Five Ways to Make Your Story Stand Out - Premise, character, deep knowledge, language, and perspective

Clichés are killers. They are stale and unpalatable and pull down everything good about your story. They are also the perfect excuse for an editor or producer or contest judge to move on to the next submission.

Nowadays, you can use an automated program to pull out cliché language, but you need more than a program to discover situations, characters, and ideas that are dead-on-arrival dull. That's lazy writing that comes from being inundated with second-rate stories. Sadly, I've seen pale reflections of mediocre work show up in manuscripts I'm excited about. But rather than rant about these failings, I'll focus here on doing things the right way. Since even good writers seem to slip, paying attention to opportunities to be fresh and innovative will make your work noticed.

Premise. I think high concept took hold when scripts started to be sold based on single statements. Outland apparently got the green light when it was described as High Noon in space. I cringe when I read similar combinations that suggest much but promised little. Rather than smashing together two concepts that sound like writing prompts, it's better to find something you're passionate about, I concept you can't let go of that also needs to be written by you. I like the questions often asked during pitches:

Why you?

Why now?

I get lots of cool ideas that make great stories… for other writers. I'll admit that sometimes my first reaction — that the premise is better for someone else — turns out to be wrong. But in all those cases, the rejected idea refuses to let me go. That insistence is a clue, and perhaps the best one for developing a good premise. Ultimately, the “why me” and emerges from discovering a connection with an idea that resonates with areas I want to explore (most of my work is about outsiders with gifts to share with a larger community that rejects them) and/or knowledge and experience I have that would make the work specific.

To get to a good premise, begin to develop a list of your own areas of curiosity and theme. Also make a list of experiences, education, and knowledge that most writers would not have.

The “why now” piece is about considering the audience for your premise and what they might be interested in. "Now" is really the future. What's knocking around today may be stale tomorrow. So work for a “why now” that is deeply relevant to your audience’s lives without being a current area of investigation (except for, perhaps, in forward-looking communities).

Character. The easy part of this is coming up with an interesting character. If you look closely at the people you know or have known, you're likely to see potential for characters based on them. This is far from the only way to find good characters, but I always keep a list around to consider as I approach new stories. (My alternative is to take small observations and exaggerate them or to springboard off a dream.)

Wherever you discover a possible character, the next step is development. I'm not a big fan of lists of traits, although these are invaluable to some writers. I usually interview my characters, often using some of my 50 rude questions. I have another trick, inversion. I may, for instance, make an introvert into an extrovert or an angry person into a mellow person. I may even turn someone I think of as villainous into a hero.

Dialogue says so much about the character, it's really good to try it out with two characters discussing something that would make you lean in and want to listen. Just as an exercise, this becomes an opportunity to hear the character’s manner of speaking and to understand how the character evades certain subjects.

I also pay a lot of attention to flaws, especially for my protagonists. For a lot of writers, this is difficult and painful work. Many identify too closely with their characters and can't imagine their dark sides. Others worry that flawed characters will be unlikable. That's not fatal for some stories, but choosing to have goody-goody characters (or irredeemable villains) throws away a wonderful opportunity for the story to stand out.

Ultimately, the goal is to arrive at a character who is distinctive and interesting.

Deep knowledge. Some of us have had notable experiences. They may be instances. (I once foolishly walked through a crowd of helmeted, baton-swatting cops). Or they may be jobs or other long-term experiences. (I was a speechwriter for senior executives in a large corporation.) Education (I'm a scientist) may also provide a lot of potential for delving deeply into subjects with great authenticity. Audiences and readers are always hungry for authenticity if it's about subjects that matter to them and are made accessible. I'm currently working on a play where all the action happens within the critical early days of genetic engineering, and I'm drawing on my experience both in working in the field and in having met and interviewed many of the pioneers.

Language. Charm makes many people irresistible. They can walk into a room and have everyone present fascinated within moments. Mastery of language — the right word, the sounds, the rhythms, and the implications — can make writing charming. And the best part is that it can start out shabby and unpredictable. You can always rework your prose for as long as you want to make it lyrical and evocative. So, this is one of the areas for getting noticed that is in almost everyone's control. Minimally, reading the work out loud until it's smooth and clear and musical is within the capabilities of most people. It may require delving into great poetry (even trying to write some). It may require hearing other people read the work (including actors). But it's within reach. And it amazes me how many writers never read their work out loud.

Perspective. This is a wonderful time for people who belong to communities kept silent too long. Whether gender or ethnicity or race or education or class has held them back, more doors (not enough) are open now. And because these points of view have been restricted for so long, many people are eager to hear the untold stories. I believe we need to hear the stories. These are human stories that put all of our lives into different perspectives and engender empathy. This is not to say that there is only room for "identity" stories or that there are writers who should "sit down and shut up" (as I heard one pundit state). 

Everyone has a perspective that could be fresh or new or deeper or unrecognized. I often will use my scientific training to analyze traditional stories that I like for unnoticed potential, digging out nuggets in well mined material. That comes from what Theodore Sturgeon called "asking the next question." So no matter who you are be curious and persistent, and you can find a perspective that's truly different.

Do not expect to create a manuscript that stands out in all ways in a first draft. It's also possible that many revisions will still leave scenes or characters or ideas that are familiar. But, if you want to stand out, raise the bar. Demand more that commands attention in everything you submit.

Heroes and Heroines Have Their Reasons - Justifying bad decisions

It's classic. In horror stories, there's always someone who opens the wrong door or goes into the basement are makes some other decision you, as a reader or in the audience, know is wrong. The same things happen in other stories, too. Even James Bond makes bad choices.

But he doesn't make stupid choices. He has his reasons. To keep an audience engaged (and especially to avoid "advancement of the plot by stupidity"), it must be clear why choices that turn out badly are made.

Yielding to temptation. There are heroes who have no flaws in fables, in some stories meant to demonstrate a good example, and in much of children's literature. But provided they are foreshadowed, a main character can have a craving that leads to bad choices and it d,oesn't come off as foolish. In fact, in an extended sequence, it can use to show character growth.

Curiosity. Wanting to know the answer can go too far. Most of us have asked the question we discovered we didn't want to hear answered. Inquisitive characters often meet unfortunate results, either because of what they learn, or because of what they do to get an answer. Since smart people are often curious, this usually does not create a rift with the audience. As long as they are "too smart for their good" or, minimally, there is a balance shown where the curiosity leads to important knowledge.

Naïveté. Many stories depend on this. Coming of age and other young adult stories, as well as stories of travel and adventure thrive on decisions made in the face of incomplete knowledge. However, in most cases, it is important to show that the character becomes more savvy with time.

Social expectations. Usually, this is used ironically. We know enslavement of other people is horrendous, but a character like Huck Finn, who lives in a time and place where slavery is justified by essentially all authorities (including moral authorities) cannot be judged for not being awake to such a crime. In more subtle ways, a story can show main characters opening their eyes over time to less obviously flawed perspectives — perhaps even views we share.

Dilemmas. When a character has to choose between what are apparently equally good and/or equally bad actions, readers and audiences struggle right along with them. Even if things turn out bad, they remain sympathetic characters.

Deception. Villains (or perhaps allies who have unfortunate ideas about doing something "for their own good" with an idea toward tough love) may lie directly or by omission, leaving the character to face a bad result based on incomplete knowledge. See Romeo and Juliet.

Timing. Many choices require deliberation. We take time to weigh our options, to imagine outcomes, and to consider the long view. But that's not always possible for us or for the characters. Fleeing a threat, facing a weapon, or even driving in bad conditions can all require snap decisions. It gets even more intense if the response is reflexive. I think most people feel empathy for a character under such circumstances (perhaps mitigated by earlier bad choices, such as drinking too much).

Distractions. This is a tricky one, but can be highly useful in a story. Attention is naturally limited. Observations are always restricted. Magicians, pickpockets, and others take advantage of this phenomenon, but it can happen in daily life, often through no conscious efforts of anyone. Life gives us a lot to absorb. The main caution on this is, if what occurs feels too random and contrived, the story itself will be questioned. And the "but this happened in real life" excuse never works.

Hidden intentions. People often act in bad ways when they are under stress or they can gain a big advantage or there's lingering, deep-seated anger. The reasons they give themselves for making the unfair choice may make sense and the real reasons may be lurking in the subconscious. This can make for wonderful storytelling, but only if it's set up correctly. It's very easy for it to appear to be a deus ex machina.

For any of these, the characters might excuse themselves. "I didn't know." "It was a matter of justice." "I needed to get even." "I needed to teach them a lesson." "It should have been mine anyway." "They should have known not to get in my way." "I was taking care of my own." "I had to do it." "He was the enemy." "I was only following orders."

The excuses are a normal part of a sequence of making a mistake and dealing with it. But they can be revelatory for readers. They also can build toward worse mistakes (or understanding for) the characters. Since they play an important part, it's good to consider carefully what excuses are given, to whom, and how they are phrased.

There are shadings all of the above. The character might be hiding a mistake or have approached a situation with poor expectations or lack of training. The choice may have been the only way to shift blame and avoid a horrible consequence. Sometimes, the character may simply want to conform or be carried away by a mob mentality. There can be cowardice, hesitation, and the failure to follow through. Or just a bias toward taking the easier path.

These mistakes need to be considered in terms of what they mean in the story and what they say about the characters. Saying the story is full of random occurrences is usually a bad idea. Saying the character is a full also can drive readers and audiences away.

The worst of all reasons are ones that make no sense. I think we have a real sense of when someone is acting out of character in the story. There are many egregious examples of characters who behave badly and, without sufficient prompting, see the light and give up their bad ways. The reasons for such a dramatic change need to be thoroughly justified in most cases. (Comedy being a notable exception.)

This is not to say that a behavior needs to be calculated with an intellectual justification. As Blaise Pascal said, "The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.” It's fine to have decisions make emotional sense.

Ultimately, reasons must make sense to your chosen audience. They'll have different standards, and that needs to be taken account of. Sometimes, they'll like a character so much, almost any excuse will do. But in cases where the story critiques readers' own views, the author will have a lot of work to do to make things, no matter how reasonable they actually are, seem reasonable.

First Sentences, Last Sentences, and Favorite Scenes - Getting unstuck

We all feel stuck from time to time. If I'm doing something entirely fresh, I tend to revel in the freedom and easily slip into flow. (But I know, this is the most frustrating time for some people.) My difficulties come when I either have an obligatory scene or I need to make major revisions — often, creating a new take on an idea.

The usual fix comes from a toolbox of techniques that may include answering questions I have at hand or finding good models in other people's work or writing dialogue – only scenes that will never be used in the final work.

Three techniques I've used recently have among the best success rates for me.

Write a first sentence.

I found this to be invaluable when I found several holes in a script I'd completed. It was overwhelming for me to look and see that I had six new scenes to write, none of which were immediately inspiring. I set a timer for 30 minutes, sat down, and wrote just the first sentences for each scene. Then I walked away from the project until the next day. As it turned out, that was a highly productive choice. I actually finished two of those scenes the next day, and I had all of them in good shape by the end of the week. There was something about having a starting point that made a difference.

So, step one was writing the first sentence. Step two was taking on the scene the next day. Note: writers often labor over getting first sentences exactly right. They do a lot of work within the story and keep readers engaged, so they're essential. Such perfect first sentences were not cranked out by me in the half hour session. In fact, none of the first sentences I created survived to the final draft. They weren't created for my readers. They were created as cues for me (especially for my muse). And they did their job.

Write a last sentence.

I've heard this is how John Irving does his work. For me it's a challenge most of the time. But for work that has already resulted in a draft, I can often imagine a good last sentence. In the most recent case, I actually set my timer for 45 minutes and made notes about what I was trying to accomplish. I reflected on possible themes for the whole work. I then forced myself to write three different last sentences that were as good as I could make them. They were decent, not wonderful. I took bits from two of them, and tried a new combination. I polished until it felt good to read the sentence out loud.

By then, my timer had rung, but I was stepping away in good shape. The next day, I was able to rough out the last scene of the story, and that steered my decision on a theme and provided a basis for a successful rewrite of the full work.

Write a favorite scene.

Sometimes you just have to eat dessert first. I was lucky with one project that I had an idea in mind that had helped to inspire the whole work. Often, I'll use my desire to get to that scene to motivate me to create the intervening pages. In this case, those in between scenes felt burdensome and made me dislike the project. I really had nothing to lose in jumping forward, and it worked. Knowing that scene in more detail made me eager to put hints and story turns in (some that I had not previously imagined). That made filling out those pages in between more fun.

I hope one of these tools will be useful for you, but let me go meta on this. The techniques I used were ones I already had had success with. The reason I remembered them and had them available for use was because I’d collected them over time. I continue to create new approaches (most recently, a template for creating of sentences and questions to ask) that add to my toolbox, but I’m most likely to find a reliable one and use it. You can do that, too. As you solve writing problems, document how you did so. Create tools that are ready-to-use so you can avoid losing momentum on a story.

The Hero Hits Bottom - Change isn’t easy

I’ve been watching Gilmore Girls (which I missed when broadcast) because of the wit. What I didn’t expect was a lesson on defenses and resistance to change. While Lorelei will use wise cracks to connect (especially with her daughter), she also uses them for other reasons. To establish dominance (often, proving the other person is not as erudite because they miss references). She makes jokes as a holding action, hoping either to distract and avoid a conversation that’s uncomfortable or to avoid answering a question. She even uses humor to soothe herself, telling jokes that are just for her.

In Nurse Jackie, the title character uses lies for all the same reasons. Characters in other stories use altruism and moral codes and manipulation (including putting others to work on his or her behalf) and authority.

It gets worse (twisting intentions like connection and self-soothing) when the go-to responses are anger, threats, and force. And it isn’t just villains who turn to the dark side. Heroes (and heroines) can get mean, too. Think of how nasty George Bailey gets in It’s a Wonderful Life when the money goes missing, even turning on his children. It is a courageous writer who dares to expose such a negative side of a beloved character. Soon afterward, George is reckless, bitter, drunk, and suicidal. He hits bottom.

Once he hits bottom, he’s ready to have a healthier view of his role in the community. He can see that his sacrifices have made a difference in the lives of people he cares about. He can recognized a level of pride/arrogance that separates him from others. He can see, for the first time, how much they truly value him.

If he hadn’t fallen so far, the ending of It’s a Wonderful Life wouldn’t be so uplifting and memorable.

Tragedy works that way, too. From Hamlet to Camelot to Braveheart to Nurse Jackie the protagonists go from high hopes to disaster.

For happy endings, the character hits bottom and makes a change, recognizing a flaw that must be managed (or eliminated) or a perspective that leads to disaster. A craving, like drug addiction must be controlled. Being blind to harmful behaviors must be faced. A corrosive community (or family) must be abandoned or a healthy community (or family) must be engaged with more deeply. A talent or gift must be shared for the good of others. A wound must be healed.

None of these are easy to accomplish. The proof is in how hard the character must hit bottom before the change is accepted or becomes a new behavior.

And before hitting bottom, the snarky comments must fail to stop the fall. The protective rules must fail to shield the character. Threats and anger must lead to intolerable results. The identity of the character must break and so it can be remade.

For tragic endings, though there may be consolations (like the survival of the son and his innocence in Life Is Beautiful or the pregnancy in Braveheart), the protagonist is sacrificed, often before change can be accomplished. Often, the audience is left with “what ifs,” able to imagine a path to a happy ending (and change) that was missed.

Writers love their characters. The pain of hitting bottom (and sharing that suffering) can be too much. (And for some audiences, it may be too much. The gruesome ending of Se7en would overwhelm most moviegoers.) Knowing what hitting bottom would look like does not dictate the “right” ending. But imagining it can show the way to what the best ending might be. 

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July courses

How to Write Fast

July 5-August 1

Crank up the efficiency and get that novel, short story, article or script DONE.

Through exercises, evaluations, tips and technologies, you can learn to write faster. Discover how to break through blocks, get ideas, develop plots, draft and polish in less time without losing quality.

Mastering Character Arcs

July 5-30

One reason we come to fiction is to experience the changes characters go through. And, while the external journey from maid to princess or farmer to Jedi knight may create engaging challenges, we identify with characters because they learn how to trust others or master their tempers or become their true selves. They go on journeys where they learn who they are and how they fit in. They overcome their flaws, form connections, grow up and heal. 

The internal change is shaped and forced by their external tasks, giving them arcs that delight readers. This class will help participants to honestly assess the flaws in characters they love. They’ll look to how hard choices avoided make things worse and how choices faced with courage bring growth, understanding… and credible happy endings.