I firmly believe that how feminist a book is is better demonstrated by its background characters rather than its mains
What I mean by this is that a book may have “feminist” female leads who are strong, competent, complex, whatever, but how do they portray women just…existing in the world? Are there women in the background, or is the fantasy novel with its strong independent Action Girl protagonists set on a background of generic male soldiers, guards, councilors, shopkeepers, messengers, and wizard apprentices? Are minor characters ever women when there’s no particular reason for them to be? When women appear in the background of your story, do they have any unique qualities that hint at a complex picture we’re not seeing or do they slide seamlessly into Pampered Noblewoman, Prostitute and Vaguely Maternal Older Woman Who Runs A Tavern Or Something?
If your protagonist is a fighter or magic user, do you show other women in those roles? If your society is more relaxed about sex discrimination, have you built a world that looks like it?
Have you built a world where your female characters don’t all have to be The Best At Everything, or is almost every female character placed where she can be extraordinary next to a bunch of male counterparts? Are you comfortable letting a female wizard or warrior be average or unimportant, or does she have to be one of the most skilled and powerful of them all, able to match or best all the men around her? On the other hand, are you comfortable having a female wizard or warrior be indisputably the most skilled or powerful out of the wizards or warriors, without drawing attention to her gender, placing her in competition with men, or having her be an exception to the rule because she’s female?
Are you letting your female characters be mediocre and un-extraordinary? Your world is full of powerful sorceresses, fierce battle maidens and calculating noblewomen, but do women do things in this world other than be Exemplary and Great and Awesome? If you’ve established that women do business and fight, do you have female soldiers carousing at bars and vaguely dull female Evil Minions Of The Dark Lord bumbling around doing evil bidding and female apprentices slacking on work or is every background woman we see competent and controlled and intelligent and doing whatever it is she’s doing without error, whereas only men are allowed to be foolish, impulsive, mess things up, or just be shown unflatteringly during the couple sentences we know them? In other words, does the world show women being unapologetically human beings or are all your female characters basically making up for being women by not doing anything that would badly represent their gender?
In particular, if you’re trying to show a society with gender equality, that means the dark lord is willing to hire women who are bumbling idiots as guards, and not just that some female wizards climbed their way to the top and became As Good As Men because they’re so badass they can snap god like a bunch of uncooked spaghetti.
I’ve gotten a few asks requesting some research resources for writing characters who have Bipolar Disorder. I don’t have Bipolar, nor am I a mental health professional, but I have found some helpful resources from people who experience it in order to get you started.
Please let me know if you have any reading recommendations, and if you’d like to share your experiences!
Also note: apologies I haven’t been able to answer asks the way I used to, as adult life and grad school keep me rigorously occupied. But I always appreciate the people who take the time to write to me!
Putting in a plug for Maria Bamford, a comedian with Bipolar. She keeps bootleg stuff off youtube, but her entire catalog is on Spotify and I cannot recommend her enough. Here’s a clip from a Comedy Central special.
Seconding the rec for Carrie Fisher. She died right around the time I was first getting diagnosed myself and is still a huge comfort.
I have a diagnosis of Bipolar Type II myself and am glad to be a resource for questions as well.
Recently, one of my critique partners asserted that any use of the verb to be formed the passive voice and deserved to be stamped out with as much vigor as possible. This got me to thinking about that misunderstood verb form and the use of passive voice in modern fiction.
All of my critique partners write in the past tense, so we were actually discussing the use of wasandwere. I maintained that using was in any sentence does not automatically make that sentence passive voice, and avoiding any use of it can make for a needlessly convoluted sentence structure.
The Passive Voice Defined
So if using the past tense of to be doesn’t automatically make a sentence passive voice, than what does? Section 5.119 of The Chicago Manual of Style’s 16th edition defines the difference between active voice and passive voice as follows:
Voice shows whether the subject acts (active voice) or is acted on (passive voice). A rule of thumb is that if you can complete the phrase with “by zombies” you’ve got passive voice.
Example:The car was driven … by zombies.
See?
When I first started writing fiction many years ago, I took to heart the advice to avoid passive voice, but my prose sounded flat and my dialogue stilted. That made me realize there are times when you need the passive voice. Here are just a few examples:
1. The Action Is More Important Than the Actor
Example:She would be working on the other side of those mountains, where those two centuries-old dams were being pulled down (by zombies).
He was promoted (by zombies), but not necessarily because he deserved it.
In both examples, we don’t necessarily need to know who performed the action.
Description: the ability to restore one’s physical condition to an optimal state, healing wounds and bodily damage at a cellular level.
Beneficial Strengths or Abilities: to achieve this ability, one would require an evolved level of mental control so that the healing progress could be triggered at will. Superior genes and intelligence would both be needed to direct the allocation of energy, ensuring that if necessary, calorie intake, stored fat and even muscle tissue could be refocused to repair tissue or organ damage. Being able to consume large quantities of high energy foods without getting sick and learning to sleep at will would both heighten one’s ability to regenerate and recover as needed.
Character Traits Suited for this Skill or Talent: focus, intelligence, determination, adaptability, gluttony, conservative, self-controlled
Required Resources and Training: While a large part of regeneration would have to be genetically imparted (unless it came about through taking a drug or some kind of nano technology), a great deal of concentration and study would be required to learn how to harness and focus healing, especially during times of high stress. Meditation and having a mentor who can lead one through exercises to boost one’s mental prowess would help one master this skill. Additionally, a deep understanding of the body, organ placement and how everything works in concert would be necessary to perform regeneration without over extending oneself and depleting energy stores beyond recovery. As well, a person with regenerative skills would have to have constant access to an energy source (food, sleep, a drug, etc.) to power one’s ability to regenerate.
hi guys! yeah, i haven’t been on here in a really long time. Hi. Happy belated Thanksgiving to all my fellow Americans. If you’re family’s weird and judgmental like mine, well, you survived it.
but thats not the reason I’m here.
so as you know, NanoWrimo is this month. I wish all of you participating a belated good luck. but it’s also coming up on the 1-year anniversary of me finishing the first draft of the Hostage Game. And i was reminiscing, and i came across my outline for the sequel (I’ll call it HHA2 on here bc i’m between two titles and i won’t know which one fits better until i actually finish it). And the whole first 14 chapters are done and ready to go, and if we’re going off my length of THG, I only need about 2-3 more to finish it. so my predicament is: to write the sequel, or not write the sequel.
I can’t write it now, obviously. I have a lot of school stuff going on and i’m also working on Darkness (my screenplay that I’m writing for my creative writing class which i probably should be working on rn) so i wouldn’t be able to write it until around february/march/april. But i could at least knock out the first half in that time and write the rest in june or during camp nano. And it’s something i’m really excited about writing - I miss my hostage game characters and the world so much, and i miss drafting in it so much more.
But, if you’ve been following me for a while, you know i’m no where close to being anywhere near done on the Hostage Game. And it just bothers me starting the second book when the first one isn’t complete. I don’t think I’m going to be making any major changes to it, at least not to the outcome of the book, but it needs a lot of work.
so i’m asking those people who have written sequels: when did you write your sequels? after you got published? immediately after you finished the first? i need your help. Thanks already.
If you’re doing NaNo, you’re probably realizing that the details and plots you wanted aren’t translating well on the page. That’s fine. NaNo isn’t the time or place for consistency.
When you come across something you want change, start writing your story as if you had been writing your new idea all along. Leave yourself a small footnote to explain to your future self what you intended from this point on and why you made this change.
Under the cut, you will find a decent amount of interesting starters. I’ve seen plenty of typical boring ones hovering around tags, so I thought I’d try to help people be more original. I have seen a couple of these before, but I thought I’d add to the equation.
The 5 Commandments of Storytelling According to The Story Grid
The Five Commandments of Storytelling come from The Story Grid approach to writing, which was created by Shawn Coyne, who has worked in the publishing industry for over thirty years now and has edited hundreds of books. Drawing from the influence of Robert McKee (best known for writing Story) as well as from his vast experience, Coyne came up with concrete ways to measure and understand story. His work has helped thousands of writers find success, and I’ve personally turned to his approaches several times.
Which brings me to today’s article. I recently had some questions that led me back to his work, and specifically to The Five Commandments of Storytelling. Now, I admit, I don’t love the name “Five Commandments of Storytelling” because all five elements have to do mainly with plot and structure, and not the other elements of storytelling. But as I’ve talked about time and again on here, what we call it doesn’t really matter, as long as you understand the concept. Coyne also says on his site that it’s comparable to the ten commandments Moses got, in that, when boiled down, these are the five things you absolutely need to guide you when getting started in storytelling.
Some of these items will sound familiar because we’ve talked about them from other angles before, but I’m covering them from Coyne’s angle today, while also throwing in my own thoughts and approaches (don’t worry, I communicate which is which).
First off, these five elements are structural elements, and like most structural elements, they work within any structural unit: scene, sequence, act, or the global story. Each of these units really have the same basic parts. For an explanation of how that works, read my post, “Scene vs. Sequence vs. Act.”
1. Inciting Incident
I’ve talked about the inciting incident numerous times on here, but as a quick recap, the inciting incident is either an opportunity or a problem that disrupts the established normal. The protagonist is going on, living in his Ordinary World until bam an opportunity or a problem comes up that will (at least eventually) change the direction of the story–within the narrative arc it essentially kicks off the story. Harry gets a letter from Hogwarts and later learns he’s a wizard and can attend a magic school (opportunity). Nemo gets kidnapped in Finding Nemo (problem). Two love interests meet in a romance (opportunity).
In a smaller unit (such as an act, sequence, or scene, as opposed to the whole story) this will be a smaller disruption.
“No matter the unit of story (beat, scene, sequence, act, or global Story) what the inciting incident must do is upset the life balance of your lead protagonist/s. It must make them uncomfortably out of sync…for good or for ill.” - Shawn Coyne
While I prefer dividing these into “opportunity” or “problem,” Coyne divides this into two different types:
a. Causal
This happens from an active choice. The example he gives is a wife leaving her husband.
b. Coincidental
This happens (you guessed it) from a coincidence, such as a plane crashing and forcing the protagonist to survive in the wilderness.
For what it’s worth, the reason I prefer dividing the incident into “opportunity” or “problem” over “causal” or “coincidental” is because I feel that whether it’s an “opportunity” or a “problem” affects the story and protagonist more (and helps you better infer how to write what happens next), whereas many inciting incidents that are causal could be changed to coincidental or vice versa without much effect. For example, Harry could have just as well coincidentally found out about Hogwarts, Charlie in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory could have just as well been given the Golden Ticket, Frodo could have just as well stumbled upon the Ring, and the stories would largely be the same. However, if Hogwarts or Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory were viewed as a problem or Frodo getting the Ring was viewed as an opportunity, that would be a very different protagonist with a very different story.
Nonetheless, I admit that “causal” or “coincidental” can make a significant difference in some stories–a wife choosing to leave a husband is different than one “leaving” after happening to get hit by a car. And there is no reason you can’t use both types of categories, and label Harry’s as “opportunity, causal” or someone stuck in the wilderness after a plane crash as “problem, coincidental.”
Coyne also reflects what I’ve read K. M. Weiland and a few others say: “the inciting incident of a global story must make a promise to the reader…the ending. The ending must be a perfectly reasonable and inevitable result of the inciting incident.”
The inciting incident will give rise to a new desire or goal within the protagonist–or at least a more specific or refined one.
This is what we call the rising action, where the conflict escalates. The protagonist faces opposition from antagonistic forces. And the struggles should get more difficult, the stakes should get higher, and the costs bigger.
Coyne suggests giving each complication a number 1 - 10 for how serious the conflict is. A one means it’s not that big of a problem and a ten means it will bring the protagonist to her knees. If you find most of them score pretty low, then the stakes aren’t big enough in your story. (For what it’s worth, I feel like this approach relates to and complements James Scott Bell's three types of death–the stakes need to get big enough to feel like death in some form or another.) This is also a good way to check that, overall, the story is escalating, not de-escalating.
Keep an eye out for “Points of No Return”–this is when a decision or an action cannot be undone (like death). “Ask yourself the simple question…how difficult would it be for my character to reverse his decision?” Coyne suggests. If most of your character’s decisions can be easily reversed, and without significant ramifications, your complications and stakes aren’t strong enough. "You’ve hit the Point of No Return when no matter what decision the character makes, he will be irrevocably changed by the experience.“ Either his world, life, or himself will not be the same.a. The Turning Point
While Coyne actually doesn’t talk about it in the above article (though it’s talked about here and here), the complications will hit a turning point. Like the inciting incident, we’ve talked about this a few times on my blog. A turning point can only be one of two things (well, or both of them):
i. An action (a character takes an action or an event takes place)
ii. A revelation (new information enters the story)
The turning point turns the direction of the story, meaning it changes the story.
(Keep in mind it’s possible to hit multiple turning points within a structural unit, but there should always be at least one, otherwise the unit probably isn’t important to the story.)
When reviewing and researching this approach, I liked the way the Writer Ship Podcast explained the progressive complications:
"In pursuit of the goal, the protagonist (or POV character in a scene) can encounter four different types of people, places, and things, and events: - obstacles (which appear to be negative), - tools (which appear to be positive), but also- elements within their environment and beyond that seem to be irrelevant to the protagonist’s pursuit, and- unexpected events The unexpected event is one that arises from the elements that seem irrelevant, but means that the protagonist won’t be able to reach their goal—or at least not in the way they originally intended. This event forces the protagonist or scene POV character into a dilemma (Crisis)… .These progressively complicating agents of conflict can be internal (conflict within one’s self, like competing values or desires), interpersonal (conflict with another person or people), or extra-personal (conflict with something the character can’t have a relationship with, like the environment or society). These complications create a gap between what the character expects will happen and the result of their actions.”
This is the part where things can get a little muddy depending on what you’ve been taught and what writing approaches you use. See, the whole reason I started reviewing Coyne’s approach was because I was confused about the crisis (also called a “dilemma” in other approaches). Some people seem to put the crisis before the climax (like Coyne), others during it, and others seemingly after, so I was wondering more about it and where it fits exactly, and does it matter exactly where it is?
I think I discovered why this was confusing to me.
But so I don’t confuse you, let’s first talk about Coyne’s approach.
At the end of the progressive complication, the character takes another action toward a goal, and reality responds with something unanticipated–an event or new information (a turning point).
This throws the character toward a loss that raises a question from the audience, “What will the character do now?”
This puts the character in a crisis.
A crisis (also known as a dilemma) is when the character has to make a choice between two bad things or two good things, and she can’t have both.
a. The Best Bad Choice
The character has to choose between two negative options.
b. Irreconcilable Goods
The character has to choose between two positive options.
The crisis is essentially a moment to lay out the stakes.
If the character chooses path A, then this will happen.
If the character chooses path B, then that will happen.
The character can’t have both paths.
For example, Katniss either needs to kill Peeta and become the victor, or she needs to risk suicide so there is no victor. Neither sound like great options.
Alternatively, you may have a character that has to choose between getting the job of her dreams or the man of her dreams. She can’t have both.
This is one of the most effective (if not most effective) ways to reveal character, because what the character chooses will reveal who she truly is, because it reveals her value systems. Will Katniss sacrifice someone else to get gain (and become just like the antagonistic force, the Capitol)? Or will she be willing to sacrifice herself to possibly save someone else (like she did when volunteering for Prim)? What she chooses under intense pressure will prove who she really is.
Now, it’s worth noting that in some cases, inaction may be a “path,” but it must have significant consequences itself (otherwise it’s not a true crisis). In some cases, there may be more than two paths. And in some situations, the paths may not be obviously good or obviously bad–life isn’t always so black and white. The point is that the choice is difficult, because whatever the character chooses, she risks losing something significant. This can create a Point of No Return. Once the path is chosen, the character can’t go back (of course in a small structural unit, like a scene, or at the beginning of a story, this will be less dramatic).
Writer Ship points out that the crisis must be relevant to the character’s goal (or one of their goals, depending on how you look at it) in some way. It should also be specific.
Coyne also writes:
“The crisis is the time when your protagonist must make a decision. And the choice that he makes will determine whether or not he’ll get closer to or further away from his object of desires (both external and internal). Often a particular choice will move a character closer to one object of desire while moving him further away from the other…”
I think a lot of the time, this is the choice between what the character wants vs. needs, and that’s probably what Coyne really means about “closer to one object of desire while moving him further away from the other.” For example, Katniss is often tempted by the want of personal survival. She wants to survive so bad. But what she needs (theme), is to sacrifice herself–that’s the only way to not be a piece in their Games. So her crisis moment, is the moment she chooses the need and lets go of (or at least risks) her want.
What the character picks will reflect the character arc.
A negative arc protagonist will choose the want over the need at the main crisis point.
A positive arc protagonist will choose the need over the want at the main crisis point.
If you are writing a story where the protagonist changes, then you will show them at the beginning of the story picking the opposite within a smaller unit (scene, sequence, act).
If you are writing a story where the protagonist remains steadfast, then you will show them at the beginning of the story picking the same thing within a smaller unit (scene, sequence, act).
Generally speaking of course (there are always exceptions).
When you show this on a small scale in the opening scene (or one near the opening), you essentially introduce the character’s most important feature, the character arc. (And it should be said, you can do all this with more characters than just the protagonist, of course.)
For example, in Frozen, Elsa is faced with a dilemma: either let Anna into her life and risk hurting her, or isolate herself to keep Anna (and others) safe. Neither are great options. In the beginning, within scenes (and sequences and acts) she chooses the second (her want). But at the end she chooses the first (the need which informs the theme).
(However, please note that not every single crisis in a story will necessarily be a reflection of want vs. need or character arc. It may be almost entirely plot driven, though still innately reveal character.)
I also want to acknowledge, that on the global level (within the story at large) often the crisis will call back to the inciting incident and the protagonist’s response to it. In The Hunger Games, the inciting incident is when Prim’s name gets called and Katniss volunteers. At the crisis, she’s asked if she’s willing to potentially sacrifice herself again for another innocent. In a strong change arc, the responses will be opposites–the protagonist responded one way to the incident, and now chooses the opposite response in the crisis.
Where does the crisis fit?
Back to my initial confusion. Does the crisis come before the climax, during, or after?
As is often the case in the writing community, some of this confusion comes from ambiguous writing terminology. Coyne defines the “climax” as the choice and action the character makes after the crisis. So by his definition, of course it comes before the climax. For many people, the “climax” is much bigger than a single moment, and in that sense, the crisis fits within the climax. In other approaches, it may appear to come after, but I think this is more an issue of smaller structural units working within bigger ones (more on this in the future).
Then we get to the confusion of turning points. Some people refer to the climax as a turning point–but how does that work if the turning point supposedly is what leads to the crisis?
This is because Coyne’s approach actually works more like this:
Turning point –> Crisis –> Turning Point
And to get even more specific, it works like this:
Turning point (outside the protagonist) –> Crisis –> Turning Point (from the protagonist)
The turning point that leads to the crisis, is something that comes from outside the protagonist–someone or something else is taking the action or providing the information. This backs the protagonist into the corner of the crisis. The protagonist chooses a path, and acts on that path, which means taking an action or sharing information with others, which in itself is a turning point.
Does the crisis always fit here?
Well … yes … and no.
Sometimes the crisis isn’t obvious. It can be subtle and implied. There may not necessarily be a moment where it's on the page. We just see the protagonist acting on his or her choice.
Similarly, sometimes the character acts without fully appreciating or understanding the meaning behind the crisis. Sometimes it dawns on them only after the fact–their action leads to a personal revelation that is thematic (need). They now realize the “truth.”
But while the crisis doesn’t have to be on the page (or on the screen), I think it’s often more effective if it at least gets its own beat–this is the time to emphasize plot, character, and often even theme (the holy trinity of writing). This is not to say it needs to be blatant. Instead, think about what’s most effective in your story for this moment. Is it more powerful to put it directly on the page so the audience feels and appreciates the weight of it? Is it more effective to indirectly imply it through the text? Or is it more effective to let the audience fill in the blanks?
Coyne views the climax as the action the character takes in response to the crisis. This technically forms another turning point, because it changes the direction of the story. Coyne emphasizes action, but I want to acknowledge that the protagonist revealing information could be considered the “action”–since a turning point can be based on action or information.
The climax shows true character. We all say things we don’t actually do or live up to. The climax will reveal who the character really is. It’s the character’s actions, not his words, that show who he is or who he has become. Katniss initially considers shooting Peeta, but ultimately acts on choosing to consume poisonous berries (to put it simply). Frodo has planned the entire time to get rid of the Ring, but ultimately chooses to keep it, showcasing the Ring’s corruption of his innocence.
When the pressure of the crisis happens, inner character is revealed. Intentions are usually not as truthful as choices and subsequent actions.
Unlike the crisis, the climax almost always needs to be front and center on the page, otherwise the audience feels robbed. And frankly, the plot, character, and theme all get robbed.
For character arcs, as touched on above, if you are writing a change arc, the action in the final climax will be different than what the character did within Act I. If you are writing a steadfast arc (also known as a flat arc), the action will be more or less the same–but more is hinging on the action at the final climax. Negative arcs choose wants over needs. Positive arcs choose needs over wants.
The final climax needs to be lifechanging. If this is a change arc, it will for sure be lifechanging internally, and maybe also externally (change the environment). If this is a steadfast arc, it will likely change the external (environment) more than the internal (the character). But this is all generally speaking, simplistically speaking.
This is (almost always) the biggest Point of No Return in the story. If it’s not a Point of No Return, then that’s likely a major problem in the manuscript.
Within the smaller structural units, overall, generally speaking, both the crises and the climaxes should be getting bigger and bigger–the crisis and climax of Act II needs to be bigger than the crisis and climax of Act I, for example (again, escalating, not de-escalating).
This is the falling action. The character made a choice, took an action, and this turned the story (i.e. changed the direction of the story). What is the outcome of the character’s action? Does she succeed or fail? Receive the want or the need? Both or neither? If there is change within or without, we need to see it. If there is steadfastness within or without, we need to see it. Validate all this.
Coyne mentions that the resolution is a good time to reinforce what changed (or what was learned) at the climax, and this can be done with a metaphor or fable. You may mention a similar situation that reinforces the theme discovered at the climax. For example, in a story ultimately about family vs. fame, a positive change protagonist may choose “family” at the climax. In the resolution, we may mention a similar situation that reinforces the concept that “family is more important than fame,” by showing a little girl choosing to miss her talent show in order to help her grandma. Or, alternatively, we may show a local celebrity who chose a new opportunity for stardom, and lost his family as a result.
Now, this isn’t the exact same language Coyne uses to explain this concept–he uses some terminology related specifically to The Story Grid and looks at things from a different angle. But this is more or less the basic idea. (You can read his actual words and approach here.) I wanted to keep it simple and more cohesive with what we’ve talked about previously on my blog.
Coyne writes, “What the resolution moment does is it tells the reader exactly what the climax of the story MEANS. How the worldview has shifted.”
While we want to validate and reinforce what happened in the climax, Coyne emphasizes we don’t want to be repetitious. The audience knows what happened in the climax: They saw it. Instead, focus on the effects, don’t restate the same information.
So at this point, I was planning on talking about this all more, in relation to scene structure specifically, but (unsurprisingly) this article is already pretty long! (What can I say? I love to go deep!) Best save that for a future post.
Nonetheless, there you have it. The Five Commandments of Storytelling according to the Story Grid.
In the writing world, there are a lot of writing “rules”: “Show, don’t tell,” “Don’t use flashbacks,” “Only use ‘said,’” “Avoid adverbs” … While they can certainly be helpful, they aren’t law. And if you’ve been with me for a while, you’ll know that I love figuring out how to properly break just about any writing rule. I mean, I only have a whole section in my Writing Tip Index dedicated specifically to rule breaks.
Lately though, I’ve been thinking about two rules of thumb that can be used to justify breaking almost any writing rule. And really, they merit their own article.
Rule of Thumb #1: It Conveys More Than Itself
A couple of times I have mentioned that one of the key differences between beginner writing and professional-level writing, is that professional-level writing is frequently (if not almost always) conveying more than itself. There seems to be subtext all over the place.
If whatever you are doing conveys more than itself (and whatever content it conveys strengthens the story), you are more likely to get away with bending rules. It’s doing double duty, and anything doing double duty is more important to the story and more interesting to the audience.
Let’s look at some examples where this may apply:
“Show, Don’t Tell”
Two of the most obvious examples related to this rule are POV penetration and introspection. We are told all the time to show the story, but if you are at Point 4 on the POV penetration spectrum or have a passage of introspection, it’s likely you’ll need to utilize a bit more telling. People think in telling sentences. We don’t think in showing sentences. That can sound unnatural.
If you want to get strong viewpoint on the page, then you need to use some telling. This is doing double duty because it’s not only conveying whatever the sentence says, but it’s conveying character voice.
The sentence, “It was freaking hot outside, like the devil’s butt crack” is a telling sentence–we’re telling the audience it’s hot, instead of showing it’s hot, but it also relays the viewpoint character (or narrator’s) voice and perspective, which tells us more about them. They’re the type of person who says “freaking” and maybe compares things through a spiritual lens (“devil”) and uses cruder language (“butt crack”). Therefore the rule break is doing double duty.
… And I would even argue that, in a sense, this is actually showing and telling simultaneously, because we are showing how the character views things (which, in a round about way, is what Rule of Thumb #1 is all about, doing at least two things at once.)
“Avoid Adverbs”
Ah yes, adverbs–a great way to make any writing sound weak, and in the right (read: wrong) situations, threaten to turn it into purple prose.
While there are a lot of reasons to not use adverbs, there are a lot of reasons to make exceptions and use them.
But a quick example for our rule of thumb today would be something like this: “She smiled coldly.”
Smiling is one thing. But smiling coldly? That is something completely different. Saying she simply smiled or simply was cold toward someone doesn’t do as much as saying she smiled coldly. Either she gets pleasure out of being cold. Or she’s trying to pretend to be something she isn’t.
In any case, it’s doing double duty–conveying both what is happening and the character, so I would argue you can keep that one.
Rule of Thumb #2: It moves Forward Character (Arc), Plot, or Theme
At its heart, story is about character (arc), plot, and theme. Yes, setting is very important too, and even more important in stories about a setting, but any such story will ultimately feel empty without a strong character (arc), plot, and/or theme to go with it. Now, these three elements do not need to be perfectly balanced to write a great story. Some stories will emphasize character more, others maybe plot more, and others may seem to be almost entirely theme-driven. The point is, that any good story will do a good job in at least one of these areas, most will do a good job in two, and some types will nail all three.
But this can all lead into a whole other topic for a whole other post.
If something progresses, deepens, expands, or develops one of these three elements, it probably needs to be in the story. It probably makes the story better.Let’s look at some examples where this may apply to rule breaks:
“Don’t use Flashbacks”
Many writers, especially beginning writers are discouraged from using flashbacks. For one, beginning writers tend to overuse them, and use them in the wrong places and in the wrong ways. For two, because flashbacks happen in the past, they inherently run the risk of taking the immediacy (and therefore tension) out of the story.
Flashbacks are most powerful when looking back is effective because of what we know or suspect in the present or predict for the future.
Flashbacks are most powerful when they connect to the present story.
When the flashback progresses, deepens, expands, or develops the audience’s understanding of the current character (arc), plot, and theme, they can work great.
When it comes to character arc, one of the best things to put in a flashback, is the protagonist’s “ghost” (also known as a “wound”)–a past, significant, often traumatic event that shaped the protagonist’s worldview or lifestyle. Even though the audience may not learn about the “ghost” until later in the story, the event sets up the protagonist for his or her character arc. It’s also almost always thematic (because the way the character arcs helps make up a story’s theme)
A flashback may also be important in plot. In order for the audience to understand what is currently happening in the plot or what could soon happen in the plot, they may need a flashback to fill them in on an important action or event that took place prior. While I feel that a purely plot-based flashback is less common, it can be a good reason to break the rule and put one in your story.
(I just wanted to throw out, that in contrast to these things, one would almost never be able to pull off a flashback that was only about setting.)
“Never Open with Introspection”
Like with flashbacks, opening with introspection can be a poor decision. Many writers, especially beginning writers, overuse introspection, and in the wrong places and in the wrong ways. Introspection can also suck the immediacy (and therefore tension) out of the story.
But you know when introspection is great?
When it progresses character (arc), plot, or theme.
When it deepens or expands the audience’s understanding of those three things–particularly in the present or near future of the story.
Opening with strong introspection can immediately alert the audience to how the character starts his or her arc. Strong introspection can get the audience thinking about the theme. Strong introspection can get the audience worried or hopeful about what could soon happen in the plot. It’s a great way to get significant stakes on the page.
What makes something “significant”? It either has deep, personal ramifications, or broad, far-reaching ramifications. If what the character is thinking about affects that in regards to arc, plot, or theme, you can probably get away with it more, and get away with it in the opening of a story. (That’s also true with flashbacks–if it’s “significant,” you are more likely to get away with it.)
There are lots of reasons to break specific rules (for example, choosing to tell or to use adverbs can go a long way in improving pacing, while using to-be verbs or filter words can make a passage more reader-friendly), but these two rules of thumb can be used in regards to breaking almost any writing rule.
If what you write does double duty or progresses character arc, plot, or theme, you are more likely to get away with it. And in some cases, you may even need it.
If you scroll through my blog long enough, you’ll find that I’ve rebloged and/or have said something about how long a chapter should be. Though I don’t entirely disagree with what I’ve posted before, I think I need to make something clear.
DISCLAIMER: I am not a professional. I don’t have any traditionally published works (one day I will, hopefully), and I don’t have the experience of a pro. I am just an eager learner online sharing what I know and have recently learned. Corrections, suggestions, and constructive criticism are welcome.
If you scroll through my blog long enough, you’ll find that I’ve rebloged and/or have said something about how long a chapter should be. Though I don’t entirely disagree with what I’ve posted before, I think I need to make something clear.
DISCLAIMER: I am not a professional. I don’t have any traditionally published works (one day I will, hopefully), and I don’t have the experience of a pro. I am just an eager learner online sharing what I know and have recently learned. Corrections, suggestions, and constructive criticism are welcome.
Your word count per chapter isn’t thatimportant.
Sure, most publishing houses in the industry have preferences on how many words you can fit in a book, but you don’t need to be strict on yourself with the numbers.
I have read books with chapters as long as 20+ pages andas short as 2 pages. In the same book, okay?
Your chapters don’t need to have a specific word count as long as you’re telling the story.
You can have one chapter with 3000 words, but so much stuff happens that you might as well cut it up into smaller parts that are easier to digest. You can also have a chapter with more than 3000 words, more than 5000 even, and it still feels like 1 solid part.
But don’t think how much you say doesn’t matter. It does. But how much you say andhow much happens are equally important.
You can say a lot about a small event. You can describe sensations, the way someone blinked then turned away, the way you caught your friend staring at you, the way your teacher stuttered and almost failed to save face, etc. Even if they’re short-lived and can only realistically happen in a second, as a writer, you can prolong that second by saying more. When you say more, the reader reads more. Thus, making the experience slower.
The opposite can be done with less description. If you want something to feel faster, explain less. Instead of writing a paragraph about a single action, limit your descriptors. That way, you’ll fit more actions in fewer words and in less time.
But slow doesn’t mean bad. Neither does fast.
It all depends on the scene.
What you say and how much you say should depend on how you want the reader to feel…how you want them to experience it. If it’s a fight scene with a lot of actions, and you want your reader to feel how quick your antagonist’s moves are, talk less. Show more.
But if you want time to slow down for them, make use of the character’s voice. Give them an opinion to share. Make your readers experience the frozen moment with your character. Describe the feeling of what is happening rather than just the initial event.
But if you’re as stubborn as I am, and you still want a specific number, google the average word count of a chapter within the genre you’re writing (also include the ideal length of the overall work: novella, novel, etc.).
According to wordcounter.net, the general guideline is 3000 to 5000 words per chapter. But really, it’s just a guideline.
“…chapter length should be defined by the story and that any chapter length targets you decide on are merely guidelines.”
What I learned online is that even chapters, the bricks you use to build the story, could have structure. In my opinion, if you can take the extra time to thoroughly build the structure of your chapters, please do. It’ll make it better in the long run.
But if you’re (still) as stubborn as I am, just make sure it has a BEGINNING, MIDDLE, & END.
You can start a chapter exactly in the middle of an action. That’s fine. For as long as that action/event is something that leadsto the main focus of the chapter. By all means, skip the idle scenes that give no meaning and serve no use to the story. But you don’t want your reader missing out on crucial details.
The chapter has to begin somewhere, lead to an important question/task/mission/whatever in the middle, and a solution (at least a half solution) - plus another question to keep your readers reading - in the end.
Remember, your word count doesn’t tell you whether you have a good story or not. It just says how long the story actually is. Just as a 15-minute Taylor Swift short film can make you cry and a 2-hour action movie can feel like it’s only been 10 minutes, stories consisting of 1k to 100k words rely on meaning, emotion, passion, and purpose to have value.
Thanks so much for reading! I hope this helped you at least a little. I’m open to suggestions, tips, submissions, corrections, and constructive criticism. Just send me an ask, submit or hit the DMs <3
Probably the single hardest lesson for me to internalize in writing was that you don’t design a character you design a character arc.
One reason you as a writer might end up stuck with a flat or boring character, or one that just isn’t doing the things you need to create a vibrant plot, despite working out all the details of their life for hours, is because you’ve made the mistake I always do. You’ve made a character who is a blend of all the characteristics you envision for them, rather than saving some characteristics for the end of their journey.
What do I mean by this? Maybe you envision a character who is a handsome prince, honest, brave, and true. In your plot, though, he’s going to be an antagonist for a bit but you don’t really want him to be seen as a bad guy, necessarily. But when you drop him into your story, he’s just… there. Being honest, brave, and true.
That’s because the prince has no character arc. He is a static figure, a cardboard cutout.
Let’s go a little deeper with a great example of one of the best character arcs in YA animation: Prince Zuko. He is, objectively, honest, brave, and true (to his cause of finding the Avatar) from the outset. But he’s also a dick. He’s a privileged, imperialist brat, who is rude to his uncle and vicious to our protagonists.
By the end of the series, though, Prince Zuko is still honest, brave, and true, but he’s also a good person who has learned many lessons over the course of his trials andobstacles.He has failed over and over again at his initial goal of capturing the Avatar. He has failed at winning his father’s regard. He has failed at numerous smaller goals of day to day adventures. He has learned from all of these. We have seen his journey. But, if you started your vision of how to write Zuko from who he ends up being, he’s got nowhere to go as a character.
It’s not just about what flaws he has corrected though.It’s about what lessons about life he has internalized. What flawed views of the world he has corrected andhow.
Rather than saying, “The character starts out a dick and learns to be nice,” be more specific. “This character starts out believing the empire he is loyal to is morally in the right for its conquests, but over the course of working for that empire’s ruler and seeing his cruelty first hand, not to mention fighting the empire’s enemies and mingling with its civilian victims, he becomes a better person and learns the error of his ways.”
Already, right there, you have more than a cardboard character. You have a character who has an arc that molds to your plot.
Helpful Questions to Ask:
What flaws does the character possess?
How do these flaws influence the character’s mindset, perspective, intuition, and behavior?
What variables emerge, in the course of the story, that expose these flaws to the reader, to the character in question, or to other characters?
How does the character react to these inevitable conflicts? What are the consequences for how the character reacts to these conflicts or contradictions?
What are the stakes for staying the course? What are the consequences for thinking about change? What are the consequences for actually pursuing change? What are the consequences for pursuing change and failing (or succeeding) publicly (or in secret)?
Reassess: What flaws does the character possess?
How has the character’s experience(s) in confronting these flaws influenced the character’s role and interaction with the primary conflict set in the story?
I recently finished writing a novel and, as promised, here are the 5 realest tipsI picked up from this experience.
Make sure to reblog / share with your writing friends!
First off, let’s demystify what writing a book is actually like by showing you what my writing calendar actually looked like for this novel:
What do the colors mean?
Yellow= Brainstorming and outlining. That’s right, I only spent 3 days planning before jumping in. More on that later.
Red= Writing. One chapter a day, shooting for 2.5K words (though it often was more or less, and that’s okay!)
Gray= Other work, days life got in the way or I couldn’t write.
Pink= Days off / resting days.
⭐ TIP #1 - It’s Okay to Miss a Day (or Many)
We writing-types tend to have unrealistic expectations. Daily writing is one of them. You don’t have to write every day, and it’s okay if something gets in the way and you miss days or even weeks.
It doesn’t matter how many days you miss, as long as you always get back to writing.
⭐ TIP #2 - You Don’t Have to Outline Your Whole Book
I understand that first-time writers combat their fear of the blank page by outlining / planning well in advance, and that’s okay, but here are some real-ass truths:
If you’re like me, you think about your book several times every day. Trust me, books take a while to write and you are going to have plenty of chances to find ideas.
Instead of outlining the whole book, scene by scene, I just get myself enough of a framework to get started, and then I use a bit of my secret sauce:
Each night, as I’m winding down before bed, I take a journal and write down what I think will happen in tomorrow’s chapter. It takes a few minutes, and those notes are pretty much all I need to get me through a writing session.
⭐ TIP #3 - Writing Is Not ThatImportant
Writing a book is more than just the writing part, it’s also about the living part too. You’re a human being with responsibilities and sometimes things get in the way. And this is okay!
So what if life got in the way of writing?
Roll with the punches and try tomorrow. That’s all we can do~
Now, let’s build on the last point by adding even more context to the calendar, because writing a book is more than just the writing part—it is also about navigating through the chaos that is life.
What do the icons mean?
(Spoons) = Days I was tired, sick, or out of spoons / Action Points
(PCs) = Computer issues! Thank you, Microsoft!!
(Distressed Face) = Stressful or unexpected life events! Can you believe I got surprise visits by my inlaws twice while writing this book? I wish I was kidding!
(Pill) = After a life-long struggle with anxiety and depression, I finally started taking medication. Good news: I feel better. Bad news: the transitory period is rough.
⭐ TIP #4 - Every Day is Different
It’s easy to think that every day is the same and that you should be able to do the same things consistently—but that’s a fantasy! If you’re like me, some days you have more energy than others, and some days the writing is easier than others! It’s a crapshoot, but there’s little we can do about it.
It’s best to be kind to yourself, and take the L, than push yourself when you’re already running out of steam and end up burning out. Take it from me.
⭐ TIP #5 - Life is a Sitcom (No, Really)
Looking at the experience of writing this book, there is so much more I couldn’t just fit into two images—but there’s a point I want to drive home.
I have the tamest, most peaceful life, and I still get on average 2.5 plots going on every week (like it’s a sitcom up on here). Every week something breaks, something bad happens, something unexpected (good or bad) gets in the way.
And I’m basically a hermit! I can only imagine what it’s like to be a person with an interestinglife.
All of this to say that, you gotta lower your expectations a little. You’re not going to write that book in one weekend. You’re going to go over estimate. Something is going to get in the way. Between the prologue and the epilogue you’re probably going to have to survive through a whole season of sitcom disasters.
In theory, writing a book is simple:
You sit down and write.
In reality, every day feels like a miracle.
This book took me ~6 weeks to write and in that span the best streak I ever got was 5 days in a row. Out of all those weeks, I spent a total of 15 whole days doing stuff other than writing.
The key isn’t in being a perfect human being who never makes mistakes… but in being willing to get up, no matter how many times life knocks you down.
Even without taking their backstory into account, your characters’ friendship in the present should be believable enough to allow your readers to root for them.
1. Both ways
This is the number one rule for the friendship to be healthy and believable - affection, communication, help, and everything else should go both ways. You can’t have one character always asking for help and the other always helping while never getting anything in return, or a character always showing affection while the other never reciprocating it - the friendship needs to go both ways.
2. Similar or different
Friends can either be very similar or different, and both are interesting to write about! If they’re similar, they will usually get along pretty well. However, it also leads to the potential of more bickering with each other, since their personalities will clash. Just imagine two equally stubborn or talkative characters in a disagreement
If they’re different, they’ll be able to complement each other well (eg. the troublemaker and responsible one). However, you will still need to give them a common similarity to bond over. Maybe it’s a shared hobby or favorite animal!
3. Communication and trust
Friends can either be all giggly and soft around each other or bicker 24/7, depending on their friendship dynamic and the personalities of the characters. However, a constant thing to keep in a healthy friendship is the ability to trust and communicate with each other.
Friends should trust each other, not leaving each other for a love interest or some whack reason. They should also know the best ways to communicate with each other. Even with friends who bicker a lot, the arguments should be playful. They should always know and avoid the topics that are off limits and would truly hurt the other.
4. Flesh them out individually
Most of the time, there’s only one main character in the friend group, and the rest only act as their friend and nothing more. They don’t have any other role in the story besides being the main character’s friend.
While you can’t always dive into the backstory and depth of the other characters, especially if your story is only from one pov, you should still fully flesh them out. Give then strengths, weaknesses, hobbies, goals, quirks, etc. Make sure that everyone in their friend group are their own person, not just a supporting character for someone else.
5. Reason to stick together
Your character will meet so many people throughout their life, but they can’t keep in touch with all of them. Chances are, they’ll “abandon” old friends for new ones they just met. If you want to write a long-lasting friendship, you’ll need to find that key reason why they choose to stick together despite their hardships.
Maybe they ever saved each other’s lives in the past? Or maybe they live close to each other, so it’s easier to maintain their friendship. There are lots of possibilities!
Things I wish I could tell my younger writer self…
Step away from the thesaurus. Put down that list of SAT words. Yes, those are all great words to know, I agree, but maybe they don’t ALL need to go in one story?
Because the perfect word isn’t always the right word. Sometimes the perfect word is exactly the wrong word and, actually, several not-quite right words can come together and create a better whole than that one perfect word ever could.
“It was like a conflagration lit in his chest, swallowing his heart. ”
“It was like a fire lit in his chest; one tiny spark that jumped to a bush, to a tree, to a second tree, to a third, and soon there was an entire goddamn forest fire blazing inside him, swallowing his heart.”
Writearound the perfect word. Look it up, figure out the etymology, the specifics, the nuance, and then write that into the story. Think of the perfect word, by all means, but then strap it down, slice it open, and show us its guts. Expose to the air and sunlight the places where it’s joined, where it’s been comfortable, where it’s been safe, and teasethat apart to your reader. (See? Instead of “dissect” which would have been perfect but it wouldn’t have been vivid or impactful or right)
If you’re feeling stuck in your writing, instead of your usual methods, try changing things up a little! Some examples include:
Try freewriting
Dumping whatever is in your brain at the moment, no punctuation, no grammar, etc. This gets your creativity to turn ON and your inner editor to turn OFF.
Try writing by hand
If you usually write on your phone or laptop, try writing by hand. You don’t have to do your whole session this way. But if you’re feeling blocked, a screen might be keeping your inner editor on high alert. Writing by hand forces you to slow down and gives your brain a chance to run wild with ideas!
Try writing in a different space
If you always write at your desk at the same time every day, but it’s feeling pretty stale, try writing in a different location!
If you CAN’T write in a different location, try rearranging your desk, doing some stretches, and make a general attempt at breaking up any feelings of monotony.
Try writing something totally different for funsies
If you’ve been working on one project for a long time, it might get tedious. For example, if you usually write epic saga length sci-fi, try writing a contemporary mystery, or a fluffy holiday romance. It doesn’t have to be a full commitment project thing. You can just write a little bit to see what happens and explore!
Read read read
You might be running on empty without realizing it. So stock up on creativity! Refill your creative gas tank! If you’ve reached a point in your project where you feel as if you’ve forgotten how to put words together, read like CRAZY. This “reminds” you how to write and gives your brain something to work with when you get back to writing! :)
