Stories Need Their Obstacles

After a quiet, snow-filled Thanksgiving weekend, I reentered the world a little worn down and more than likely with some kind of bug. This is not how I wanted to start off my December, but let's be honest: what we want and what we get are rarely the same thing. However, when life gives you lemons... fall on a cliché. So I am going to offer a few notes on why we need our stories to have obstacles.

If I read a biography of, say, President Lincoln, and it covers the Civil War era, I know how it's going to end. If I watch a movie about someone famous, I kind of know they are going to succeed. This is an inherent problem with a lot of stories - there is a baked-in knowledge that the person makes it through. And if the main character is guaranteed to survive and make it to the end, what's the point? Well, that part is where the author has to really work their craft. In a well-written book about, say, Lincoln and the Civil War, the problems and setbacks should be showcased in a way that actually makes me think, "Oh no! They might lose the Battle of Gettysburg! How will the Union survive?" The adversity should become as real to the reader as it was to the Union Army. 

In case you are thinking, "Well, the story I am writing is good on its own; it doesn't need me to showcase the problems," you might want to reconsider. One thing about a character facing problems is that the reader gets to see how that character thinks, feels, and operates when confronting adversity. It is a great chance to invite the reader into the character's head and know them very intimately from their worst possible position. If I read about a character pursuing a goal and the obstacles just seem to rise then fall, why am I concerned about this character? Where is my investment in them? If I feel like everything is a foregone conclusion, then why am I reading this story?

The other part to remember is that obstacles and setbacks shape who the character will be when they reach the end of the story (I won't use the Lincoln metaphor this time for obvious reasons). If my goal is to write about a character's rise to power, and in the end they achieve power, that's great. However, the unknowns the reader will discover are things like how the journey changed the character, what they gained and what they lost, and who they ultimately became. If our character reaches the pinnacle of power but loses their attachment to people, or the journey corrupted them, or they are awash in regret, well, that's a big reveal for the reader to discover. 

Don't be afraid to put your character through trials and tribulations - they help the story and you can make sure the character makes it through. And, if your story is based on real-life events, dig into those events to turn them into things the reader experiences in their own way. Because even if the reader knows the story will end with a bad night at the theater, they will feel like they participated in the story.       

Our Writing Legacy

Recently, my brother brought over a box of miscellaneous family stuff that had once been in my father's possession. This meant that it could've been anything from either my father's or mother's side of the family, from any one of many generations. The only qualifiers were that it was something my father physically encountered, and it was something he decided to keep. Needless to say, there was a wide and varied amount of stuff in this box - even some things that were technically mine in the first place. However, few things were more interesting than two things he kept that my uncle sent to him maybe thirty years ago.

Uncle Charles, writer

These two things sent by my oldest uncle (now deceased) were manuscripts he wrote in the 1960s. My uncle sent them to my father - with edits - under the idea that maybe they could be published in one form or the other. One was a sixty-page treatise on pacifism during the Viet Nam War, with a lot of my uncle's beliefs poured into it. The other was a full manuscript telling the story (through thinly fictionalized narrative) of my uncle's time with the Flying Tigers during World War 2. These were amazing discoveries, though unfortunate in the timing since the author died almost twenty years ago and my father passed about 17 years ago, leaving no frame of reference for these writings. I couldn't ask them for explanations or clarity without a Ouija board, and even then the answers might be a little vague. All I have is the physical manuscripts, the edits written on the pages, and educated guesses as to what the final product should be.

Along with all this writing comes a significant dilemma - what to do about publishing these, even if just for the rest of the family. I genuinely do not know if his children knew about these works (they were just kids according to my calculations), or ever had a chance to read them. (That's the thing about writing something in the 1960s - you didn't just make a Word doc and send to everyone, you typed up a physical copy and that was pretty much it.) More to the point, I don't know if my uncle would want these stories to be produced for the family, if he was comfortable admitting to certain youthful transgressions, or if there was any disrespect publishing these posthumously - and therefore without his permission. Definitely a lot to think about.

My brother (who brought these things into my life) gave me some clarity in this concept. He reminded me that my uncle sent these stories for review by eyes other than his own, so they were no longer really secrets. "Once you tell someone something, you tell everyone that thing," is how my brother put it. And he reminded me that my uncle wrote all these stories down, for better or worse, with a thought about publishing them, so he must've been ready to spread the word. Might it be embarrassing for him to admit to that one time in the Regent Hotel? Maybe, but he wrote it out. Might everyone see through the fictionalizing narrative and know just who his different characters represented? Always a chance. But apparently he was ready, so I am taking them to press... soon enough.

The big takeaway from this is if you are writing some personal stories down, make a simple decision: Do you want these to go public, or are you writing them for your own catharsis? Either reason is perfectly viable, but remember that once you start sharing them, you open them and yourself to the world. This can be a freeing, liberating experience, and possibly very terrifying, so make your intentions very much known. And if you don't want them going around, remember that eventually, your nephew might just end up publishing them.  

Characters and Branding

In this space I've done plenty of discussion about character creation, and hopefully it's beneficial. However, aside from their many traits and quirks, characters need a few other things. A moral or ethical code is always important, a general worldview helps, and some kind of personal focal point of their interests/obsessions can always help shape them. However, one thing that every character needs is a brand, and it's one of those things that is not immediately obvious but makes the character stick.

Now when people think about brands they go to items - Coca-Cola or Green Giant frozen vegetables. Good brands indeed, but that's not exactly the point. The point is more that when we think about those items, something comes to mind immediately. Coca-Cola might evoke those somewhat-creepy CG polar bears, or perhaps people singing on a hilltop if you are of a slightly older generation. Green Giant has, of course, the Jolly Green Giant come to mind. Each brand gains a boost when they have something very identifiable about it, and when that goes both ways. If I hear the word, "gecko" I think of GEICO insurance, and if I hear GEICO, I think about their gecko mascot. It's more than brand recognition - it's like that connection is branded into my brain.

Relating this to your characters is a similar process, but their identifiable trait should be something used enough or mentioned to the point where readers hear it and think of the character, or when they think of the character, that trait comes to mind. It could be a catchphrase (think about how those show up throughout TV shows), a physical quirk like an eyepatch or an excessively loud necklace, or a habit they do much to everyone's irritation - cracking their knuckles comes to mind immediately (mostly because I do that to the chagrin of my friends). These become points of detail and association, and the reader slowly buys in.

The one catch about this branding trick is to not use it to excess, but rather using it strategically. After the brand is introduced, don't throw it around all the time. Constantly having the character cracking their knuckles might break from the story's flow. Rather, give it a purpose and meaning, and connect it to a specific condition. Does the character do this when they are concentrating? Nervous? Indecisive? Angry? Once they have that association, you train the reader to feel the connection - they read that the character is cracking their knuckles again, say at a poker table, and realize they are actually very nervous even if nobody else notices. The brand is established, and the reader now makes associations between character, action, and mood.

When you make up a character, step back and think for a moment about how you want that character to be remembered. Not the tragic hero or whatever, but what little thing would you love to connect to that character that triggers people like that damn gecko or those creepy polar bears? That should become your brand for them, and the rest should flow around it.

And yes, those bears always creep me out.      

It's All About the Final Product

When I worked in downtown Chicago, practically every day I had the privilege of passing by some part of Grant Park, just east of Michigan Avenue. Now, for those of you who don't know, Grant Park is this large stretch of property by Lake Michigan (technically by Monroe Harbor), stretching almost two miles north to south, replete with a bandshell, the Art Institute of Chicago, Buckingham Fountain, several monuments, and the Cloudgate sculpture, locally known as, "The Bean." Grant Park dates back to the 19th century (technically it got its name in 1901, but the park was there beforehand)  and has been as much a part of Chicago's identity as anything else. Underneath it is also one of the hubs of Chicago's commuter system, the trains a quiet little secret rumbling through the city. 

And this beautiful park is built atop a pile of trash.

Well, trash might be a rough word, but it's not wrong. Before 1871, Michigan Avenue ran right next to train lines then a lagoon that came in from Lake Michigan, so that was the boundary of the city. Then the Great Chicago Fire came along and changed everything. The area now known as the Loop was burned to the ground, and that entire stretch of the city had to be rebuilt. As a matter of convenience, all the wreckage from the city was just pushed across Michigan Avenue and into the lagoon, making it basically a huge gravesite for the former Chicago. This didn't help the lagoon much, so the rest was filled in as well, making it a lovely location for what became Grant Park. Under the surface - the wreckage from a terrible  tragedy. On top - a place for a picnic.

Now that I've offered this lengthy history lesson, let me follow up with this - I wasn't writing this to elaborate about Chicago's history. This is in fact about writing, and all the dirt and carnage lying beneath the polished text of the final product. Read your favorite book and you will be dragged in by the characters, the plot, the intrigue and tension - all the good stuff we enjoy with a good story. And chances are, you will not see any traces of the first draft anywhere. All those early ideas - the characters that got edited out later, the plot arcs that went nowhere, the distracting descriptions and wild plot tangents - get buried under like so much trash in the landfill. We, as writers, are allowed to do that; it's mandatory. It allows us to be imperfect, knowing that those past disasters can just be buried under, never to be seen again.

To go back to the Chicago metaphor, give yourself the option of burning a work to the very foundation and dumping the remnants into the lagoon - so to speak. Save the things that work - like the Chicago Water Tower, which survived being right in the middle of the Great Chicago Fire - and cover the rest with new words and ideas. You will know the dark little secret of all the wreckage lying beneath your final product, but nobody has to see it as long as you cover it up. Atop piles and piles of grammatical rubble, you will have your Grant Park.        

"I Write To ______"

I attended an authors' conference last week, with about a dozen panelists (myself included) talking about the various facets of being a writer - everything from writing to producing to marketing to promotion. It covered a lot of real estate, and could've easily been a much longer event. However, one part that was touched upon was the discussion about what gets you writing, and ways you can motivate yourself to get into that writing space. That alone could've covered an hour, but the agenda had to be kept so some discussion points were not covered in full. Therefore, I wanted to discuss one in particular that I think needs elaboration.

The main point I want is for people to think how they would finish the title of this piece. I deliberately said, "I write to ____" and not "I write because ____" for the simple reason that the second one is what led you to write, the first one is what you hope your writing process creates. So, without getting too wordy, what do you hope to accomplish through writing? When you create, what is the mission of that process? It can differ from project to project, and you might feel differently depending on a lot of factors, so let me share a few things about how different answers can be approached:

"I write to heal." I heard this one a lot at the conference, and it seems to work for those people. This, in a nutshell, is the process of writing through your trauma, your worst place in life, your darkest hour, in order to process it and better live with it. It can also be used as a way to help others by letting them know they are not alone, and what they feel you felt as well. It's very powerful when done right, but it can be tricky if not managed well because it brings the writer back into a very uncomfortable space. Veterans with PTSD often use this as a method of dealing with their experiences, and along with a lot of personal benefit from these soldiers, some brilliant books also came into being. 

"I write to learn." This is a weird one, as we always hear that we should write what we know. However, sometimes, when we write about things where our feelings are mixed, it becomes a path to discovering something about ourselves - how we really feel, what our other thoughts are, hidden meanings in things we didn't understand. When we write - and I recommend writing by hand because it engages the brain differently - we are processing every word, every point of structure, trying to assemble some logical order to things. As we do this, we get a new vision of how things fit together.

"I write to teach." This is similar to the one about healing, but can come from a safer place. This is where someone writes from a position of subject expert, letting their authority carry the message, along with any experiences. Not as exciting but very challenging because it requires a very persuasive voice and structure to carry the message. Ever have a really smart but really bad teacher in school? They knew everything but couldn't get it through to most of the students? Yeah - they're stuck in that pit of knowledge without voice. If you want to teach with your words, work on a very specific, identifiable voice.

"I write to relax." People who have this answer are pretty great because they are a ronin - a warrior without a master. Their writing brings them peace, and that's what counts. Bound by no rules, they write and are at peace. Good for them. Ultimately, though, I don't think I've ever met this person.

There are plenty of other answers, but like most important questions, the purpose of it isn't to get an answer but to think long and hard about what you want to achieve. Whatever you want your writing to accomplish is fine, but once you make a conscious choice to pursue it, it gets even better.

So, what do you want your writing to do?     

The Writing "Noodle"

If there's one thing in writing that I both enjoy and need, it's the exercise of the writing noodle. Yes, it sounds weird and possibly very silly, but once I discovered it and how to play with it, I set aside all the pasta jokes and instead figured out when the best times would be for me to get out the noodle, if you will. This doesn't necessarily apply to any one writing genre, any particular kind of writing (though it helps with poetry in particular), or developing a personal style. It does, however, help one strengthen both their creative process and their capacity to go beyond what the rules normally allow for.

Now, surprisingly, this has no connection to "using the old noodle," referring to putting the brain to work. In some ways it's quite the opposite. This actually hearkens back to the musician practice of "noodling around" - just finding a chord and playing around with it, trying different tempos, transitions, and whatever the musician feels like, usually all done while playing non-stop, not breaking for a retry or stopping because something is "wrong." At times this will create a chaotic scramble of notes, sometimes it's just another refrain that sounds like any other. However, such noodling taps into the musician's creativity, and the experimentation lets the mind explore the world outside of what they know. Some famous noodling creations have been the famous keyboard riff on The Doors' "Light my Fire" and the lead guitar piece on The Pretenders' "Back on the Chain Gang." That's just a modest sampling of the many songs where the artist says, "Well, I was just noodling around, and suddenly..." The rest is history.

With writing, it's fairly simple. You pick a word, preferably one that has some flex to it, such as "Chance." Chance can be a verb, a noun, a descriptor - at this point it's your choice. You then just start writing things about the word, the different meanings, the interpretations, even simple arguments against things being "chance" events will suffice. Start writing the lyrics to Johnny Mathis's "Chances Are" and rework them into your own song about chance. Offer a simple, playful riff on ABBA's "Take A Chance on Me," or talk about former Chicago Cubs player-manager Frank Chance. Find all the words you can that rhyme with chance, then write about how those words might be connected. The mission is to explore the word, massage it like bread dough, look at it from all directions, and engage with its many purposes and meanings. 

Again (and I cannot state this enough), you will likely end up with a lot of gibberish, and a bunch of sentences that mean very little or carry no real value. That's fine - that's actually the purpose here; to create as much as possible without worrying about the way it should be done. You could spend all your time noodling around and end up with tired fingers, or you might just hatch a little gem like:

Chance is knowing the
rarity of true beauty
is still possible

Was that a great haiku? Meh - to each their own. Whether you come up with something as good or better doesn't matter. What matters is exercising your creativity, and knowing you will not find those things when you don't try. Happy noodling.  

It's That Time of Year!

Some people consider the first day of autumn to be the beginning of the holiday season, while others wait until after Halloween. Everyone has their own special way to commemorate the coming of the holiday season, and writers are no exception. However, the landmark event that kicks off the holiday season for most writers is November 1st - the official beginning of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). This event starts off November with little fanfare, similar to the All Saints Day that is also recognized by many as November 1st, and they share similar qualities: Not many people know they exist, and even fewer people participate, but for some people it's a very sacred day.

Now, the importance of this special occasion (NaNoWriMo, not All Saints Day) is to motivate writers to write the first draft of a novel in a month - specifically, November. It doesn't have to be perfect, or even publishable at this point, it just has the be written from beginning to end. It might sound daunting, and it is, but that's the whole point - the mission of typing 2,000 words onto a page every day (even on Thanksgiving), and realizing just what can be created with such concerted effort. (Side note: For those who think it's impossible, Stephen King wrote The Running Man in a week and on a typewriter, so it can be done) Incidentally, the NaNoWriMo run will also push you into certain habits I often refer to, and make them a part of your process, but that's another story. 

This year I am not participating in the NaNoWriMo marathon - I have a few manuscripts that need my attention already. However, I am offering all my readers an opportunity to take on a similar challenge, but nothing so harsh as creating a novel. Rather, my challenge is this. Write something every day. Something narrative, something creative, something more than just a shopping list. It can be a haiku, a paragraph about your feelings, a description of your cat as he throws up in the hall - anything that forces you to create through words. It's not the daunting task of making a 60,000-word manuscript, but it does get the habits going. Something as simple as that, when done for 30 days, can have a profound effect on your writing process.

So now I wish you all good luck on your NaNoWriMo writing adventure, whichever it may be. I look forward to plenty of interesting reactions to this ongoing exercise, and possibly some personal revelations about your writing, your process, or some ideas that wandered into your mind and allowed you to think about something in a new way. Just remember that it's very possible to accomplish this task; the important part is trying to do it.

And even though Stephen King wrote The Running Man in a week, take that with a grain of salt. He was not exactly clean or sober at the time, so he had a little extra energy.