The Writing Hammock

Most anyone who knows me will say that I treat two particular days with the importance of a national holiday: Super Bowl Sunday, and that very special day when pitchers and catchers report to spring training. The first is the final culmination of a grueling football season, the second being the birth of my other favorite time - baseball season. However, in between those two dates is a terrible gap, a veritable sports hammock hanging between the two grand times of sports. This leaves me with very little nourishment from my favorite sports, but it gives me a chance to relax for a little bit... or maybe for too long. And believe it or not, the same thing happens with writing.

Usually, we fall into the writing hammock when we wrap up some big project or something we've been focused on for an extended period of time. Depending on your schedule, this can be an essay, a poem, a novel, a character sketch, a collection of short stories - it doesn't really matter. The only important part is that you've finished your first draft of this thing and you feel great. Exhausted, but great. Then comes the hammock part. You might have a bunch of ideas for another project - a sequel, another collection, something completely different - but you need just a little time to collect yourself, so you stretch out on the writing hammock. That's where the trouble begins.

Referring to an actual hammock, it is a very relaxing place to be, but it's kind of difficult to get up from. You're very comfortable, relaxed, and maybe nervous about trying to get out of it and falling over or getting tangled in its bindings. It's easier to just take a deep breath, swing gently, and let the time go by. Hammocks are cursed things in that regard, as they can sap us of our energy to do those things we enjoy, and we just drift off to sleep. Writers find themselves taking a break from writing, letting their momentum die down as they rest in the glory of their recent accomplishment. Be very careful at this point.

Now, I always insist that once I finish a big project, I step away from it for a bit - a week or maybe more, depending on its size. I give myself the right to enjoy the hammock, but not to its full extent. Even after I have finished a 400-page novel, I still write something every day just to keep myself from sinking too deep into the writing hammock. Whatever write doesn't have to be great, it doesn't have to be the first draft of my next book, it doesn't even have to be good. The only thing it has to be is a product of me writing on a regular basis. That way I keep my old habits intact, I continue to learn about my process and develop my voice, and I continue to think like a creative type. I also give myself the freedom to set a date for when I will dig out that first draft and start the editing process, and until then, I don't need to jump into a major project. I just need to keep on writing.

Fortunately, the sports hammock is different in that the gap between the end of the Super Bowl and the start of spring training is literally sixty hours, so I have some time to watch the Olympics, figure out the rules of curling, get my sports nourishment, and prepare for the beginning of the baseball season and those wonderful, magical words:

"Play ball!"   

Surprise!

Since my last post was about the importance of maintaining suspense throughout a story, I decided that this time I would go the opposite direction and talk about surprise. Yes, writing about surprises is much easier than the slow burn of a building dilemma, but that does not mean it's simple. More importantly, there can be wrong ways of introducing surprise that actually cheat the reader of a potentially enjoyable shock. 

Anyone who has watched a horror movie knows the fun of a good scare. The frightened main character  hears something out on the porch. The person approaches, opens the front door and sees nobody on the porch, breathes a sign of relief, then closes the only to reveal the menacing villain, Hawthorne, right behind it. Then there's the jump-scare - the same scene, but when the door closes it suddenly reveals... another character who we did not expect but not our villain Hawthorne. The jump-scare is the cheap scare that serves no purpose in driving the story but primes the audience for future surprises. We learn these tricks in writing for the same reason - one is to jump the story's action forward, the other keeps the reader on edge. However, there are good ways to do this, then there are cheap ways to do this.

Let's say we are now writing a story about the character with the front-door situation. We can engage the reader by focusing the descriptions of the door, the shadows, the rustling wind outside - all the senses of the character tuned in on that one element of the noise on the porch. We narrow the reader's attention so their focus is tunneled to that one event - what is on the porch? Then we offer the sudden opening of the door and the reveal that nothing is there. We let the reader experience one beat of relief with the main character, decompress the scene with them shutting the door, then have them turn around and see the cold eyes of Hawthorne as our bad guy takes over the scene. Fairly simple, straight-forward, and effective, but with the potential to be cheapened by the wrong words.

As writers get into their story, there is always the temptation to install a false sense of urgency or surprise with things like, "Suddenly," or "Without warning," to start a surprising scene. Effective writing creates the sudden change without actually using the word "sudden" because the writing shifts gears in a way that is jarring to the reader without telling the reader the scene is, in fact, jarring. Consider our scene above, that could be presented two ways:

"Dale breathed a sigh of relief, releasing his stress as he shut the door. Suddenly, from behind the door, Hawthorne stepped forward..."

"Dale breathed a sigh of relief, releasing his stress as he shut the door. Ready to go back to bed, he turned to meet the eyes of Hawthorne..."

The second example does not warn the reader of what is approaching with "suddenly" but instead makes the bad guy appear in exactly that manner. The sudden change is assumed, written in, and the reader gets a good start. Throwing any word to preempt that action basically warns the reader that something is coming, and takes the energy away from the event itself. It cheapens the scene and actually takes away some of the characterization of Hawthorne because he no longer created the surprise - "suddenly" did.

Surprise is an effective tool in writing if it's managed well. The best way to tell if you are creating a surprise moment is when you don't need to tell the reader they are going to surprise them - you just go off and do it.    

    

Sometimes We Don't Tell the Whole Story

Like every good and true resident of Chicagoland, I maintain a healthy respect for that wonderful weather anomaly called the Lake Effect (capital letters because it's just that important). The Lake Effect is fairly simple - sometimes, when weather comes blowing off Lake Michigan (or any other Great Lake), it can cause massive snowfall bursts in isolated areas, and the people at the weather desk have a terrible time predicting just what piece of real estate will be hit. Just the difference of a few miles can be the difference between flurries and a foot of snow coming out of nowhere. I am currently in one of those situations where they are expecting a big hit of Lake Effect snow - they just don't quite know where, when, or how much. And so, we wait. We see a flake fall and wonder if this is the beginning, or if it's just snow falling from a high branch. Patiently, we wait.

This is the art of suspense.

As writers, we are always told to inform the reader about the surroundings, the descriptions, the environment, and the challenges facing our heroes. However, sometimes it benefits the story when we leave out certain details, and just let the reader wonder when an event is going to happen. If our hero is searching through the villain's home one night, the amount of information we include can either contribute or delete the suspense factor, which is what engages the reader the most.

So, our hero is rummaging through the bad guy's home in search of something incriminating - a simple premise. There's a lingering sense of danger since this is an illegal act and getting caught doing it could lead to all kinds of problems. However, this is low-grade suspense, because there is no imminent threat. Now, let's upgrade the suspense. Perhaps the hero is doing this searching because he knows the bad guy is always out at the club at this time, but the hero's friend calls and says the bad guy never showed up at the club, or left the club early. Now there's an unknown - a sense of risk that danger could be close. Or maybe we include a scene where the bad guy is shown turning the car around to go home - the risk is even more severe because we know the bad guy is on a collision course with our hero. Now the reader is engaged.

Suspense comes in several forms, but they basically break down into two categories. First there is the maybe - the potential for something bad to happen. That's the Lake Effect factor; it might dump a pile of snow on me, it might not, but I have no way of knowing until it's over. This becomes a constant, slow-burn suspense because at any point things could change. The other form is the time-bomb factor; something bad will definitely happen, it's just a question of whether the hero can get out of the way before things blow up. The time-bomb factor is an easy rope-in because it is definite. It is 3... 2... 1... action, and the reader will mark time for the event to happen. Slow-burn suspense, however, can be drawn out indefinitely. A suspense novel often relies on 300+ pages of slow burn because the deadline is uncertain, or depends on conditions. In either case, however, suspense is what keeps readers engaged in stories, particularly those actions stories, when there is a lull between car chases.

Watch any suspense movie and diagnose how they play out the drama. The time-bomb factor or the slow-burn factor will create a different kind of story, and seeing how each one moves the viewer should give an excellent idea of which kind you should include in your stories.      

Young Adult and Romance Genres

There's a pretty big discussion awaiting anyone who challenges the popularity of the Young Adult (YA) or romance genres. There's also a monstrous number of aspects that could be discussed about why these particular story themes are so relevant. For now, however, I want to talk about the important elements needed to write them, other than the key ingredient that comes with their name. In many ways these genres are similar, but split in one very important sense.

The YA craze has actually been around for a long time, but only really exploded once certain people realized how it could be readily exploited to turn that prime demographic - kids - into raging consumers. We have been seeing it for decades starting with the mass-marketing that hit with the original Star Wars movie and just spread to every other movie and TV franchise that could be sold, but books took a little longer. Then here comes bespectacled, wide-eyed and forehead-scarred Harry Potter, and it was on. A book spawned a series of books, movies, plays, theme-park rides and adventures, LEGO sets, and anything else that could be sold. From there, the real YA adventure was born.

The magic of this genre is that it should embody all the elements of growing up, but manifest those elements as characters and challenges. Every teenager goes through the phase where adults do not understand them and mostly get in the way of what the kid really wants, so that appears in the YA novels as obstructive or ignorant parents, angry teachers, clueless older friends, etc. And what better way to describe life's biological changes than through a dip into fantasy where a new, much more exciting world opens up for these youngsters? YA novels are, at their core, examples of kids that teens can relate to, taking on the plights and perils of life through metaphor-filled adventures where they are the vindicated heroes who show the world they were right all along. Tell me what 12-year-old wouldn't absolutely love winning an argument about life with their parents? A good YA novel will leave that pre-teen feeling like they did just that.

In this regard, romance is a very similar creature. The quest for love is universal, so no surprise that it has been turned into an industry - and a lucrative one at that. However, let's see what steps beyond the standard romance novel, which is basically a series of exotic locations, various short-term hook-ups, and at long last the connection that made it all worthwhile. Romance is about searching, about the quest for love, but the really good ones are about becoming, and this is why they fit in with YA nicely. In a standout romance novel, our main character does more than find love, they discover themselves in full. They find what truly brings them the joy and contentment that their life lacked before the book started. In YA romance, this often means immersing them in a world they might not be familiar with but somehow they find out this brings out a part of them they never knew existed. They become the true hero, the character finally victorious in the most difficult game of all - life. The Twilight saga gives us this in a four-book package, appealing to romantics and YA fans alike (though fantasy writers will often tell you their opinion about glimmering vampires). 

There are more aspects to discuss, but these two genres encapsulate the hero's challenge in a simple manner. In YA, the challenge should parallel growing up. In romance, the real adventure is the development of the character into someone truly deserving of love. How tough can that be?        

Genres of Your Making

Well, it's been a fun couple of weeks discussing some elements of certain detail-specific genres. For those who are interested, next week I will explore the Young Adult (YA) and the Romance genres, but for now the big discussion will be on the greatest genre of all. Now, a lot of people might argue what the best one is, given everyone's different preferences and interests. However, for the individual author, the best environment to write in is surprisingly simple and very exciting. In simplest terms, it's the hybrid genre.

Hybrid? Is that really a thing? Most definitely, and it is what most authors use when they find their particular style. Horror authors usually include some form of romance (the violent murder of a loved one is that much more shocking), writers of thrillers and suspense novels often create very intense relationships between their characters (it creates higher stakes when they are in peril), sci-fi and fiction-fantasy often incorporate other environments as major plot elements - it's all a huge blend of many things mixed together like a home-brewed recipe that is never quite the same each time it's whipped up.

Now, how do we discover just what our specific blend is? Well, similar to structuring out a craft brew, homemade chili, or handmade meatloaf, you need to know its foundation. Oats, barley, or wheat for the beer, what kind(s) of beans for the chili, turkey or beef in the loaf - this is your starting line, then build out from there. This is where we pick the dominant genre, all while recognizing that we can add plenty of different things into this personal stewpot that is our writing. From that base point, we begin the creation process and have some fun.

Now are there things that don't mix, or hybrids you should avoid? This can be a contentious point, but let's just say that Seth Grahame-Smith's Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and his similar works should put to rest any worries about things not blending. Taking outrageously different concepts and fusing them together does not always guarantee success, but such mash-ups (as they are called) do gain attention much in the same way that intriguing fusion cuisine can come out of nowhere and take the world by storm. The wild success of YA dystopian fantasy series reminds us that there are many combinations to be tried, and we as writers hold the responsibility of doing so.

Next week will be a frank discussion about YA and romance (and that obvious fusion), but I will be taking Monday off in observance of Martin Luther King Day, so my next post will be on January 23rd.    

Genres of the Past

As promised this discussion explores the different kinds of fiction using the past - and it's a very big category. It's even bigger when you consider its cousin, non-fiction writing about the past, is basically only known as "history." But once we pull away the guardrails of fact and reality, our many pathways open up to an almost unlimited magnitude, and we get to choose which genre we want to pursue and how many other genres we want to overlap. But first, some basic categories to work with.

Historical fiction: In its most basic form, this is a story that takes place in a specific time and place in history - hopefully with good reason, but not necessarily. This fiction does require a little research to make sure you get the nitty-gritty correct. Was this an era where they referred to tuberculosis as consumption? How many states were in the Union at the time (assuming the USA existed)? You don't need to research the details before you know what will be referred to, but once you know your time, place, and purpose, give it an eye for the period. Details serve two purposes in historical fiction: First, it is an opportunity to point out things the reader might not realize or never have heard about, thereby doing some world-building for the reader (mentioning the Chicago Coliseum, which was torn down in 1982, for example). Secondly, certain trivial details specific to the time give the writing a sense of authenticity (before the 1880s, nails were rectangular, not rounded). These bring the past very much to the reader's present-day, and help immerse them in that era.

Old-time fiction: This is like historical fiction but it utilizes the senses and sensibilities of a particular era without getting all tied up in the details of where, when, and how. The same rules apply from historical fiction go as far as immersive details, but these should focus on intimate concepts such as identity, worth, values, and so forth. Without the anchor of a specific time or place, the story can work with moods and character tensions built out from the values of an earlier time. This genre does serve well with romantic fiction, which often fails the time/place detail test, but that's not what the story is about. These stories have a more timeless feel, and are representative of feeling rather than calculating accuracy.

Fiction-fantasy (note the word order): Now we're just throwing out the history book altogether and instead blending in elements of the fantasy genre - dragons, magic, gods and demigods, whatever you wish. This is often a lead-in to just writing pure fantasy fiction, and not trying to write about a dragon hunter in South America shortly before the era of colonization (though that might be a good story idea). Fiction-fantasy (with fiction coming first) uses some historical idea and just runs it into the fantasy world. The Knights Templar, lost civilizations, the last days of Pompeii - all historical anchors for the writer to launch from. Once Fantasy becomes the lead word in fantasy-fiction, then it's just using concepts and ideas from our past and throwing them into a different world altogether. It should not be surprising that a lot of high fantasy writing in mythical world still has royal hierarchy similar to European traditions.

Alt-past: This covers a lot of the same real estate as alt-future writing, but the timeframe for the story is still prior to present-day. The best example of this genre is Steampunk, which should really be more of a breakout genre than it is these days. The idea though is that our history ran a different course somehow, somewhere, and here's how, say, 1910 looks. This, however, comes with the same caveats as tech writing - the story trajectory must intersect with the new reality and be moved by it, otherwise it loses purpose. This, however, is a little easier, since you can definitely show how historical landmarks or waypoints can intrude upon the story or even be avoided.

In Friday's post, we discuss the best genre of them all, and how you get the final say in what it actually is.       

Genres of the Future

As promised, I am continuing my discussion on different genres, what makes them special and how they are driven. Since today is Friday, I am looking forward to all the wonders the future holds for me - the future being the coming weekend. However, this did make me think about genres set in the future (or alt-future), so that's what we will be discussing. And often, the future isn't all that wonderful - which of course has its own genre. But let's start simple.

Sci-fi: Science fiction is the easiest future genre to explore, particularly since this is a pretty broad church. What makes something science fiction is that the advancement of science has fundamentally impacted people's lives and altered the way they typically engage with the world. This could be a few years from now, a generational leap, or a whole Star Trek-leap into the unknown. Sci-fi is the home of space travel, cyberpunk, and all the fascinating tech-studies. The point here is that science has changed the world - for better or worse - and it is a contending part of the narrative. If the story is about a farming family in Kansas facing the world in the year 2110, the story better have a main obstacle be science-driven, otherwise it's just future-fantasy.

Future-fantasy: Naturally, this is a story that takes place in the future, but the characters are motivated and driven by the same things that we in the early 21st century understand. Science may be different, but the main issue is that it's the future, and change abounds. Perhaps global warming has made life difficult, melting ice caps kind of ruined Miami, or overpopulation abounds. These aren't exactly science-driven issues, but challenges brought on by time itself. This is also known as speculative sci-fi, exploring how the world looks after things have changed, which doesn't have to be negative. What about a future where most of the population lives in space and Earth is quite open and free? That's workable as well. There's a lot to work with here, as long as the world is different for a good reason (or a bad reason, as follows).

Dystopian: This is the future, but something went wrong. Maybe society turned on itself and went to totalitarianism, maybe Mother Nature had one too many and unleashed something horrible, maybe scientific cataclysm, nuclear war, over polluting, or something horrible really damaged society. Social change is to dystopian stories what technological change is to sci-fi. Now, dystopian worlds can have their fancy tech - 1984, Fahrenheit 451, these are classic dystopian stories where tech has improved, but the big change is what society has become. Tech can also be a non-issue - The Road has a world in its death throes, with food more important than an iPhone (imagine that).

Alt-future: Similar to speculative fiction, this looks at a future world if something in history went different. If Napoleon won at Waterloo, if Columbus didn't stumble upon the western hemisphere, if Pepsi came before Coke - the point is, it explores a future under a different set of ground rules. Imagine if the first country to develop interstellar space travel was the Confederate States of America - start writing. Any tweak of the past, extrapolated into the future, makes for alt-future writing (if the writing is present-day, the is just speculative fiction and leave it at that).

The important part to note about any futuristic writing is why it takes place in the future. Tech changes important to the plot? Perfect. A new political entity in charge? Great. An imagination of the world in the year 3000 during the interstellar era? Awesome. The important part is that some change of the world will impact how the story unfolds. Someone hiking through the outback for two weeks might not be a rich topic for future fiction unless somehow that future finds its way into the plot. Otherwise, the door is open for as much exploration as you can fit on the page.

The next post, in case you hadn't guessed, will be backward-looking genres, and all the fun they can be.