Another means of transition is to setup for the transition in the last sentence of the work that precedes the change.

For example, chapter one ends with a character saying or thinking that they must talk to another character. Or they must get to another place. Then, chapter two opens with the two characters talking or at the other place.

Again, this transition is short, to the point, and it leads the reader from point A to point B unobtrusively.


•when the writer wants to cue the reader that something other than what is being said or shown is meant. Frequently characters say one thing when they mean something else, or the character’s perception of something is different from the facts. In these situations, narrative can be extremely effective at clueing the reader in to the actual intent versus the surface motivator or perception of the event. The writer can, through narrative, offer the reader a different perspective than is actively depicted by the characters. This perspective and depiction can be reliable or unreliable, which can create depth and add texture to the novel.

•when the writer establishes setting, tone, and emotional impact. Narrative is vital in conveying conflict--both internal and external--and in keeping the forward momentum of the plot strong. It is also essential to creating and maintaining the fictional dream, meaning that the details the writer selects to anchor the reader onto the scene, also assists in conveying tone and the emotional impact scenes will have on the reader. For example, if a man has just lost his wife, and he’s mourning, he isn’t apt to notice bright, sunny, or airy objects. He’s far more apt to notice those aligning with his current emotional mood that is naturally oppressed, depressed, dark, and gloomy. In utilizing details of setting that convey those emotions, the writer sets the appropriate tone, and the emotional mood of the character is conveyed.

CAUTIONS:

Large chunks of narrative are hard to swallow. If strictly informational, large chunks of narrative create sludge that the reader must wade through while waiting for something interesting and active to happen in the story. Feed in narrative and details a little at a time. Intersperse a sentence or two--at most, a paragraph or two--in an active event. Then, by the time the reader registers that the forward momentum of the story has stopped, it has started again.

Narrative should reveal something new and necessary that the reader must know for what is currently happening in the story to make sense, or to foreshadow a coming major event. Like dialogue, and everything else in a novel, narrative must serve a purpose. The more purposes it serves, the stronger it is and the more effective it becomes. If the narrative doesn’t reveal something new or a different perspective of something already conveyed to the reader, if it isn’t essential to the reader for events to make sense, or if it doesn’t foreshadow a major coming event, then delete it. It’s wasted space that will bog the reader down. Bog the reader down too often, and the reader puts down the book. Offer too many opportunities to put the book down, and the reader doesn’t pick it back up.

Narrative should never be stagnant. Use your writing skills to make it entertaining and compelling. While narrative does often stop the forward momentum of the plot, it should never be stagnate. Use vivid imagery and sharp verbs to make it compelling. Vary your sentence lengths. If the overall emotional tone is tense, then use short, terse sentences. The reader reads faster, thus picks up on the sense of urgency.

Narrative can be strong and compelling, informative and entertaining--and it will be, if written effectively.❦

Blessings,

Vicki

Tags: narrative, exposition, character, creative writing, author, novelist, writer, novels, writing craft, novel structure, writers' library, vicki hinze

JUSTICE

Inside us all, there is a deep-seated need to know justice. We see injustice and it unsettles us, makes us wonder what’s wrong with the world and those in it that they can’t see the wrongs and seemingly don’t try to avoid them. We ache for others who are victims of injustice and often when others come to us and speak of it, we have a relatable tale of an experience of our own that mirrors their experience in some fashion.

Injustice is universal. Everyone has experienced it, or believes that they have experienced it at some point in time. And no one can relate the wrongness in it and all of the tentacles that came with the injustice--in ways intended and expected and in ways unintended and unexpected--and not strike a chord in others.

We rail against it. We oppose it. We might even go to extraordinary lengths to prove it and rectify it--sometimes to self-destructive levels. We aren’t idealists (though some of us might like to be) and yet there is that mighty pull in us that demands fairness and what’s right (as we see it). That pull demands justice.

And for that reason justice is a powerful tool for a writer. Universal (in that we all want it and we all have at some time gotten it or not gotten it) and therefore identifiable to the reader, significant in triggering emotional empathy and relevant to us all. Yet unique (in that we’ve all experienced justice and injustice in different ways on different things in different situations and with different results.

Justice, or the lack of it, is a rich source of conflict in characterization and specifically in motivation and goals. The struggle for or against it and the lengths some will go to for it can be the core conflict in any type novel across genres.

So when you’re crafting characters and creating plot lines, consider those mighty, universal tugs like the one we feel for justice. It, and other universal resources like it, have strong backs in storytelling and can carry a lot of weight. Characterization, conflict, plot, goals and motivations are all served well simultaneously, and that’s a story element that is working overtime.

Blessings,

Vicki

c2008, Vicki Hinze
www.vickihinze.com

Tags: character, author, writer, novelist, character traits, books, novels, writer's library, vicki hinze, justice

THE STRUGGLE

Sometimes I wish I weren’t on this spiritual journey. I wish I could just react emotionally to things going on around me and not seek a deeper understanding of those events, a more compassionate and a grander scope than being a simple human being allows me.

Today is one of those days, and that wish came as the result of something that had nothing to do with me but with a broadcast on the news.

It appears that a couple was locked in a fierce and bitter custody battle for their children. The father, who suffers a bipolar disorder, wanted the kids. The mother sought a protective custody order preventing the children’s visitation with the father--not because of his disorder but because he’d been involuntary committed, had talked of attempting suicide and made threats against the wife of “hurting” her in a way that would hurt her most.

I’m paraphrasing here, but that’s the upshot. A judge denied the request, and the father was allowed visitation--not controlled or supervised visitation, just visitation--and so what happens? The father drowns the kids in the bathtub. That ends the custody dispute decisively, now doesn’t it?

The mother depended on the justice system, and it failed her.
The children depended on the justice system and the mother, and both failed her. The father, of course, failed them in the worst imaginable way.
The father . . .well, who knows what was on his mind, but something failed or he wouldn’t have committed multiple murders.

What I expect will happen now is the father will plead insanity for the children’s murders--and likely will spend the rest of his days in a mental hospital, where he might or might not belong. I say this because I have a dear friend who is bipolar and never in a million years would he harm a flea, much less someone he loves. He’d be more apt to suffer himself than to harm anyone else--and that includes simply hurting someone else’s feelings.

The father, in this case, wanted to hurt the mother in a way that hurt her most--and he has.
The mother in me is appalled at the father and with the judge. If that judge wanted to grant the dad visitation rights, fine. But for heaven’s sake require them to be supervised, controlled. It isn’t just a matter of the father’s rights. There’s an obligation to protect the children, and granting unsupervised visitation with someone known to be unstable just doesn’t make sense to me. Custody isn’t about the parents; it’s about the kids--or it was...

I imagine the mother, and my heart bleeds for her. She tried to do things legally, to follow the law and protect her kids. It didn’t, she didn’t, and I expect she’ll feel she failed them for the rest of her life. She’ll be full of self-recrimination, guilt, asking herself over and over why she hadn’t just ignored the judge and fled with her kids. She’d have been a fugitive, but her kids would be alive. On the run, but they’d be living and breathing. Considering what’s happened, how could she not feel that way? And isn’t this a wicked burden she’ll carry now? An unfair and wicked burden...

I imagine the father, and I wonder if his talk of suicide was genuine or stage setting--so that when he did what would most hurt his wife in this bitter battle, he would get a mental hospital and not the needle. I wonder if the behavior that had him involuntarily committed was genuine or if it too was part of a premeditated plan. Heaven knows there are people so twisted and evil that they would do these things--and have done them for reasons such as this. Not because they wanted the kids. Because they wanted their way. Because they wanted to win the bitter battle. Is that the case in this situation? I have no idea. But I do wonder.

Bipolar disorder is wicked. It can cause horrific complications and requires close medical monitoring. Was it a factor in this situation? I don’t know.

What I do know is that the kids are dead. That can’t be undone. The mother is devastated and desolate, no doubt inconsolable and her trust in the justice system has to be shattered. What of her faith? Is it shattered, too? If it is, then what will sustain her? How in the world will she ever survive this tragedy without faith?

And the judge. On hearing that the father killed the kids... I expect the judge will be haunted by the decision made the rest of his days. Haunted in ways we can only imagine. What of his faith? In himself, in his system, in God? What is the impact on those fronts? How will he live with what’s happened?

The father. After the fact, what is he thinking? Is he filled with remorse, regret, or feeling vindicated and justified? Is he mourning or celebrating? He won. God help him.

For all those involved, I expect it’s a time that will try their souls--and those of many others. Grandparents and parents--of the husband and wife--grandparents and aunts and uncles of the children. Those in their extended families, those involved in any way on any level, neighbors, friends, associates--rippling all the way through society to you and me.

Many react with a terse, “String him up. He killed the kids. Give him the needle and call it done.”

But when you’re a person of faith, nothing is that simple. There are other considerations--some we know about and many we don’t. Many are outside our scope of grasping and understanding.

Maybe that’s why God reserves the right to vengeance for Himself. Because only He knows every detail of every situation. Only He knows the truth that hides in a man’s heart.

There’s a part of me that wants that murdering father to pay dearly. His life ended seems too simple and easy; let him live, it says. Let him reap the full harvest of what he’s sown.

But there the part of me that says, you’re judging. That’s a cry for vengeance. And it’s not your call to make. There’s a part of me that says, the promise is the scales will be balanced. Debts owed will be paid. Tit for tat.

That part of me wonders how--for the kids. But then I remember my limited perspective, and God’s unlimited reach. I confess, I find comfort in that. I pray their mother will, too.

And whatever justice proves to be in this case, I’m glad to know that God is handling it. Because by my reaction to it, I’m not far enough along on my personal spiritual journey to decide spiritually without the human being in me exerting its opinion on the matter.

That human part of me is really struggling with this one because nothing will bring the kids back. The littlest of all are the biggest victims. And I’m human enough to confess that I can’t see a place of justice for them in this.

I’m sure it’s there. I’m sure God clearly sees it--and I have faith that He’s going to handle it.

But I have to say I’d like to see it.

And because that’s so, I guess I still have a long way to go on this path to perfection.

Blessings,

Vicki




Tags: justice, murder, custody, divorce, protection, child protection, character, spirituality, religion

C H A R A C T E R

What follows is a handout from a workshop on CHARACTER from this past weekend at the Emerald Coast Writers Conference.

Actually, I’m going to have to link to it. It’s 12 pages long, so there’s no way to post the entire thing here without difficulties.

It’s in pdf format, so it shouldn’t be a problem for anyone. If it is, contact me, and I’ll get it to you in a format that works for you. If you click on the widget MY KITCHEN TABLE, CHARACTER, you’ll get the article. Or you can download it. The link for that is below.

Blessings,
Vicki

Character.pdf handout

Baffled! What Does He Mean?

I received a note with the subject line: HELP! I’M BAFFLED. WHAT DOES HE MEAN?

Now who can resist stopping to read a note referenced like that? So I did--stop, that is--and read the note. It was from an author who had received a rejection from an agent. In the note, he said that the villain didn’t scare him. That’s an important factor considering this is a novel targeted at the thriller market.

The author was confused by it. The villain purportedly had all the makings of a convincing villain. So the agent’s comment baffled the author, leaving her confused and floundering, trying to determine what was wrong with the villain.

I couldn’t resist. From the character sketch, two things were apparent:

1. The villain was capable of villainous acts.
2. The villain was weak and I didn’t fear him, either.

Here was the problem. He was totally evil. No redeeming quality. That makes him weak--and it diminishes suspense because we know to expect his worse and about what his capabilities are going to be.

That’s a challenge. To fear a villain, we need to be uncertain how far he’ll go--or know how far he’ll go and fear he’ll go even further. In other words, he needs to be a little unpredictable.

He also needs to be motivated. Doing what is normal and right and good TO HIM. Even if that’s twisted and crazy and totally nuts. To him, he makes perfect sense and his reason for doing what he’s doing is one we understand even though we consider it twisted.

That means it typically ties to a universal emotion. Why? Because we identify with universal emotions. This gives the villain credibility as a villain.

Lacking those qualities, the villain is weak and because he’s weak, he also diminishes the heroism and admirability of the story’s hero. If the villain were smart and strong and sharp and clever and cunning and oh-so-good at being a villain, then the hero would have to be even better to win in an adversarial match against that villain. Because the villain isn’t those things, the hero can’t be heroic. So his character is weakened, too.

A hero is only as good as his villain makes him.

Regardless of the novel type, that’s an important point to remember in crafting characters.

I try to make the villain as dastardly as I can for some emotional reason. Then I think on him until I find a way to make him worse. After I’ve made him as awful and as strong as I can, then I give him some extra perk that makes him even more terrifying to me. And seat that perk in universal emotion.

Remember, a killer killing isn’t interesting. Why a killer is killing and if he is successful at killing in the face of someone fantastic trying to stop him from killing--now that’s interesting.

Writers have a tendency to eliminate obstacles when they run into situations like this. To eliminate the obstacle or conflict when they should be doing the exact opposite--making it harder still on everyone involved. Putting the outcome in greater doubt.

This brings to mind BODY DOUBLE. In chapter 1 a woman is sealed into a tomb alive. She awakens and digs her way out, makes her way to safety, and is retrieved by an operative. That’s a pretty formidable enemy who can do that. And some would say it’s enough. But...

The operative who retrieved her informed her she hadn’t been missing for three days--as she thought. She’d been missing for three months--and she has no idea where she’s been.

Now that further complicated the matter--and it intrigued the heck out of me. Only one thing worried me. I had no idea where she’d been, or what had happened to her, or why she didn’t remember it.

I had to write the story to find out. And, boy, did I have a blast doing it!

So that’s another perk to complicating matters up, even when you think you’ve complicated yourself right into a wall. You’re creative, you’ll find a window--or make a new one. And when you do, you’ll enjoy discovering these wrinkles and intrigues as much as the reader.

And you shouldn’t get notes such as the one above on future submissions.

Blessings,

Vicki

P.S. There are two articles in the website library (www.vickihinze.com) that might be helpful on this: Villains and The Fictional Dream. You might review deepening conflict and the articles on character, too.

Tags: author, writer, writing, villain, character, conflict, fiction, novelist, vicki hinze, writers library

Character: CONTENTMENT

When writing, we don’t often think specifically about a character’s contentment. There’s a reason for that: we’re in the conflict business. That, conflict, not contentment, is the spine of our novels. But contentment isn’t the same thing as a lack of conflict. It is peace in the face of conflict. And so as novelists, we definitely should be thinking about contentment and our characters positions on it and where they are in relation to it.

A person can be in the middle of turmoil and at peace. At war against an enemy, and at peace. Going through tough times on the job, with the family, in health or welfare issues--on any front, really, and still be content.

Contentment comes from knowing you’re doing or have done your best in a given situation. It’s accepting what can’t be changed. It’s acknowledging the facts of the matter and being at peace with those facts.

Contentment isn’t an idealistic view of all being perfect and beautiful and everything working seamlessly and without fail, trial, challenge or trouble. It’s peace in light of those failures, trials, challenges and troubles.

What is your character’s contentment level? Why? These are important insights into the individuals and why they behave as they do. The greater insight into why they are as they are and conduct their priorities on value and judgment systems that might one-eighty out from our own.

These are incredibly rich resources for the writer.

What’s your character’s contentment level? What would increase or decrease it? Why would those specific things impact that level?

And, of course, the same can be asked of you, the person. All this holds true for our imaginary people, but it holds true for real ones, too.

Blessings,

Vicki

Feature Article Posted

EACH DAY YOU CHOOSE...

ARE YOU A PERSON OF CHARACTER
OR A CHARACTER LACKING HUMANITY?

Read the new feature article

Character: Feature Article/Newsletter

An Alert to let you know that I've posted a new WINTER FEATURE ARTICLE and the FEBRUARY 2008 NEWSLETTER on my website at www.vickihinze.com.

The subject of the Feature Article is CHARACTER.

Enjoy!!!

Blessings,

Vicki

Vicki Hinze

Creating Characters: Working the Clay

My husband is a multi-medium artist. One medium is pottery. I enjoy watching him work with the clay and have since he was working with Raku one day and I was helping him quench the pots.

You take these red-hot pots out of the kiln and put each one into a small metal garbage can that’s got shredded newspaper in it. The pot sets the paper on fire. You get this burst of flame, and cram the lid on the can. Then you wait.

At the duly appointed time, you use long tongs to remove the pot and use water to quench it. Only then do you know what you’ve actually got.

He says Raku is like Christmas. You don’t know what’s inside the package until you open it.

Interestingly enough, people are the same way. Only in getting to know them do you expose their layers--some would say, their true colors. Like the Raku, as you process these layers, you see changes and differences that alter your perception and your reaction to what is and what’s revealed.

What you thought and what you come to know is often two entirely different things.

And in that, there’s merit for writers, particularly in creating characters.

We learn the nature of people through observation and revelation. What they want us to see, and what they can’t avoid revealing. And with each new insight, we observers place a value on that aspect of their character. Our opinions, judgments, values become measuring sticks for others.

Don’t bother saying, “I don’t judge.” We all judge and measure.

Most people (and therefore characters) are a blend of “good and bad” in our eyes. Whether they fall on the overall good or bad list depends on how they stack up as an entity. An example...

We meet x and admire his open attitude. He’s friendly and fun.
But as we watch x interact, we see that it’s an act. He isn’t genuine.

This changes our perception of him. We saw attributes that are now liabilities. Who wants to interact with someone who isn’t genuine?

But then y tells us that x is shy and he really has to force himself to be open to others. It’s very hard for him, yet he’s working on it.

This changes our perception of x again. We admire the effort. We relate to the struggle. Who among us hasn’t struggled to overcome something difficult for us?

And so it goes. With each new revelation, our perception can alter in ways we gauge to be favorable or unfavorable.

And this is the key to creating complex characters.

There’s an article in my writers’ library on this site (www.vickihinze.com), CREATING UNFORGETTABLE CHARACTERS, that focuses intently on the how-to side of creation, so I won’t repeat that here. Instead, what’s on my mind this morning is the value of that complexity in characters.

In my life, I’ve met many people. Most, as I said, are a combination of good and bad traits (in my eyes). I explored these perceptions and how they influence us in REFLECTIONS, the fall feature article, also on my writing website. What I didn’t get into in any depth there was the ability of others to manipulate our reactions to them. That’s an important tool in fiction.

While manipulators and people who attempt to control us are not welcome in life, they are there, and most of us have to deal with them, or choose to not deal with them. That makes including them in our fiction favorable. After all, fiction is all about conflict.

Manipulators and control freaks make formidable fictional characters. Some people do these things--manipulate and control (or attempt to)--which are by and large considered negative, destructive and unwelcome traits, with the best intentions. They are attempting to be a positive and constructive influence. To encourage the best.

In your characters, these people would be those serving story roles as the interfering friend, the well-meaning parent or co-worker. Someone who is trying to “help.” The object of their manipulations and attempts to control might not want it, need it or ask for it. But in their eyes, they’re the object’s appointed savior, so to speak. Saving the object from dire consequences or even from him- or herself.

We (as readers) understand this, but we still don’t like what they’re doing. And typically, we don’t like them.

Then there are those who manipulate and attempt to control others for darker, self-serving reasons. They too make formidable characters. Typically, villains. While they still have positive and negative traits in their repertoire, their intentions are not to save the object of their machinations but to use, abuse, manipulate and control to serve their own interests. They are attempting through falsehoods to be a negative and destructive influence because it serves their goal.

Now these characters (again, typically villains), don’t see themselves or what they’re doing as bad. They might even see what they’re doing as noble and just. It isn’t, and readers and other characters see the truth, but the villain typically does not. Usually because s/he’s hiding behind someone or something else. (i.e., many psychotics hide behind God. Claiming their methods are insignificant because they’re doing His will.) Bizarre to rational people, but to the psychotic, this makes total sense. And we (as readers) understand this. We don’t agree, but we do understand. We might even admire the mental acuity in it, but we’re never going to accept this twisted rendition as normal, rational, or acceptable. Yet understanding is enough. And it is there where the villain obtains his strength.

If you create a black-hearted bastard as a villain--a character who is all bad and has no redeeming qualities--then you and the reader know exactly what to expect. He will give his all to doing his worst. Why? Because that’s what people do. So when he does his worst, he’s only living up to expectations. The outcome of his actions and the consequences are foretold. Anticipated. No surprise. And that equates to no suspense. And to little interest.

It also robs the villain of his humanity. No one is all bad (though admittedly some try hard to be). The bottom line is that this villain is boring, dull and flat. No matter how horrific his actions are, or how twisted his mind is, he can’t surprise or stun or shock us. He’s stripped of that ability by his lack of redeeming qualities. And just like a person with those qualities, that sum makes him weak and ineffective.

But what if this blackhearted bastard is a normal man. Good and bad, soft and hard, tolerant and intolerant? What if he’s clever? Twisted to those who dig deeply enough to see his core, but normal to others who don’t, or who haven’t?

This villain has strength and constantly surprises because we don’t know what to expect, we are not signaling ahead on his actions or reactions, and we don’t know what buttons must be pushed for him to do his worst. We don’t know his worst. More interesting? Definitely. Stronger? Absolutely.

And because he is, he can carry more story weight.

Complex characters are all about character, yes. But they’re about motivations and internal conflicts, too.

In the past two decades, I’ve created a lot of characters, a lot of villains. And the ones that chill readers’ blood are the ones who successful fool most into believing they’re rational, reasonable and normal at the onset. As the story progresses, and their true colors are exposed, (revealing in bits their inner conflicts and motivations), they become greater obstacles until such time as the protagonist vanquishes them.

That exposure elevates the worthiness of the protagonist to be the protagonist. (If a villain is weak, it doesn’t take much of a protagonist to put him in his place. If he’s strong, it takes more. If he’s even stronger, it takes even more.) And that satisfies the reader’s need to see justice.

Often in life, we don’t see justice. In stories reader’s want it, and being aware of it, authors usually give it to them.

This doesn’t just apply to villains. The reverse is also true. We meet a character we think is a bad person and discover through the story events that they’re a good person. And sometimes we create characters that are an intricate blend and even the author isn’t sure whether or not a character is a hero or a villain until the very end of the book.

If you think that can’t happen, I’m telling you it can--and has happened to me. There was a secondary character in one of my military thrillers that seemed good, then bad, then good, then bad and then I just didn’t know whether he was honorable or the worst kind of bastard. I had to completely write the book to find out.

The secret was revealed in his motivations. In his internal conflict. And here’s the part that makes this worth sharing...

When I went back and looked at just his character in relation to the novel, I saw what spurred each and every twist in perception. His motivations, goals and conflicts were intact and in place. Subtle strokes I hadn’t deliberately inserted were there, too. I thought, at the end of the book when I discovered which he was, I’d have to extensively rewrite to make him credible and consistent. I didn’t have to change one word. Not about him.

Why?

I would guess that it’s because I got to know him as a person before I started writing him, and when subconsciously he nudged me in a direction other than the one I intended, I followed.

That doesn’t sound logical, I’m sure, to non-writers, but writers know exactly what I mean. If the writer is prepared (knows the character’s story function and gives him/her traits, attributes and skills to perform it), early on in a story, the characters take over. And sometimes they know where they’re going and who they are even if the writer consciously doesn’t know.

Anyway, creating characters is like slinging pottery. That’s what I wanted to say. The artist has some control, but in the end, there are surprises. Some are pleasant, some aren’t. But as it is when dealing with people and revealing those layers or true colors, even those who aren’t pleasant are usually interesting.

Blessings,

Vicki

Vicki Hinze
©2008


Tags: character, thriller writers, authors, novelists, books, readers, manipulators, control freaks, pottery, Vicki Hinze, Writer's Library

CLARITY

Why is it when we’re most muddled, under the greatest pressure that we see most clearly?

I ran into this with one of my characters in my current manuscript-in-progress yesterday. By all rights, the woman should be nose-diving into a hole and pulling it in after her. Mounting pressures have attacked from all sides and yet rather than being overwhelmed or out of sorts, she’s not only coping but exhibiting strengths that hadn’t yet been seen in her--and yet the strengths didn’t seem like devices or convenient fixes that weren’t natural. That made me think, and ask questions.

Why wasn’t she overwhelmed at these mounting pressures?

Because when pressure is exerted, we focus intently on the problem. The more intense the pressure, the harder we focus. We don’t think about other things--issues, challenges, and/or problems. We focus on that which has our attention. And intense pressure draws intense focus, our intense attention.

These inner strengths. Did she really have them all along, or did they manifest because they were required for the story to retain credibility?

She had them all along. Hints of them were there, in the work. But until the pressure grew intense, the obstacles she faced were insufficient to warrant those untapped strengths showing up on the page. They stayed hidden, remained inner strengths.

Up and until this point, the character had no reason to summon those inner strengths to deal with the challenges she faced. When circumstances required them, they showed up. But when they did, were they credible?

We’ve all heard the “necessity breeds invention” saying. But necessity also breeds the courage, discipline--the character--to rise to the occasion to do what must be done.

I looked back through the preceding pages of the manuscript to see if it was logical that this woman in this situation would have these strengths. We don’t manifest skills and abilities from thin air, after all, and to stay “admirable” this character must be credible. Were these manifested strengths credible?

For the most part, they were. As a reader, I could see how “this” skill could translate to “that” strength. One strength, however, lacked a foundation. There was nothing in the manuscript that hinted or prepared the way for this character being able to do this thing in this way. And that breached credibility, which immediately called into question the veracity of the event and her doing it much less doing it successfully. Yes, mentally she was sharp enough. Yes, physically she was strong enough. But the act was not consistent with the personal philosophy of the character. It wasn’t consistent with the way she thinks and processes challenges. So it had to go.

Why?

Because once credibility is questioned on one front, it is questioned on all fronts. Readers assign human attributes to characters. If a reader doubts the act/actions of a character, then that opens the proverbial bucket of worms and every act/action is called into question. The reader is less apt to believe what is said, what is done, without proof that is also logical and credible to him/her.

Take the old issue of someone lying to you. They lie. You believe. You discover the untruth (either by their own admittance or through a third party). Regardless of how you learned the truth, you naturally wonder what else this person lied to you about. It’s no longer a matter of the one lie. It’s a matter of everything ever said or done. Motivations are called into question. Credibility is shot. Like I said, a bucket of worms.

This human response makes it apparent that you, the writer, don’t want to open that bucket of worms. You want the character of your characters to remain intact and credible. And if their veracity should be tested, then you want to make sure the character’s character stands up to the test and passes with flying colors.

Human beings are allowed the imperfections in character. Some consider them endearing--until they cause challenges. Then endearing becomes unacceptable. But with your story people, imperfections are more innocuous. When they exhibit abilities, skills or insights, the foundation for having them should already be in place in the work. So that whatever they’re doing seems like a natural outgrowth of them--who they are (mentally, physically and spiritually).

For more information on preparing these type foundations, see the RULE OF THREE article in the writer’s library.

Blessings,

Vicki

Vicki Hinze
www.vickihinze.com

WHAT WE CAN LEARN FROM BABIES

My Angel Boy turns One today. Yesterday, we had a family gathering at the river house to celebrate. There was the traditional cake and ice-cream and tons of food and a jumping “Fun” house (one of those air house things where the kids take off their shoes and jump inside it) and lots of other fun things for the kids. It was a kick. It was fascinating--and the writer in me studied the children.

Their ages varied. The older ones innately looked out for the younger ones. Guided and assisted them. Watched over them. Even inside the fun house, the older kids made sure they got rough away from the little ones, and they showed the tiny ones (there were several there ranging from 1-2 who were tiny) what to do.

The toddlers watched the older kids, copied what they were doing. They smiled a lot--at each other and at the older kids. They also wanted to do whatever the others were doing.

Little kids look to older kids as role-models. We knew that. But what we might not have known is that it’s an innate reaction. And, from my observation, the weight the toddler gave the other kids grew significantly more important to those closest to them. Not in space or distance, but in relation.

One toddler paid particular attention to her older sister. One older boy (about 9) paid particular attention to his older sister.

Now some might say the reason is the toddler best knows them. But what I witnessed went far beyond that. It went to the bond between them. Private smiles, shining eyes, a lifted brow, an “I know, I know” look. And a frown initiated an immediate reaction. The non-verbal language between the kids was amazing. Absolutely amazing.

And that’s the point of this post. If you write, and you include children in your work, do stop and fade into the woodwork and just observe them. Observe how they interact with adults--those they know and those they do not. Observe their interactions with older kids--known and unknown. Observe their interactions with kids their own age--known and unknown. And observe them when they’re alone. Kids are animated when alone.

You’ll see that many things you believed were learned behaviors are actually innate reactions. That little ones’ cries have a multitude of meanings--and they all sound very different. Hurt, frustration, hunger and wants--no two sound the same.

You’ll see that you might have a dozen mothers of toddlers in the same vicinity, but a baby’s voice or cry perks the appropriate mom’s attention. She’s that attuned--and she knows what kind of cry she’s hearing.

And in gleaming eyes and wide open smiles and unrestrained laughter, you’ll have the privilege of seeing joy in its purest form.

Once you do, you will write differently about children. You’ll write them from the inside out.

Blessings,

Vicki