Firsts in Fiction

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Welcome back, loyal listeners. FiF crew returns for the second episode of season two. Upon review, the audio quality of this episode (and last episode, and likely next episode) is not as crisp as you’re used to. We apologize for this, and assure you that it will be remidied by our fourth episode and on. Thanks for your patience.   http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/FiFs2e002-Weaving-External-and-Internal-Conflict-Audio.mp3

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http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/e213TenThingsILoveAboutWriting.mp3   Firsts in Fiction 10 Things I Love About Writing: (Aaron) Building worlds: My Hand of Adonai series takes place in Alrujah, a fictional world of my design. When coming up with the idea, I researched different fantasy novels and films, studied maps, played with what was possible within the genre. The resulting world is fun and terrifying. I really appreciate the process of world-building. (Alton/Pops) Exploration. Fiction is exploration with imagination being a sailing ship, submarine, rocket ship, cattle ranch, whatever. Creating story allows me to go anywhere, be anyone, experience anything. Through my novels I’ve been to a hospital where patients are miraculously healed, searched for the Ark of the Covenant, been a doctor, a mayor, a pastor, a structural engineer, a college football player, a (ahem) woman, an NSA agent, an astronomer, a Navy captain, and more. Sometimes I think I became a writer so I could play pretend as an adult. [Short story I read about why girls play with doll.] (Aaron) Meeting really awesome people (characters): Erica is my favorite. I like Veronica, a walk-on character who stole my heart and became a major part of The Bargain. These are people with fascinating, sometimes heartbreaking stories. Sharing their hope and fears with them is invigorating. (Pops) The education. No one writes a story without learning something. I did a flash fiction piece about a Navy cargo plane that crashes in the Antarctic. I had to learn about military aircraft of the 1950s, Antarctic, research stations all for a 1000 words tale. (Aaron) The process of discovery: I like not knowing where my novels are going. I know enough to get to the next point, but sometimes my characters surprise me and take the stories in directions I never imagined, which reveals more about who they are. I love this process of discovery. (Pops) The emotional thrills and demands of creativity. Balancing art with craft. Trying to make the next work better than the last work. Struggling to be unique in my storytelling. (Aaron) Meeting really awesome people (at conferences): These are the real people who get me. Other writers who are passionately devoted to improving their craft. These people are my people, and I’ve met some long-time (life-time) friends here. (Pops) Problem solving. Every tale has its own set of problems and challenges. Solving those problems with skill is a challenge. Plots have plot holes. Characters want to be something other than you planned. New twists come out of nowhere, even for those who outline. Sometimes, writing fiction is more wrestling than composition. (Aaron) Falling in love, soaring high on feathered wings, climbing mountains and delving deep beneath the surface: I get to do it all when I write. This process of specific, guided imagination is about as close to VR as we’ll get. Even better, really. I create worlds, explore them, and am constantly surprised by my creations. There is no substitute. (Pops) Maturing into a better writer. Every story, especially every novel, is a college education. Some lessons are easier to learn than others. There is odd mix of regret and joy in finishing a book, then saying, “I can do better.” My old saying: “I’ve written about scores of books. Someday I hope to write a good one.”

http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/e212tenMistakesIveMadeinWriting.mp3   Firsts in Fiction 10 Mistakes I’ve Made in My Writing: (Aaron) Writing with a thesaurus. My first draft of The Bargain was a very showy affair, a real, “look what I can do!” type of a novel. This kind of flashing neon light pointing to the author is distracting and irritating. I had to learn to be invisible. (Alton/Pops) I wasted five years of prime learning and writing time because I let someone else discourage me. Looking back over it I can see that it wasn’t one mistake, it was several. I wrote a book without first learning something about the business. Ignorance led to impatience; impatience compounded my ignorance. Fortunately, a writing hero pulled me out of the mire. (The sad tale. The book became my first novel By My Hands. There’s more to writing than putting words on the page. (Aaron) Writing about me. Most beginning writers make characters who behave like they do (or they way they WANT to) rather than developing a complex character with their own motivations. (Pops) Taking too long to develop the courage to questions myself about my knowledge, technique, and skills. Only after I learned that there is always a way to get better, do better, be better. (Aaron) Borrowing too heavily from established setting and turns of phrases. This is simply a kind way of saying my writing was cliched and characterized by cliches. This is a hallmark of new writers. It’s easy, and therefore typically the road we like to take. (Pops) Falling in love with the trappings instead of the work. Book signings, “You’re a real author?”, thinking that by writing a book I would find riches and fame. I had to learn to love the work. Only then could I produce good work not just passable work. (Aaron) Lack of worldbuilding/specificity. Establishing a clear, tangible setting is paramount in fiction. Too often I tried to make things “universal” by not giving specific details. Instead, it is a heightened attention to detail that allows us to write about more universal themes. (Pops) Listening to the drumbeat of other people’s drummers. Every writer has to find him/herself, style, desire, etc. The comparison game is unwinnable. Writing is self discovery. (Aaron) Everybody Loves Raymond. I often write about characters that are “too good to be true.” That is, they seldom do anything wrong. Everybody loves them (except for the school bully). One of the ways I got around this is by asking myself this question: “What is the worst thing my character has ever said?” I avoid easy answers like, “I hate you!” or “I wish you were never born!” and look for more subtle, cutting remarks. This helps me understand what a character loves enough to do something unsavory. It helps me pinpoint their motivation. (Pops) Listening to advice from people who have no idea what they’re talking about. I had to learn to learn from the best. Study their work, analyze, challenge, draw conclusions. Steal technique from the best, then use it so someone else can steal knowledge and skill from you.

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http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/e209GrossAnatomyofaNovelDialog.mp3   Firsts in Fiction Gross Anatomy of a Novel: Dialog What is dialog? “Dialogue is not a break in the action. It’s an intensification of the action. Here’s something else dialogue is not: It’s not the way we speak. Dialogue must appear realistic without being realistic. It’s not natural, but must suggest naturalness.” –John Dufresne Dialogue is people saying “no” to each other in interesting ways. Dialogue is about people talking, but it’s also (or often can be) about people NOT communicating. How do I write dialog? Should be authentic. Avoid too many tags and/or adverbs in tags. Should sound like your character (age, gender, job, etc.) Less is more. Use action to set scene and internal feelings. Avoid fillers (yes, no, I guess, I suppose, not really, etc.) Do not present exposition (summary). Characters should not say things to characters who already know it. You can’t moan words, smile them, chuckle them, or fume them. Omit lines that a character says simply to advance the other character’s speech. EX: “Really? Then what happened?” Characters do not sound alike and should not sound like the narrator. Characters seldom speak precisely and seldom respond exactly to what has been said. People seldom speak in unison. DON’T START STORIES WITH DIALOGUE! Dialogue Checklist Is it brief? Does it add to the reader’s present knowledge? Does it eliminate the routine exchanges of ordinary conversation? Does it convey a sense of spontaneity but eliminate the repetitiveness of real talk? Does it reveal the speaker’s character, directly or indirectly? Does it depict the relationships among the characters? Types of Dialog Summary Dialogue No quotation marks, more of a summary than a quote. Yvonne told him that she wanted a divorce. Indirect Dialogue More specific, better portrays the feeling of what was said. Yvonne said that she wanted a divorce, that he was selfish, that he had always been selfish, that he’d never given a thought about what she really wanted. Direct Dialogue Exactly what comes out of the characters’ mouths. Yvonne said, “I’m done with you. Paint the house any stupid color you want.” Intermixed Dialogue A little of each: Yvonne listed his faults—too selfish, too domineering, too petty. “And cheap too. Cheapest person I’ve ever met.” She unfolded some yellow paper and read out loud what the lawyer had told her about equitable property division.

http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/e208Gross-Anatomy-of-a-Novel-Plot-and-Pacing.mp3     Firsts in Fiction Gross Anatomy of a Novel: Plot, Pacing, Structure First, what do we mean when we talk about plot? Plot refers to the course of events in a novel. Typically, this also refers to the order in which they occur. A lot of times this is what we describe on the back cover of a book, or when a friend says, “This book is about…” This also takes Point of View choice into consideration. The type of POV you choose will affect which events are recorded and how they are recorded. About pacing? Pacing refers to how quickly or slowly the plot develops. Do significant events happen frequently or infrequently? Are your characters falling in love, or simply smelling flowers? This is not to say that smelling flowers is bad. Sometimes characters need a time out. But if they’re stagnant for too long, readers will get impatient. If too many things are blowing up, it makes each explosion less intense. The key is finding balance and increasing tension at the appropriate times. About structure? How you order your events in terms of chronology is what we mean when we talk about structure. Are you flashing back? Forward? Moving backward in time? These are different ways to structure your fiction. The Three Act Structure   Act One (About 25% of story. These percentages are approximations and are not chiseled in stone. Don’t obsess over them.)   Introduces main character(s) and their motivation (what’s on the line) Introduces dramatic premise (what the story’s about) Dramatic situation (the circumstances surrounding the action) Inciting incident—an event that sets the plot of the novel in motion: that is, the character is pulled into the action, or launches himself or herself into the action. Plot Point—changes the novel in a new direction, can be a choice or circumstances that force the character in a new direction.   Act Two (about 50% of the story and often needs a “mid-plot bump” to keep the the second act from dragging. Think of it as a mid-story plot point.)   Conflict is escalated. Obstacles are put between character and desire. And behind the two hungry lions, a team of ninjas armed themselves for battle. First Culmination—the character seems ready to achieve his or her goal, and then everything falls apart. Finally, the golden idol was in his hand and his family was safe. But then a team of mercenaries took the idol from him and left him in the jungle to die. Rock Bottom—the character reaches a new low, lower than he or she ever expected, and hope is thin. Plot Point Two—another shift in the novel, propels the action forward. Hope is now achievable, but barely.   Act Three (about 25% of story)   Climax and resolution Maximum tension, and opposing forces face each other at a peak of action (emotional or physical). Denouement—The calm at the end of the storm. Loose ends tied up. Balance returns. Everything is back to normal.   Pacing   Some things to keep in mind with pacing: A good plot moves like a great song. There are crescendos and decrescendos–moments of heightened action and emotion, and moments of stillness. Moving between these (and moving between narrative voices, as we discussed a few weeks ago) can help keep the novel feeling fresh and new, rather than becoming stale and boring. Let the story ebb and flow. It should come naturally from the events as the author sees them.   Chronological Plot   Events of the story are told in chronological order—beginning, middle, end—as time moves forward. A B C D E F G   Backward Chronology   A story or novel is told in reverse order. Begin at the end and work backward, scene by scene, until the chronological beginning is reached. (Currents, Memento) G F E D C B A   End First   The novel opens moments before the climax, then flashes back to the beginning and shows the events leading up to it. DO NOT begin AFTER the climax—if so, there is no point in going back to the beginning. (The Fog, in Harbingers) F A B C D E F G   Chiastic Structure   A reflective structure, with elements of the plot mirrored. A B C D (reflects B) E (reflects A) LOST, East of Eden   Non-Chronological   Plot moves, scene-by-scene, forward and backward through time. Often scenes are held together by elements of the plot, emotional context, sensory details, etc. More than simple flashbacks or flashforwards. F D C E B G A Prophet from Jupiter, Pulp Fiction, Slaughterhouse Five

http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/e207asktheauthors.mp3     Firsts in Fiction Ask the Authors   How do you prefer to handle typesetting words in made up languages? Italics? What if you are including thoughts in dialogue? Here is an example: Kata’s brow furrowed, “Snack?” Zeta looked around warily before she whispered, “Snack – Ipanu.” The last word would be in italics. Al: The first key is to be consistent. The second key is to know that publishers have their own stylesheet, so no matter what decision you make it may be changed in the editing/typesetting stage. Here are my preferences: If the made-up language in question is going to be used a lot in the book, then I would avoid using italics or setting the words in a different font. It becomes too distracting to the reader. Old sci-fi short stories often set alien language in italics. There is really no need to do that. Some of this comes from the grammar books that teach foreign words should be set in italics, at least the first time the word is introduced. Italics are used for internal dialogue, emphasis, and a few other things. Adding more italics can burnden the story and the reader. Technically, you wouldn’t have thoughts in dialog. The thought (although internal dialogue) is really a beat. Ex. “No way. I’m not gonna do it.” Is this guy crazy? “So, don’t ask again.” Aaron: Yup. What Pops said. Consistency really is the key. Reserving italics for interior monologue seems to be preferable. I’m on board. What do you do when you have too many ideas distracting you from your current work in progress? Al: Jot down the idea and get back to the work-in-progress. More and more I’m practicing the “one thing principle.” Do the one thing, then move on to the next thing. Odd Thomas came to Dean Koontz while he was working on a project with a deadline. He made a few notes on a legal pad, then put the pad away. Aaron: I’ve operated the same way for years. One thing at a time. The other projects I’m excited about serve as a carrot on a string. They’re what keeps me motivated to finish the task at hand. I also eat my vegetables at dinner first, so maybe that says more about me than anything else. Here’s the risk: chasing other stories can be distracting, and you risk never finishing anything. Getting to “the end,” is what really matters. The only exception I make for this rule is if I’m co-writing a project. I keep my mind on one solo project, but can generally juggle one or two more co-writing projects (depending on the project). What was the first book that made you cry? Laugh out loud? Al: Difficult to say. I do remember reading a compilation of short stories by Spider Robinson in Callahan’s Bar and laughing out loud. Dean Koontz wrote a novel that did the same. I had the misfortune of reading some of the funniest material while dining alone in an Italian restaurant. Day One, a nonfiction book, made me more than a little misty eyed. The most impactful works I’ve read have all been short stories. Off the top of my head, In the Cemetery Where Al Jolson is Buried, and Popular Mechanics. But as for comedy, Paul Reiser’s Couplehood had me laughing like a madman. Often in public. It should come with a warning. Does writing energize or exhaust you? Al: It brings me satisfaction. It also kicks me to the curb. Aaron: Honestly, both. If it doesn’t, I’m concerned. I should be energized to write; I should be thinking and anticipating the next scene with glee. But if I’m not exhausted by the end of a day of writing, I haven’t been doing it right. I use that as a gauge. If I’ve got some writing juice left in my tank for the day, I better keep moving. No roll over minutes in my book. What is your writing kryptonite? Al: Unsure what is being asked in this question. If you mean, what keeps me from writing, then it’s distraction–the score upon score of distraction. Unfortunately, I distract . . . Look! Squirrel. Aaron: Where? Where’s the squirrel?! Oh look, here’s YouTube. And Magic: the Gathering. Shiny! Do you try to be more original or to deliver what readers want? Al: I always try to be original, but I do keep the reader in mind. Always, I keep them in mind. If I want to write something that has a narrow appeal, then I self-publish it. I wrote a short book on William Jennings Bryan’s undelivered speech in the Scopes Trial. Let’s face it, there may be twenty people in the country who would say, “Oh, just what I’ve been looking for.” I wrote it anyway because I wanted to explore the topic. Aaron: This question is phrased in an “either-or” manner. Here’s my thing: I don’t think these are mutually exclusive. Yes, most readers want familiar tropes, but they don’t want cliches. I think of it like this: my job is to deliver what the reader wants, even when they don’t know they want it, and to do it in a way that is surprising and satisfactory. Think of it like this: you buy your child a Christmas gift, say a bike, though they didn’t ask for one. Then, you spend the weeks leading up to Christmas convincing them they want a bike. Then, when you wheel it out of the garage, they’re surprised and satisfied. Do you belong to a community of writers? If so, who do you consider a good “writing” friend, and how do they help your writing? Al: I’m a bit of a lone wolf, so no to the community of writers (although I know many professional writers). I have turned to Jack Cavanaugh from time to time to flesh out a problem. Aaron has helped me a time or two. Aaron: I hate to name drop here, but I’m pretty close with a guy named Alton Gansky. He’s been pretty instrumental in my career. Otherwise, I have several writing friends, and I love talking shop with them. I find myself, by the nature of this podcast, encouraging newer writers more than hanging with established novelists, which is fine. But many of my friends who are most influential in my writing are not writers themselves. Like Pops, I tend to shy away from writer’s groups and critique groups, as they are pretty demanding in terms of time. What was the best money you’ve ever spent on writing? Al: Buying William Zinsser’s book, On Writing Well. Aaron: Getting my MFA. I’m still paying for it, but you know, money well spending. What animal best describes you as a writer? Al: No animal has ever described me. A hummingbird? Aaron: A dolphin. Tenacious. Playful. Intelligent. I don’t know. I’m spitballing here. How many unpublished and unfinished books do you have? Al: One. And one proposal. Aaron: I’ve got several proposals out there, and several works in progress. In terms of unpublished “dead” books, I’ve got two that I’ve put a significant amount of time into that I eventually had to abandon. What’s one scene you left on the editing room floor that you wished you could have kept in your novel? Al: Hmm. That’s a tough one. I had to cut many scenes out of Terminal Justice because the editor wanted a more streamlined book. One such scene I saved and used in another book. Aaron: I tend to do intensive trimming rather than chopping entire scenes. I feel like there were a few in Hand of Adonai, however, that had to go because they were too slow–didn’t really move the action along. I kept one of these to give the readers (and my characters) a bit of a breather before a poignant battle. Cindy Sproles and I did axe several scenes from Heart’s Song. Most of these were letters from Geoff’s tour. They were great for character development and description, rather poetic, but didn’t move the story forward. Also, we cut quite a few of the opening letters in favor of starting with the attack on Emily. These early correspondences really helped introduce the characters and the primary initial conflict (Geoff’s dissatisfaction with life and Marks’ illness). But they were too slow, and we were way too far north on the word count, so out they went.

http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/e206GrossAnatomyofaNovelVoice.mp3     Firsts in Fiction Gross Anatomy of a Novel: Voice Continuing our look at Gross Anatomy of a Novel, this week we discuss Voice. First, let’s define “Voice.” Voice is one of the trickiest aspects of writing fiction. One thing the best writers have in common is a unique way of writing. When you pick up a Stephen King book, you know it’s a King book. Dean Koontz sounds like Dean Koontz in every novel he writes. You can read a passage of Fitzgerald and know exactly who wrote it. However, as new writers, we begin by emulating our favorites. That’s fine. It’s like singing someone else’s song. Eventually, though, we have to write our own music. To help with that, here is a quick look at the different types of “voices” in fiction. Remember that there is a difference between the voice of the narrator and the voice of other characters present in the story. This is most clearly seen in first person, where the narrator is the protagonist, and the author therefore writes in the voice of this character. Most of our examples are taken from first person novels (though not all). However in third person, the narrator often becomes a character of their own, speaking primarily in the natural “voice” or “style” of the author. This author’s voice (which is generally a combination and preferred rhythm of moving between these voices) is what becomes their distinctive style. THESE NOTES ARE TAKEN FROM DIANE SHERLOCK, AUTHOR OF WRESTLING ALLIGATORS and WRITE TO BE HEARD. Natural Voice Straightforward, everyday language. Most popular voice, most popular novels primarily fall into this category. J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. Al: Since this is first person narrative, the voice is that of the character. The point-of-view character is the narrator. Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men There might not of even been no money. That’s possible. But you don’t believe it. Bell thought about it. No, he said. Probably I don’t. Richard Russo’s Straight Man Truth be told, I’m not an easy man. I can be an entertaining one, though it’s been my experience that most people don’t want to be entertained. They want to be comforted. And, of course, my idea of entertaining might not be yours. I’m in complete agreement with all those people who say, regarding movies, “I just want to be entertained.” This populist position is much derided by my academic colleagues as simple minded and unsophisticated, evidence of questionable analytical and critical acuity. But I agree with the premise, and I too just want to be entertained. That I am almost never entertained by what entertains other people who just want to be entertained doesn’t make us philosophically incompatible. It just means we shouldn’t go to movies together. “Chatter” (Sub-voice of Natural) Heightened, high energy voice (any affected or colloquial—slang—use of language, whether gangsta or professorial) Chuck Palanuik’s Choke If you’re going to read this, don’t bother. After a couple of pages, you won’t want to be here. So forget it. Go away. Get out while you’re still in one piece. Save yourself. There has to be something better on television. Or since you have so much time on your hands, maybe you could take a night course. You could make something out of yourself. Treat yourself to a dinner out. Color your hair. You’re not getting any younger. What happens here is first going to *tick* you off. After that it gets worse and worse. What you’re getting here is a stupid story about a stupid little boy. A stupid true life story about nobody you’d ever want to meet. Picture this little spaz being about waist high with a handful of blond hair… Lyrical Voice Lyrical Voice poetic and sensory; taste, smell, sight, sound, feel. Focus on imagery, rhythm. Slows down the prose, useful for distraction from tense moments, or to heighten silences, romantic moments, etc. Marcel Proust’s Swann’s Way I found it all humming with the smell of the hawthorns. The hedge formed a series of chapels that disappeared under the litter of their flowers, heaped into wayside altars; below them, the sun was laying down a grid of brightness on the ground, as if it had just passed through a stained-glass window; their perfume spread as unctuous, as delimited in its form as if I were standing before the altar of the Virgin, and the flowers, themselves adorned also, each held out with a distracted air its sparkling bunch of stamens, delicate radiating ribs in the flamboyant style like those which, in the church, perforated the balustrade of the rood screen or the mullions of the window and blossomed out into the white flesh of a strawberry flower. Oratorical Voice To be read and sung, the voice of speeches Makes use of contrasts (I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him) Parallel structure (I have a dream that … I have a dream that…) Lists of three (Education, edification, and emancipation). Combine and contrast lists (contrast a third item with the first two: “We shall negotiate for it, sacrifice for it, but never surrender for it.”) Best if not overused Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness; it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair; we had everything before us, we had nothing before us; we were all going directly to heaven, we were all going the other way. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. Deconstructed Voice Fractured, unconventional, broken narrative Missing scenes, missing punctuation Structure has been taken apart and put together in another way for effect David Markson’s Vanishing Point Keats. Wondering aloud where Shakespeare was sitting when he wrote To be or not to be. Now and again, Picasso used the whitewashed walls of rented villas to sketch on. Once a landlord demanded fifty francs for a fresh coat of paint—Leaving for Picasso’s amusement years later the question of what the man had cost himself. I can’t listen to music too often. It makes you want to say stupid, nice things. Said Lenin. Cormac McCarthy’s punctuation in No Country for Old Men I aint never seen you there. How could you of seen me there if I aint never been there? I couldn’t. I was just saying I aint. I was agreein with you. Moss shook his head. They ate. He watched her. I reckon you’re on your way to California. How did you know that? That’s the direction you’re headed in. Well that’s where I’m going. Moving between voices Just as your speech changes when your emotions fluctuate, so should the voice change with the tone of the prose. What voice best represents the feeling of the work at that particular moment? Write the same scene in different voices. Which one sounds the most appropriate? Why? Switch voices when you switch perspectives. Voice can help demonstrate how a character views the world, and how he/she interacts with that world.

http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/e205GrossAnatomyofaNovel-PointofView.mp3     Firsts in Fiction Gross Anatomy of a Novel: Point of View Continuing our look at Gross Anatomy of a Novel, this week we discuss Point of View. First, let’s define “Point of View.” Simply put, point of view is the eye through which the narration is seen. There are three main types (and several subtypes.) 1st Person: Protagonist is narrating the story. (I, me, mine) Reliability of narrator: Do you trust the person telling this story? Are they changing things? Hiding things? From A is for Alibi, by Sue Grafton: My name is Kinsey Millhone. I’m a private investigator, licensed by the state of California. I’m thirty-two years old, twice divorced, no kids. The day before yesterday I killed someone and the fact weighs heavily on my mind. Special types of 1st Person Interior Monologue: Someone speaking to himself or herself.  Dramatic Monologue: We overhear one person speaking to another person. Narration sounds like dialogue. Letter Narration: Monologue or dialogue. Letters exchanged/sent to other characters. Diary Narration: Entries of a diary or journal that spell out a story. Subjective Narration: One person’s side of an event, it is subjective and therefore unreliable. Detached Autobiography: A telling of a significant event in narrator’s life, but told later in life with a new perspective. Memoir or Observer Narration: Narrator is observer of action or another character, not necessarily involved in events (think Great Gatsby here). 2nd Person: Reader is the protagonist (narrator speaking of reader who is involved in story—You, your) A is for Alibi in 2nd person POV Your name is Kinsey Millhone. A good name for a thirty-two-year-old female private detective in California. You’ve been divorced twice and have no kids. That bothers you some. Yesterday, you killed someone and that bothers you a lot. It weighs heavily on you. Today, you’re sitting in one-room “bachelorette” situated over someone’s garage This can be confusing. Search the Internet for 2nd Person and you’ll find a broad definition (this sentence was written in the imperative 2nd pov) We need to distinguish between the “imperative 2nd person” from narrative 2nd person. Imperative mood indicates a command or direction given. Advertising makes use of this: “Flying the friendly skies,” “Sit down, take a load off, you deserve it.” A recipe is usually written in the imperative: “Add five pounds of butter and a rasher of bacon, then stir.” Narrative 2nd person is not (it seems to me) truly in the imperative. It doesn’t give a command or direction, instead it describes the actions of a character as if the reader is the character.     3rd Person: Narrator and reader are uninvolved in story, they are only observers. (He, she, them) A is for Alibi in 3rd person pov Kinsey Millhone is a private investigator and has a license from the State of California to prove it. She is thirty-two years old, been divorced twice, and has no kids. The day before yesterday she killed someone. That fact weighs on her–a lot. Omniscient: All knowing, can see what all characters are thinking and feeling (but should separate these by scene). Sometimes called the “God POV.” Can be described as… Omniscient distant (Narrator sees into every mind and bounces from head to head.) Omniscient close (Narrator deals with one character at a time. Never “jumps heads.” Choosing which is right: Each story you write must have a COMPELLING reason to be in a certain point of view. Avoid simply picking one because that’s how it sounds in your head. If that is the best choice, fine, but at least ask: Why this POV? What does this perspective add to my novel? Does it limit it in any way? The writer serves the story and serves the reader, never him/herself. A neat trick to overcoming writer’s block is to experiment with the differing POVs. Try writing a scene in each, and see which is better. Just be sure whichever POV you use, you’re consistent throughout your manuscript.   Some Reasons Why   1st person considerations Develops a close bond between protagonist and reader. Allows writer to conceal information—works well in mysteries. Limited in scope—can’t get too close to other characters. Can’t reveal all information, usually  makes for smaller books/stories. Can cause issues in narration (the man walked up behind me, I opened the door, got in the car, started the engine, and drove off…) 2nd Person considerations: Unique and memorable Run the risk of alienating reader Works better in short stories. Is really an extension of “first person.” 3rd Omniscient Can be close to many characters. Can reveal information, helps to create suspense. So many characters, reader may not identify with any and just be lost. Can be confusing to reader if head-hopping. 3rd Limited: See first person. However, 3rd definitely has a different flavor.

http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/e204GrossAnatomyofaNovelSetting.mp3     Firsts in Fiction Gross Anatomy of a Novel: Setting and Detail Continuing our look at Gross Anatomy of a Novel, we turn our attention to an oft-overlooked aspect of writing: setting and detail. First, let’s define “setting.” Setting refers to the time and place in which a story takes place. It cannot be established without using detail and imagery, that is, language that appeals specifically to one of our five senses. Setting must have the two following elements: Place: This is perhaps the most important aspect of setting, and is often thought of (improperly) as the only aspect of setting. The location of your story MUST be specific. Remember, a love story in New York is not a love story in the deep south is not a love story in England. If writing about an actual place, do some research. Find photos. Visit the location. Make sure you know what you’re talking about. The more specific you are, the more tangible the story becomes. Don’t be afraid to use landmarks and proper nouns. If we’re in New York, we should see Central Park and the Statue of Liberty. We should smell the hot dog vendors on the street. Taste that famous New York pizza, etc. If writing about a fictional place (sci-fi, fantasy, fictional small-town America, etc.), you must still be specific. Describe the unique land formations, the interesting wildlife, give names to different plants. How is your world different than ours? Even Springfield, the home of The Simpsons, has landmarks, and places of interest, like the mountain of burning tires. Time: The era in which your story takes place will have an incredible impact on your story. In medieval England, you’ll have castles and knights. Consider, a love story in the deep south in 1920 is not a love story in the deep south in 2024. Time can have an impact on your conflict. Think anything set during World War II, or the south in the sixties, or America in the late 1700s. The time period must be established by including specific detail. This will be seen in fashion, industrial development, etc. Do research to make sure you’re being accurate. Some writers keep a notebook of details they can refer to later. If you’re making a fictional place, then make notes of places mentioned, visited, or that are key to the story. I’ve done several fictional towns and found it helpful to start with a real place, change the name, and other details. For example, my suspense mysteries that took place in Ridgeline, a California mountain town. I based most of the physical descriptions on Arrowhead, CA. I set the Maddy Glenn suspense mysteries in Santa Rita, CA, a city by the ocean. I based the local on Ventura. This will allow you to use maps. HINT: Use Google Maps and the little yellow man for street views. I did this for Wounds a lot. Setting the Stage Think of setting as the stage on which a play happens. If you were to turn your story into a play, would the director have enough information to determine what props he/she may need, what the house or town might look like, what sorts of plants/animals might make an appearance? If you want it on the stage, you must put it there. But remember, there’s a cost to each prop. Each detail you include will weigh the reader down a bit. Choose wisely—which are important enough to keep? Which just slow the reader down? Aaron’s “Rules” for Setting All stories must take place in a specific place and a specific time, both of which must be relevant to the characters and the progression of the prose. Setting must be rendered with as much specific, relevant detail as necessary. Proper nouns help set the scene and create familiarity (or strangeness). Weather is different in different parts of the world, and should be felt and experienced. Setting is always experienced with at least three of the five senses (sometimes all five). Think “Show don’t Tell.” SIGHT: The easiest and most common use of imagery. What is unique about this setting? What sets it apart? EXAMPLE: “The sun set behind the river, igniting orange diamonds on the surface of the rippling water.” SOUND: The second most common (and arguably second easiest) use of imagery. Describes specific, unique and memorable sounds. EXAMPLE: “In the early evening, cicadas called to each other in their humming-buzzing language interrupted only by the occasional car driving past on the country road a mile south.” BONUS: Whenever you’re tempted to write “he was silent,” or “everything was quiet,” don’t. Life is rarely silent. Instead, use the opportunity to find a quiet sound to describe. EXAMPLE: “I’m pregnant, Jim.” The ceiling fan hummed overhead. On the wall, her Hello Kitty clock ticked and ticked and ticked. Somewhere, a dog barked. “Say something,” she said. These descriptions add to setting as well as giving the reader a sense of time passing. SMELL: An often overlooked aspect of imagery, but smell is often closely associated with memory, and can therefore be a powerful descriptor. EXAMPLE: “The earthy, oily smell of wet pavement was replaced by a warm vanilla scent when she entered her grandmother’s house.” TASTE: Taste and smell use the same words in terms of description. In the same way, taste is equally as powerful. This is why we have comfort food. “Sure, it was only macaroni and cheese, but it was for grown-ups. The saltiness of the prosciutto complimented the creamy, sharp cheddar enveloping perfectly seasoned pasta.” TOUCH: Often overlooked, this is perhaps the least utilized imagery. Other than soft and smooth, we don’t delve much into textures in our writing, and I think we do ourselves a disservice when forgetting it. EXAMPLE: “The shirt was rough, like wearing burlap. He put the skin-crawling itchiness of the fabric out of his mind–he only had to wear it for an hour, and then he could take a cool shower and rinse the itch off his skin.” When considering specific detail and setting, here are some quotes to remember: Words set up atmospheres, electrical fields, charges. I’ve felt them doing it. Words conjure. –Toni Cade Bambara “The route to a reader’s heart is through her senses….To affect us, to move us, you must make us feel, not think about feeling. Don’t describe the wine-dark sea; drop your readers into the middle of it. Show us those heaving waves and the gulls hovering like kites and the ocean spray that feels more like sand than water.”–Bret Anthony Johnston, Naming the World “The goal is often to locate the solitary detail that will instantly open up the narrative universe and then move on; you want to find the exact song that will recall the reader’s childhood without forcing her to listen to the jukebox’s entire catalog.”–Bret Anthony Johnston, Naming the World “The most affecting descriptive writing results from an author’s providing not a linguistic blueprint of a library but the raw material (the air tinged with the scent of old pages, the shafts of dusty light diffused through window slats, the whispers, like trickling water, of the librarians behind the oval reference desk) from which the reader can erect her own library. Appeal to our senses, and we, your readers, will complete the story.” –Bret Anthony Johnston, Naming the World “Whether you’re describing how a character boils spaghetti or a child’s silly hat or the long midday shadows over a field, the aim is to create what John Gardner famously called a ‘vivid and continuous’ dream in the reader’s mind. This work requires that your language and imagery be neither vague nor trite nor flashy.” –Bret Anthony Johnston, Naming the World “…the biggest traps within descriptive writing are a lack of precision in the language and an authorial tendency to arbitrarily include details rather than letting imagery evolve from the characters…” –Bret Anthony Johnston, Naming the World Looking for some exercises to help develop setting? Here are a few scenes that can help you maximize your setting in your novel: Homecoming—A character returns to the city/town of their childhood after twenty years. How has it changed? What hasn’t changed? How does this impact your character? Destroy what you love—a character witnesses the destruction of a place he or she has strong feelings for. Setting as conflict—an element of the setting creates the conflict (lost in the desert, stuck in a storm, behind enemy lines etc.) The move–a character moves from their home of twelve years (or so) to a new town far away. How is it different from home in terms of weather? People? Culture? Customs? Politics? Etc.

http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/e203GrossAnatomyofaNovelConflict.mp3   Firsts in Fiction Gross Anatomy of a Novel: Conflict In Part 3 of our Gross Anatomy series we turn our attention to the element of conflict. First, let’s define “conflict.” Conflict arises from character–it is the thing that stands between your character and what they want. To know your conflict, you have to know your characters. Here are some things to keep in mind: Janet Burroway says, “Conflict is the fundamental element of fiction, fundamental because in literature only trouble is interesting. It takes trouble to turn the great themes of life into a story: birth, love, work, and death.” Tension works with conflict. If conflict is the obstacle which must be overcome for a character to prevail or to attain their desires, then tension is the feeling that, at any moment, something horrible might happen. There are several types of conflict: External Man v. Man (say, a boxing match or a fight or a romantic rivalry, man v. enemies) Man v. Nature (surviving the perfect storm, To Build a Fire, The Castaway) Man v. Technology (Terminator, iRobot, etc.) Man v. Society (The Crucible, legal thrillers) Man v. God/Supernatural (The Odyssey, supernatural thrillers, monster stories, etc.) Man v. government/authority Domestic. Husband v. Wife Man v. Work (Rod Serling’s  “Patterns.”) [Almost anything by Rod Serling fits in the section.] Man v. The Unknown Internal Man v. Himself Overcoming fear(s) Letting go of fear Overcoming past Letting go of past Overcoming his nature (Jekyll and Hyde or, if you prefer, The Hulk) Things to Remember: Use multiple types of conflict. Good novels mix internal and external conflicts. The best weave multiple conflicts together throughout the work. Just remember, whatever conflict you establish, you must also resolve. Mystery:  Explain just enough to tease readers. Never give everything away. Empowerment:  Give both sides options. [Think Rocky against an armed third-grader.] The antagonist, whether human or nature or organization, must be stronger than the protagonist. The nobility of the protagonist is measured by the power of the antagonist. Progression:  Keep intensifying the number and type of obstacles the protagonist faces. Escalate tension. Escalate action. (Need not always be physical action. Romance, cozy mysteries, etc all have escalating action. But do it in a believable fashion. Don’t escalate just for the sake of escalation. Also, give your readers a chance to catch their breath between action. You don’t want pure adrenaline like a NASCAR race crash, but you also don’t want them falling asleep on page 38. Causality:  Characters who make mistakes frequently pay, and commendable folks often reap rewards. Surprise:  Provide sufficient complexity to prevent readers predicting events too far in advance. Empathy:  Encourage reader identification with characters and scenarios that resonate with their dreams or nightmares. Universality:  Present a struggle that readers find meaningful, even if that struggle reflects a unique place and time.   Give the reader a reason to cheer the hero on. Give the reader a reason to care. High Stakes:  Convince readers that the outcome matters because someone they care about could lose something precious. Conflict culminates in crisis—the “do or die” moment. Jerome Stern says, “May be a recognition, a decision, or a resolution. The character understands what hasn’t been seen before, or realizes what must be done, or finally decides to do it. Timing is crucial. If the crisis occurs too early, readers will expect still another turning point. If it occurs too late, readers will get impatient–the character will seem rather thick.” The crisis must be presented in a scene. All characters should have conflict Your protagonist is the one readers will care about the most, but your secondary protagonists, just as real life acquaintances, will have their own escalating conflicts. They should not be as significant as your main protagonist (you don’t want them to steal the show), but their personal conflicts can help create tension in the overall storyline; such as when one character is too distracted to pay attention to the matter at hand. As well, your antagonist should have some modicum of of conflict and struggle. Rarely is a person purely evil. It’s possible in your story the reader may not pick up on the innuendo of what has shaped your antagonist, but some of the behaviors should still be there. Near the end of Steven James’s The Pawn, we discover why The Illusionist is as sick and twisted as he is. It doesn’t have to be threaded throughout the story, but it should satisfy some part of the reader’s empathy.

Originally published August 24, 2014 with Aaron Gansky and Steve McLain http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/e053screenwritingwithbrianbird.mp3 Welcome back, loyal listeners! Last week, you asked for an episode on screenwriting, and so we deliver this gem for you. Brian Bird joins us to talk screenwriting and adaptation. Tons of good advice. If you’ve got questions, let us know. As always, thanks so much for listening. Download the podcast here. View the YouTube here.

http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/e202GrossAnatomyofaNovelDramaticQuestion.mp3   Firsts in Fiction Gross Anatomy of a Novel: Dramatic Question In Part 2 of our Gross Anatomy series we turn our attention to an element of plotting: Discovering the plot’s dramatic question(s). First, let’s define “plot.” A plot is a series of events in a novel or short story. It’s what drives the story from inception to conclusion. Usually done in three acts, but not always. Usually increases in tension as the story develops and ends in a climax of some sort that ends the story. It includes plot points, events in the story that heighten the story and move it in a different direction for the protagonist. These plot points usually occur at the transition between acts and at the midpoint “bump.” (Because Act II is the longest act in the three act structure.) But what leads to a working plot line? Questions. There is, in my mind, a “chain of questions.” What if? This is the start of every plot. It’s a simple question with a long answer. Big idea. Zuckerman calls it “High Concept.” It is the overarching idea. What-if questions lead to more what-if questions. What if someone cloned dinosaurs? What if he wanted to make it a commercial enterprise? What if he wanted to make into an amusement park? What if something goes wrong and some people on the island end up getting eaten? What if sabotage is involved? You get the idea. We may do a deep dive on this subject in the future.   It is important to note that, often times, the conflict arises from this dramatic question. For example, if you have dinosaurs, people will usually get eaten. The question is, how and why? This leads to other ideas that make the novel more well-rounded (it’s a theme park, and there’s industrial sabotage involved). Sometimes this will lead to a theme, though it’s best to let the theme come from the novel, rather than writing the novel to make the theme. For example, Jurassic Park makes statements about life (life will find a way), as well as about greed, ethical questions of cloning, etc. However, these are natural thematic questions for the subject matter. Crichton did not begin with, “I want to talk about the dangers of industrial espionage.” My novel The Bargain explores some heavy themes about right vs. wrong and who determines what is righteous. But the novel only came into its own when I focused on the real thrust of the story: what will a man do for a dying wife? How much will he put up with? What if God was going to destroy a crooked town? What would Sodom and Gomorrah look like today?   The term dramatic question comes from Albert Zuckerman’s 1994 book, Writing the Blockbuster Novel. It’s a good book to have. Once you have a solid high-stakes proposition then you move into the dramatic questions. Zuckerman calls these questions the spine of the story. Dramatic questions serve as the frame of the plot. I think of them as heart of the plot. The answers to the question reveal why the reader should care about what happens. Zuckerman uses Gone with the Wind as an illustration. He finds three dramatic questions: Will Scarlett get Ashley to return her love? Will she realize that Rhett is the right man for her? Will Rhett finally win her love? Let’s try this with Jurassic Park Will Ian Malcolm’s (the chaos theorist) prophecy about nature always winning out, and nature always finds a way to succeed, come to pass? Will Alan Grant’s knowledge of dinosaur behavior allow him to save himself and the others (including two children)? Will John Hammond see the errors of his ways? There are a number of smaller questions in the protagonist’s character arc. I would add to all of this the question, “What happens if my hero fails? Who gets hurt? How badly will they be hurt?” So how do we put this to use? First, have a solid What-if question. Make a list of your key players. They don’t have to be fully developed at this stage, but you should have a protagonist (and may a supporting protag) and a crisis or problem for the protag to face.   These key players are often intricately involved in the plot. If you’re writing about dinosaurs running amok in present day, you should probably have a dinosaur expert. If it’s a theme park, you need a rich man (or woman) to finance it. If it deals with cutting-edge technology, you’ll likely have greedy assistants. etc. Sometimes it’s important to include players who are in over their heads: the teacher on the spaceship when the pilot is knocked out. The bus passenger who needs to learn to drive a bus and keep it above 50 miles an hour so the bomb doesn’t explode. It’s easy to write about the military genius, but often more compelling to write about those who are out of their element (the chaotician and lawyer in a theme park with killer dinosaurs on the loose).   Remember that your characters have a set of emotions and part of the plot needs to deal with their internal conflicts. What do they need to discover? Frame these key issues of external and internal conflict as question. Will X learn this…? Will Y overcome his fear? How can my hero defeat someone who is so much more powerful than she is? What happens if my hero fails? Who gets hurt?

http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/e201GrossAnatomyofaNovelCharacter.mp3   If you’re looking for the novel spotlight, you can find it (and many other fun features) on our newsletter. Be sure to sign up at aarongansky.com! Intro: What is Gross Anatomy of a Novel? In this series, we’re going to take a holistic look and approach to novel writing. What are the fundamental necessities? How do they work together? While we will cover the basics and fundamental ideas of each topic, we’ll also give some expert tips and tricks we like to use that you can’t find elsewhere. This week, we look at character. Aaron likes to think there are four pillars of character development:   Pillar one: Physicality   Our characters have physical bodies in a physical world. Al: This is true even when the characters are not human. Books like Richard Bach’s Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Richard Adams’, Watership Down, George Orwell’s, Animal Farm have anthropomorphized characters–animals thinking like humans. In fantasy and horror literature there may be orks, ghouls, spirits, angels and the like, and they to need physical descriptions. Our characters should be as unique in their physiology as they are in their psychology, as they are in their personality. Al: It is often the physical characteristics that make a character memorable and can even be key to the story–Victor Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame.   Our bodies are living textbooks of our history: Every scar has a story Diseases often have long-term physical repercussions Every accident, injury, etc. can linger. Al: These can play into a character’s psychology and dictate some of his or her choices. Consider: What does it feel like when they walk? What does it feel like when they run? What does it feel like when they fight? What does it feel like when they’re in an accident? Al: This reminds me of an early scene in a football movie–North Dallas Forty–showed one player on a Monday after a game. He was bruised and battered and struggled to walk. In that scene, the price played by professional ball players was clearly shown. Think of your character in terms of biology: Their lungs and heart, their eyes and ears. Their joints and muscles Their bones Are these in perfect condition? Are they in some way disabled? What way? How does that affect your character as they move through life? Put your character in motion Make your characters run Make them fight Make them dance Make them exercise Make them exert themselves When the setting is extreme, we should feel it as if we’re in your character’s skin. What effect does the heat have on your character? The cold? Is their skin sunburned? Wind-chapped? Dried out? Does humidity sap their strength? Do they get overheated? Fall asleep in the cold?   Pillar Two: Psychology   16personalities.com is a great resource for this. Know how your character would react in every situation. Find something to surprise your reader and your character Know how your characters, not only feel, but how they demonstrate that outwardly. Know who they’re compatible with, and who they don’t like. Extroverts are action oriented, like to be with people Introverts prefer to think, like to be alone Where is your character comfortable? Where are they uncomfortable? How do they react to conflict? Who are they attracted to? Strengths? Weaknesses? Al: One of the deepest dives I’ve done in character psychology was Ellis Poe in Wounds. His fractured emotions, memories, combined with his keen mind made him a wonderful character for me. He is hamstrung by guilt, fear, and self-imposed exile–the perfect character to force him to do what he would never do otherwise.   Pillar Three: Status (credit to Steven James)   Characters have status when others are present. This status is either high or low. A character’s status changes depending on the situation. This change helps deepen our understanding of the character. Think “high status” at work: he’s the boss, and people fear and respect him. At home, he is “low status.” His wife is the boss, and he does as she says. His kids ignore him. High Status: Dominant people: Confident and relaxed. Have loose gestures and gait Maintain eye contact at length to threaten, intimidate, control, or seduce Remain still and in control. Do not immediately answer questions; they control the conversation. Blink infrequently and keep their heads still as they speak. “Allow” people to “help” them. Low Status people: Have constricted strides, voice, posture, and gestures. Look down, cross legs, bite lips, hide faces with hands. Are fidgety, bedraggled and or frazzled Apologize and agree more Try to please Are easily intimidated. Act as if they need something. Negotiators: Characters that are instinctively in tune to other characters’ statuses. Mirror the status of those they relate with so as not to appear too dominant or submissive. Can effectively manipulate other characters Your diction should reflect the status of your character.   Pillar Four: Spirituality   Does your character believe in a higher power? Why or why not? This does not mean “religion,” though it could. Be specific where you can: Baptist (or Methodist, or Catholic, or Pentecostal) rather than “Christian.” Atheist vs. Agnostic Karma? The great unknown? How your character perceives the “spiritual world” (even if it’s to deny its existence) will shape who they are and how they react to others with different beliefs. Are they casual in their beliefs, or are they adamant? Do they proselytize, or do they hide their faith? Understanding this about your character will deepen your writing. Not every character needs a “spiritual arc,” but those are often very satisfying to readers, even if they don’t agree with the particular spiritual “epiphany” your character may have.

Originally published on March 23, 2014. Featuring prior co-hosts Steve McLain and Heather Luby. This cast was originally, and is rebroadcast, as audio only. http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/e34whatsinaname.mp3 Welcome back to Firsts in Fiction, loyal listeners! Sadly, Aaron couldn’t join us this week because of a scheduling conflict, but he should be back with us next week. For now, Heather and Steve take a look at naming our characters. As always, you can listen above or download the episode here. Find Steve, Heather and Aaron on Facebook, Twitter, iTunes, and Stitcher. Character names can present a unique challenge. We want to find one that fits our primary characters (and even our secondary characters as well) that are going to be unique and memorable without being too outlandish. Remember, your reader will see these names a multitude of times throughout the pages of your novel or series. Here are some things to keep in mind as you work to find the right name. Also, we’ve included a few tips for you when you’re looking for the perfect name for your character. 1. Please make the name pronounceable. Sure, in fantasy and sci-fi we like to demonstrate all the wonderful language-building we’ve done for the particular race, but even so, a name with too many consonants or vowels can be tough to get. If you’re asking our tongue to do aerobics in order to get our mouths around a simple name, you’re probably asking us to work too hard. In all honesty, when I see a name that’s overtly difficult to pronounce, I’ll call them Mr. M or Mr. P etc. and move on. Even then, as Heather so aptly said, the crazy names end up becoming speed bumps for the reader. It takes them away from reading and makes their minds engage in a different type of thinking, which shatters the fictive dream. 2. If possible, have the name say something about the character. I wouldn’t overburden yourself with discovering the meanings of names and going to the point of allegory (where characters embody a particular characteristic and take the name of that value, such as Charity or Prudence or Justice or Destiny etc.). However, in Aaron’s novel The Bargain, the sister-in-law’s name is Aida, which means “helper.” And while she was a helper, she didn’t embody the characteristic wholly. She was pointed and abrupt in conversation, she was cynical and sarcastic. But when push came to shove, she demonstrated a type of empathy uncommon in the town in which she lived. Steve’s “bad guy” in his work in progress is named Festle (which sounds like fester) Killusion (sounds like illusion–one who is disillusioned, perhaps). The good guy is named Edelric (a mix of Edward, Eric, and Alric). The combination is pronounceable, but because it is drawn out, sounds more noble and high-born. These types of names are called connotative names–names that say something about our characters, but are not explicit. Think of Draco Malfoy. Draco is Latin for dragon, and the prefix “mal” means “bad” or “evil.” It also sounds much like the word “Malformed,” which means poorly made. 3. The name should be historically accurate. Of course, this is most evident in historical fiction, but it’s also nice to know common names throughout the years to draw on those. There are several places online where you can check the popularity of baby names by year (for example, here or here). The other advantage to these sites is the ability to pick a name that wasn’t overly popular. By process of elimination, you can easily find uncommon names for the year your character was born. 4. If you want to use an unusual name, make sure it’s surrounded by common names. We could use any number of odd character names here, but for the sake of argument, let’s go with Kilgore Trout, the unsuccessful sci-fi novelist from Kurt Vonnegut’s many books. The name is still easy to pronounce. It’s still connotative (suggests that this guy is fishy). But, mostly, it’s successful because it’s surrounded by names like Billy Pilgrim and Dwayne Hoover. These common names not only lend credibility to the novel, they serve to highlight Kilgore’s unique name even more. 5. Avoid “loaded” names. These are names that come with their own connotations. Think Jesus, Hannibal, and Romeo. If you choose one of these names, you need to understand they come with a history. This may deepen your book in some way (again, if you’re going for allegory), but it can also be a detriment. It may not be the connotation that you want. And no matter how hard you try, you cannot separate the name from the history. 6. Avoid names that sound the same or start with the same letter. These can be especially difficult for the reader to keep straight. For example, in my Hand of Adonai series, my main character was named Kara (a name I loved), and I had another girl named Erica. A beta reader of mine suggested changing one or the other, because they sounded so similar, and he was right. Hence, Kara became Lauren. Also, if you have several characters who have names that start with the same letter, the reader will end up easily confused, no matter how different the rest of their names may be. 7. Speak the name of your characters out loud. This suggestion seems to go without saying, but you’d be surprised how many writers never say the names of their characters until they’re talking with their agent and having to describe how the name is pronounced. Phonetics can be tricky, and though you spell a name phonetically, it doesn’t mean your reader will pick up on your phonemic subtleties. Once you say the name out loud, the pronunciation should be clear, as if there is no other way to pronounce it. 8. Be aware of the actual meaning of the name. Then use it to your advantage. If your character’s name is Stephen (crowned one), he might eventually become king. For more fun, subvert the meaning of the name. Deny Stephen the crown. Most readers will likely miss this layer of meaning, but for those who find it, it will further enrich the book. 9. Consider nicknames, pet names, and shortened names. Of course most Johnathans go by John. And we know that husbands and wives etc. like to use pet names like honey or dear or babe. Remember, whatever your character’s name, different people will address him or her differently. Consider my son Josiah. People often ask if they can call him “Joe” for short. No. They can’t. For whatever reason, his friends and family have taken to calling him Siah (or Jag, as his initials spell out). My other son Elijah goes by Lijah rather than Eli. And my youngest son Levi goes by Levi, but I like to call him Boogs (short for Boogers). My wife, when Levi was three, once called him Boogs, and he said, “No, mommy. Only daddy can call me Boogs. You call me Levi.” Think of your character and his or her friends and family. What do they call them for short? What pet names are being used. These small details can add an additional layer of character development to your novel. 10. Consider gender. This seems like another obvious suggestion, but it warrants a mention. You can do a lot with a character who’s got a name that is not common to their gender. Often, names can be gender neutral (Aaron and Erin, let’s say). I’ve even seen Ryan used as girls names much more often recently (including Heather’s oldest daughter). But having a name that can be used for the other gender changes the way strangers interact with your character. A personal story: Because I’ve gotten so tired of Starbucks employees writing Erin on my cups, I’ve decided to tell them my name is Spartacus. Unfortunately, they spell that wrong, too. Guess I’ll have to find something easier, like Vader. There you have it: Ten easy tips to finding the right name for your characters. Hope you enjoyed it. As always, we love hearing from you. Make sure you make your voice heard on our Facebook page, or tweet us @FirstsinFiction

http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/e200JugglingMultiplePlotLines.mp3     NOVEL SPOTLIGHT (Pops): In 2011, Simon & Schuster published Stephen King’s 11/22/63. I received the book as a Christmas present from one of my sons-in-law. It’s weighty book, as King’s novels often are, of 850 pages or so. King has proven himself a master writer. Not just a sensational writer, or controversial writer, but a true wordsmith and storyteller. Horror is not my favorite genre, but I have enjoyed (and learned a few writing tricks) from some of King’s books. Why this book? The premise is not new, but King’s approach is unique. Compounded complexities. Opening line. “I’m never been what you’d call a crying man.” The least likely protagonist. Firsts in Fiction Juggling Multiple Plot Lines Intro: Today’s topic comes from Bradley S. Cobb, who contacted me at aarongansky.com. He writes: “My question is about something that impressed me with the Perry Sachs novels, and Clive Cussler’s Dirk Pitt novels as well. They so seamlessly blend together seemingly random plotlines into one grand tale. How do you come up with, or decide on, these various plotlines, and how much rewriting do you end up having to do in order to integrate these various threads of story throughout your novels?” AL: Multiple plotlines is the norm for third-person, full-length novels. In fact, some say that such novels must have multiple plotlines and multiple point of view characters. The only time I don’t use them is first-person novels, including my first novel, By My Hands. MJ: For me, it’s just a bit like writing life. There are times when we interact or intersect with others, and times we go our separate ways. A family doesn’t always stay together, and they have their own random activities throughout the day: Dad works, Mom buys groceries, one kid’s at school, another’s at daycare. But in the evening they all circle ‘round again. I think multiple plot lines are much like this. Find what the together-aspect is, and work outward to find where your characters go when they separate. Then write the story in reverse; that is, write it first with the individual actions leading them to the community table. What do we mean by a “plot line?” A plot line is a story thread–a single narrative that weaves together with others to create a larger story. AL: A plotline is a series of scenes with a single task or setting. In first person, there is only one pov character (usually). Having multiple plotlines allows the writer to convey action and information through multiple characters. A writer can have a set of scenes in one country with one character, and a character in another country. Still, there should be one primary POV character, one top protagonist (even in ensemble works) Simply put, “plot line” is the story you’re trying to tell. As Aaron said, it’s weaving. Think of your story like a small blanket. You need to weave together several strong ones to make a blanket, or covering. Is there a proper number of plot lines for a novel? As is the case with most other “rules” of fiction, there is no specific number of “plot lines.” You can have several (anywhere from three to five), or as few as one. Here are some guidelines, though. Plot lines are usually limited by point of view. If you’re in first or second person (or even a true third-person close, where you limit yourself only to one character’s perspective), you can only follow one plot line, a single narrative. This works well for mysteries, where you want to keep the intrigue high and limit the amount of information revealed as you go. Al: My rule is to use the protagonist’s POV whenever the protagonist is present–unless there is some pressing (but not contrived) reason for doing otherwise. If you’re in 3rd person omniscient, you can follow several characters (including antagonists). This increases the plot lines you can follow. This is typical in fantasies, sci-fi, adventure, etc. A word of caution if you do this: Make sure your “voice” is consistent. You can’t be omniscient and first person. Al: It increases opportunities for conflict, action, information, heighthen danger. Adding plotlines increases your character count and your page count. It’s possible that you can add too much, which makes your story hard to follow. If there’s not a real connection between the plots, it can be hard to follow. If you spend too much time away from one thread, readers may forget what was going on and be confused. Al: I think of it this way: 1) There is one master plotline and it involves the protagonist. It is here where the reader will spend most of his/her time. 2) All other plotlines serve the primary plot. There has to be a connection or the plotline is superfluous and a divergence. Finding the lines Many years ago, I (Aaron) took an art class in college. Loved it. One of the things the instructor stressed was “finding the lines.” The idea, he said, was to sketch several different lines, and when you found the right one (which may be more of a composite of several lines), that is the one you darkened in, the one you emphasized. The others got erased. To a large extent, I think plot lines are like this. When writing a novel, cast a wide net. Ask yourself the following questions: How does this decision affect each of my characters? What new paths does this open to them that was previously closed off? What new characters might this plot thread reveal? Where do my characters need to be? What needs to happen to get them there? Much of this can be done in pre writing, outlining. Sometimes, though, these lines announce themselves as you’re writing. Al: These are all good points. The key to any story is the action of the key players. The story is the trunk of the tree, additional plot lines are the branches. The branches must always connect to the tree. Sometimes the writer must remind himself/herself of the premise, the big picture: this is the problem, this character is the hero who must fix the problem, this is the person/people who work hard to make sure the hero fails. Keep in mind why the protagonist must succeed. What happens if he fails? Stay on track. Keep notes! Often with our first drafts and follow ups, we’ll change subtleties. But on version 2.8 you may discover you want to revert something from the original. I recently found a passage I’d removed from NOLA that, during this rewrite stage, is going back in. Your characters will dictate to you, just be sure you’re listening. How to blend plot lines. The movement between plot lines needs to be deliberate. Balance the revelation of information. Here are some dos and don’ts: DO move between perspectives to follow narratives. Al: Be sure to make moves clear to the reader. Use a hiatus break (white-line break) to signal a change in POV character, change in time, or change in location. DO try to allow equal time so readers don’t forget particular characters and their “quests.” (But the protagonist should get most of the attention.) DO make the shifts in time/place very clear. (Make sure the POV character is clear in the first couple of paragraphs of the new scene/plotline.) DO remind readers (very briefly and subtly) where the characters are and what they’re working toward. (I.E. After Arthur had slain the beast, he continued forward toward the Holy Grail.) DO keep track of who is where and what they know and what each scene reveals. This is best done through story bibles which we’ve talked about before. TIMESTAMPS can help here–to keep track of which events are happening when. Also doesn’t hurt to have a timeline. Al: Timestamps sometimes appear at the top of each change, especially if there’s a change in time. Use these in your first draft. You can delete them once you’re sure everything fits. I’ve messed this up a couple of times. DO make scenes relevant: If they don’t move the story forward, you’ve got to cut them. Sometimes it helps to think of each plot line as its own story with it’s own arc. Yeah, this is tricky. Because we want to think we’re birthing the perfect baby, and performing surgery like removing entire scenes and sometimes chapters, is really hard. But the truth is, it has to be done and your story will be much stronger because of it. Al: Every scene needs to do one of three things: 1) move the story forward, 2) reveal information the reader needs, 3) set up action to come. Aaron’s list is a bit different, though one may argue that his list is simply more specific, and that each item is contained neatly and succinctly in Pops’ list. Aaron includes: 1) Introducing a new conflict 2) Escalating an existing conflict 3) Resolving (to varying degrees) an established conflict 4) Develop (and or deepen) characters and relationships between characters 5) Setting up action to come DO bring everything together at the end. Tying everything together is satisfying for the reader. It makes them feel as if their time had been well spent. Think of it this way: what would happen if you took one of these plot lines out? Would the rest of the novel fall apart? If so, keep it. If not, cut it. Readers hate to be left with questions. (Dark Moon illustration.) DON’T neglect characters for too long. DON’T repeat information we’ve already read. DON’T confuse what characters know–some will know what happens in other scenes, but most won’t know what happens when they’re not there (unless they’re told by other characters i. e. Franky explained the whole ordeal to Sally before they got on the bus.)

Originally published on November 17, 2013. Featuring prior co-host Steve McLain. This cast was originally, and is rebroadcast, as audio only. This week Steve and I delve into the Mysterious Case of Show vs. Tell. Most writers can tell you what the difference is between the two, but there’s a fine art to balancing the level of detail in your book. When should you show? When should you tell? Here’s our take on the case. You can listen below, subscribe on Stitcher or iTunes, or download the file here. http://aarongansky.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/e15Mysterious-Case-of-Show-vs-Tell.mp3 First things first: what do we mean by Show vs. Tell? The difference is simple. Showing is an expansion of facts into sensory detail, while telling is a compression of facts into more of a summary. Think of a simple sentence: She was sad. This may be true, but what does sad look like (her shoulders slumped, her head bowed, her eyes staring at her chipped nail polish)? What does it feel like (ice flows in the river of her heart, a voracious emptiness gnawing at her stomach, the heat of tears behind her eyes)? What does it sound like (a stunted whimper, then a prolonged shriek of disbelief and horror)? Think of it this way: the reader doesn’t want to be told about the time you fell in love; they want to fall in love. They don’t want to hear your story of how you battled the ice dragon on the pinnacle of Mt. Destruction; they want to hike up the snowy peak with a shield and sword strapped to their backs; they want to feel the heat of the fiery breath of the beast on their skin. Our emotions are nothing more than physical responses to outside stimulus. There is a physiological reaction when our lives are threatened. Our hearts beat faster. Our muscles tense. Our mind becomes immediately focused and clear and free from distraction. The goal of Show Don’t Tell is to tap into the physical reactions of our emotions and portray them in such a way that our readers experience them. Our characters’ responses to outside stimulus reveal who they are. If they face the deadly dragon with confidence and anticipation, we’ll know they’ve trained for this moment. If their mind blanks and their knees slacken, we’ll know they’re terrified. If their tongue thickens when speaking to a beautiful woman, we know they’re insecure, maybe even intimidated by beauty and popularity. At certain points in your novel or story, you’ll want to slow down your pacing and go into great detail, either about the setting or your character. This break in the action helps to emphasize whatever action precedes or follows it. Steve Almond calls this “the lyric register,” and encourages us to find our near-poetic voices. This level of sensory detail can help a story come to life, can turn lifeless words on pages into living, breathing experiences for our reader. But it is possible to show too much. If you’re writing an action scene, you’ll want to focus more on the immediate threat. You don’t need to go into detail about a flowerbed, let’s say, unless the flowers play some integral role in a chase scene. You’ll also want to avoid excess detail when talking about minor characters. We don’t need to know the waitresses back story if she only appears on scene to deliver a plate of fried eggs and bacon. Instead, one or two details (what your character would naturally notice) will suffice. Think “The waitress with the pretty blue eyes set a plate of fried eggs and bacon in front of him. He liked butterfly tattoo on her wrist.” This small detail will help characterize the waitress without having pages of description about her. Be aware, though. Small, memorable details like that often become guns over the mantle. Anton Checkhov famously said that if you take the time to describe a gun hanging over the mantle, at some point, the gun must come down (and, I’d add, it must go off). Reader’s have a way of latching on to seemingly innocuous descriptions and imagining something important will come of them later. You’ll also want to avoid showing the reader things they’ve already seen. Think of an epic fantasy in which our heroes are separated for a long period of time. When they reunite, they’ll want to tell each other about what happened to them. This is a point where telling is not only okay, it’s expected. If we’ve already seen the events of Bob’s story, we don’t need to hear him retell them to Sally. If you’re ever stuck as to whether or not you should show or tell, the default answer is to show. You can always take it out later if you need to. Then, ask yourself this: does this scene revolve around my main character? If so, you’ll want to show. If not, then telling will be appropriate. And if you’re trying to make someone sad, resist the urge to show. Telling becomes very important when trying to show sadness. Anton Chekhov says “When you depict sad or unlucky people, try to be cold. It gives their sorrow, as it were, a background.” The lack of detail becomes a striking contrast to the sorrow, and intensifies it. Finding the balance of detail can be tricky, but it is necessary. These tips should help. If we’ve missed anything, let us know. We’d love to hear from you. Until next week, good writing.