Writing In A Nutshell

Over the past 500+ entries of this blog, I have discussed most everything from story structure and meaning to editing and revisions. I have repeatedly gone over tips and tricks for developing your own personal process, shared my little pro tips on filling the toolbox full of skills you will need to be a writer, and of course, thrown plenty of ideas, prompts, and suggestions for getting yourself out of any kind of writing slump. This is all about the writer's journey, and I think each post filled a niche somewhere. However, there's something I have been a little lax about. It's simple but often overlooked, so I thought it best to address a simple question:

What makes a story worth reading?

Pretty simple idea, right? If you are going to write anything for anyone other than yourself, you have to ask yourself what will get them interested, keep them interested, and hold them until the end. This qualifies for any writing - from an epic novel to a simple Facebook post. As a matter of fact, let's look at a simple Facebook post and figure out whether it's good writing. Example:

"Another night at my usual restaurant. I wasn't in the mood for my usual spaghetti and meatballs. Instead, I chose the lasagna. It was surprisingly good, and I think I'll have it again next week."

Thirty-five words, and halfway in I felt like saying, TL;DR (Too long; didn't read). Now, I am not devaluing the person's post - I am glad they found something new on their local restaurant menu. However, unless there was a picture of their actual meal, there is nothing here to draw my attention. However, this is where storytelling comes in. With a few storytelling techniques, I would rewrite the post like this (I can already hear people screaming, "It's just a status post - get over it!" but work with me):

"I needed a change tonight, so I broke my routine. I took a chance, and tried the lasagna at my usual restaurant. SO glad I did - I think I have a new favorite meal."

This change incorporates three simple rules that make a story worth reading. First, it establishes the problem and sets the stakes immediately. We know what the character needs and how they intend on finding it. Second, we understand there's a level of risk involved, and that the character is taking a chance by whatever action they choose. Third, they reach a conclusion and have changed because of their adventure. The second post is an actual story (and it's only thirty-four words), while the first one might just put you to sleep.

So what make a story worth reading? Something is at stake, actions are taken, and the result brings about change - for better or worse. This applies to anything you write, and engages your reader. All you need then is something a little more exciting than lasagna.  

The Opening Act...

My regular readers might notice that my past two piece have been about Act Three and Act Two, but for some reason, I am naming this piece, "The Opening Act." Well, a lot of people put their interest in the first act in the same way they would treat an opening act at a concert: Its purpose is to basically get the reader settled in, get some mood going, maybe something to cheer about before the big show starts. Well, that's what an opening act is for. It is definitely not what Act One is for.

In any written piece, Act One carries a lot of weight. Not only does it have to introduce the reader to the world and its characters, it also has to set the mood, establish pace, do a lot of prep work for things to come, provide some kind of challenge for the characters, and push them into action. Oh - don't forget the very compelling first paragraph (sentence, if possible). Act One is responsible for more than any opening act - Act One can single-handedly make or break a story within the first few pages.

The better Act One treatments are those that let different elements come together all at once, establishing place, period, and anything else important to the moment. "Ten-year-old Jeb walked barefoot along the winding path toward the creek, pushing aside the overgrown honeysuckle with an old stick and whistling aimlessly on a summer's day." With one sentence we can establish a lot, introduce our readers to a very light mood, a nice scene of an easygoing summer's day, and offer up a character for the reader to focus on. Does it grab the reader in the same way a gunshot or a car chase might? No, but surprisingly, a large number of stories have very little gunfire or car chases. In these cases, we draw our reader in with a clear, concise picture.

Of course, we need to bring forth the challenge this young Jeb is going to face sooner or later, and in most cases, sooner is better. The obstacle could be simple - the school bully and his friends are already at the creek and they want to mess with Jeb. Maybe he stumbles across a dead dog wearing a fancy collar and realizes it's his neighbor's golden retriever. Maybe he goes around a bend and meets the aliens. Who's to say? Early in Act One we need an event of interest that is going to not only show who our main character is, but will also establish how they respond to a situation - a quality of the character that will change as the story progresses. If little Jeb runs from the bully, doesn't tell their neighbor about the dog, or is scared of the aliens, then this will represent his potential vector for growth in the story. Hopefully by the end, he will be able to befriend the alien, let his neighbor know the bad news, or stomp the bully into the dirt.

Lastly, Act One closes with the "Call to Action." This is the part where the character decides to do something; take a step they would usually not take. Sometimes this is forced upon the character, sometimes it's the character's choice. Whatever it is, it is the character engaging in the first step of becoming something different. Something they weren't prepared for. It is where the adventure begins. And hopefully, it doesn't take up one-third of the book to kick things into gear.

So, no, Act One is nothing like the opening act. An opening act is just tolerable enough as to not disappoint you while you wait for the big show to start. When done right, Act One is the big show.         

Act Two: The Big Arrow

After my recent post discussing how to create a story by thinking about the ending first, I started thinking about the other pieces of a story and how we write those. In particular, my brain started to wrap around the concept of the middle of the story. For brevity's sake, I will refer to it simply as Act Two, but different techniques assign different names and purposes for it, which can get very confusing. The important part is that we think about just why Act Two can often be the most difficult part to write.

I know many writers who have kicked off a story guns-a-blazin', building up the world around them, offering a full, rich character, jumping into the inciting event, and sending the hero off on their journey. Amazing! How could this fail? Well, that's the thing - the reason I bring these up is that these stories usually stall after that point. The writer hits a "what now" moment, and the creation stops. In a novel, that wall hits at 70-100 pages (for me at least). It takes a special kind of push to go into the Act Two part, and it requires a deeper analysis of The Big Arrow.

I know, I know... what's The Big Arrow. Well, think of a simple question or dilemma. The next step we usually take is to solve it. We move from A to B because that's the best way to resolve a situation - one step to the next. Question --> answer. Problem --> solution. Conflict --> resolution. And what lies between those situations? The Big Arrow that we just assume happens on its own, though it is actually quite elaborate and deep (even though my font choice suggests otherwise).

The Big Arrow is something we need to tease apart, similar to a solved math problem. we see 25*12 = 300 and move on with our existence. However, Act Two is all in that equal sign; it's everything we do during that step. For Seinfeld fans, it's the "yadda, yadda, yadda" of storytelling: We can get from the beginning to the end quick enough, but it's obvious that something went on in there that we don't know about.

In terms of The Big Arrow for Act Two, it's the range where the character encounters obstacles, learns more about reaching their goal, and potentially has some kind of spiritual growth. In action stories, this is where our hero starts finding the simple henchmen of the criminal mastermind he hopes to defeat in Act Three, and one-by-one takes them out, all while working his way up the ladder to the villain's lieutenants, right-hand men, and eventually the boss himself. In a romance, this is where our protagonist develops more elaborate feelings for someone, challenges themselves to become more worthy, and perhaps prove themselves to be better than someone else vying for the same person's affections. In any case, the critical points are personal growth, facing obstacles, overcoming challenges, and if possible, raising the stakes. Is our action hero up against the clock, with a bomb set to destroy downtown Denver if he fails? Will our romantic lead be able to prove themselves before their beloved runs off to romantic Bratislava with someone else? Building tension should always be a part of Act Two (and yes, I paralleled Denver and Bratislava - deal with it.)

The only danger about Act Two is that the challenges and victories can become a kind of, "wash, rinse, repeat" cycle, technically never ending if the challenges just keep on coming. The trials of the hero should always bring them closer to victory, and measurably so, or the reader starts getting bored and the writing turns from a tense build-up of events to BOSH writing (BOSH - Bunch Of Stuff Happens). It short, The Big Arrow needs to hit its target - Act Three. And we should know all about that target from the moment we finish Act One - which will be next week's post.   

      

The Third Act

Most of the writers I know start writing their works by starting at the beginning and working their way through, page by page, in the order the story will be told. Even if the story jumps around different times and places, they write page 1 before they write page 2, then go on to page 3, 4, 5, and so forth. I have never met anyone who writes the ending first then tries to fill in everything that led to that point. However, putting together the concept for a story can actually work best if we mentally start from the end and try to figure out how we got there. This is called The Third Act story.

To simplify things, a lot of stories are written in three-act structure. The first act introduces our characters, an immediate conflict, and an inciting incident that kicks the story into motion. The second act is the adventure of the character facing and overcoming obstacles that prevent them from achieving their goals, all while raising the stakes of this adventure. This all ends in a big crescendo when the character reaches the make-or-break point. Then they fall right into Act Three - the confrontation, realization, and growth of the character when their goal is reached. This is the culmination of every word preceding it. This is the reason we read through all the rest of the pages - for the big payoff in Act Three. And it better be worth it.

Well, if Act Three is so important, maybe when we think about a story, we start not by thinking about the characters, the opening line, the introduction of conflict, etc., but let's think about what the reader should experience in that last act. What message do you want to tell the reader? What is the takeaway feeling? Do you want them to close the book and think about how any struggle is worth it for a just cause? How the ends justify the means (or don't)? How the pursuit of freedom is a neverending journey? Well, whatever that message is, start with that. Figure out that last page (in your head) then work backwards to figure out Act Three.

This means your next step is to figure out what kind of good conflict needs be be resolved in order to express that message. Is it the messenger crossing a war-torn land to deliver information that could end the fighting, and finally overcoming his last obstacles and delivering the goods with his last breath of life? Is it the weaker person finally standing up to his nemesis in a defiant show of courage? Maybe it's as simple as someone having a mind-altering moment of realization. Whatever it is, we try and think about that part next. Get something strong that we can visualize in our head. Then we take it one step further.

What were the factors that the character had to overcome and how is this person different from when the reader first met them. The Act Three character should have a level of growth from when we first introduce them - what do we want the reader to realize? A newfound maturity? A realization about themselves or the world around them? Act Three needs to show a character who has grown, so we need to frame in our mind what this final product is - for better or worse.

At this point, we know how the story is going to end, so the only thing left is for us the start writing page 1, setting up the character, the setting, etc., and finding the path that leads them from that page to Act Three. At that point, the process becomes so much easier. It takes a little practice, but thinking about The Third Act makes the first two acts write themselves.           

Sometimes It's "Don't Show, Kind of Tell"

While most of my readers know me from writing workshops or some other orbit of writers, a few readers also know me through my social media feed (primarily FaceBook, the platform formerly known as Twitter, etc. - feel free to drop a friend request). And those who know me through FaceBook are aware that I went through a very stressful adventure this week - a very life-in-the-balance situation (not my life, but still). There are a number of takeaways I got from this, including some I can use as a writer, but the life experience was so stirring I have to share.

One of my friends lives a few towns over and I visit her periodically. She is "along in her years" as she might say as a good lady of the south, and has lived on her own since her husband passed away five years ago. We have nice visits - sitting back, drinking scotch and talking about writing and the world at large. However, as someone of her years would attest, she was not doing as well as she'd like to lately. A few more doctor's appointments, a few extra prescriptions, more aches and pains, and so on. We'd talk about them, she'd just say she was being fussy, and life went on.

Then our local heat wave came to visit. Not as hot as some of the ones I've experienced here, but thick with humidity so the air had a weight to it. Now, my friend had air conditioning and no fear of using it, so I felt a little better that she would be okay. However, friends being the people we check in on just because we want to, I gave her a call.

No answer. No answering machine pick-up.

Okay, that was unusual. As a woman who was along in her years, technology was no longer her friend and on several occasions I had helped her work with the phone, her computer, her refrigerator, and basically anything that used electricity. I knew the answering machine was a little prone to problems, but this didn't seem right. Maybe she was visiting her friend, where their dogs would play together. Maybe she was getting her hair done. Maybe. Or maybe not.

I went to her house unannounced, and the concern rose. There was a package on the porch. Unusual. I knocked on the door - no answer. I didn't hear the A/C rumbling away. There was some mail in the mailbox, but not a lot. I knocked again - nothing. One of her cats hopped up in the window amidst the blinds, but that was it.

Now, here's the writing lesson here. Hopefully, you are interested in how this story ends. More to the point, you might be as worried as I was at the time. Why? Because I have only told you pieces of the story. I have focused on the absence of things, on the silence that makes us worry. Sometimes we show our characters and communicate a scene to the reader, and it is full and rich yet somehow lacking in any kind of suspense. By only offering pieces on information, by selecting specific pieces of the puzzle that elude to an image but don't reveal it, we draw our reader in and they start drawing their own conclusions as they read on, hoping for the happy ending. Does this work? Well, when I posted this situation on FaceBook asking for advice, I got over 140 responses - the most I ever received outside of my birthday.

Now if this had been a tragic story, I wouldn't have exploited my friend to make a point. It did turn out that my friend had a medical emergency and was in the hospital, but it happened before I even called. My friend is recovering nicely and doing well, and might finally take my advice and keep her cane by her side at all times. However, my adventure to her house during the heat wave provided an opportunity to present how sometimes it's all about not showing the whole story, but teasing the reader with just enough information to make them want more. And as for my friend (who requested her name be left out), well, she's a writer as well, so I am sure she appreciates how this came out.

And as a side lesson - always remember your cane!       

One True Sentence

Yes, I often get hung up on writing stories. Not the writer's block kind of hung up, but rather trying to think about how I want to present a story, lay out the idea, create a mood, all that stuff. I get lost in all the technicalities and lessons and rules, and lose track of my process. It's easy to do - sometimes, if I'm not careful, it's inevitable. Invariably, what I end up is pretty scattershot - it misses the point, it lacks the feelings, it tells rather than shows, all those usual mistakes than I should've long since outgrown. And I know it will happen again.

This is when I fall back on Hemingway. True, this was an author who could at times be very succinct, and at other times wander all over the page. Everyone seems to have a very distinct opinion about him, and you can usually tell which of Hemingway's works a person has read by their feelings about him as a writer. Well, be that as it may, I often set those opinions aside and dig into the individual quotes. Often I take them very much out of context, using them for my own personal ends rather than his intentions - whatever those may have been. And in this regard, I often return to the idea of "One True Sentence."

This phrase comes from Hemingway's posthumous memoir, A Moveable Feast, which in itself is shrouded in controversy due to many factors. Besides the many edits, rewrites, and so forth prior to its publication, it's hard to tell where the original words land. However, those things are not important relative to my purpose (as I said, I often take things out of context for situational purposes). In this regard, I look at one particular tip he supposedly offered himself as a starting writer in 1920s Paris:

Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know. 

I like to think these are his actual words, the young writer telling himself in no uncertain terms that he does not have to be afraid of failure because he knows of his past successes, and all he has to do is be true to himself. Armed with this quote, I approach my writing from a new trajectory. Whenever I have to write something, I get away from all the rules, all the noise, everything that is getting in my way, and I ask myself in no uncertain terms, "What is this writing about?"

At that point, the only thing I need to write is that one true sentence. It doesn't matter what the elements of the story are, who it's for, or what the characters are about. It can be a story about an agoraphobic werewolf, a vampire trying to style their hair, or aliens arriving on Earth just in time for New Year's Eve celebrations - it doesn't matter. At its core, a story has a very simple meaning, a very personal message. If I focus on that one question - "What is this writing about?" - and answer it in the most simplistic way possible, then the rest is just words surrounding that answer.

Now, Hemingway scholars might find this overly simplistic, or that I am missing the greater point of this quote. That's fine. Like most products of the creative process, it can mean many things to many people. This is the takeaway I need for that one moment in time. In short, once you focus on the truth of the situation, then you are writing in exactly the manner meant to be. The rest is just words.