Writing from the Reader’s Perspective

Creative types sometimes need to get away, so that's what I did recently. I went off the grid, spending a little time at the exquisite Harbert House Bed & Breakfast, disconnecting so I could find the rest of the real world: Reading, conversation, and catching up with things and people I didn't know I had lost touch with. And in this process, I started remembering an important part of writing – the reader.

Let’s face it – writing goes nowhere without considering the reader to some extent. As writers, we can indulge ourselves in all kinds of storytelling, but once our words go into print, the reader either joins us on the adventure or turns around and goes home. While the stories are ultimately ours to command, shaping them in a way that appeals to our audience is important. This is not about compromising the story or changing it to fit the audience, but rather using all the tools and tricks available to draw our readers into what we present them.

I had the privilege of sitting down with a book group that my novel, The Book of Cain, writing, and the creative process. This also gave me the opportunity to get some insights as to what appeals to devoted readers, and what turned them away from a book. Maybe not so surprisingly, writing style featured prominently. Here are some of the takeaways from these avid readers.

Genre should be up front. Every writer has a bunch of friends who they know would love The Dunwich Horror, and also a bunch of friends who would hate The Dunwich Horror. Needless to say, it falls under the horror genre, and that will draw or push away readers. There is nothing wrong with scaring away a demographic who does not enjoy a genre – it’s helpful, and it also attracts those who enjoy the genre. However, the biggest mistake is selling a horror story under another more popular genre in the hopes of drawing in a different crowd. It can bring in a few new readers, but it usually creates far more disappointed readers, and trust me, there is no harsher and more vocal critics than disappointed readers.

Style needs to be unique, not perfect. You know those people who will wear a sweater vest, a boater hat and carry a walking stick, and people are just drawn to them? It’s more than just their brave and perhaps outrageous sense of fashion; it’s the fact that they stand out. Is it impressive? You be the judge. But people take notice. People ask the man in the boater hat, “Hey, what’s with the hat?” At that point, a conversation has started and the mission is complete. Writing style is the same way. Writing doesn’t have to be the perfect suit-and-tie look. Anyone and everyone can do that – and they often do. No, writing style is how to create something unique; a voice that people remember. I have talked at length about Lester Lusker, the main character from Bughouse Square, and how that Mississippi drawl as thick as grits and syrup fills every page. It’s an editor’s nightmare, and it sticks in the reader’s mind. It’s amazingly, consistently imperfect, and it stands out for that reason.

Connectivity. Those first pages should communicate something that makes the reader think. If it’s about the loss of a friend or family member, the writing needs to make that chord resonate. Action/adventure – same thing, but more difficult. The reader needs to see some aspect of themselves in that person, or something that they want to be. Allan Quatermain might have lived in a fantasy version of 19th century Africa, but this roguish hero connects to people in 21st century Chicago. If that character does not connect with the reader on some level in those first few pages, the reader won’t have much reason to continue.

One member of the group pointed out the feature that grabbed him every time: In the first few paragraphs, the narrative should place a question in his head. Even a simple thing such as wondering how the character got into such an awkward situation, it drives the reader forward, seeking an answer. Does that question have to be the big question of the entire book? No, it just has to draw them into a meaningful part of the story, and take them into the adventure.

One last thing that can’t be emphasized enough: The first three-hundred pages of perfect writing can be ruined by the last ten pages of bad writing. In short, the conclusion has to be a sensible conclusion to every plot twist, every character development, every noun and verb. Of course, if there is a surprising twist at the end, that’s perfectly fine. However, it should be an “OMG!” moment, and not a “WTF!” moment. If it turns out the main character is the bad guy, that reveal needs to come with enough evidence already presented to make the reader connect the dots in a new way. A well-written story will turn those dramatic twists into parts where the reader will turn back a few pages and realize the clues were hidden in plain sight. Anything that seems overly rushed or hurried will disappoint readers (and viewers, in the case of Game of Thrones). The big points, no matter how dramatic, have to be earned by the previous pages, or all the readers who read your book will be reluctant to read your next book.

The Process of Writing

A few people have contacted me, wanting to discuss the process side of writing. I get a lot of questions about that, so in turn I thought I would drum up a few things I have learned about the process behind the writing. Some of them are pretty commonplace, others are very subtle, and there are a few important ones that people don't think about. This is more than just how I drink gin when I write and scotch when I edit, this is about setting the whole environment to be a writing environment.

A big part is habits. Above all else, the most important part of being a writer is developing the routines that put you in that mindset to write. This might sound irrelevant, but it is the little things that help bring us to that special place where we can write. Sure - some people can just pull out a pen and pad and go to work. That's fine, but chances are they have already been through all the other steps and what you see with that pad and paper is the result of many years of training.

For me, I keep no secrets in discussing my process. I first started writing regularly during my fifty-minute train commute to and from work. This brought its little bag of sensory cues that became ingrained in me over the years. Sitting in a cushioned but not-too-soft chair. Laptop on my lap. Noise around me, not too loud, like boring small talk or the rumble of the train. I no longer take that train, but when I want to write, recreating those sensory cues draw me into a writing mindset immediately.

And while my mind is on that train, here's another habit it created - time. I write best early in the morning or late in the afternoon. If my mind has just woke up, it is ready to be creative thanks to those mornings going to work. And after a day of being in a very serious, analytical place, following the straight lines and uncompromising rules of the hard sciences, creativity becomes an escape. Those are the mental cues that bring my mind around to being that writer.

It might sound like writers are just two-legged versions of Pavlov's dog, and that's kind of true. When we dedicate ourselves to being writers, the first step is already waiting - dedication. We need to move ourselves toward that goal, force ourselves to act even on days where we don't have the energy. That's where we use little sensory cues to put ourselves in the mood to be that person we want to be?

Think about this. Where are you when you are writing at your best? The exact geography isn't important - it's the surrounding details that are worth noting. Upright or lying down? Public or private? Noisy or quiet? Music? Nature? Familiar spaces or exotic locations? I know a few people who live the cliche of sitting in Starbucks, day after day, drinking their French roast and writing the Great American Novel. Look at the writing environment the have created. Maybe it's not too original, but it works for them - public, socially noisy, a distinct sensory quality, and a caffeine buzz. As they repeat this time and again, those cues become ingrained in their pattern. Eventually, a strong coffee triggers that writing mind. Sitting in a public area sparks creativity. Hearing the alt-jazz playing in every Starbucks in the country puts them in the mood to create. It all gets the mind riled up.

The one thing to also consider as you develop your writing habits - what sparks your creative side? What are you doing when great ideas come to mind? This should inform you about the kind of things you should bring to your little group of habits you nurture as you write. My creative space is in my car - I can run dialogue, talk about ideas, and think aloud about just how weird things can be (Yes, I'm that guy in the car next to you, windows closed, mouthing off about absolutely nothing you understand). Once I realized that, I decided that if I was having trouble writing, I would grab my laptop and drive to a place that had my writing elements. The driving creativity would start, and by the time I hit the destination, I am ready to roll.

And yes, sometimes that destination is just going back to my house. Especially if I want a little gin while I write.

The Many Layers of Description

As writers, we are always told to work on description. At first, the lesson is to describe everything. After that, we learn to describe things beyond the visual - the emotional value. The next lesson is then learning how to break these rules, and only describe the things important to the story. A number of posts on this blog have focused on the details and technical parts about description because it's just that important. Well, here's one more.

An artist once told me that anyone can draw a picture. It becomes a painting when it becomes more than just the sum of the components. When different items create a mood, when they trigger thoughts and feelings, when they make the viewer think beyond the items presented, then it's a painting. I am including this painting, The Bet, to show how description is more than just image.

This painting gives us simple images: five people, a dog, and some type of gaming on the pool table. However, the gestures, the positioning, even the wardrobe of the characters suggests a story taking place. When we look at this, particularly after finding out it is called The Bet, our mind starts exploring the elements. Are these people settling a wager? Is this some very elaborate game of chance? Does the winner get the dog, or is the dog just another part of this parlor trick? Something is happening here, and the viewer seeks an explanation. The images: people, a dog, games of chance. The meaning: so many possibilities.

When we offer description in our narrative, we can present a series of facts and that satisfies the reader's need to know what is being offered. However, that is called survival writing - writing something to satisfy a need, but missing what the reader really wants - they want to be drawn in to that moment. Consider the following sentence:

"He wore beaten sneakers, fading jeans, a black t-shirt, and a charcoal FitBit."

If the writer seeks to meet the minimum requirement to describe the person's wardrobe, then mission accomplished. However, more description doesn't need to be describing exactly how faded the jeans are, or what makes the sneakers look beaten. More description means bringing in elements that make those details interact; that make them tell a story. How about...

"His worn-out appearance went from head to toe. Shoes beaten into submission, jeans no longer a resilient blue, a t-shirt just tired black cloth. Even his hi-tech FitBit was charcoal, punctuating a fashion sense that was as exciting as a long yawn."

...or...

"Everything he wore looked like a deliberate choice, a clever strategy to draw the eye. The beaten sneakers looked just the right amount of beaten, the jeans with the perfect amount of fade - not too dark, not too worn. The simple black t-shirt is a statement people want to repeat, the matching FitBit telling people a story they wanted to be a part of."

Same person. Same attire. Different appeal to the reader, because the images now contribute to mood and concept. We see the person in the basic description, but we get a feel for the people in the last two descriptions.

Before jumping into description, ask yourself what this can explain or offer the reader. If there's nothing more that the description can offer other than an image, consider whether it's even necessary.

Jargon vs. Cliches: The Good and Bad of Familiarity

During my years working in economics at a Chicago bank, I heard it all. "Look at the financial hot-shot up in the big leagues," "Never thought you'd become an investment big-wig," or "You must be making money hand over fist." In those twenty-plus years, every possible combination of words was used to describe what I did. Most of those words and phrases had been used since the Great Depression, and very few of them were accurate.

(Editor's note: I never was even a shot, much less a hot-shot; I did not work with investments; despite my lack of hair I neither owned nor used a wig; and trust me - economics is not the place for hand-over-fist money.)

The thing I disliked the most about all those sayings, however, was that I heard them all before. They were boring. They are the phrases people use when they don't have anything informative to offer. They are overused, useless bits that no longer have any tread on the tire. They are cliches, and they will sap the life out of good writing.

We hear these sayings all the time, so much so that they feel very natural in conversation. However, our day-to-day conversation is far different than writing. In writing, our mind examines sayings and phrases much more, and the weak ones become distractions. (George Carlin's NSFW discussion of Expressions and Sayings is a nice example of what our mind will do with cliches), Rather, our writing should still sound natural but use word choices that stimulate the mind rather than numb it.

Of course, cliches have their place. If you are writing about the economist who has to deal with a bunch of people who have no clue what he does for a living, the cliche is the best tool around. Packaged phrases, as I mentioned, " don't have anything informative to offer," so if that's what needs to be communicated, then use them.

This now leads us to jargon. If cliches had a cousin that actually did something with its life, that cousin would be jargon. The two are very much the same - commonly-used phrases that show up everywhere - but jargon has the special quality of communicating very detailed information; even information beyond what the words actually mean.

My colleagues in economics had jargon showing up in everyday conversation. If we had extra money, we would say we were "long on cash" (a reference to financial positions). Using our savings to pay for something became, "drawing down some funds" (investment lingo). We would throw around terms like arrears, servicing schedules. and structural positions without any regard for those around us who might not know that part of the English language. To economists, these terms are common, but that is their value. That is why they are jargon.

While cliches provide no information, jargon provides information beyond the words. If someone asks to borrow five dollars and I say, "Sure, I'm long on cash this week," that describes more than my financial situation. As the reader goes over that, the mind examines it, explores it, investigating the context to understand the meaning. The words tell the reader about my financial mind and my ingrained feel for the financial world, and that pours out into everyday conversation. Jargon fills in a lot of character detail by showing the reader where their mind is. In that regard, jargon is priceless. (Google "corporate jargon" and check out the 150,000+ hits on it).

Think of our political environment these days (I will keep this non-partisan). Every politician likely has been given a nickname by a rival, and each party has derogatory names for the competition. Whenever a person uses one of those names, they secretly communicate just what side of the argument they favor without actually saying it. Jargon becomes a secret handshake, a subtle acknowledgement of affiliation that pours information onto the page without using three paragraphs to do it.

Whenever you write a character, incorporating jargon is the quickest route to making that character multi-dimensional (ask around and do some investigating if you don't know some phrases). Familiar words and terms put real meat on the character. Cliches, however, will flatten out the character's depth.

You can bet on that.

Writing and the Supporting Cast

It's a rare story that follows one person's adventure from beginning to end without much interaction. Usually our protagonist has encounters and situations along the way, or at the very least has internal discussions to help expand the character's thought process. But more often than not, our hero will come across a wide variety of other people along the way. We've talked a lot about writing the hero's journey, so now let's give some time to the supporting characters.

The first rule of creating the rest of the cast is knowing what their purpose is. Of course, this means the first mistake of writing is making these other characters little more than means to an end for the hero. If everyone else merely provides information, clues, challenges, or obstacles for the hero, then they become one-dimensional vendors of plot progress. Furthermore, the main character misses a chance to gain some depth by showing a two-way interaction with those around them. Without this, the hero seems self-engaged, narcissistic, and a social island unto themselves. If that's what the author wants, then fine. However, a reader often wants more.

So now that we've decided to give purpose to our supporting cast, let's look at some of the different roles they can play:

• Voice of reason: As our hero goes forward, are they on the right direction? Are they acting on emotion rather than practicality? Do dangerous forces exist, such as revenge or greed? The Voice of Reason character can provide a centering force when things are getting out of control. This is best shown through a hero's trusted friend, mentor, or someone whose words carry weight, and might make the hero think twice.
• Devil's Advocate: This is similar to the Voice of Reason, but instead of being a steadying force, the character represents any drive that would work against the hero - impulsiveness, anger, a corrupt sense of justice. This challenges our hero to assess every motive, and even doubt themselves. These characters allow the main character to reach critical points of realization, which allow growth and progress. And of course, backsliding or making the wrong choice is always allowed.
• The Road Not Taken: Part of any hero's journey is to go forth into unfamiliar territory and experience things that invariably change them forever. The character of The Road Not Taken is a reminder of what the hero is leaving behind - for better or worse. If the hero is taking risks, then this character shows security and stability. A hero investigating the past would be confronted by someone representing the acceptance of the status quo. The Road Not Taken should be inviting in some ways, offering both the advantages of the old life along with the downsides. At the hero's lowest point, that character should be very inviting, and leave the hero conflicted - or perhaps aware of why his journey is that much more important.
• The Possible Future: As our hero goes on their journey, is there someone who represents the ideal outcome? Is there someone they idolize? Someone who personifies what they expect at the end of the rainbow? The Possible Future character is very important, particularly because this can represent what the hero thinks the outcome should be when they start, but not what the hero discovers. This allows us to show how the hero grows throughout the novel, and how learning about themselves changes how they see what is important. Often, The Possible Future is no longer desired by the end of the novel because it only seemed good before the character learned about the world and about themselves. 
• The Greek Chorus: This is a catch-all for characters who will reflect pieces of the hero. The hero can respond to them, which allows the reader to see potential internal conflicts that are not fully recognized. If our hero has trouble with relationships, there can be a Greek Chorus character who just destroys any relationship they enter. How our hero responds to this character says everything about the hero, and shows the reader the conflict within the main character. 

There are plenty of archetypes that can also be used to show a particular facet of the story. Any character who enters the story, however, should provide a chance to advance the story and to move along the hero's journey. If they don't move things along, what's their real purpose?

Making Big Ones Into Little Ones

I spent the better part of yesterday sawing branches from a downed tree on my property. It's a lot of work when you consider the size of a healthy tree. The task is huge, and the sight of a big tree that needs to be cut into fireplace-sized chunks is daunting to say the least. However, I had a secret weapon: I am a writer.

When I tell people about my first book, they are impressed that I completed such a task. Writing 72,000 words is tough enough, but then getting them in the right order and making them tell a story is even more amazing. People will hold my 300-page novel and say, "Wow -- you wrote this whole thing. I could never do that." Well, neither could I if I viewed it that way. Writing a novel in one sitting is just as difficult as cutting up a whole tree in one day. So I didn't.

I always liked the philosophy of those people breaking boulders in a quarry. The healthy approach was simple: "Making big ones into little ones" is much easier than "crushing an endless supply of limestone." They wouldn't crush the whole quarry, but instead just take one big rocks, break it into smaller rocks, and once they were small enough, bring on the next rock.

A novel is the same kind of creature. Try to write it in one sitting, and you either have a real gift, or you are hoping for failure. Instead, Just examine the little pieces that are required to making your story. Introduce the character. What is the challenge? What event sets the story into motion? What obstacles present themselves? How is each one overcome? How does it affect the character's journey? Each step is its own little writing assignment. Each section is obviously vital to the overall story, but they can be handled individually. They are the single branches, the individual boulders. Take them on one at a time, bring them to life, then move forward.

Usually it's easiest to start at the beginning, but not mandatory. My personal process is to go through the basic steps that set the stage, and create those sections first. This gives the character some flesh and bones, and they grow from there. And as I learn about the character, I am better informed about which sections I want to create next.

In an earlier post, The Opening Act: Setting the Stage, I explain the the basics of the three-act structure of most novels. This also offers the main questions that the writer needs to address to get the reader engaged. These should be easy sections to write, but if they are surprisingly difficult, then start thinking about how well you understand the story you are presenting.

The worst time I have ever experienced while writing a manuscript was simple. I thought I had everything prepared: I knew the character, the purpose, the adventure, everything was in place. However, my writing got stuck at around page 100. I still had 50,000 words to go and I couldn't get the story to move. Why? Well, when I thought about the different pieces, I realized I didn't really understand the transition that would bring the character to the second act. The story was fine, but until I understood that one little piece, it would never be completed in a satisfying way.

I now have a stack of firewood ready to go, along with some other branches I pruned for other reasons. It was a big task, and piece by piece, I got it done. And incidentally, I now tell people that my second novel, which I am now shopping around, is over 400 pages (98,000 words). They say, "How did you write all that?"

Now I just refer them to this blog.

Memorial Day and Unfinished Stories

On this and every Memorial Day, I take a little time to think about those who served our country and never made it back. It's a difficult task. After all, I never died serving my country. I never even served in the military. The only tools I have to consider this kind of sacrifice are those of a writer, and I thought I would share how I put them to work.

After my cousin, who served in Vietnam, passed away, I started talking with a number of veterans from different wars who are finally telling their stories about their time overseas. Some were very detached, discussing their life during wartime in the third person, others poured their emotions into every detail. I heard stories of heroism and terror, of confusion and of complete humanity. However, I also heard other stories that were never concluded. Those made me really think. I'd like to share a few of them for just that reason.

One man arrived in the Pacific for his first action, which was night patrol on a recently-captured island. He stayed close to a friend of his who he grew up with - they enlisted  and trained together. The patrol - about 40 soldiers - went into the jungle on a sweep. After a bit, one sniper shot rang out and his friend sunk to the ground. They returned fire, shredding the canopy with weapon fire. They had no idea if they even hit the sniper, but this man knew his friend was dead where he lay. His eyes were still open.

Another story was from a man assigned to a six-man detachment sent out on a landing craft to a small island.  The water was choppy, so the man decided to swim the last 100 yards. Others in the detachment jumped in, but they could not handle the water as easily. The man reached the shallows only to realize that the other men were struggling. He swam back to try and rescue them, and got one man to shore. The other three drowned.

Someone serving in Vietnam was the last man onto an APC driving out of camp. Last on meant first out, which could be a scary thought if the APC headed into combat, but that was the price of being last. A mile out, the vehicle was hit by a rocket, immersing it in flames. The blast threw him out, and because he was the last one on, he was the only one who escaped. Everyone else died in that APC.

They say nobody can understand the soldier's experience until they've worn his boots, carried his pack, and walked into battle not knowing if they would walk out. I agree, but I would add to that. For those soldiers that survive, they carry an extra burden. They carry stories. They now remember everyone who did not make it out of that battle. They carry those memories, and the weight, I imagine, is at times unbearable.

We hear soldiers' stories and think about what those people went through. However, Memorial Day is not for those soldiers. It is for everyone who never came home. That man on night patrol. Those men drowning in the Pacific. Everyone else in that APC. For those soldiers, we realize their stories were not allowed to be finished. They were in the middle of their story, and it was cut short by a sniper's bullet, deep water, or an explosion.

Memorial Day is about the stories not finished, the pages left empty, because someone put service to country before themselves. When we listen to veterans talking about what they endured, keep an ear out for how they talk about those who did not come home. Those stories are carried by the survivors, and we owe it to those who died to let them live in those memories and complete their story.