Teresa Fannin, reader, writer, gardener, chocolate fan & tea drinker

Category: Art & Craft (Page 7 of 17)

need/want/desire

Sometimes, when I read a children’s book I feel like my emotions are all over the place and sometimes I feel like I don’t have any at all. Sometimes I feel played by the emotions conveyed in a book, manipulated to have a tear well up in my eye, a choke in my throat. I’m susceptible to this kind of manipulation, always have been, but it’s not always satisfying. For example, in middle grade, in a number of very popular stories out there, the MC doesn’t know her own story, she has to overcome and struggle to get to her own story. It is necessary for her to leave, take on an adventure, to get to her own story. The differences seem to be in the particulars of the overcoming and the adventure.

Each of these stories starts with strong voices and with an early identification of the need/want/desire.

Why is there a difference between what make the emotions of a story satisfying or not? Are some emotions better or worse than others? Should my character’s satisfaction of the need/want/desire be easily identifiable to the reader? That seems like it may be a strange question, but I admit, that in reading a number of stories, I am not always okay with an ending and the character’s ability to be happy/content/accepting of the way the story played out.

Right now I’m working on a story that needs a complete emotional arc, so says an editor. The need/want/desire of my character must be illustrated in the beginning of the story and then satisfied at the end. I have a satisfying end, the editor says I don’t have a satisfying beginning to get that satisfying arc. Sigh.

In writing this story, to me, this character doesn’t really have a need/want/desire that is shaping her life. She is loved, cosseted, taken care of. Life is really good. Where do I go to find that inner need/want/desire that the initial crisis of a death of a close family member will exacerbate? Does it have to show up in the first few pages of the story? Or can it become clear when the close family members dies?

Over the past couple of weeks I have been thinking I could easily establish a need/want/desire at the beginning. A choice phrase here, a sentence there to plainly identify a need/want/desire. But just ‘a’ need/want/desire. Not ‘the’ need/want/desire. Somehow, as a lifetime reader, it seems manipulative, a little to easy to use, perhaps pat and cliché to just pick ‘a’ need/want/desire.  The story is a different enough step outside the norm to not have a cliché need/want/desire. Why then should the emotional arc be cliché?

If I have been told that there are interesting twists and turns to the story itself, should not the emotional arc reflect those twists and turns as well? Can it? Can a character begin with one needing/wanting/desiring and then realize that in order to get that one thing there is a bigger, more substantial need/want/desire that needs to be satisfied? Once the bigger more substantial need/want/desire is understood by the main character, but not satisfied in this story exactly, possibly  allowing it to be satisfied outside the storyline [perhaps setting up a second story or not], and go back to the original need/want/desire and see that fulfilled, then is that completing the emotional arc of the story?

My character and I can only try.

 

Pay Myself First

Just after I got my first job, my dad took me to see his accountant. Can’t remember much about him, except he and dad were in the Knights of Columbus together–dad had been treasurer of the Council of St. Francis Xavier Parish–both were fourth degree knights, not that that really matters. Anyway, Tony gave me an overall view of how to handle my money. True I was young, still at home and didn’t have expenses like rent, phone [no cells in those days], but no matter. Tony set up this box with index cards showing my expenses at the time, insurance and car were about the only ones. But there was room to expand as I needed. And there was one that was Savings. Before I had any money to spend on fun and games, I was expected to save. And, for the most part, this ‘pay myself first’ was what I practiced my whole life.

This is important because I still do that for my, our, money, same system but it’s electronic.

What I need is a box with index cards for time.  Maybe it’s because I’m not as busy as I was with home, children, job that I don’t give myself the time anymore. Or because there are so many possibilities for distraction. But I do need that box.

As a SCBWI Regional Advisor, I am a volunteer. It is my responsibility, along with the Carolinas ARA and the IC, to create programs-conferences, intensives, workshops, retreats, even online–for the region. That responsibility is also fiduciary, as a treasury is involved. What I get is tuition to the international conferences where regional team members are expected to assist in registration or hosting a speaker, etc.  And, I like this volunteer work, it’s important to me, and I’m good at it.

But as I work on my middle grade novels, one that I am shopping and one that I am revising, I realize that I should, no must, remember to pay myself first. To spend time on research for the YA nonfiction I am burning to write. To read and reread middle grade mysteries so that I have a good understanding of what is selling in the market place. To search and find that right paragraph, sentence, phrase, word that will make the internal and external story so much more coherent and publishable.

So. Here’s me, working on the fall conference, and yes there is a huge amount to do, but here’s me, thinking about the art and craft of my writing. Here’s me, looking at the index cards in that box and making sure that I pay myself first.

Beta Readers

Sigh. Another three months have gone by. Double Sigh. So. Where were we?

When I write I’m not exactly a pantser. But I’m not a plotter either. I know where the story is going. I know how I want it to end. Maybe I’m too willing to find a new character along the way. Or find a flaw in the main character. Or find out that the main character should be older, wiser–younger, sillier. Or even find a new ending.

So this led me to thinking about beta. Second letter of the Greek alphabet. β A pretty cool way to write the letter b. As in not Alpha? hmmm…and a beta reader.

Google says beta readers encompass things such as plot holes, problems with continuity, characterisation or believability; in fiction and non-fiction, the beta might also assist the author with fact-checking. Yes. That they do.

Does my critique group count as beta readers? Nah! I think not. Why? Because they saw too much. Know too much. And, in someways, like me, they are very vested in the story. It was time to send this story to someone. I knew it couldn’t be an agent/editor. Nah, again. Not ready. First off it was too long. Second, it rambled. I got that there was too much writing getting in the way of story. But I liked those vignettes, the way they fell into the storyline, they way they explained with out telling [I hope] a lot about the main character.

Then last year I received an offer I could just not refuse. An offer, by an accomplished writer and teacher of writing, to take my whole story and read it all the way through. New eyes. New attitudes. No clue as to where the story came from. No witness to the struggles. No understanding of the plot beyond the synopsis. Did I trust the person? Yes. Was I nervous. Yes.

And get feedback. Ah. Feedback. This is not the same as critique. Although my critique group is brutal…attacking the page not the person. But still!  So I sent. And I paced. And I paced. And I chewed a couple of fingers. Waited. Anticipated.

Then it came back. With comments. Not–this sentence should be shorter. Or you need to use this description. But something much more helpful. Four letters–E, T & B, C. E and T were good. B and C were bad. Emotional and tense. Boring and confusing. Doesn’t seem like much, does it?

Think about it! What holds you to the story? What takes you out of the story? Yes. Well.

So. Eighteen thousand words now on the cyber floor, a tighter narrative, a more accessible character.  I raise my glass to beta readers–those who are willing to spend the time and energy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

every story has a world

Writing speculative fiction [as Orson Scott Card refers to the entire science fiction and fantasy genre] is a dream of mine. I’ve struggled with this world building concept and thought it applicable only to a couple of ideas I had about something outside the realm of contemporary or historical.

There have been a number of panels at SCBWI events on ‘world building‘. Why do I highlight that? Because most, no all, of the panel members were writers of speculative fiction. Sitting in the LA ballroom one year not too far back, I wondered. Why? Didn’t Jane Austin build a world in PRIDE AND PREJUDICE? Didn’t Sue Grafton build a world and sustain it in every one of the Kinsey Millhone mystery stories? Ellen Raskin in THE WESTING GAME? Jay Asher in THIRTEEN REASONS WHY? Anthony Horowitz ALEX RIDER?

I grew up reading Edgar Rice Burroughs’s JOHN CARTER ON MARS, Fredrick Brown’s MARTIAN’S GO HOME, Asimov’s LUCKY STARR, moving on to the LOTR trilogy, The GORMANGHAST TRILOGY, anything Frank Herbert, or Robert Heinlen, Frederick Pohl, Phillip Dick… you get the picture. I’ve probably spent more of my time in other worlds cumulatively than I have anywhere else.

The question was–why was world building only thought of in speculative fiction, in those science fiction, fantasy, paranormal stories? So when a world building intensive was offered this year at the SCBWI MidWinter Conference [with authors Henry H. Neff and James Dashner]  I signed up and brought my contemporary murder mystery set in Boston. And, interestingly, I wasn’t the only one. Although there were speculative-fiction type manuscripts at the table, there was on on discrimination in the south using the ghost of Medgar Evers, [okay, so paranormal] and one on a transgender child navigating high school.

Here’s the bottom line….

EVERY STORY HAS A WORLD

Whether it takes place on another world, in outer space, in the apartment building down the block or in a time period long past, that story exists somewhere. This isn’t just setting–as in where an event takes place, the physical. A world is so much more–it’s who’s in charge, who’s friends with whom, what is the belief system, how do they communicate.  The better the somewhere is described, the better you are able to fit the character into that description, the better the story. Makes sense, right? And well it should. This intensive made me question what was unique about my world? What ways the world impacted my story? What ways the world impacted my characters? It also made me question whether or not the world was complete, was I describing the MC’s world well enough that you could understand her predicament, how much did I develop and how much did I assume the reader would know based on the contemporary setting?  What did I need to change?

These questions helped me to be certain I had clearly identified the theme of my story. It helped me to see any inconsistencies in the way the characters behaved. And, it helped me to achieve an ending to the story that was in keeping with the character’s behavior, and it helped me to find a solution to identifying the murderers that was consistent with her world.

So. THIS WORLD. The world of my story, the one that my main character roams around in each day, this world in some ways helps define her, is important. I had to build this world, I needed to make her world complete enough that when the last page of the story is turned, this world is something you remember.

Because every story has a world. Every single one!

 

a little writing craft…

Funny little word that, craft. A dictionary might define it as ‘a skill involved in making things by hand.’ Or, ‘to make or construct (something) with care or ingenuity.’ A craftsman is a chooser–– of the raw material, the design of the material, even the final outcome of putting all that material together, what the combined material will be. A craftsman is skilled––’having or showing the knowledge, ability, or training to perform a certain activity or task well.’

I think about writing that way. Writing is choosing words strung together to become an idea. An idea needs a theme. A theme needs a character. A character needs a place to hang out and a place to go and so a description evolves. An evolving description needs a plot. A plot needs a compelling beginning, middle and end. A character needs a point of view. A point of view becomes a narrative. And then, wow, you have crafted a story!

My raw material is letters, letters put into an order that has meaning becoming a word. A word that is a thing or an action. How I place those nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, how I meld that raw material together is my craft. And while writing on the computer is most effective and efficient, I’ve found that  sitting, loose leaf paper in front of me, pen in hand, joining those letters into words, those words into action is a way to connect my brain and my story. I am constructing. I am choosing. I am making something by hand.

I thought of all of this listening to Jordan Brown give his Seven Rules for Writing Middle Grade Fiction. Why? Because no matter how many rules there are, there are never enough to identify, define, or assume craft. You can have all the check lists in the world, but they will never ‘provide’ craft. It wasn’t a checklist that designed the John Hancock Tower or the Myerson Symphony Center in Dallas, it was the craftsman I.M. Pei. It wasn’t a checklist that developed the process for open heart surgery, it was the craftsman Michael DeBakey. There were no rules, there was only the making or constructing with care or ingenuity. This is craft, yes in differing fields, still craft.

So I sort of translated, instead of saying the Seven Rules for Writing Middle Grade Fiction, perhaps it would be Think of These Seven Things When Writing Middle Grade Fiction. No not nearly as catchy. And if it was written out in long hand, it might just be ‘hit these marks, over and over. Practice them. Understand them. Be true to them. And then maybe, maybe you will have developed your craft enough to design a John Hancock Tower of Middle Grade Fiction, or performed the open heart surgery of Middle Grade Fiction.’

With apologies to Mr. Brown, he did say just that––there are no rules. What he gave us were the ingredients, the raw material beyond the words and the story idea, beyond the characters and the plot, beyond the point of view and the narrative. These are the things that elevate the story from looking like it was material slapped together, to something designed with care and ingenuity.

Seven ingredients. When you think of children’s literature do you think seven too many or too few? But it was his seventh ingredient that echoed Anthony Horowitz–Write Up To Your Readers. Twice in one conference. How could I refuse?

 

« Older posts Newer posts »