I've been getting a lot of questions focused on pacing lately, so I thought I'd share my article on it in the blog forum... It addresses the questions asked, and more. Hope it helps!
PACING
©2000-2008, Vicki Hinze
For a moment, let's pretend that the words we write on the page are sounds. If all the sounds are the same, then we have monotone. Monotone puts us to sleep, bores us to tears, turns us off--and if it goes on for any length of time--ticks us off.
We can't get emotionally involved with monotone because every single word
holds equal emphasis to every other single word. No sentence, paragraph, scene, or chapter bears more weight or is more intense than any other sentence, paragraph, scene, or chapter. The result is that the work is flat, dull, and boring. When writing it, we aren't actively engaged or enthused; we're writing on autopilot. That means when the reader reads, they're not going to be actively engaged or enthused, and they'll be reading it on autopilot. The reader can't get out of a book what the author doesn't put into the book. It's that simple. Autopilot translates to catching zzzs, snoozing.
Why? Because nothing is different. Nothing grabs us, insisting that we pay
attention and get involved. Nothing commands us, dares us to look away, or challenges us to keep reading to see what happens.
Our book is a victim of lousy pacing.
Words on a page don't create audible sounds, but they do create rhythms, and
those rhythms are active in the reader's mind. This is why the writer must learn to effectively manipulate the story's pacing--so that we writers invite and encourage and allow the reader to get emotionally involved in the story.
Every novel has a natural rhythm. A sweeping saga set in the South might be
slow and easy. But there will be times during the course of the novel that the pacing must speed up and move like the wind. Otherwise, the reader is going to become anesthetized and doze through the book. We don't want that. So let's begin at the beginning and learn how to prevent it.
First, let's talk about what pacing is.
Pacing is the rhythm of the novel, of the chapters and scenes and paragraphs
and sentences. It's also the rate at which the reader reads, the speed at which novel events occur and unfold. It's using specific word choices and sentence structure--scene, chapter, and novel structure--to tap the emotions of the reader so that the reader feels what the writer wants the reader to feel at any given time during the story.
In the movie, The American President, the female protagonist meets with a senator for dinner. It is her job to get his vote on a fuel fossil bill her employer wants passed. The senator comments that, if she's successful, she'll success herself right out of a job. She shoots back with a swift, "On election day, the voters think what I tell them to think. That's why I have a job."
In essence, that's the writer's perspective on pacing. You work the words,
the scenes, the chapters, until the reader thinks and feels what you want them to think and feel about events occurring in the novel.
Now, just as a novel's rhythm can't be monotone, neither can a chapter, nor a
scene, nor sentences within a scene. Take a look at the structure in one short paragraph:
Subject/predicate. Subject/predicate. Subject/predicate.
Reminds us a little of the drone of a jungle drum, doesn't it? No variance
in the rhythm whatsoever. How long do you think it would take a reader to hear that drone before going on autopilot? Not long. But make a slight variation:
Subject/predicate. Predicate/subject. Subject/predicate.
Now, you've got a different rhythm going. The drone disappears. The reader
might not consciously note the change of rhythm, but it won't subconsciously put him to sleep.
In manipulating the pacing, there are times when the writer wants to slow
things down or to speed them up. But when do you do which?
Let's start with slowing down the pacing.
SLOW THE PACING:
* When you want to place emphasis on something. For example, in a book I just finished, the protagonist makes her Uncle Lou's spaghetti sauce whenever she's upset. When this is introduced, I slow the pacing down by showing her actually making the sauce and by adding details. Spices, the smell of the sweet basil, that she bakes the meatballs before putting them into the sauce.
The reader senses that the protagonist making this sauce is important due to the treatment (attention) given it. The hero senses it, too. He realizes that, contrary to his belief that she's calm and unaffected by events, she needs comfort. Her Uncle Lou's sauce is her comfort food. (Knowing this--that she needs comfort—relieves and comforts the hero, helping to alleviate some of his doubts about her.)
Later in the book, when the protagonist says she's going to the kitchen, the hero intuits that she's upset and asks, "To make Uncle Lou's sauce?" When she says yes, the hero and the reader knows this is significant--a bond of trust in the admission.
And later still in the book, in keeping with the Rule of Three, the heroine and hero make Uncle Lou's sauce for a child who has been traumatized and needs comfort.
The emphasis given the act of making the sauce initially cues the reader that this event is significant. The later scenes don't require that reinforcement, only the mention, because both the characters and the reader is aware and attuned to the significance. By layering in details, you lend emphasis and significance to a novel incident. You also slow the pacing.
* After a dramatic, active scene. A reader can't sustain intense emotion indefinitely. No human being can. To feel intensely, we also have to not feel intensely. It's the old "you don't know you're on a hill unless you've trudged through the valley" phenomenon.
Likewise, if the writer keeps the suspense taut for too long at a time, then the reader gets worn out. Emotionally, her natural defense mechanisms engage and she shuts down. It's important for the writer to understand that when those defense mechanisms engage, they act like a safety shield, giving the reader a safe haven in which to recover. Hidden behind that shield, the reader no longer feels immediacy or intensity. She no longer feels anything.
Give your reader those moments of spiked intensity. But also give her a chance to catch her breath. We need hills and valleys, and you control which is which in your pacing.
* When you want to expand the emotional impact.
A good example of a time when a writer wants to expand the emotional impact is in a romance novel during a love scene. Here, the writer wants to slow the pacing down, to be generous with descriptive writing.
Another example is in extremely intense situations.
Have you ever been in a car accident? The moment arrives when you know you're about to be hit. Time slows down. Seconds seem hours long. You wait, and wait, and wait, and finally . . . impact.
Now, the moments before the actual crash are no longer or shorter than any other moment, and yet they seem to go on forever. The reason why is because you are so intently focused on waiting for the impact.
Conversely, during these intense moments, you can't think. I mention this because I'm still getting contest entries to judge where the character is in the middle of a crisis and pauses to think back to some event that occurred years ago. Human beings, just don't do that. When in crisis, the crisis consumes our thoughts. That's what we focus on. Rarely does any human being think deep thoughts in the middle of a crisis.
But we do note specific, concrete details that seem larger than life. Let’s use the car accident to illustrate. We know we can't escape being hit. During the wait, we might slam on the brakes and note the tires squealing. We might note smoke churning from them. We might smell the tires burning rubber. But we don't think about someone else's accident that occurred ten years ago.
I want to remark that I disagree with the next "slow down the pacing when" concept, and I'll deviate to explain why. But in researching for this, I did come across this recommendation by several different experts, so I'm including it.
* When you want to shift time, distance, or space.
Authors Robie Macauley and George Lanning say that writers function under "special laws of relativity" which allow them to make shifts in time and space. Writers can "condense, compress, or expand" time and space to best suit the needs of their stories. They can also use these special laws to determine what emphasis they place on specific scenes within the story, or specific incidents within the scenes.
It's said that if, in the story, a writer intends to:
1. Reveal dominate character traits
2. Heighten the dramatic impact of a scene
3. Introduce events that are pivotal (either in character or motivation)
then those scenes should be "shown" versus "told." What isn't essential to "show" the reader, the writer can incorporate into the novel in the form of lively narrative.
Narrative slows the pacing.
Now actively showing an event doesn't mean the writer should show every action in every active scene. To do so would be like using "real" conversation versus dialogue. Much of real conversation is inane and unessential to moving the plot forward, so writers edit it out. Same holds true for "every action" writing in active scenes. The writer must, through craft skills and instincts, select which actions and details are significant to the story--to establish tone, setting; plant symbolic articles--and to show them. Insignificant actions, edit out.
For every rule there is an exception, so I state no rules. But I do state this suggestion, which opposes the concept of slowing the pacing when shifting time, distance, or space: When you encounter mundane stretches of time or distance, use a transition to move past them quickly. If nothing important to the story happens during these times or travels, why show it?
Why give novel space to something that misleads the reader into thinking this information is important?
Result? The reader remembers the character driving from Point A to Point B. Nothing happened during that drive, but it must be significant or it wouldn't have been there. So the reader reads on, waiting for the significance to become apparent. But it never does. The reader thinks the writer forgot to tie up that loose thread. Or, s/he might not specifically pinpoint the reason, but feels a dissatisfaction with the book. This is why I disagree with slowing the pacing during shifts. Transition, and then move on.
There has to be a balance between narrative and active scenes in the novel.
Too much narrative and the pacing drags. Too little and the active scenes lose authority because an abundance of inconsequential details are included and the reader gets mired in them.
How much of each—narrative and active scenes—should go into the novel depends on the individual book. What balance might be right for a mystery won't be right for a saga, a romance, a thriller. Even within genre, the novel's natural rhythm and pacing must be respected. Some stories demand that they unfold at breakneck speed. Others require a slower disclosure.
The novel itself dictates.
Regardless, within the novel, it is the writer's job to vary the pacing, placing emphasis on that which is of consequence to the characters, the story, and the reader.
* Flashbacks slow down the pacing. Actually, flashbacks bring the forward momentum of the novel to a dead halt. The reason why is, we transition from the present into the past, and the present then ceases to exist until we return to it.
Flashbacks carry danger. The writer runs the risks of:
+ The flashback lasting too long
+ The flashback breaking the forward momentum of the present plot for such a time that the reader can't reconnect to it
+ The flashback’s past story becoming more interesting to the reader than the present story.
Often writers include flashbacks that do nothing to enhance or reinforce the present story. Obviously, those flashbacks are useless and should be cut during editing. Any flashback allowed to remain in the novel should fit the present story like glove to hand, adding some insight, something significant.
What are some techniques for slowing down the pacing?
Use long, flowing sentences, soft-sounding verbs, descriptions that are steeped in sensory input and rich in texture and sound. This evokes an appropriate emotional response in the reader. One of quiet, calm, serenity—great for those resting times in sequels!
Layering details, one upon the other, places emphasis on what is being described and slows down the pacing.
Long blocks of narrative or description—even those engagingly written with positively sparkling prose—slow down the pacing. Personally, I advise against long blocks of narrative. They aren't visually appealing to the reader, and they stop the forward movement of the plot.
Instead, break that long block into small chunks of two or three sentences each. Then insert those chunks at points in the story when the reader needs the information contained in the chunk in order for what is happening in the novel at that time to make sense. By the time the reader notes the forward movement has stopped (at the insert of the two-or-three-sentence chunks), she's read them and the plot is moving forward again. Not so with long, uninterrupted blocks of narrative.
SPEED UP THE PACING
* Dialogue speeds up the pacing. It gives the illusion of action, and that illusion moves the reader forward more quickly than does narrative.
* Lean writing. The lack of embellishment (adjectives, adverbs) causes the reading speed to increase, which moves the story along at a good clip.
* When writing dramatic or action-packed scenes. In dramatic situations, or intently active ones, the pacing must be brisk to help carry the right emotional impact. Here, long sentences or paragraphs won’t work. They’ll bog down the action, negate any compelling sensation from the drama you’re trying to build, and destroy compatibility between the tone conveyed and the one you intended to convey--all of which weaken the potency of the work.
What are some Techniques for speeding up the pacing?
Speed up the pacing by using short paragraphs. Spare sentences; no wasted words.
Use crisp, sharp verbs that sound hard. Think, short and punchy.
Use sentence fragments. The reader reads fragments faster. That imparts a sense of urgency the reader senses at gut-level, which evokes an emotional response—a quickening pulse, a worried gasp, a shiver.
Pacing can be manipulated and it should be--to best serve the story. If you looked at the story’s pacing on a graph, it would resemble an askew EKG. The rhythms wouldn’t be uniform. But there would be definite rhythms.
As a story progresses, the intensity should grow stronger. The obstacles become more difficult, the setbacks and consequences of the characters failure to fulfill their novel goals are harder to overcome.
This constantly growing "intensity" is why so often you’ll see books published where the early chapters are longer and more dense, and later chapters are shorter and more dramatic.
As the characters/readers move through the novel, they pitch and roll. Take two steps forward, and one back. Climb a little higher, and then stumble again. And on each successive attempt, it’s harder to climb and they meet with more resistance—inside and out (internal and external conflicts). But they keep going and, at the moment when it seems they (which has become "we" because the author has succeeded in accomplishing reader identification by using our emotions and we now feel "we" are the characters) can’t succeed—we’re body-slammed—and then the unthinkable happens. We find the key to the forgotten door that was foreshadowed earlier in the novel. We use the key, and struggle . . . and struggle . . . and, finally, we taste success.
A writer relies on skill to develop the right pacing for each individual project. But also relies on instinct. On the author’s inner ear that tests the rhythm to make sure the flow has the right sound and intuitive feel.
At times, instinct and learned skills will be at odds. Go with your instincts.
There isn’t a writing rule that hasn’t been successfully broken. The trick is in knowing them, and knowing when to break them. Knowing when to shift and speed up or slow down your novel’s pacing.*
FYI NOTE: Earlier, I mentioned Uncle Lou's spaghetti sauce in All Due Respect and the significance of it to the heroine's character and referenced "The Rule of Three." If you’re not familiar with this rule and would like to be, there’s an article on it in my website Library (www.vickihinze.com).
Tags: pacing, authors, novelists, writing craft, writers, writer's library, writer's blogs, thriller novelists, story structure, romance writer, psychic distance, novel elements, novels
Showing posts with label story structure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story structure. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Are You a Candle or a Mirror?
On awakening, like everyone else, I have my rituals. One of them is to read from the Bible and then to pull a quote for the day and reflect on how the two--the reading and the quote--interrelate. The quote for today is:
"There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." -Edith Wharton
There are a lot of ways to look at that quote. And I expect one sees in it what they're looking for at the time. Today, my interpretation of it is that we're all both candles and mirrors at different points in time on different issues and in different situations.
I think that's a good thing. When we're capable of creating paths (whether we really want to walk them or we feel compelled to walk them for the greater good), of doing things that need doing (pleasant or not), or we take action to make situations better, we're the candle.
When we are the candle, we emit light into shadows and darkness and others see it and find their way or reflect it, emulating us, like mirrors. When your children mimic your actions. If you ask them for something and always say thank you, then they automatically do, too. When you treat others with respect, conduct yourself with dignity and grace, then others are more apt to treat you that way, as well. Not certain to, but more apt to. With free will, that's the best you can do: be responsible for yourself.
When you're the candle, you choose what light you cast. Knowing others reflect it, you should aspire to have it be the best you have to give.
When others are the candle and we act in harmony with them, then we are the mirror that reflects their light. This is why it is so important to choose those you surround yourself with carefully. If the light they cast is negative, harmful, hurtful--either inflicted directly or condoned--then you reflect it. If it is positive and constructive and helpful--either inflicted directly or condoned--then you reflect it.
When you're the mirror--and at times we all are--then you don't choose good or bad, right or wrong, negative or positive, or destructive or constructive. You simply reflect.
I'm being nudged this morning to write this post, and I never question spiritual nudgings. But this reads like a lecture on life, and I guess when you get down to it, it is. Yet like everything else it does apply to writing.
Writing is all about characters--people--and if you don't believe that, take Scarlet and Rhett out of GONE WITH THE WIND and see what you've got left. Since writing is about people, it is a mirror that reflects light.
Which makes the point of this that every author is a candle. And all the fiction the author produces is a mirror that reflects the light from her candle. That is a compass for authors to consider the impact of what they write. To consider the light they emit that others will mirror and reflect.
Carrying this one step further, solely into the fictional world, the characters are candles or mirrors, too. As writers, we serve them well by remembering that.
I hope this helps--and that you all have a glorious day filled with joy and many...
Blessings,
Vicki
P.S. Because I know someone is going to ask, I'll just answer the why question now.
I get these nudges often, and when I do, I heed them and post. Without fail, someone who gains some something from the post emails to say so. That's held true in all the ten years (or whatever it's been now) that I've done this. At first, I considered it coincidence. Now I accept that in these posts, I'm not the candle. I'm a mirror. :)
"There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." -Edith Wharton
There are a lot of ways to look at that quote. And I expect one sees in it what they're looking for at the time. Today, my interpretation of it is that we're all both candles and mirrors at different points in time on different issues and in different situations.
I think that's a good thing. When we're capable of creating paths (whether we really want to walk them or we feel compelled to walk them for the greater good), of doing things that need doing (pleasant or not), or we take action to make situations better, we're the candle.
When we are the candle, we emit light into shadows and darkness and others see it and find their way or reflect it, emulating us, like mirrors. When your children mimic your actions. If you ask them for something and always say thank you, then they automatically do, too. When you treat others with respect, conduct yourself with dignity and grace, then others are more apt to treat you that way, as well. Not certain to, but more apt to. With free will, that's the best you can do: be responsible for yourself.
When you're the candle, you choose what light you cast. Knowing others reflect it, you should aspire to have it be the best you have to give.
When others are the candle and we act in harmony with them, then we are the mirror that reflects their light. This is why it is so important to choose those you surround yourself with carefully. If the light they cast is negative, harmful, hurtful--either inflicted directly or condoned--then you reflect it. If it is positive and constructive and helpful--either inflicted directly or condoned--then you reflect it.
When you're the mirror--and at times we all are--then you don't choose good or bad, right or wrong, negative or positive, or destructive or constructive. You simply reflect.
I'm being nudged this morning to write this post, and I never question spiritual nudgings. But this reads like a lecture on life, and I guess when you get down to it, it is. Yet like everything else it does apply to writing.
Writing is all about characters--people--and if you don't believe that, take Scarlet and Rhett out of GONE WITH THE WIND and see what you've got left. Since writing is about people, it is a mirror that reflects light.
Which makes the point of this that every author is a candle. And all the fiction the author produces is a mirror that reflects the light from her candle. That is a compass for authors to consider the impact of what they write. To consider the light they emit that others will mirror and reflect.
Carrying this one step further, solely into the fictional world, the characters are candles or mirrors, too. As writers, we serve them well by remembering that.
I hope this helps--and that you all have a glorious day filled with joy and many...
Blessings,
Vicki
P.S. Because I know someone is going to ask, I'll just answer the why question now.
I get these nudges often, and when I do, I heed them and post. Without fail, someone who gains some something from the post emails to say so. That's held true in all the ten years (or whatever it's been now) that I've done this. At first, I considered it coincidence. Now I accept that in these posts, I'm not the candle. I'm a mirror. :)
Thursday, September 13, 2007
BUILD A CHARACTER CAST
Inspiration for books strikes us in different ways:
1. Theme/Statement
2. Plot
3. People
Which comes first doesn’t matter much, provided the author ties the other two ways to it.
Why? Because these three things weave together with Setting and other story elements to make a tapestry--a book. And if they don’t interweave so the threads fit together, well, you won’t have much of a tapestry.
So it’s beneficial to you to develop these elements simultaneously.
For example, in HER PERFECT LIFE, the statement (or reason I wanted to write the book) was to bring to readers’ attention what serving our country can cost the people who do it, those they love and those who live them.
How do I build a protagonist to convey that message?
I chose a female POW. She demonstrated the costs, and helped define the plot: a female pilot crashes, is deemed dead but is taken POW for 6 years. She had a perfect life--all she wanted: a husband, two kids and a great copilot.
Now the story could have gone a lot of ways, depending on what theme or statement I wanted to make. I didn’t want to write about her as a POW, I wanted to write the costs of service. So In Chapter 1, she was rescued. And the rest of the book deals with her coming home, her husband being remarried to a great woman her kids love. She’s a stranger to the kids. And all that was in her perfect life--family, home, career--it’s all gone. Now what?
And that’s where real character development begins.
Remember that characters are admirable people we want to emulate. They’re not like us; they’re like the people we want to be. They do the right thing, or the wrong thing for the right reason--and that includes the antagonist. Even if he’s psychotic, he feels totally justified in what he’s doing. He might be warped, but he doesn’t see that, just as none of us see ourselves as bad people. He sees his actions as reasonable, logical, and maybe even noble.
You build a character based on need--not yours. The story’s. Every choice made, every idea pondered, every single thing you elect to include in the book, you include because it best serves the story.
Anything that fails to meet that test, you ditch. No matter how funny, no matter how strongly it resonates with you, no matter if the rhythm and sheer beauty of the words just sets you aflutter. Ditch it. Be ruthless. Only what best serves the story stays.
Characters, like people, need to be three-dimensional. Physical, Emotional, Spiritual.
Physical: What the character physical looks like. What abilities and skills does s/he need to be able to do what s/he must do in the story? (To be credible, s/he must be capable. This holds true for protagonists and antagonists. Make them strong, wise, sharp, clever--this way they can carry a lot of story weight.)
Where did s/he get those skills? Where do most people with those skills live, or where are they likely to be? (Now, your character has a history--and you’ve got a setting.)
What does the character’s name say about her/him? Is it a name common to the area s/he’s from? Where s/he is now, in the story? What is that community like? Is there a strong, say German influence? Or Hispanic influence? How does that impact your character?
All of these things are defining the physical attributes of the character--and far more. You’re putting flesh and muscles on the bones.
Emotional: Taking into consideration all the above physical aspects, you have also gone a long way to define the emotional demeanor of your character. To do this job, in this place, with this kind of history and experience, this person is apt to have this type of emotional makeup. Coping skills, what s/he loves and hates and fears. What s/he wants--goals and motivations (which you will use as story conflicts). And who is trying to keep him/her from reaching those goals? There’s your antagonist.
Ask why s/he is trying to stop the heroine and you’ve got his/her motivation. And that goes a long way toward defining what he’s like physically and emotionally.
Using opposites works. If he’s an arson investigator, then she’s an arsonist. If the protagonist wants to ban guns, the antagonist is a collector. If the protagonist wants to save the world, then the antagonist wants to destroy it,
Why does opposites work? Because it creates conflict that spontaneously combusts. The opponents are opponents the second they appear.
So what kind of temperament, attitudes and demeanor is the main person who is for and against what you, the author, have to say that you want others to hear? Answer that, and you’ve defined your characters’ emotional states, and honed the definitions on their physical designs.
Spiritual; These people in this situation, in this emotional state are apt to draw on these traits and beliefs. I’m not talking about religion, though that can be part of the definition of this. What belief does your character ascribe to, what philosophy of life. Does s/he believe in truth? If so, does s/he believe truth is immutable, or that you shape and mold it? Does s/he live in black and white? Or in vivid color? In shades of gray?
An example: “One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.” Not sure who first said it, but which label a person wears depends on who’s assigning the label. How that person sees himself relates to his spiritual side.
Strong characters, ones we remember, are three-dimensional and have aspects of all three dimensions: physical, emotional and spiritual.
Not only is this essential for crafting a credible story, it’s mandatory for making a reader care.
Look to how we react to books. We might feel drawn to its subject or to where it is set. We might even be drawn to its horror, but we emotionally react to its characters.
Would Harry Potter hold the same appeal if Harry weren’t Harry?
Would Gone With the Wind be as strong without Scarlett or Rhett? Would the story be the same if Melanie were the heroine?
No, on Harry. No, on Scarlett and Rhett. And no on Melanie--that’d be a totally different story.
We love characters, or love to hate them, because we identify with them. In them, we see shards of ourselves, reflections of who we are and what we want--why we want it--and who we want to be.
If we don’t identify with the characters, we do not care what happens to them. If we don’t care what happens to them, we aren’t going to enjoy the book. It’s that simple.
Remember, authors write for a purpose and with purpose. To do so effectively, the reader needs to bond with the characters or you don’t have the right vehicle to convey your message or statement. This is true, even if that purpose is to entertain.
A quick look at Secondary Characters. You create every secondary character in your book to serve a specific story purpose. Maybe s/he is a confidant to the protagonist, a mentor or someone who undermines and assists the antagonist. Know the purpose. What s/he must do in the story helps define who s/he is.
Now that you know what must be done, look for ways to combine these actions. Instead of having three different people do one thing, have one person do three.
My rule of thumb is to kill every secondary character I can possibly kill. If they won’t die, then I let them live. They’ve proven they’ve earned their space in the novel.
What they must do defines who they are, and what attributes and shortcomings they need to be well-rounded, developed characters. They too should be physical, emotional and spiritual human beings. And its through those three dimensions that you create highly individual, real-to-life people instead of cardboard characters.
THAT BRINGS US TO SUBPLOTS
You know what you, the author, wants to say. You know who is going to say it and, if you’ve developed your secondary characters, then you’ve also gone a long way to define your plot and setting. So your book is a vehicle, and its occupants are all on board.
Your plot is the windshield. It’s where you’re going. But that doesn’t make subplots side-trips or back seats. Subplots are more like your car’s rearview and side mirrors.
A rearview is smaller, and what you see through it is a reflection. That’s what a subplot is to a plot. It mirrors or echoes the plot. It relates, it’s interesting and compelling and it stays in secondary position to the plot.
The minute your subplot becomes more interesting or intriguing than your plot, it becomes the plot and your previous plot becomes subplot. Proportion speaks to importance. Importance is designated by story space. Space is premium, and you give only what an event has earned. So significant events and people get a larger share of space than secondary people and events. Plot gets more space than subplots.
Subplots strengthen and reinforce plots. They brace, add deeper dimension, greater understanding. They express motivations, which are often unstated otherwise, or create more significant obstacles than we deemed apparent initially.
For example. In WAR GAMES’ Body Double, the antagonist buries the protagonist in a tomb. She’s alive and he feels this will terrify her because he knows that her father used to beat her and lock her in a wooden box until her bruises healed, so looking at her didn’t offend him.
But he doesn’t know that the protagonist used to hide in the box to keep from getting beaten. It was the one place her father would never think to look for her.
Now, without that subplot being interwoven into the story, her being locked in a tomb wouldn’t hold the same level of significance. Her reaction wouldn’t have the same connotations, either. The subplot put down the foundation for the plot, strengthened it, reinforced it, and helped characterize the protagonist--and because he did this to her, it helped characterize the antagonist, too.
I’ve incorporated many of the lessons we’ve learned and the myths passed on about characters rather than setting them out on their own because of time constraints. If you’re not clear on that, then do a review of the archetypes and then look at unforgettable characters and note the things they have in common. Equally important, notice the attributes that are absent.
One last bit of advice in building your character cast. Love them all--protagonist or antagonist, primary character or secondary. If you do, it shows in the work on a level that is nearly subliminal. It infuses the work with layers you don’t often realize are there until much later. It’s almost magical, the way relevant tidbits appear and insert themselves.
Conversely, if you don’t love them and respect them, then that shows, too. And your magic becomes a nightmare.
Building story people takes time and effort, but the investment is the kind of thing that makes readers stand in line for hours to get “the next book” or read what the author wrote long after the author is no longer here.
Remember, there’s power in the pen. Power to captivate, convince, entertain and open closed minds. The story itself doesn’t do those things; the characters the author has built to live that story does, and those characters have the power to change lives. ❧
Note:
here are a lot of articles in my online library for writers at www.vickihinze.com on character and character development. One you should definitely look at is: Creating Unforgettable Characters. You might also take a look at the articles on Dialogue, because how we say what we say characterizes us, too.
There are a lot of different articles on characterization. You should also review the in depth series on Plot and The Fictional Dream.
The series on plotting contains more specific information along with examples on subplots.
Be aware that I went through a “goofy title” phase and so articles like Sunshine and Diamonds are on character, too. It seemed like a good idea at the time...
Blessings,
Vicki
Vicki Hinze
©2007
Printable PDF: How-To Build a Character Cast.pdf
1. Theme/Statement
2. Plot
3. People
Which comes first doesn’t matter much, provided the author ties the other two ways to it.
Why? Because these three things weave together with Setting and other story elements to make a tapestry--a book. And if they don’t interweave so the threads fit together, well, you won’t have much of a tapestry.
So it’s beneficial to you to develop these elements simultaneously.
For example, in HER PERFECT LIFE, the statement (or reason I wanted to write the book) was to bring to readers’ attention what serving our country can cost the people who do it, those they love and those who live them.
How do I build a protagonist to convey that message?
I chose a female POW. She demonstrated the costs, and helped define the plot: a female pilot crashes, is deemed dead but is taken POW for 6 years. She had a perfect life--all she wanted: a husband, two kids and a great copilot.
Now the story could have gone a lot of ways, depending on what theme or statement I wanted to make. I didn’t want to write about her as a POW, I wanted to write the costs of service. So In Chapter 1, she was rescued. And the rest of the book deals with her coming home, her husband being remarried to a great woman her kids love. She’s a stranger to the kids. And all that was in her perfect life--family, home, career--it’s all gone. Now what?
And that’s where real character development begins.
Remember that characters are admirable people we want to emulate. They’re not like us; they’re like the people we want to be. They do the right thing, or the wrong thing for the right reason--and that includes the antagonist. Even if he’s psychotic, he feels totally justified in what he’s doing. He might be warped, but he doesn’t see that, just as none of us see ourselves as bad people. He sees his actions as reasonable, logical, and maybe even noble.
You build a character based on need--not yours. The story’s. Every choice made, every idea pondered, every single thing you elect to include in the book, you include because it best serves the story.
Anything that fails to meet that test, you ditch. No matter how funny, no matter how strongly it resonates with you, no matter if the rhythm and sheer beauty of the words just sets you aflutter. Ditch it. Be ruthless. Only what best serves the story stays.
Characters, like people, need to be three-dimensional. Physical, Emotional, Spiritual.
Physical: What the character physical looks like. What abilities and skills does s/he need to be able to do what s/he must do in the story? (To be credible, s/he must be capable. This holds true for protagonists and antagonists. Make them strong, wise, sharp, clever--this way they can carry a lot of story weight.)
Where did s/he get those skills? Where do most people with those skills live, or where are they likely to be? (Now, your character has a history--and you’ve got a setting.)
What does the character’s name say about her/him? Is it a name common to the area s/he’s from? Where s/he is now, in the story? What is that community like? Is there a strong, say German influence? Or Hispanic influence? How does that impact your character?
All of these things are defining the physical attributes of the character--and far more. You’re putting flesh and muscles on the bones.
Emotional: Taking into consideration all the above physical aspects, you have also gone a long way to define the emotional demeanor of your character. To do this job, in this place, with this kind of history and experience, this person is apt to have this type of emotional makeup. Coping skills, what s/he loves and hates and fears. What s/he wants--goals and motivations (which you will use as story conflicts). And who is trying to keep him/her from reaching those goals? There’s your antagonist.
Ask why s/he is trying to stop the heroine and you’ve got his/her motivation. And that goes a long way toward defining what he’s like physically and emotionally.
Using opposites works. If he’s an arson investigator, then she’s an arsonist. If the protagonist wants to ban guns, the antagonist is a collector. If the protagonist wants to save the world, then the antagonist wants to destroy it,
Why does opposites work? Because it creates conflict that spontaneously combusts. The opponents are opponents the second they appear.
So what kind of temperament, attitudes and demeanor is the main person who is for and against what you, the author, have to say that you want others to hear? Answer that, and you’ve defined your characters’ emotional states, and honed the definitions on their physical designs.
Spiritual; These people in this situation, in this emotional state are apt to draw on these traits and beliefs. I’m not talking about religion, though that can be part of the definition of this. What belief does your character ascribe to, what philosophy of life. Does s/he believe in truth? If so, does s/he believe truth is immutable, or that you shape and mold it? Does s/he live in black and white? Or in vivid color? In shades of gray?
An example: “One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.” Not sure who first said it, but which label a person wears depends on who’s assigning the label. How that person sees himself relates to his spiritual side.
Strong characters, ones we remember, are three-dimensional and have aspects of all three dimensions: physical, emotional and spiritual.
Not only is this essential for crafting a credible story, it’s mandatory for making a reader care.
Look to how we react to books. We might feel drawn to its subject or to where it is set. We might even be drawn to its horror, but we emotionally react to its characters.
Would Harry Potter hold the same appeal if Harry weren’t Harry?
Would Gone With the Wind be as strong without Scarlett or Rhett? Would the story be the same if Melanie were the heroine?
No, on Harry. No, on Scarlett and Rhett. And no on Melanie--that’d be a totally different story.
We love characters, or love to hate them, because we identify with them. In them, we see shards of ourselves, reflections of who we are and what we want--why we want it--and who we want to be.
If we don’t identify with the characters, we do not care what happens to them. If we don’t care what happens to them, we aren’t going to enjoy the book. It’s that simple.
Remember, authors write for a purpose and with purpose. To do so effectively, the reader needs to bond with the characters or you don’t have the right vehicle to convey your message or statement. This is true, even if that purpose is to entertain.
A quick look at Secondary Characters. You create every secondary character in your book to serve a specific story purpose. Maybe s/he is a confidant to the protagonist, a mentor or someone who undermines and assists the antagonist. Know the purpose. What s/he must do in the story helps define who s/he is.
Now that you know what must be done, look for ways to combine these actions. Instead of having three different people do one thing, have one person do three.
My rule of thumb is to kill every secondary character I can possibly kill. If they won’t die, then I let them live. They’ve proven they’ve earned their space in the novel.
What they must do defines who they are, and what attributes and shortcomings they need to be well-rounded, developed characters. They too should be physical, emotional and spiritual human beings. And its through those three dimensions that you create highly individual, real-to-life people instead of cardboard characters.
THAT BRINGS US TO SUBPLOTS
You know what you, the author, wants to say. You know who is going to say it and, if you’ve developed your secondary characters, then you’ve also gone a long way to define your plot and setting. So your book is a vehicle, and its occupants are all on board.
Your plot is the windshield. It’s where you’re going. But that doesn’t make subplots side-trips or back seats. Subplots are more like your car’s rearview and side mirrors.
A rearview is smaller, and what you see through it is a reflection. That’s what a subplot is to a plot. It mirrors or echoes the plot. It relates, it’s interesting and compelling and it stays in secondary position to the plot.
The minute your subplot becomes more interesting or intriguing than your plot, it becomes the plot and your previous plot becomes subplot. Proportion speaks to importance. Importance is designated by story space. Space is premium, and you give only what an event has earned. So significant events and people get a larger share of space than secondary people and events. Plot gets more space than subplots.
Subplots strengthen and reinforce plots. They brace, add deeper dimension, greater understanding. They express motivations, which are often unstated otherwise, or create more significant obstacles than we deemed apparent initially.
For example. In WAR GAMES’ Body Double, the antagonist buries the protagonist in a tomb. She’s alive and he feels this will terrify her because he knows that her father used to beat her and lock her in a wooden box until her bruises healed, so looking at her didn’t offend him.
But he doesn’t know that the protagonist used to hide in the box to keep from getting beaten. It was the one place her father would never think to look for her.
Now, without that subplot being interwoven into the story, her being locked in a tomb wouldn’t hold the same level of significance. Her reaction wouldn’t have the same connotations, either. The subplot put down the foundation for the plot, strengthened it, reinforced it, and helped characterize the protagonist--and because he did this to her, it helped characterize the antagonist, too.
I’ve incorporated many of the lessons we’ve learned and the myths passed on about characters rather than setting them out on their own because of time constraints. If you’re not clear on that, then do a review of the archetypes and then look at unforgettable characters and note the things they have in common. Equally important, notice the attributes that are absent.
One last bit of advice in building your character cast. Love them all--protagonist or antagonist, primary character or secondary. If you do, it shows in the work on a level that is nearly subliminal. It infuses the work with layers you don’t often realize are there until much later. It’s almost magical, the way relevant tidbits appear and insert themselves.
Conversely, if you don’t love them and respect them, then that shows, too. And your magic becomes a nightmare.
Building story people takes time and effort, but the investment is the kind of thing that makes readers stand in line for hours to get “the next book” or read what the author wrote long after the author is no longer here.
Remember, there’s power in the pen. Power to captivate, convince, entertain and open closed minds. The story itself doesn’t do those things; the characters the author has built to live that story does, and those characters have the power to change lives. ❧
Note:
here are a lot of articles in my online library for writers at www.vickihinze.com on character and character development. One you should definitely look at is: Creating Unforgettable Characters. You might also take a look at the articles on Dialogue, because how we say what we say characterizes us, too.
There are a lot of different articles on characterization. You should also review the in depth series on Plot and The Fictional Dream.
The series on plotting contains more specific information along with examples on subplots.
Be aware that I went through a “goofy title” phase and so articles like Sunshine and Diamonds are on character, too. It seemed like a good idea at the time...
Blessings,
Vicki
Vicki Hinze
©2007
Printable PDF: How-To Build a Character Cast.pdf
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