It’s been a year since I wrote Fiction Murdered, and one of the main complaints about it was it’s lack of voice.  For my novel this month, I’m trying really hard to make the voices different.  Voice is one of my troubles — I think the problem was in Mutants too even though no one mentioned it.

I’m also trying to avoid “said” or “ask” tags.  It’ll be interesting.

My prose is going to be short and brief.  I’m not going to try to make it beautiful — and why would it?  Sophie is writing it on the fly in an abandoned building.

This will be a new experience I think.  I’m looking forward to it.

Been a while, huh?  I apologize.

In my mind, a protaganist must be likable — few people want to read about unlikable protaganists, especially if the reader is supposed to be inside that character’s head.

For example, my husband recently read a Sci Fi story where the protaganist murdered, killed, and did all these other unpleasant things.  Sure, he was realistic and in character, but it’s hard to read about that. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, I think that a skilled writer could possibly pull off such a protaganist and still make him sympathetic, but it would be very difficult, imo.

Another popular kind of protaganist is the Chosen One, the One who Saves the World — you know the type.  Basically, affairs of the whole world revolve around one person and this one person carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, because if he doesn’t do whatever it was prophesized for him DOOM and DESTRUCTION shall come and it’s all very dramatic. 

I say that these Protaganists have Special Child Syndrome. 

These stories I find to be highly unrealistic.  Let’s face it — we are not special snowflakes.  If we die, the world will continue without us.  We are nobodies in the general scheme of things and if we want to be Somebodies, we have to work at it.  It’s rarely handed to us on a silver platter. 

Lord of the Rings is good because it takes the Special Child Syndrome character and…twists it.  Sure, everything depends on Frodo but he had choices — he could have given up the ring, he could have tossed it aside before it got too much of a hold on him.  For heaven sakes, the reason he got it was because of his cousin!  It wasn’t a case of being the Chosen One, but a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, which I’m sure many of us can relate to that.

From what I have observed in writing and reading both published works and web novels is that the best protaganists are People, like you and me.  They make mistakes.  They do good, or sometimes only some good.  They have reasons for what they do, reasons that aren’t plot deviced because of some prophecy or whatnot. 

As Horton said:

A person’s a person, no matter how small.

Or good, or bad. 

And, because I’m a Firefly fangirl and this quote seems relevant:

You know they say that mercy is the mark of a great man.

*stab*

Guess I’m just a good man.

*stabs again*

Well, I’m alright.

In writing, one of the hardest things is creating characters are three dimensional.

What makes a character three dimensional?  What makes him real?  What makes him jump from the page?

A variety of things mostly.  Some writers I know deeply analyze a character before they begin to write — they make lists, profiles, etc.

I’ve never really found this technique to be helpful to me. 

I write character sketches.  These are very short stories about the characters past life.  They’ll illustrate, usually, what makes him tick.   Why he fears this or that, and it alway provides a motive for what he’s doing in the Story.  Sometimes, the motive that I set out to write is a very different from what I had originally imagined. 

From my observation of other writers, there appears to be two schools of thought:

1. The writer creates everything — creates the story, creates the world, outlines it all, etc etc etc.

2. The writer who discovers everything.

The difference between the two is this — the first plots it in his head, the second happens upon a plot that will make an interesting story, and attempts to follow it wherever it may lead.  The second are a bit crazy sometimes in that they think the story actually exists, and the writer’s task is to discover it — in the way a miner mines for precious ore.  You can do it well, or you can do it poorly.

But even within these two schools of thought it is important that the characters become alive.

They must have motives.

They mustn’t be needlessly good or needlessly bad. 

Even secondary characters need to be real.  It is helpful, for me, to write character sketches even for these.  Once you know a character, no matter how minor or major, it is infinitely easier to make them real on the page.  You don’t even have to think about doing it — it almost writes itself.

One of the flaws that I’ve noticed in bad writing/story-telling is that the Primary Hero and the Primary Villain are good and bad respectively because they have to be.  It’s the secondary characters that are more interesting because most bad writers usually realize they need a reason for them to stick around for the hero or the villain — usually these are also weak just not as weak. 

But the fact is people aren’t just good or bad.  Most people consider themselves good people — even those who do bad things.  Somebody once said to me that “Every Villain is the hero of his own story.”  And that is so true, so very true. 

A sympathetic villain is more of a villain than a big bad evil one.  One is puppet, the other is flesh and blood.

The same goes for heroes. 

Also, creating tragedy for your characters so that the reader will sympathize with them doesn’t work.  Most people have tragedy in their lives.  But they go on and they deal with it.  That’s what heroes do — that’s what other people need to do.  People who focus on their grief to the exclusion of everything else are laughable.  They’re not real, they’re not deep.  They’re a painted clown’s mask with a painted tear dripping from their eyes. 

Trying to make a hero sympathetic to the reader by such a ploy as that is stacking the cards, trying to force the reader to play along.  Readers don’t want to play along.  Does a character want sympathy?  Well, he has to earn it — just like he has to earn respect. 

Also, if you want a character to be liked or disliked, don’t try to force the reader to feel it.  Don’t describe over and over again how good or generous a character was or how evil and selfish this villain was.

Show it to us.

And then let the reader come to his own conclusion.

A story-teller’s goal is to tell a story that will stand on its own.  It’s not the writer’s place to force the reader to react.  How a reader reacts depends on how well the writer told his story. 

Hey.

I haven’t been writing for a while.  I suppose it’s because I was reading another how-to-write site and I actually had to stop reading because all I could think was:

Wow.  If everybody wrote like that, then nothing would be new anymore.

So I stayed away.  At one point I almost deleted this blog because I don’t want to constrict the creative reflex.  I struggle on a fine line.  In some ways, I am against How-To-Write rules because who says people have to write like that?  Published authors?  Well, I think it’s pretty much assurred that the publishing companies don’t always know what’s good.  Or else there wouldn’t be crap like the Eregon novels on the market. 

I never said I wasn’t biased. 

But when are rules appropriate in writing?  When are they not?  Do people really need rules to write?

I think that the most needed rules for writing are mainly grammatical ones and even that is more of a guideline now*.  Grammar is pretty integral — it helps us formulate our thoughts clearly.  Yet at the same time, the human language has evolved (or de-evolved?) so that the earth really won’t end if you end a sentence with a proposition or use a split infinitive.

I am not a english major by any means.  I still have trouble with Grammar.  There are conceps to it that I cannot wrap my head around (around which I cannot wrap my head?).  But I have studied Latin (five or more years — see, I’m already suppressing the memories), Greek (briefly), French (briefly), and German (haben sie gehort das deutsches band?).  I can honestly say that in the Latin grammar was important — horrifically, stifingly, hold-my-head-and-scream important.  In German the grammar was also important and, unlike English, clearly labeled so that we knew what was what no strings attached. 

English seems to have more leeway.  Have a subject, have an object.  Everything else is allowed to give, sometimes.

Bad/good grammar can be used in dialogue to illustrate a person’s character.  I made it a point to make sure that Jubrin in my story Fiction Murdered spoke with perfect grammar — or as perfect as I could make it since I was trying to write 1600 words a day for a month — which didn’t leave a lot of time to double check the grammar books which I left half way across the country.

Bad grammar can be used to create a mood.  Nothing can quite inspire dread, I think, when there’s a well timed incomplete sentence.  Mostly, incomplete sentences are a no-no, but again…they have their place. 

And I strongly suspect that split infinitives have their place as well.

To boldly go where no man has gone before.

It just doesn’t sound right any other way.  To go boldly where no man has gone before.  Boldly, to go where no man has gone before.  It doesn’t have the same ring, does it?

So to sum up my inexpert opinion:  Grammar is important.  It is not God, however.  I know it probably wants to be God and the end-all but it is not.  It can be bent.  Grammar is a tool to help us write — as a tool, it serves the writer not the other way around.  But like all tools, the user must know how to use it and to use it well.

To help illustrate my point, I was once at a function where I watched a man play the violin.  He was very good at what he did, he probably had his wrist just so and his fingers just right.  But then, he proceeded to play it badly on purpose.  It was amazing comparing his bad playing to a person who really didn’t know how to play a violin.   The difference was that he was still skilled at what he did — and he played badly well, and it was hilarious.  But importantly — it had its place, it still served its purpose.   It was still good.  Just a different kind of good.

What about the other rules out there?  Like the one about how not to write with adverbs and stuff like that?

Well, in my experience too much of a good thing is usually bad.  Too much of anything is bad.  We have adverbs for a reason.  We use adverbs in our every day speech.  There is a place for them and the writer has to determine that for themselves.  Personally, if there is a word out there that accurately depicts an adverb + verb description, but it’s a word rarely used and most people would have to crack open a dictionary to find out what it means then I recommend against it — one of the worst things I can experience when reading is being head over heels in the story and being abruptly wrenched** from it when I encounter a word I can’t even pronounce. 

But even that guideline has an exception — would the character talk like that?  Does the rarely used word fit the tone of the story?  I mean there are so many words, so many tones — it is impossible to write a “rule” for all of them.

 The trouble with rules is that they can very quickly become:  It’s the way it is because that’s how people always write.  It’s just how it’s done.

Well, who says so?

Writing is always creating.  How can you create if there are “rules”?  It’s one of the reasons why I admire poetry — people can create rhythms, pictures in the mind’s eye clearly and consistently.   Sometimes they even use the words to create shapes on the page — it’s truly amazing. 

My problem with poetry is also the fact that there are so many rules to remember — so many syllables for this kind of poem etc. 

But I suppose that rules also provide a structure and that it takes even more creativity to make something new.  It’s like a challenge to be overcome. 

Almost like sex, kinda.

Maybe rules are like a corset — you can make it as tight as you wish or as loose as you want.  But what really matters isn’t the corset but the person who is wearing it.

* Thank you, Barbossa

** Crap.

Everybody says that the first line is necessary — vital, in fact, especially if you want to be published. 

 I disagree.  The first line is important, but only to an extent.  It is as important as the following paragraphs, it is as important as the words on the next page.  

I would hazard to say that the middle of your story is more important than anything else.  A story should crescendo, you should always strive to keep building either the characters, the tension, or the plot.  It must have direction, and purpose. 

Do first lines help?  Hell yes.  But, remember, put as much thought (probably more) for everything else after the first line.  Because if you have a gripping first line and a mediocre story…who gives a crap? 

I did a midnight examination of the first line in some of my favorite stories (and not so favorite):

 1.  Once upon a time, in a gloomy castle on a lonely hill, where there were thirteen clocks that wouldn’t go, there lived a cold, aggressive Duke, and his niece, the Princess Saralinda.  — The 13 Clocks, by James Thurb

2.  They had tried to destroy the Will, but that proved to be beyond their power.  — Mister Monday, by Garth Nix (Prologue).

b.  It was Arthur’s Penhaligon’s first day at his new school and it was not going well.  — Mister Monday, by Garth Nix (First Chapter).

3.  The night before he went to London, Richard Mayhew was not enjoying himself.  — Neverwhere, by Neil Gaiman (Prologue).

b.  She had been running for four days now, a harum-scarum tumbling flight through passages and tunnels.  — Neverwhere, by Neil Gaiman (First Chapter).

4.  It’s still my favorite book in all the world.  — The Princess Bride by William Goldman (Introduction).

b.    The year that Buttercup was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was a French scullery maid named Annette.  — The Princess Bride by William Goldman (first chapter).

5.  Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank and of having nothing to do:  once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, “and what is the use of a book,”  thought Alice, “without pictures or conversations?”  — Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll.  

6.  All children, except one, grow up.  — Peter Pan, by J.M Barrie

7.  The boy with fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way toward the lagoon.  — Lord of the Flies by William Golding (god you won’t believe how I often I confuzzled this with William Goldman).

8.  [insert mirrored title of a book shop]  This inscription could be seen on the glass door of a small shop, but naturally this was only the way it looked if you were inside the dimly lit shop, looking out at the street through the plate-glass door.  — The Neverending Story by Michael Ende translated by Ralph Manheim (another book I’d love to read in the original German).

9.  It was little more than three miles from the Wall into the Old Kingdom, but that was enough.  — Sabriel, by Garth Nix (prologue).

b.  The Rabbit had been run over minutes before.  — Sabriel, by Garth Nix (first chapter).

10.  I’m ten years old, my whole life you’ve called me Vanya.  Enchantment by Orson Scott Card

11.  “You’ve think you’ve found somebody, so suddenly my program gets the axe?”  Ender’s Shadow by Orson Scott Card (random quote thing some may or may not read).

b.  Poke kept her eyes open all the time.  — Ender’s Shadow by Orson Scott Card (first line proper).

12.  You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which have regarded with such evil forebodings.  — Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley

13.  Left Munich at 8:35 p.m on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next monging; should have arrived at 6.46, but train was an hour late.  Dracula by Bram Stoker.

14.  Wind howled through the night, carrying a scent that would change the world. — Eragon by Christopher Paolini (prologue).

Because I don’t have access to the first chapter, I’ll make it up with the first line of the second trilogy:

15.  Saphira’s breathing quickened, and she opened her eyes, yawning expansively.  Eldest by Christopher Paolini.

~~~~

I think most of these first lines have one thing in common.  They make the reader question:

Why?

Why are the clocks stopped?  

Why is [the Princess Bride] his favorite book in the world?  Of course, The Princess Bride first line is, in and of itself, unimpressive to me.  I see beautiful women every day, I don’t care if one happens to be a scullery maid and that’s not even considering the fact that my contrary nature kicks in at the words “most beautiful” since it’s too absolute.  However, the brilliant introduction more than makes up for the lack luster first line.

Now for the exceptions…

Alice doesn’t make me question why, personally, but I can’t help but read on because it’s as if someone is actually speaking to me, and it’s hardly polite to interrupt before one has even finished.  

Lord of the Flies is a brilliant novel with an absolutely unimpressive first line, along with an ok opening paragraph.  But there’s something in the tone, the matter of factness, the almost gloomy rhythm of the words and sentences that make me keep reading it.

A note regarding Enchantment:  Instant conflict.  And how human beings love our conflict and our drama.

Sabriel’s first lines I found to be utterly unimpressive with a prologue that I had to wade through.  Yet I luff that book to death, I really do.  I can’t even say it’s because of a conversational tone, or because the characters are interesting because Sabriel doesn’t become interesting until a good deal later, and you don’t meet Mogget until a quarter through the book.  So what, exactly kept me reading?  An interesting idea.  I really do believe that Garth Nix’s writing has improved in comparison to the Abhorsen books and Keys to the Kingdom books.  Or maybe I just like boys named Arthur with awesome last names like Penhaligon.  

A note regarding the last four.

Who can’t help but continue to read Frankenstein with so much forboding of dark and morbid doings?

As for Dracula.  *pause*  I can’t really think of anything more boring, I really can’t.  I know it’s supposed to be a journal…but I’ve read plenty of journals and…no, just no.  I just don’t care about mundane details like that.  

And the last two.  No question why is forming in my thoughts as I read.  When the author says that the scent will change the world, does that  include those who are olfactorily challenged?  The second offense is even more pronounced:  what sort of scent is this?  He never deems to explain in the following paragraph, nor the following chapter, nor the rest of the book. 

And why do we care about yawning dragons again?

Personally, I think that too much emphasis is placed on first lines — they’re just words strung together, just like the rest of the book/journal/novellette you’re reading.  Are they important?  Yes, they are.  But so is the rest of the novel.  How many times has a comedy been funny the first half, but stupid the second half?  The same principal applies.  Your words must be honed, crafted, sculpted.  They must be poetry, even if they’re prose.  They must be a willow the wisp in front of the reader and lead him deep into marshes.  It must have a satisfactory ending which can be either happy, unhappy, or bitter sweet, or none of these.  

The reader must want more.  Even when he reads the words The End he must want more of the world you’ve created.

Warning:  this might cause the reader to write Fan Fiction that will probably be abysmal.

There was a time where I used to stress out about my first lines.  Is it catchy enough?  Is it interesting enough?  I’d stress out so much about it that I’d forget to write the second line and so on and so forth.  And let’s face it:  Someone’s first line won’t be another’s.  There are such things as personal taste. 

Someone once said:
Writing well is knowing all the rules and then throwing them out the window and just writing.

I don’t know who said it, but it sounds ok to me. 

But what to write about?  What about plot, characters? 

 A lot of people want to be unique, or different. 

A lot of people want to be famous and write a best seller.

A lot of people want to write an epic tale ala Tolkien and Middle Earth.

A lot of people want to be good and, in fulfillment of that desire, they turn to the people they think are good.

There is only one way to be unique people, and that’s by being yourself.  I know, I sound corny, but it is true.

There are only a handful of plots in the world:

• Rags to riches, made every so famous by fair tales and people like Horatio Alger.
• The Epic — usually an attempt at mythology and ecapsulates the Little Man usually a farm boy on a quest to save the World.
• Slice of Life — Anne of Green Gables is an excellent example of this.  Little trials for the little (by little I mean completely ordinary, of course) people of the world.
• The Parody, which makes fun.
• Who done it?

And that’s pretty much all, folks.

So, it’s a daunting question:  how exactly am I to write my own story and still be unique and not a paltry imitator of [insert famous author here].

I won’t lie to you and say, “It’s easy” because it’s not.  Write the story how you think it ought to have gone.  You don’t think Cinderella deserved to become a princess?  Then write that.  You think it should have happened a different way without the convenience of a Godmother?  Write about that.   Where in heck was that Godmother for all those years anyway? 

Look at a plot.  Look at it backwards, sidewards, frontwards, bottomwards.  Look at it in a mirror.  Flip it.  Make it shades of grey instead of black and white.  Tear that thing apart and put it back together again.

Know it completely, because only then can you understand it. 

Once you feel you understand it, think about it.  What do you feel about it?  How does it make you feel?  And write from those feelings. 

A lot of people today read a book and say, “Oh I liked it.”  Ask them why, and wait how long it takes for them to reply.  

As I said previously — write about you, even if it is obliquely. 

You are unique.  Plots are not.   

What a lot of people don’t realize is that writing is hard work.   Often times, it’s not a walk in the park.  Sitting at a computer or on the couch with just a paper and pen will never be harder than when you’re writing.  Sometimes the words come in a brilliant flash of inspiration, but often times they don’t. 

 People speak of their Muse and I used to wonder if such a Muse actually existed.  Not the muses who were goddesses — but your own, personal Muse — the inspiration that gives life to your words.

 You can’t wait for your Muse to come to you.  Sometimes she does, but if you don’t help her, coax her, then she’ll come less and less frequently until she never comes at all. 

 You have to court her like a lover, because she is your lover, closer than a wife or husband, boyfriend or girlfriend will ever be or can ever be. 

 Because you are your Muse and your Muse is you. 

Strange, isn’t it?  To truly write, you must love yourself.  You must explore yourself.  What do you hate?  What do you love?  What is important to you, what is not important to you?  What do you believe in, what do you not believe in?  That is your cornerstone.  Once you have your cornerstone, you can begin to build into other viewpoints, other beliefs, other planes of existence and thought.  Once you know Yourself, you can know other characters.  Once you are intimately acquainted with yourself, you may intimately know others who may become Characters in your stories. 

But you must feed yourself with words and stories just like you feed yourself with food.  Ingest a variety of words — fiction, fantasy, essays, etc.  Read bad authors so that you will know not how to write.  Read good writers so that you know how to write well.  Observe how they craft their work.  Do not copy them, because then you are not yourself – when you imitate you deny entrance to your Muse. 

 Do not strive to be the next J.K Rowling or the next Neil Gaiman.  Strive to be better than them, to be different than them.  Strive to see things they never saw before, to write words they never wrote, to put beauty where there had been only mediocrity before. 

A wordsmith is a creator.  He takes a word, just a little word, and he softens it in the fire, melts it just a little bit, forms it to fit his purpose.  Then he takes another word and crafts it to the other.  He does this again and again until he has an image, a creation.  If it is not good enough, he will melt it down and begin again until it is perfect, or as perfect as can be. 

There is sweat on his forehead.

His arms are tired.

But at the end, there is satisfaction, the kind that one can only find in creating something and creating it well.