Tag Archive | writing

Show and Tell

Jul18

This August, I’m doing the “Show and Tell: An Interactive Workshop” online for the FFnP Chapter of RWA, so it seemed time for blatant promotion and to post tips for this.  The “show don’t tell” advice I understand but it sometimes chaps my hide a bit since telling can be a way useful tool for a writer and if folks are struggling to show everything they don’t get around to leaning how to do strong narrative.  That’s too useful a tool for a writer to ignore.  The way I figure it, these are two things you need in your toolbox–same way a carpenter needs both a screwdriver and a hammer.  Hammers really are great for pounding things home–but there are times you need the finesse of a screwdriver to just tighten things up.  Means a writer needs to learn how to both show and tell–and you need to learn when each of these works best for your story. 

Now, about those tips….

Showing:

  • means convening the character in action and words.
  • takes more words because the goal is to create a picture and feeling in the reader’s mind with only words.
  • takes vivid descriptions that reveal the characters emotions to the reader.
  • requires good visualization by the writer.
  • is strongest when you use as many of the five senses as possible: smell, touch, taste, sight, hearing.
  • is the continual search for how to reveal what your character feels and how that character displays (or doesn’t display) those feelings.

 Telling:

  •  means conveying exact meaning to the reader; it is, literally, telling the reader information.
  •  compresses word count (useful in short stories and a synopsis).
  •  alerts the reader that the information, or the character, is relatively unimportant.
  •  can smooth transition in time, distance, or viewpoint.
  •  can establish a mood or setting when you do not wish to do this in any character’s viewpoint.
  •  is the continual search for fresh ways to give your reader information the reader must have.

To know if you’re telling vs. showing, look for “clue” words that tip you off when you may be telling more than showing, such as was, were, are, to be (as in, The sun was hot.).

If the telling is done in a character’s viewpoint, it is really showing us how a character sees the world.

If dialogue is about plot exposition, it is really telling a plot point to the reader—this is why exposition in dialogue usually falls flat and leaden (use dialogue to show more how a character is feeling).

Use of deep viewpoint allows the reader to ‘discover’ your characters through showing that inner person.

A character’s actions always speak louder to the reader than any thoughts or narrative about that character; actions reveal true character—you can tell a reader a character is brave, but if you show that person acting like a coward the reader will believe the action, not the telling.

To better show a character, give your characters mannerisms (physical and verbal habits) that reveal their inner person.

In general, if you have a character thinking something, put that thought into dialogue. 

Most people respond to any motivating stimulus (something happening) in this order FEELING, BETRAYING ACTION, THOUGHT, DELIBERATE ACTION (GESTURE/SPEECH), so that’s how you want to structure scenes, so that a character feels something, acts on that feeling, then says something.

The main except to the above response order comes when training or instinct kicks in action before all else. 

Less can be more (in both show and tell)–what you leave out is often more important than what you include. (Just don’t be obscure.)

Words and sentences and paragraphs that do not add anything actually detract from what is there–the end result is to weaken the good stuff.

Multiple edits are your friend; it’s not necessary to get everything in one pass.  Make one edit about dialogue, the next edit about punching the narrative (telling), the next edit about adding more showing details, etc..

Showing and telling do not have to be absolutes; use more show than tell in a dramatic scene, or use more tell than show in a transition.  Part of the choice about how much of each you have is your style, and part is the effect you want to have on the reader.

For the rest…well, you’ll just have to take the workshop.

Goldilocks Time

Jul15

At risk of stating the obvious, beginnings are tough. Nothing new there. We all know that. So the question is, what to do about that ‘hook’, the super opening that grabs the reader and doesn’t let go? Since it seems to be judging season right now for contests, I’ve been thinking about this. Because, honestly, the writing lately in contests has been good. Often very good. But the stories…well, not so much of the grabbing.

The balance is always too much information and too little. This is particularly tricky with paranormal, and if you add in romance, both have to be there. That’s a lot to get in front of a reader. Add in the reader needing to understand the world, the rules of the fantasy, and yeah, pretty much everyone is going to get the too much or too little thing going. It’s Goldilocks time.

Now, in the interest of learning from fairy tales, let’s look at Goldilocks. She did not find the perfect bed on the first try. She did not eat the perfect porridge with her first taste. She had to try different options. And I think this is one place where folks are having trouble because sometimes you have to write a scene different ways in order to find out what works best. It’s far too common for a writer to fall in love with a scene (particularly an opening) and not want to change it. That way to disaster, my friend.

But why not try the bigger bed (add more information, details to enrich the world and the story)? Try the smaller bed (try a bare-bones opening). Try the middle bed after taking on the other two to see what’s the best balance (and a couple of readers here can be very helpful).

Why not try a different character’s viewpoint for the opening (to see who really has the most emotionally at stake)? Why not try on first person to see how it feels and stretch your skills?

Now here’s what I’ve noticed in teaching workshops–folks want to apply everything to the manuscript in hand. And want it all to work right off. That kind of focus can be a good thing. But not everything you write will (or should) make it into the book. So why not try new things on? Write scenes just so that you, the author, know the information. Interview your characters to get to know them better. Try writing the book as every page is the ONLY page you’ll get anyone to read. And try writing a scene that you don’t want in the book–see if you can keep it a secret scene.

IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE HERE: Withholding information from the reader is not suspense, it is irritation. Withholding information from the characters which puts them in jeopardy gives you suspense–so stop saving the best stuff for chapter five and later. Give the reader the best stuff right away, and then go think up even better stuff.

Now to balance this–after all Goldi didn’t like the too hot or the too cold porridge, and let’s not get into why bears were eating porridge–the other side of holding out on the reader, giving too little to go on, is loading the reader up for bear.

Personally, I think there are two kinds of writers: those of us who over-write and must cut and those who under-write and must layer in details that reveal the world to the reader. It’s good to know which camp you fall into so you can compensate. If you’re like me and you love the details, you have to learn to be picky about which details you use. And you have to learn to edit and cut. Even more important is to learn to layer and weave in back-story in small bites–a sentence here or there, instead of a few paragraphs here and here and here and here. If you’re the type who writes sparse, that’s good, but make sure there’s enough details that a reader can see the same world that’s in your head.

One caution here–it’s boring to get too much information about people you haven’t learned to like. So that’s task one–engage the reader’s emotions. Make them care for the characters and get them interested, then you can start peeling back the layers of the characters.

NEXT IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE: What you show your characters doing matters more than what you tell the reader about your characters. If you want a reader to think a character is brave, she must be shown doing something brave. That’s why showing matters so very much.

Speaking of brave, there’s one other lesson that Goldilocks offers, other than that a life of petty crime isn’t that bad, and this lesson is that it pays to be picky. Goldi is a high-maintenance gal. If it’s not just right, she’s not putting up with it. That’s a good trait for any writer–don’t put up with crap, not even from yourself. Be very picky about the opening and getting it just right (you only have that one chance to hook a reader). Be picky about the words you use. Be picky about making sure it’s not too hot or too cold, or too hard, or too soft. Be picky about the character’s dialogue, about opening with a strong scene that SHOWS the reader something important about the main characters.

LAST IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE: Start the story as close to where the main character’s life changes forever–but start also with a scene that sets the reader’s expectations for the mood and type of story. (There is a reason to start off with Bella moving up North and not sooner or later than that.) It’s very hard on folks when they’re in the mood for fish and they pick up what looks like a fish and you’ve said it’s a fish, but the first bite is all batter and breading.

With the last comes the first, and we’re back to where a lot of beginnings seem to struggle. It’s damn hard to write a good beginning without having the ending done. That’s my take on it. I almost always revise the opening based on where the story ends up, but this is just about impossible if you don’t have the book done. Which leads us back to Goldi.

The last lesson we can take from Goldilocks is that kid didn’t give up. She ransacked that whole house–food, chairs, beds, everything she wanted. Start to finish, our Goldi girl. That’s often where you can find your great opening, in that strong ending that gives you a mirror back to how it all started. You show your character at the end now able to do what was impossible at the beginning (in a romance, you show the character now able to have a relationship that was impossible at the start of thing). You KNOW where this story has to start because you know where it has to end.

And maybe that’s what we need more of–contests for great endings. Ones where Goldilocks starts off a wear-bear herself and ends up married to the handsome were-bear of the family.

(Originally published as  a guest blog at FFnP.)

Exercise — Not Everything Goes into the Book

Jun9

I have a fascination for reality shows that let you see into other people’s lives — yes, one of my favorite things is to walk the neighborhood at twilight and peer into lit living rooms to get a glimpse of decor and people and mostly ghostly glows from widescreen TVs.  Now I know the reality is about as much as in any piece of fiction — it’s filtered through an editor, producer’s, camera man’s view.  But, still, there are glimpses.  And last night on the newest lose weight show a woman said she’d never learned how to exercise.  Which got me  thinking.

Over several workshops that I’ve taught, I’ve noticed that writers tend to only want to use material from their work in progress.  If I assign an exercise, out comes the manuscript and a chunk of it is used.  This is not a bad thing, but it does defeat the purpose of exercising — as in, it’s not stretching out the writing muscles.  Folks also struggle with the idea of a writing exercise that is about writing a few pages that are never going to make it into any book — the pages may be about trying a new viewpoint, or exaggerating a technique, or it may be about backstory that needs to be real (meaning it needs to be on some pages, just not the ones that go into a reader’s hand).  So I’m wondering — do folks need to be taught how to do writing exercises?

It seems obvious to me that if you do any sport, you don’t just do the sport.  When I rode, I also trained so that I could ride (yucky sit-ups which I loath, stretching, weights).  The exercise wasn’t part of the sport, but was an important factor — there wasn’t much to learn, except that some exercises helped more than others, and nothing helped as much as the drills you actually put in on horseback. (Lots of rising trot without stirrups.)  But I was taught by riding instructors, and part of that was about ‘hey, you need to do more than ride, if you’re serious about this.’

In the interest of passing along info, writing exercises — ‘hey, you need to do more than write the book, if you’re serious about this.’  So what is that more?  What’s worked for me?

POV Exercise 1

Take a scene.  Write it from one character’s POV only.   Now rewrite that scene from the viewpoint of another character in that scene.  Now rewrite that scene from yet a third character in that scene (and if there wasn’t one invent one — could be a cricket under the carpet eavesdropping.)  Point here is to try multiple viewpoints — can be very helpful to unblock a book.

POV Exercise 2

Write a scene that is first person.  Now shift the writing to third person.  Helps to develop deeper third person POV.

Description Exercise

Write a description of a setting in your book.  Write this as one sentence.  Now write this as three paragraphs.  Now write this as three pages.  As you develop the setting, layer in more details–use all the senses (sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell).

Character Exercise

Interview your main character–ask them deep personal questions (as if you are a reporter for a tabloid).  This works particularly well if you’re working on a scene and it’s not working–ask the character about this, what’s wrong, and what does that character really want to do in that scene?

Backstory Exercise 1

Write a critical scene in your main character’s life that happened when that character was very, very young and which forever shaped this character’s core beliefs and personality.

Backstory Exercise 2

Write a two page profile of a secondary character — in first person as if you are that person.

Story Idea Exercise

Write the back cover copy for your story — in two to three paragraphs, how do you convey the idea and get someone to buy this book?

Show/Tell Exercise

Write the opening for a story and only TELL the story to the reader — use only the narrative voice.  Now rewrite that same opening and only SHOW the reader information by showing the character in action and show the character’s thoughts and feelings to the reader with dialogue and detailed, layered descriptions that convey how that character expersses that emotion.

Each exercise should result in work that you DO NOT use in your manuscript.  You may get ideas and insights, but the goal is to treat these like sit-ups — useful to strengthen muscles.  If you even have a vague idea you might use the writing in a manuscript, this will affect how you treat the exercise. You want the freedom of writing only for yourself here.

There are lots other exercises, but these are good for core writing strength.  Like any exercise program, try not to do these all in one day.  Apply them in a regular program of writing every day, and repeat the exercises as well — this is not something you do once and that’s it.  These are great ways to limber up if you haven’t written in a long time.  They’re also great if you feel ‘blocked’ and need something to break you out of a rut.

And you really, really don’t have to use everything you write in the book.  Sometimes is about performance on the page, and sometimes it’s about warming up with exercises.

Inside-Out for Plotting with Characters

Feb8

Twelve steps to create a romance from the inside of the characters instead of the outside of things happening.

1. Start at the deepest point: for every character, find that person’s core need.

2. Look for what happened in that character’s past to give that character that need (motivation)–when looking discard the first two or three ideas (they’re almost always cliches).

3. Set up a potential mate for the main character who can’t provide that need quite the way that character wants it met.

4. Decide if your characters recognize their needs and motivations (the reasons why they need and want the things they need and want), or if a character is lying to self, or ignoring the past.

5. Know each character’s sexual history.

6. Go beyond he’s hot and she’s sexy for characters who can click emotionally, mentally, and on levels beyond the physical.

7. Layer–add ‘wants’ on top of the core needs, and add traits to each character that are strengths and ones that are weaknesses, and make them compliment and contrast for all characters.

8. Give every character a secret.  Maybe even one that stays hidden in the entire book.

9. Leave room for characters to surprise you.

10. Focus the story on one character’s specific growth.  That person’s growth is at the heart of the book.

11. Put in clear goals for each character that force the characters into action to reach those goals, and put them in conflict with others.  So there can be conflicting goals, or different approaches to achieving the same goal, but everyone should want something in every scene.

12. Play the “what if” game to keep coming up the worst thing that can happen to the main character — use the “what ifs” that most resonate with you, and then come up with something even worse to keep raising the stakes, tension, and conflict.

Ageless Prose ?

Aug21

Over at Wyrdsmiths, author Kelly McCullough picked up on the post from John Scalzi on why new authors are kinda old. That started me thinking not just about how long it takes to learn how to write (Scalzi and McCullogh note about twenty some years, each, which seems about right to me, since it took ten years of dabbling for me, and about another five or so to get serious and figure out what the hell I was doing). And I wonder if the real danger to the novel is not that folks will stop reading, but that potential writers may not have the patience to learn to tell a good story.

Note the phrase “tell a good story” — I’m wondering if that’s the key here?

Recently, it’s been contest entry time, so I’ve been judging. Give back when you can, that’s the idea, only I worry sometimes that I’m being so very tough. But then I think what if some kind souls hadn’t sat down with my early scribblings and written up comments (hard to take at the time, but oh so useful once you get past being ticked off at anyone not loving every word). Learning takes sweat, and patience. Learning writing technique is one thing, but I so many entries these days from good writers — really good ones, sometimes — but the story is not….(sorry to say)…not good.

So…good writing, bad storytelling. What–are these writers just not reading enough to absorb what storytelling takes? Or are they reading a lot of badly structured crap, and therefore producing the same? Or is it really that hard to get a creative writing class these days in which characterization and story and pacing are taught? Come to think of it, most of what I learned wasn’t from a class, but from taking apart the stories I liked. And from imitating.

My first story came out a Ray Bradbury wannabe. There was the inevitable Poe poetry–ghastly stuff on my side, but Poe will teach you a lot about the rhythm in words. And then the Georgette Heyer imitation, which seems mandatory for any writer who has aspirations to write a Regency romance. Oh, and a couple of mysteries that leaned heavily towards Dick Francis. Once I got all of that out of the way, I finally found my own stuff. Thank god. And, just in case you’re thinking it, copying does not mean taking their words. It means writing in the style of. I think I even slipped in a bit of Lovecraft there for a bit.

So…what does it take to learn storytelling? Maybe this just goes back to writing — a lot. And reading even more. And maybe it also goes to having a small circle of friends who can read those early stories before they have to go out into that big, tough world.

Online Workshops — too much ?

Jul20

I’m due to give an online workshop with Colorado Romance Writers — in past years this has been very well attended (it’s the Show & Tell Workshop), but this year isn’t looking too full. And might well be canceled. They show other workshops they’ve held in the past couple of months as also canceled. Which makes me think folks are really tightening belts and budgets, and this falls under extras.

I’ve cut back on a few things–less trips, fewer lattes out, and really thinking twice before I buy a book (but I’m still buying and have hit a new streak of great reading).

But I’ve also seen writer contests struggling, pushing back close dates, entries dropping. So now I’m wondering if it’s a time crunch as well as cash–as in the second job take, or the extra work undertaken, or the stress of job shopping (can be hard on the muse, I know).

Maybe it’s due to just too many contests, too many workshops online, too much info floating about. There’s certainly nothing wrong with putting your head down and writing–much more can be learned from the doing instead of the learning. But I do wonder how this will shape the market, and future writers.

Fresh Starts

Jun30

So I’m almost to that 100 page mark in starting a new book….magic number 100. Goes with 1, the number of fresh starts, and 1000…which has to be the number of too long a book since the editor’s going to chop it bloody (or make it a trilogy).

Anyway, folks are showing up, voices are coming along, story’s developing, a few surprises have popped up (thank god — that always makes me feel better when a story goes from no heat to low simmer). So I think there’s a book here. Not sure, yet, actually, but it’s past those early pages when the whole thing can collapse like a souffle since there’s no light structure to hold it up.

What I’ve found is that one chapter is an idea. Three chapters is a good start. Five or six and it’s cooking with gas, and there may be a book here.

And, of course, I’m also at that stage where I think the start of a story is the hardest. What do you need for the reader to get into the story, what’s too much, is a good plot twist or one that’s going to come bite me later, or…? Well, this is what a reader’s for, to sort through the story with fresh eyes.

So, with Act 2 looming (also thank god), I can start to get ready for the stage where I think the middle of a book is the worst part. Is there enough tension, how do I get more conflict in there, what’s a really good twist that’s not going to take the poor thing’s head off, and is this foreshadowing or just beating the reader over the head, and how do I get another sexy scene in there…? Also all stuff for a reader to sort out.

The ends never feel tough to write–by then it’s a rock rolling downhill (one hopes). But the worry doesn’t stop. Did I foreshadow this, did I not foreshadow that, oh, hell, this person now is talking the way they should have in chapter one, and am I wrapping up that great scene that set up one of the main subplots, and…? This is the place where the book gets a couple of weeks resting–like good bread, which you hope will rise after you’ve beaten your knuckles flat on it.

But no rest for now….it’s gone from picking at the pages to needing to get my hands on them every day (also a good sign). It’ll be even better when I start dreaming about it, or can’t go to sleep due to the conversations in my head.

And I still feel as if starts really are the hardest things to get right–so much depends on a good start for the story (including if someone will buy the thing).

April Online Workshop

Mar21

I’m doing the Show & Tellworkshop online again for OCC–not sure it’s good that this seems to be a perennial favorite. However, I took a year off from giving this workshop, and that was good–time always gives perspective (and new things to say).

The interesting thing about this workshop is that most folks get how to “tell” a story, but don’t get that good “telling” takes as much work to craft beautiful prose as does good “showing” (or action).  In fact, I sometimes think a beautiful narrative passage is even more work.  This is a difficult concept to teach, because, it’s like music–you have an ear for it (language or music) or you don’t.  If you don’t there’s no teaching it.

It’s also interesting in that so many writers are hung up on having been told to show more that that’s all they want to focus on.  And the real trick to learn is not just to show, but to show the RIGHT things.  It’s not the details, the actions, that make a character–it’s the right actions.

The other interesting thing will be to see what mix is in the workshop.  There are always more than a few lurkers, which is cool, but it’s not like a classroom where you can look at the quiet ones and know which ones get it and which ones are struggling.  There are a few teacher’s pets who do every assignment and ask tons of questions but I sometimes have the feeling they’re too focused on doing it ‘right’ and that can defeat the point of learning.  There are the difficult ones, because email as a form of communication can leave much to be desired, and sometimes I wonder why these folks signed up for anything since they just seem to want to do things their ways. And then there are the surprises. That’s the best part of any workshop. We’ll see what this one brings.

Show & Tell Workshop

Nov15

There is such a thing as teaching burn-out.  I’ve taught folks how to ride — and I miss that part of my life, and still plan to get back to it someday.  But these days it’s more about writing workshops.  The best part of any workshop is that it makes me rethink some of my own process.  However, when you find yourself saying the same things over and over, it starts to feel dull–which is why 2008 was the year of just say no to any workshops.  But I’ve already lined up a few for next year, and I’m actually excited.

The first one off is a “Show and Tell” workshop Jan. 5th thru the 16th for the Northeast Ohio Chapter of RWA. While I’ve given this workshop before, a year of space has given me time to rethink things, and I did a run through of this for the local LA RWA chapter, and that went well. It always interests me just how many writers do not have a clear idea between what’s the narrative voice, and what isn’t–and I think there’s a connection here between if a writer leans more towards instinct or analytics.  Instinct is good, but one thing I learned from one of the most brilliant riders I’ve ever known–George Morris went on to coach the US Olympic riding team, and he always said he’d take a solid technical over a brilliant instinctual rider.  He knew he could count on the technician to produce–that person might not give the brilliant rides, but the instinctive rider also has moments when instinct fails or goes wrong, and so there’s a lack of consistency in the performance.

Writing is a lot like that.  Instinct can fail–can take you the wrong way.  But solid technique–that can lead you to solid performance.  Which is why I lean more towards wanting a better understanding of craft.  I adore brilliant writing– but I also love a really well-crafted story with solid technique.  And if I can pass on a love and interest of that–well, hey, that’s not a bad thing, is it?

Live Dangerous — read a Banned Book

Sep30

It’s Banned Book week, and at least in the US we do mostly silly bans–we haven’t gotten to the point of throwing writers in Jail (yet). Amnesty International has a list of those who have had not just their words banned, but their lives. There’s also an excellent post on why this week matters over at Everybodyslibraries.com with a good summary:

“Banned Books Week is thus about twin freedoms: the freedom to write about what matters to you, and the freedom to read about what matters to you.”

But I like the quote from Philip Pullman best: “Destroying intellectual freedom is always evil, but only religion makes doing evil feel quite so good.”

A list of books banned at some point within the US includes some of my favorites:

A Wrinkle in Timeby Madeleine L’Engle
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Canterbury Tales by Chaucer
East of Eden by John Steinbeck
Fanny Hill(Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure) by John Cleland
My Friend Flicka by Mary O’Hara
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare

And then some how this shows up on the list: Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary by the Merriam-Webster Editorial Staff. Okay, what was someone thinking–smutty words?  Diabolical definitions?  I do love the idea that it’s not even the ideas, but the words themselves that somehow present a danger to young minds. (I am a dictionary junkie myself — I have four at home, including an OED.)  And somehow it’s fitting that there is book on book banning, Banned in the U.S.A.

So I say live dangerously and buy and read a banned book this week.