Don't Tell Me the Ending

Last night I saw a trailer for Will Smith’s upcoming summer vehicle, Hancock. Instead of being a teaser, it felt a lot more like a Reader’s Digest condensed version of the movie. Like too many movie trailers these days, major plot points and resolutions were exposed. I’ve been too busy over the past few years to pay attention to previews, and as a result I enjoy movies much more than I used to. I take a story more at face value, instead of trying to connect the dots with what I remember from the trailer.

The movie studios are well aware they are giving too much away. The argument is that the public wants to know what they’re getting, even if that means blowing the ending. I’m not sure I buy that answer—especially from an industry that is also convinced that the only movies the public wants to see involve comic book heroes, sequels, or remakes of television shows from the seventies.

Grumbling aside, the Hancock trailer got me to thinking about the predictability of endings in fiction. Does knowing the ending in advance spoil our enjoyment? Unless it’s a mystery, probably not. Most stories have either a happy or at least a satisfactory ending for the protagonist, so we already know that it will usually end pretty well. What we don’t know—and what keeps us interested—is how the protagonist is going to get himself untangled from the mess he’s in. The reader, or viewer, is entertained by assessing the difficulty of the situation and imagining how he would handle it. The protagonist is usually smarter than we are, and we enjoy watching his cleverness as he navigates the conflict.

This is not to say that we should settle for predictability in our endings. A good story should reach its own natural ending, with no surprises from left field. At the same time, it should be constructed so artfully that you don’t see it coming from a mile away. The best ending seem surprising the first time around, but upon re-reading is so carefully supported by the story that it’s the only logical conclusion.

Second Fiddles

Paula Margulies over at The Writer’s Edge has an interesting blog entry entitled, “When Writers Let Lesser Characters Rule.” In it, she discusses why some writers create minor characters that are more colorful and interesting than their protagonists. Her theory is that writers do this on purpose because they fear quirkiness will render their main characters unsympathetic.

As someone who has repeatedly encountered this problem with her own writing, I was relieved to hear that others have the same challenge. I’d also like to add a few thoughts on the subject.

First off, I’m not convinced that keeping a protagonist dull is a conscious act. Often, a main character is the moral center of the story—he’s the “straight man”, if you will. The voice of reason will always need a counterpoint to keep things interesting, and that’s where the minor characters come in. Those characters have much more freedom because their actions do not affect the moral backbone of the story in the same way that the protagonist’s does.

I also think developing minor characters at the expense of the lead is a form of procrastination. It’s much more fun to focus on subplots and incidental characters than to confront the terrifying meat of your story. When there’s less at stake, it’s easier to be open and experimental, to let the characters be themselves, even if we don’t agree with their decisions. But those poor protagonists—they are our firstborns. We hold them to a higher, stricter standard. The whole story hinges on their success or failure. Oh! The pressure!

So what’s the remedy? Kick ‘em out of the house.

When a minor character starts sparkling so much she threatens to outsparkle the protagonist, it might mean that the story really belongs to her. When this happens, you have to toss the main character out and change your focus. I know, it’s painful, but I’ve had to do this repeatedly—in fact, it’s something I actually count on happening whenever I start a story. Once you get over disowning your protagonist, you’ll be secretly happy you did because you’ll realize that he wasn’t so much fun anyway, and that you really enjoyed writing about the minor character more. Run with it.

And if tossing out a character is more than you can bear, save him for your next story. Better yet, turn him into a minor character—maybe that’ll give him a little personality.

Book Notes

I don’t know why, but for some reason it’s comforting to know that even agents and publishers have no idea what’s going to be a big hit. A few years ago, I met my UK publisher and he told me a little story of how he read manuscript and was unsure about it, so he gave it to his daughter to read. She loved it so much he decided to take a chance on it. And the rest, they say, is history.

_________________

A whole lotta drama has erupted over at Tess Gerritsen’s blog. I respect her honesty and I’m sorry she feels compelled to shut it down.

_______________

If you haven’t checked out Kanye West’s blog, you owe yourself a look. Every day he features the latest in art and design. Here’s THE FUTURE OF BOOKS.

_________________

This is one heck of an ethical dilemma. If it were up to me, I’d honor the author’s wishes; on the other hand, I can’t wait to get my hands on a copy.

__________________

BYOB

A One Act Play

Setting: Home Depot. Last Sunday.

Cashier: Would you like a bag?

Me (looking at my tiny package of L-brackets): No, thanks. I hate bags.

Cashier (indignant): They can be handy.

Me: I have about 300 at home I don’t know what to do with. I like to bring my own bags when I can.

Cashier (somewhat scornfully): When you get too many, just throw them away.

Me (silently): ARGHHH!!!

Curtain Falls.

This being Earth Day and all, take a minute to consider that giant wad of plastic shopping bags stuffed under your sink or taking up space in your closet. Sure, recycling is a great option, but not having those bags in the first place is even better. I've bought several folding tote bags that fit neatly in my glove box, and even though I only remember to bring them into the store about half the time, I still can’t believe how much it’s reduced my pile of bags. If you don’t do this already, I urge you to give it a try.

___________________

Speaking of plays, in the next week or so I’ll be posting an interview with playwright/author Judy Sheehan. Stay tuned!

Finding Your Voice

Over the last few blog entries, I’ve listed a few things that have helped me break through a lengthy block—these are developing my characters, having those characters form opinions about others and their situation, and coming up with a simple premise that calls the characters to action. The final piece—the piece that I’ve found really makes a story take off—is the voice.

The voice of a novel is the overall style and tone. It can be wry, ponderous, intimate, lofty, delicate or in-you-face, just to name a few. It can be a unique combination of any of these styles. The key to pulling off the voice is that it must complement the characters and story, but most importantly, it must be consistent throughout.

Think back to a movie you’ve seen where the characters and story seemed ok, but for some reason that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, you didn’t like the movie. This is often a tone problem. There was something in the way the story was told that didn’t quite reflect the story. Maybe the tone was too melodramatic for the lightness of the situation, or too breezy for a story that requires a little emotional depth. When the tone is wrong, we find ourselves laughing at the wrong times or shaking our heads in disbelief. Using the wrong voice can undermine the credibility of your entire work.

Finding your voice can be a long and elusive quest. A good place to start is to think about your natural speaking voice. How do you tell a story? Are you a person of few words or are you more leisurely? Tell the story out loud and write it as you go. You can also try switching points of view, which is one of the quickest ways to change the voice. Another method is to free write, alternating between dialogue and narration, without trying to force a particular style. What I’ve discovered is that often a bit of dialogue or a turn of phrase will bubble up and suddenly, you’ll just know…. you’ve found your voice. If you can build on this little bit of discovery, zero in on what kind of voice you have, you can use it to re-write previous scenes in this new tone. When I’ve done this with my own work, it feels a bit like performing CPR. It feels like I’m breathing life into the prose.

Even after you discover your voice, there will be times when you'll get a little off track, when your storytelling becomes flat. When this happens, return to that moment on the page when you first discovered it. Or, find a particular scene that really sings. Revisit your successes and use them as inspiration to move forward.

Characters Have Opinions, Too

As I’ve been detailing over the past few days, several parameters have to be in place before I can begin writing. First I develop characters, then I come up with a premise—not a plot, per se, but more of a situation that requires action.

I’ve discovered that once I’ve found my premise, it’s helpful to decide what my characters’ opinions are of the situation and of each other. No one should be ambivalent. Each character should have strong feelings one way or another about every other character, even if they cross paths only briefly. I think it’s fun to have a character make an offhand comment about another character they barely know. It gives fuller perspectives of the characters and can be very revealing.

Ideally, the characters won’t all love each other, or else there will be no tension. Sometimes it’s helpful to draw a circle, with each character being a point on the circle, then draw a series of lines connecting everyone to everyone else. On the lines, write a few words to explains how that character feels toward the other one. Don’t worry about getting it right the first time—as you’re writing, it’s very likely that your story will require a character to feel differently than he does. What’s more important is that you start somewhere.

What’s great about this web of relationships is that it will begin to define your characters’ motivations. If you are clear about how they feel, you’ll know what they will or will not do. Then, as their motivations prompt them to action, the chess game begins. Every action will prompt reaction in the other characters—which will spur them to action, and so on. Heck, once you get going, this stuff will practically write itself.

Tomorrow, the final piece that makes everything fall into place.

Situation vs. Premise

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, I’ve had a significant breakthrough on my current project after a long dry spell. Part of my problem, as I mentioned previously, was that I tend to develop the characters first, then try to build a story around them.

The breakthrough came about when I boo-hooed to my agent that I was hopelessly stuck. I told him about a few situations I had in mind for the characters, but that so far they refused to do anything interesting—they were just loitering. It was then that my agent suggested that maybe my problem was that I was looking for situations, when what I really needed was a premise.

The distinction, as he explained, was very subtle yet significant. A situation was merely dropping them in a setting with a set of problems. A premise was dropping them into a situation that forced them to take action. Here’s a rough example: a situation might be that a family that doesn’t get along very well decides to go to an amusement park for the day. They argue, they eat pizza, they go on rides. They exist within the situation, but other than that, not much is going on. A premise, on the other hand, would be that this combative family gets locked in the park overnight. A premise begs the question: What are they going to do? It indicates movement, direction. This is precisely the kind of momentum needed to start a story.

Basic stuff, I know, but sometimes it’s good to be reminded now and then.

My agent then suggested I brainstorm 100 plot ideas—the more outlandish the better—to get myself rolling. First, I went through all the clichés; the evil twin, mistaken identity, alien abduction. Then it became really hard, and I thought I’d never come up with 10, let alone 100 ideas. Still, I kept on. Then, I hit number 18. It was so simple and clear, I could hardly believe it. I’d found my premise.

But I wasn't quite out of the woods, yet. More tomorrow.

Outliners Vs. Wingers

I’m happy to say that after three years of mucking about, I’ve had a significant writing breakthrough. Part of the problem is my process, which I’ve tried many times to alter with no avail. Instead of starting with a story, I first develop a handful of characters and then try to find their story. Backwards, I know. This method leads to a lot of false-starts and wasted time, but it works for me.

Writers are generally divided into two camps: outliners and wingers. Some writers are a mixture of both. The outliners, as you may have already deduced, first write out a sketch of the plot. They usually know all the pivotal scenes and the ending even before they begin writing. Some writers can spend as long as a year or more perfecting their outlines. I admire this method for its efficiency. Outliners tend to be quick, disciplined, and very much in control of their story.

Wingers like to fly by the seat of their pants. They start with a vague idea of what’s going on, usually with a few characters and maybe a general premise. Then they write scenes as they come, letting the characters take control of the story’s direction. Often, they don’t know how the story will end, preferring to let the plot develop. To borrow an annoying catchword that has become popular as of late, wingers let their story develop organically, which means they let it flow naturally and without the use of harmful pesticides. The problem of winging, as I mentioned above, is that you are more prone to making mistakes. The fun, though, is being surprised by the story as it takes shape. When a story is chugging along by itself, I find myself looking forward to what’s going to happen next, just like a reader would. I figure if I’m surprised, the reader will be, too.

On the next post I'll tell you more about the breakthrough and how it came about.