Category Archives: Plot

Hey Writers: Can You Talk the Talk?

Today I like: tons of kids running around my house
Not so much: feeding them!

My girls are taking Chinese and Spanish at school. I can get by with the simplest French when in France (Je m’apelle Stephanie. Je suis une touriste Americaine.), and pick out a word or two in the more heavily accented areas of the Caribbean (In Haiti I understood manger and bonjour. That’s about it). So, I’m stoked they are getting this exposure now, from both a linguistic and a cultural viewpoint. Bring on the hola and the ni hao!

One thing that’s amazed me, particularly with the Chinese, is the girls’ pitch-perfect accent. Asian languages have tones the average Germanic or Romance language speaker can’t easily replicate. Ever try to pronounce the names of the menu items at a Thai or Vietnamese restaurant? There’s a reason they generally have numbers beside each entrée.

“Can I have the…Mwwnnaatrraaa….the number seven, please.”

My kids, however, at six and eight, come home singing Chinese songs with perfect enunciation. They’re not shy or self conscious about it. They spit out the numbers one through twenty as easily as my four-year-old sings his ABC’s. It’s amazing to me how easily their little tongues wrap around tones that I couldn’t replicate if I tried. I’d produce sounds somewhere between a lowing cow and a dental patient emerging from anesthesia with a mouth full of Novocaine and a few less teeth.

We all know children with bi-lingual parents. They can switch between languages in one conversation, never missing a beat or dropping a cookie. Everyone knows that the younger one is, the easier it is to pick up a language. And here’s where this idea becomes relevant for writers.

I started reading adult novels, the ones my mom brought home from the library, around age eight. While some of that subject matter was a little intense (as I’ve stated before, Stephen King’s IT gave me nightmares for months at age ten), I truly believe that early exposure to novels shaped whatever ability I possess in creating long form fiction.

In reading (adult) novels from such a young age, I was absorbing, without realizing it, the basics of good storytelling: plot, character, dialogue. How scenes flow from one to another. Foreshadowing. I was learning the language of novel-writing at an age when I could easily take it in. Make it part of my native tongue.

If I loved a book, I’d read it over and over (sometimes thirty times over the years, as in the case of All Things Bright and Beautiful, The Stand, Pride and Prejudice, and later, Angela’s Ashes and Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood). This re-reading…the repetition…sealed the voices of these stories in my head, and in turn blended them into my own narrative voice.

I developed a habit, around age six, of telling myself stories to help me fall asleep at night.  Made-up scenarios, running through my head, every night. I’ve never stopped. Nowadays, as I drift off I write the next day’s scene in my mind. Character and dialogue. Intro, build up, climax, closing. Usually in the third person. As if I’m sitting in front of the computer typing away. Weird, yes…but also very effective for a writer. I’ve been practicing non-stop for twenty-nine years.

I always wonder about “writers” who say they don’t read. Reading is practice for writing. The idea of learning a new language now, when my brain is set in a very specific communication pattern, is daunting…not matter how envious I am of my bi-lingual friends. So how do those who don’t read, and have never really read, suddenly expect to be able to understand the language of novels?

If I tried to learn Chinese now, my accent would be bad. I would be self-conscious. My words stilted, unnatural. Even if I wanted to say something a certain way and knew the correct words, it probably wouldn’t come out right…and it certainly wouldn’t be eloquent.

So, if you’re toying with the idea of writing a novel, and you’ve never been a reader, stop and think. Are you at a point where you can realistically devote the time to learning a new language? Is your mind still flexible enough?

If not, there are many accomplished novel-speakers out there. Grab a book and experience the beauty of fluency.

In Which Real Life Has No Discernible Plot

Today I like: Homemade ice cream
Not so much: Sponge Bob’s laugh. “Hehehehehehehe…” Shoot me.

Darlin’ do not fear what you don’t really know…
–Brett Dennen

Writers generally fall into two camps: Plotters and Pantsers. Those who plan out their work (plotters) and those who wing it (pantsers). There’s sort of a tradition amongst writers to look down upon others who don’t follow your individual mantra. Plotters think pantsers are undisciplined. Pantsers think plotters are rigid. Blah Blah Blah. It’s like a literary Mommy Wars. Anyway, I fall into the plotting category. I’ve been thinking about this lately, and I’ve come to the conclusion that my “plotter-ish-ness” is really a reflection of my personality.

I like to know what’s going to happen. In my own life, I tend to plan things out. Lists, schedules…love them. So, it makes sense that I plan my work. It’s comfortable to know where my characters are going, and have an end goal. I write a detailed outline before I even write one word of a scene in a new novel.

Sometimes, however, this doesn’t work out, and that’s where I drift away from my outlines…and sometimes even my end goal. Where the flow of events in the story, the characters’ evolutions and plot points, decide that my plan is not where it’s at. This can be a little disconcerting…having to reorganize my thoughts and wrap my mind around a new direction. Usually with a good run and some serious mulling over, the new path takes shape. Cue re-write on the grand plan…but still, there is a grand plan.

That’s the great thing about fiction. You can always change course, and it’s like the original course didn’t happen. Ugh, plot hole. This scene is just not working. Guess what? Delete! Whoo hoo! It’s gone! New scene…all better. Things are back on track. Rolling toward the end goal.

Unfortunately, real life isn’t like that. You pick a course, write a scene, and you’re stuck with it. There’s no time to figure out the perfect reaction or bit of dialogue. No ability to control the other characters. One scenario can lead to another, and you feel like you’re trapped in the most poorly edited film ever recorded. When it’s all over, you can’t believe it happened…and you have absolutely no idea what to do with it. Where to take it…if mistakes have been made, how to fix it. The end goal is invisible…or at least seems out of reach.

Not knowing frightens me. I don’t do it well, in writing or life. I try to keep in mind, however, that sometimes in my books, the scenes I never saw coming teach my characters the best lessons. Even the most dedicated plotters have to be pantsers once in a while.

So are you a plotter or a pantser? In writing, life, or both?

Take Me In, Let Me Wonder

Today I like:  Sullivan’s Island
Not so much: Wrapping paper

Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in
Are you aware of the shape I’m in?
My hands they shake, my head it spins
Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in
–The Avett Brothers (I and Love and You)

My second daughter, she of the white blond hair and blue eyes; she who looks nothing like me, is a child after my own heart. I think she might have a writer’s soul. She takes it all in.

Songs, for example. She always asks me, “Mommy, what is this song about?” This is her reaction to every artist from Kesha to Bob Dylan. Usually I can come up with a pretty succinct, child-friendly answer. (“She’s mad at her boyfriend! He wants to go to a big party! He likes big butts and he cannot lie!” Ok, really, I change the song on that one…) Sometimes I’m stumped…and the above song, I and Love and You, by the Avett Brothers…which I have recently discovered and with which I have fallen in love…is an example of such a song.

When I had that inevitable question, this time I said, “Why don’t you just listen to it, and tell me what you think at the end?”

Load the car and write the note
Grab your bag and grab your coat
Tell the ones that need to know
That we are headed north
One foot in and one foot back
But it don’t pay to live like that
So I cut the ties and jumped the tracks
Never to return

She kept up a commentary. “So he’s going on a trip? North…it will be cold. Is it Christmas?”

When at first I learned to speak
I used all my words to fight
With him and her and you and me
Oh but its just a waste of time
Yeah its such a waste of time
That woman shes got eyes that shine
Like a pair of stolen polished dimes
She asked to dance I said it’s fine
I’ll see you in the morning time 

“He messed something up. Maybe his girlfriend is mad.”

Three words that became hard to say
I and love and you
What you were then, I am today
Look at the things I do

“I and love and you. That’s like I LOVE YOU.”

Dumbed down and numbed by time and age
Your dreams to catch the world, the cage
The highway sets the traveler’s stage
All exits look the same

“What kind of exits?”
“Like the ones on the highway.”
“They do look the same. But they have numbers. What number is Brooklyn?”

As we were listening, I thought of how the best songs tell a story. Like novels do, but in the very shortest, simplest form. Sometimes the most eloquent and emotional. It made me think of that old writers’ adage: Show, don’t tell.

Songwriters tell their tales in emotion, and give the reader room to interpret the details and the message in an individual way. What one person hears, where he or she finds some commonality, might not be how the songs resonates (no pun intended) for the next listener. So, as long form writers, I think the lesson we can learn from great songwriters is this: Don’t over explain. Give your readers a chance to come to their own conclusions, and maybe even leave them hanging a tiny bit. Tie it up, but keep the sense of wonder. Give your readers credit for having individual points of reference and creative intelligence. And of course…tell the story in as few words as possible. Just make sure they’re the right ones.

So, at the end of the song I asked my girl what she thought it meant.

“He’s sad. He misses home. He wants to go back and fix things.”
“Do you think he did?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes, definitely.”

I’ll let her tell me the rest of the story when she’s ready.

 

In Retrospect

Today I like: Tom Petty. The kick continues
Not so much: Ant invasion

So I’ve started out
for God knows where
I guess I’ll know
when I get there
– Tom Petty (again)

I don’t know about you, but my life makes perfect sense when viewed in reverse. I can see clearly how one thing led to the  next. The most painful situations often offer the most clarity. Once the hurt fades or some answer is concluded, the lessons seem so obvious. When you’re in the middle of it, however, nothing makes sense. Why, why, why is this happening? What good can it possibly serve?

I think the best fiction forces characters to ask these questions. All writers know about “upping the stakes,” “giving your characters hell,” etc. If the protagonist is not facing some huge dilemma, then obviously there is little need to keep reading. In plot-driven fiction, we usually have a protagonist with an external problem (bomb! psycho killer! rogue vampire assassin!), but for me, these kinds of obstacles, while they keep the pages turning, are secondary to the internal struggles. If a book keeps me flipping pages, but the character has nothing emotional at stake, and doesn’t learn anything from the external forces working against him/her, then the story is quickly forgotten.

When I’m crafting a novel, the characters’ internal journeys are as paramount in my planning as the external plot. I picture them, at the end of the book, looking back over the series of events that lead to the conclusion. I want her to see the connections between the pain and the lessons. I want him to understand that it all meant something, that it happened for a reason.

Because, while it’s fiction, and maybe it ties up a neater than real life, I believe things do happen for a reason. In retrospect, everything eventually makes sense.