The Price for Magic

“It’s not enough to create magic. You have to create a price for magic, too. You have to create rules.” –Eric A. Burns

I came across this quote recently, and it stuck with me. At first glance, it seems to apply only to writers of fantasy, but I believe it goes well beyond that. Each story is a bit of magic in itself. However, even more than the idea of magic in fiction, I like the idea of rules. A great way to keep your story moving forward is to identify the rules you’ve established. If you have no rules established, perhaps you need to spend some time developing them. Perhaps the best way to demonstrate my point is to give a genre-by-genre list of examples. I’m bound to forget one, so feel free to weigh in if I do.

FANTASY: This will be the easiest to see. Let’s take a popular example to demonstrate the point. The Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini, for as much grief as I give it, does magic very well, as do the Mistborn books by Brandon Sanderson. In Inheritance and the other books of the series, the magic wielded by Dragon Riders and Wizards etc. is pulled from within themselves. For example, if they try to lift a rock that is too heavy for them to lift physically, it will exhaust them to the point of death. The way around this is to draw energy from other living creatures, or from their own store of reserves, which they can hold in certain gems. Each spell, then, has a cost. The Mistborn books focus on Allomancers, humans who “burn” metals in order to gain physical benefits (speed, strength, etc.). Each metal is spelled out, with each benefit. Additionally, the rate at which they “burn” the metals is proportionate to the “boost” they get from it.

SCIENCE-FICTION: Like fantasy, science-fiction stories often have “magic wands,” except in sci-fi, the wands take batteries. Much of the allure of science-fiction has to do with the advanced technology. This technology must have a power source, be it batteries, solar, geo-thermal, nuclear, etc. What is it that powers the technology? What happens when your characters lose their “batteries?”

STANDARD FICTION: For the sake of time, I’ll wrap everything else up into this neat and tidy little category. By “standard fiction,” I simply mean anything that covers a modern, earthly setting. I understand that I’m neglecting certain historical novels, but I only have so much time (as do you). While you may not feature a “magic” system, I encourage you to think of your characters as their own source of “magic.” That is, they should have some character trait, some skill or ability at which they’re very good. In the same way, they should have some flaw to balance it out. Perhaps they’re very determined and stubborn, but are afraid of spiders. Maybe they’re amazing on a computer, but can’t fix their marriage. The greatest air force dog fighter ever suffers from blinding migraine headaches.

You may continue my extrapolation to your particular genre. The basic idea is this: you must have balance. For every benefit, there must be a cost. A price must be paid for every victory. Without rules for magic, without balance in our characters, we run the risk of creating unbelievable, two-dimensional  cardboard cut-outs. We want something better.

Fiction in the Kitchen

During my undergrad studies, a student brought in a poem he’d written about he and his father cooking traditional Korean food. The poor kid was terrified. Our professor lacked tact, and could be pretty harsh at times. With worried hands, he confessed his fear to us: “It’s just about cooking.”

To his astonishment, our professor loved it. He proceeded to tell us how rich food is with imagery. If you’re a fan of food network, I don’t need to tell you this. You already know.

Food, and cooking especially, is an art rich in sensory detail, in cultural traditions, in familial traditions. Few things bring people together like food.

When we write, when we focus on imagery, we’re prone to lean on our two primary sense: sight and sound. Still, an entire world exists beyond those two senses. Taste and smell are so deeply rooted in us, several of our memories are rooted on experiences of these senses. Entire emotions are conjured by simple descriptions.

If you’d like to get the most bang for you buck, consider these senses when writing your next scene. Consider the role that food can play in your character’s life. Consider the memories of food, of smells and tastes, wrinkle-deep in his mind.

My challenge: Spend some time in a kitchen. Watch Food Network. Help someone prepare a meal. Learn the language, the technical terms for green onions, for the particular way they chop a potato, a carrot, a stick of celery. Read recipes. List ingredients. Learn this so you can, with simple, accurate descriptions, evoke your readers’ emotions that, at times, are best unlocked through the sense of smell and taste.

Until then, good eating.

Think and Respond: What memories do you have of food/cooking? Do you have family traditions, special recipes handed down from generation to generation? Who do you cook with? Eat with? How does that change who you are as a character?

Inheritance Book Review

I don’t often do book reviews, and so I’m a little worried I may not be that good at it. That being said, please understand a few things going into this review: First, I enjoyed the Inheritance Cycle as a whole. Secondly, I’m still fairly new to fantasy as a genre. Only over the last few years have I been reading and writing it. Thirdly, my review of Paolini’s most recent novel in the series will be judged strictly on craft and story. Lastly, I’m sure Paolini is a very nice young man. Now, let the tirade begin.

I very much wanted to enjoy this series. I love dragons, and the thought of following a character through his journey of becoming a hero is always enticing. Did the first book seem to borrow heavily from the dramatic structure of the first Star Wars? Sure. But that’s not a big deal to me. Star Wars with a dragon is still an awesome concept.

***SPOILER ALERTS***

Perhaps my biggest complaint with the final installment of the series is that it didn’t satisfy my first desire, which is to see Eragon become an awe-inspiring dragon rider, capable of laying waste to thousands of villainous, twisted soldiers. In truth, it’s his cousin Roran that does so. What does Eragon accomplish? A whole lot of whining. In nearly every battle, Eragon is in over his head, no matter how small the threat, and for whatever reason, someone else always saves him. I understand Paolini’s desire to create tension, but it falls a little flat. At some point, I stopped asking, “How is Eragon going to get out of this one?” and started asking, “Who’s going to save him now?” Disappointing. I really wanted to see Eragon grow up. He never does.

He begins the series whining, and he ends the series whining. Hard to root for a whiner.

On that note, another major failing of Paolini’s is the withholding of Eragon’s “true name.” In Paolini’s fiction, true names hold power. I’m on board with that concept. But if Eragon knows his true name, and he is our viewpoint character, we the reader should also know. Instead we get some half-hearted description of the name, but not the name itself. We’re left to guess, what is his true name? My thought? “Whiny Little Baby.”

Additionally, Galbatorix, the evil tyrant, doesn’t seem nearly as bad as everyone says he is. I understand he’s “bad,” and that he’d done some pretty evil things in the past, but in this book, he does very little that seems to be “evil.” In fact, his motivation seems pretty benevolent, though awkwardly selfish at the same time. Still, if we’re concerned with the good of the Empire’s people, then we have to question if Eragon and his friends are doing more harm than good. Paolini should have brought those ancient evils to light in this installment, should have reminded us of the depths of Galbatorix’s evil. As it is, I felt more sympathetic to Galbatorix and his ideals than I did to Eragon. *SIGH*

Once Galbatorix is defeated (and I will say, I enjoyed how that particular scene played out, though, again, Eragon must rely on others to save his back side), I assumed the ending was a few pages away. Instead, I realized I was only two-thirds of the way done. The last third turns into an entirely superfluous, incredibly boring info-dump. If he tied up important loose ends, that’s fine. Instead, he seemed to focus on one loose end that, frankly, no one really cared about. Essentially, the last third of the book lacked any forward momentum at all.

So what does that mean for us?

WRITING LESSONS TO BE LEARNED:

1. Our heroes must be heroes. The bad guy may be more powerful, but if our hero has no shot, we won’t be very interested in reading. Let your heroes be heroic, and let them struggle as the story progresses and the threat becomes larger.

2. If your viewpoint character knows something, don’t hide it from the reader. At no point should you engage in “hide-and-go-seek” writing. If the character knows it, we should too. “What about mystery?” you ask. Mystery is great, but by definition, your character will not know the mystery either. Hence, the mystery. Otherwise, you’re teasing the reader, and it’s not okay.

3. If your bad guy is bad, remind the reader how bad he is, especially if you’re sustaining a hefty mythos over the course of four sizeable books.

4. Make sure you give the crisis of your story the time it needs, and make sure it happens at the right time. The closer to the end of the book/series, the better.

Novels vs. Short Story

My first novel started off as a ten page story. The first revision ballooned up to twenty pages. By my fourth revision, I was rocking fifty pages—that wonderful in between of not quite a novella, not quite a short story. I knew I had to make a choice: cut or expand. I chose to expand.

In retrospect, I probably should have cut. It would have been better that way. However, I do not regret my decision. I learned a lot from writing that first novel. It taught me perseverance, pacing. It taught me how to juggle multiple perspectives and plot threads. It also taught me that several plot lines I’d chosen to follow existed only to expand the page count. You’ve read books like this, I’m sure. You can tell because, half-way through, you’re thinking “Why am I reading about this?”

So how do you know if you should cut or grow? Look at the main tension of your novel—the main story thread. What’s on the line? What does the primary character want? How quickly can you resolve the tension. Strip your story down as far as it will go, keep only what is necessary. You may even want to do an outline. Some writers color coordinate their scene by scene outlines. You may not need to go to that extreme, but it may help.

Try the story as a 20 pager. From there, determine if you can reasonably keep it around that amount. Think of it as your first chapter. Can your first chapter stand alone as a story? If not, why not? What needs to be resolved?

If you want to expand to a novel, think escalator. How can you escalate the tension? don’t think the answer is adding new plot threads (though that’s one viable option). If you do, make sure that all threads weave together into something cohesive, maybe a doily or a blanket or a tablecloth—they should work together to accomplish a purpose as opposed to simply adding pages.

Then again, maybe you should color coordinate your outline, so you can visually see the tapestry you’re weaving.

The Musicality of Prose (or Writing in the Lyric Register)

Much to my father’s chagrin, I studied poetry in college. Yes, I’m that guy. What’s worse, I studied it at the post-grad level as well. Pops likes to remind me that poetry is what people write when they can’t write novels. I like to say that novels are what people write when they can’t write a poem.

But as I spoke with an old student via Facebook the other day (thanks for the idea, btw, Renato), I was reminded how little I actually say about poetry on this blog. Perhaps it’s my innate fear that my followers expect to see something about crafting fiction. He suggested I write more about the interplay between fiction and poetry, which I’ll do to a small extent tonight.

Before I delve into that, however, feel free to leave me a comment and let me know what you’re currently working on. I’d be interested in knowing how many of you are working on novels vs. poems vs. short stories vs. novellas. I’d like to tailor my next few blogs toward what you guys have in the works.

Now, on to the poetry aspect. My father may not remember this the way I do, but here’s how this scene plays out in my mind: While still working toward my BA at CSUSB, my father called me to tell me about a line he’d just written. He read it to me, excited about how beautiful it was. He couldn’t say why he loved it so much, just that it sounded right. I looked over the line and, with my fancy new college-learning, told him he’d penned a line in perfect iambic pentameter.

“Watch your mouth, College Boy,” he said.

Okay, he didn’t say that, but it felt right for the story. The point is this: while you may not be able to tell me what iambic pentameter is, you know it when you hear it. It sounds right. Why? Because it mimics our normal speech patterns. Poetry and fiction have a lot in common. But, for whatever reason, people think prose is an excuse to ignore poetic elements.

Think of music, of timing and rhythms, of swells, crescendos, pianissimos. Think of the sound of the words, the high-tight vowels, the bass note, full bellied vowels (ohs, uhs). Your poetry should sing, as should your fiction.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, I’d really suggest practicing some poetry. Learn the language. Read the greats (I’m a fan of Frost, Bishop, Moore, Plath, Rich). Try your own poem (something more than a Dr. Seuss impersonation). Enroll in a beginning poetry course, or an analysis of poetry course. Better yet, you can start here. Some great resources available free.

Until next week,

Good singing.

Bigger, Brighter, Better

Reason #419 why my wife is amazing: She won a family get away at the Palazzo Hotel in Las Vegas. Assuming you have even the slightest familiarity with Vegas, you’ll understand the city’s about as subtle as a Michael Bay film. Everything has to be bigger, brighter, better. If you’re not entertained, it sure isn’t the cities fault. It can be a little overwhelming at times. The first few hours I found rather exciting. But shortly after, I was ready for everyone to calm down.

Here’s a taste of our journey: Shortly after checking in, Santa read us a story. Shortly thereafter, we walked through a mall and watched the people riding in gondola’s (all in the same hotel/casino). After walking down the strip (a continual visual and auditory assault, though I did appreciate the beggar with the “ho ho homeless” sign), we listened to a time share speech so we could see the sharks. Even the food (the quintessential buffet)  is more about quantity than quality. Our eldest son made himself sick on the smorgasbord. And, after three days, I can fully understand the feeling.

Home never sounded better to me. Please don’t misunderstand—I’m having a great time. But, at some point, racing down the strip at 8 PM, dodging cross-dressers and Jack Sparrow(s), trying desperately to make it back to our hotel so elves can read our children a bedtime story, I felt more like a contestant on The Amazing Race than a vacationer.

Really, Las Vegas is a one-city Writer’s Block wrecking crew.

Stuck for ideas about characters? Walk the strip after hours.

Stuck for ideas about setting? Open the blinds in your room.

Stuck for story ideas? Agree to listen to a time share spiel in exchange for food money and tickets to see the sharks at Mandalay Bay.

You’ve read my previous posts on character, setting, and detail. By the looks of it, Las Vegas did, too.

Last Lines Like Flashlights

If you’ve followed my blog much, you’ll know how much importance I put on the first line. Just as important, and just as tricky, is the final line. If I could make one observation from my years as a literary editor, I’d say that the best fiction has a great opening and a great conclusion. Like any great rock-and-roll act will tell you, the most memorable shows are the ones with killer first and long songs. This is not to say that the middle of your fiction can be sloppy, but, as an editor, if I see a strong opening and a strong conclusion, I’m more willing to overlook the shortcomings of the middle.

The American Book Review put up a list of their 100 best lines from novels, which you can see here. You can learn a lot just by reading them. And, if you’ve read the novels they go with, you’ll know what it is that makes them good. Here are a few commonalities I’ve seen among them.

The best last lines do at least one of the following:

1. Resolve the central tension: In the context of a novel, the central tension is usually resolved before the final line, but in some cases it’s not. If you can take the central tension of the novel (or a smaller, sub-tension) through to the final line, your readers will stay with you. Just remember to resolve enough smaller conflicts along the way, so the reader will trust you with the larger conflicts.

2. Leave some tension unresolved: The expectation of most readers is that every tension will be resolved by the final line. But, at times, you can defy that expectation and allow the tension to live on. This is a more “literary” type of ending, but it still has it’s merits. Cormac McCarthy does this often, and does it well. We get a resolve, though it may not be the one we’re hoping for. I like to think that the best final lines lead us toward a particular conclusion, without having to spell out exactly how the story resolves. That way, the tension is still alive, and the story can live beyond it’s pages.

3. Transcend the story from the confines of the novel: Many novels center around a universal struggle—Good v. Evil, Love v. Jealousy, etc. These are struggles that will persist beyond our characters’ lives, beyond the pages of our novel. Ending in such a way that the story concludes, and the central tension is resolved, is fantastic. But if you can take the next step and indicate a larger, universal struggle, of which your characters’ conflicts are only microcosms, then you can elevate your story beyond a simple tale, and into something larger, something that persists for ages to come.

4. Enlighten the preceding prose: Poe talks a bit about the last line of a poem or short story as a light that, when shined back on the rest of the story, illuminates it in such a way that the reader thinks, “How did I not see this coming?” I think back to The Sixth Sense. At the end of the film, when we realize Bruce Willis is dead, we feel cheated, as if we were lied to. But, when we go back and look at the film with the new information, it becomes clear that we’ve made some assumptions that were not warranted. Watching the film again, we see the clues that we should have picked up on the first time. This is a simple tool called foreshadowing. When done properly, it will give us an indication of how the story may end, without us understanding EXACTLY how it will conclude.

This is far from a comprehensive list, but it’s a good beginning. Perhaps these suggestions will help you formulate the final pages of your story. Good writing.

Happy, Horrifying, and Harried Holidays

As we delve headlong into another holiday season (Thanksgiving, Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Christmas, New Years etc…), I hope you and your family have an amazingly wonderful and restful time. But I’m also aware that they holidays can be just as stressful as they are joyful. Cleaning house for guests, out-of-town travel, feasts to prepare (and clean up after), shopping and wrapping—they take a toll on you. And, of course, there’s always the first Holiday after losing someone special to you.

Just as they are for us, holidays are an important part of fiction. Just think of how many movies take place on or around a particular holiday. How many of your stories mine the emotional depths of a holiday season? It doesn’t have to be Christmas. Maybe it’s the 4th of July.

Or, if you’re writing a Sci-Fi or Fantasy, maybe it’s a completely fictional holiday (like thee Feast of the Undead). Here’s an opportunity to world-build. What is the holiday? What does it celebrate? What religious ties does it have? Has it changed over the course of the hundreds of years it’s been celebrated? What rituals and rites are associated with it? What does it look like for the rich? For the peasants?

Here are a few of the things holidays can do in your fiction:

• Draw on a preconceived perception of a widely celebrated cultural observance
• Establish several rituals and rites and religions
• Establish a ticking clock (something must happen before Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or the Feast of the Undead, or Vulcan Independence Day)
• Provide a colorful backdrop for a story that might otherwise have a bland setting
• Twist something we’re familiar with just enough to make it strange and uniquely appealing  (Christmas in the Bahamas, Valentine’s Day for a polygamist, Easter in Australia)
• Act as a marker of a significant moment in a character’s life (some tragedy at Thanksgiving, or getting an engagement ring on Christmas Eve, or a break-up on New Year’s Eve)

The above list is far from exhaustive. Feel free to chime in and mention some other things holidays can do for fiction.

Take a moment to examine your story and ask yourself if you’re properly delving the depths of the holiday season. Or, if your story does not account for holidays, think of a way to incorporate one. How might it benefit your story? How might it better inform and develop your characters?

**Special thanks to Michela Hansen of http://www.toursdepartingdaily.com/ for the use of the image. If you’ve not had a chance to check them out, they put up some of the best photography on the web. Stop on by, and tell them I sent you.

NaNoWriMo

 

 

I’m a little late on this one, but I’m curious how many of you are participating in “National Novel Writing Month.” I’ve actually never done so, but have had several students who have. Here’s the basic idea, if you’re unfamiliar with it: The month of November is dedicated to writing 50,000 words of fiction. If you break that down, you’re looking at nearly 1,700 words per day. Seems rather unattainable at time. I’ve written 1,700 words in a day before, but not for 30 days straight.

How has your experience with NaNoWriMo been? Have you come up with decent prose, or do you struggle to turn out inspired writing when on such a crazy deadline? I’d be inclined to think that, even if most of the 50,000 words would be rushed, some of it will be decent. Also, it will give your book a sense of momentum. Sure, there would be times where the story drags, but for the most part, you’d be well immersed in your novel.

Whether its NaNoWriMo that gets you going, or something else that gets you writing, just make sure you spend some time putting words on page. There’s no other way to finish a book.

Bringing Back the Mixed-Tape

Hey, remember cassette tapes? Good times. Back in the day, mixed-tapes were all the rage. What better way to say “I love you,” than a tape filled with your loved one’s favorite tunes? When I was in high-school, the mixed-tape was a required prerequisite to asking anyone out. And while digital media has made the mixed-tape a thing of the past, the concept can be super valuable in writing.

Here are some things that music can do for your writing:

1. Better inform you of your characters: Just as you have taste in music, so do your characters. Imagine making a mixed-tape for them. What tracks would be included? Why? Remember, these won’t always be similar to your taste (though mostly they will). Try picking a character that enjoys a different type of music than you. What genre do they prefer? Why? Study the music, and listen to it with their ears. Find the ways to appreciate what your character appreciates.

2. Prepare you to write the difficult scenes: When you have a particularly challenging scene to write, perhaps one wrought with pathos or drama, or heavy with action, and you find yourself struggling, music can help push you through the scene. It can better inspire the emotion within you that you’re trying to formulate on the page.

3. Inspire you through writer’s block: When I get stuck in a novel, I’ll often turn on my MP3 player and tune the world out. While I listen, I move my fingers over the keys of the keyboard and imagine typing. Sometimes, I’ll type nonsense until something comes out, something that makes sense. This can often jump start a challenging scene or help me figure out where the story must go next.

Aside from your MP3 player, there are several options to broaden your musical horizon. The one I like best is Pandora.com. It’s a staple of my writing. I like it because I don’t have to choose a particular playlist. I can have it shuffle through several different “stations” and hear something new, rather than the same songs twenty times a day.

Spotify is another quality program. You can listen to virtually any song on demand, freely and legally. This is great when you’re looking for a particular tune. And speaking of tunes, there’s always iTunes. I’ll go ahead and assume you know what that is.