Writers, Try This at Home 8 - Developing your story ideas

According to two-time Nobel Laureate Linus Pauling, "The best way to have a good idea is to have a lot of ideas." If you write regularly, you probably already know this. Most authors I know are forever capturing story concepts in journals, dictating them to create audio memos, and scribbling on the backs of receipts. (Those who are serious take Ray Bradbury's advice and write the ideas down in full sentences.)

Most concepts wither away and die of their own accord. The excitement that caused them to be recorded fades. Some rattle around until they meet another idea and find their ways onto to-do lists. The most persistent refuse to go away. They keep popping up, sometimes hooking writers years later and demanding full treatment in a novel, a short story, or a script.

But an idea is not a story. Even the most evocative logline needs to be developed into something more, with characters, a setting, and a plot that has a beginning, middle, and end. It's just fine to let all this development happen as part of the writing process. Writing by the seat of your pants ("pantsing") is a legitimate way to grow as story from a small seed, and it's a great way to end up with an organic work that is full of surprises (if you're careful not to settle for cliches).

There are rigorous ways to develop an idea. Once a story goal is clear, you can write lists of tasks the protagonist must complete and more lists developing the possible obstacles. These can be pruned, organized, and shaped into a detailed outline that provides the blueprints for a story.

It also can be valuable to look at the concept one piece at a time, and that's what I'll present in this post:

Choose characters who have a lot to lose. I just wrote a piece based on a real incident. Historically, reputations were at risk, but that was not very dramatic. I kept the same issues and the same event, but I lowered the social standing of the characters. These people had their careers, their marriages, and even their health at risk.

Moving up socially can work for different stories. For instance, an affair usually puts people at risk, but it usually would put a prominent televangelist more at risk than a grocer or a car mechanic.

Manipulate power. The best stories have people pushed to do the impossible. If it's not hard for the protagonist, it's not much of a story. A man needs to drive into the wilderness to say goodbye to his dying mother. A rich man goes there by helicopter. It takes him a couple of hours. He travels in comfort. A poor man needs to get a car. He can't get one that can go off road, which means he has to map out a longer route that may risk his getting caught in a snowstorm. He won't have a heater in the car. He will only have enough food for four of the five days needed to reach his destination, and none for his return. Etc.

Age can be power, too. Ten-year olds can't drive and are not allowed in bars. Sex? Think of what was forbidden to women through most of history (and into today).

Culture and intelligence can be power.  MacGyver was so versed in engineering, he could create problem-solving devices out of whatever was at hand. Most people couldn't. Or making language an obstacle can put your protagonist at a disadvantage. (In fact, there is a whole genre of fish-out-of-water stories, where local knowledge collides with the odd ways of an outsider.)

Raise the stakes by making the character critical to a larger goal. In his stories, James Joyce seems obsessed with the failure of Charles Parnell, an advocate of Irish Nationalism. He was a key figure in his time, and, when his adultery was revealed, his political support faded away and Ireland had to wait decades for independence. Making a potential personal failure relevant to the outcome of a cause that affects many can sharpen your story.

Avoid what's sensible. The best stories are not about reasonable people. They are about believable people who are pressed beyond what's reasonable. So be careful about providing any conventional answers to the story question. Find some that are not reasonable and make them believable.

George Bernard Shaw said it best, "The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man." Unreasonable men also have better stories.

That brings up what I mentioned above about not settling for cliches. Here's something I've tried with my classes. Make a list of 20 animals. When people do this, most of the animals are common across some of the students lists. Almost always, however, when the last few animals are listed, they are distinct for each student. Originality comes up later, with some work (and even desperation). Your answers on how to do a story task like break into a warehouse are likely to begin with the obvious. But, if you keep at it, you'll come up with something special.

Of course, this article does not provide an exhaustive list of approaches to idea development. In fact, it leaves out one of my favorites, which is a free-wheeling brainstorm with imaginative friends. I love it when anything is acceptable and people get competitive about going for the most outrageous possibilities. The best stories are often the most extreme, especially those that take the writer out of his or her comfort zone.

So, give idea development a try. Play with characters, stakes, and obstacles. The only rule is to keep going until something weird and enchanting emerges.

Writers, Try This at Home 7 - Pacing, fast and slow

If you write page turners, people will seek out your work. An important factor in accomplishing this is managing the story’s pacing. For many writers, this comes naturally. The events of the story just emerge as appropriate for their storytelling style. But, especially for longer works like novels, it may be necessary to consciously adjust the pacing.

The ideal? Everything in the story gets the time that it needs. And there aren't any hard and fast rules as to how long you should dwell on different portions, because much of this depends upon getting the balance between emotion and verisimilitude correct. But it’s obvious when writers get this wrong. Emotional scenes go by too fast with too little impact. Events jumbled together in ways that make them less clear. Descriptions seem to last forever and readers end up skipping past them to get to the dialogue.

So let's review some ways to hit the gas pedal and some ways to put on the brakes.

Too Fast
To get the most out of scenes that capture the heart or make readers laugh, set them up properly. Take the emotional moments you've written, and look to see what's before it. Mostly, readers need to have some indication that the main character of the sea is anticipating something. Springing on a motion on a reader is a little like stepping out from behind a curtain and shouting "boo"! In general, the bigger the emotional payoff, the more the character should be looking toward its possibility. So try these two things:

First, add to the story in a way that extends the time of anticipation and the stakes are the experience that's coming. And do this through the character as much as possible.

Second, explore the possibility of interjecting a different emotion right before the big payoff. This switch stops the reader from protecting him or herself from feeling too much. Writers have known about this technique for a long time. A great example, is comic relief, where something funny happens before an anticipated tragedy or horror.

Too much speed can also lead to disorientation, so it's worthwhile to take a fast-moving section and make sure that time, place, and the identities of participants are completely clear before things begin to happen. This is narration with the purpose.

Scenes can also feel like they are moving too quickly when they lack a singularity of purpose. It's always a good idea to write down why a scene is in a story. This practice becomes essential when it feels like too much is going on. Take a deep breath. Write down the purpose of the scene. Make it specific. And see if this is the only (or nearly the only) reason why this piece is part of your work. Your apt to find out that the scene tries to accomplish several things. (The solution is to simplify.)

Too Slow
Too fast is not usually a problem for writers. It's much more likely that some scenes will go too slowly. Take your scene and highlight everything that isn't moment to moment. This includes characters remembering, description, and most narration. I like to pull out almost all this in the first 30 pages, and most manuscripts I read spend most of the first 30 pages in this mode. To get yourself into the right mindframe for balancing moment-to-moment with the rest, take some favorite scenes from authors you love to read who write in your genre, and mark them up in the same way — highlighting whatever is not moment-to-moment.

Simpler than that technique is to just look at the pages. Chances are, if your story is moving too quickly, it has long paragraphs and too little dialogue. Look at the white space on your pages and compare it to work that moves more quickly. The answer is likely to be right in front of you.

One more thing: emotion always makes the pages fly by. If they seem to drag, it's entirely possible that not enough attention is being paid to evoking emotions. So read over your text, checking your heart as you go. I had one manuscript that I critiqued where I thought a lack of emotion was the problem. I was wrong. The emotion in those pages was terrific, but it was buried underneath lots of nonemotional detritus. Once I struck out all the excess wordage, especially descriptions and reflections that primarily provided background information, the work was wonderful and it moved.

Sometimes stories get into trouble because they get away from the spine. Even areas that may have intrinsic interest can drag down the pace if they pull readers away from the story question. Sadly, these parts also need to be cut. But there is one rule to keep in mind — don't cut funny. What is good practice in normal storytelling can be skirted whenever your writing comedy or interjecting light moments (including comic relief). So my final suggestion is this. Pay attention to your instincts. They will rarely be wrong.

Writers, Try This at Home 6 — Three voice exercises

I sympathize with editors and agents who have to wade through piles of manuscripts, most of which sound the same. The second rate versions of Nora Roberts or Stephen King or Clive Cussler can wear you down. And the anonymous bestsellerese of some writers attempting to be glib is impossible to connect with.

In conferences, on webpages, and in blogs, the professionals looking for fiction make it clear that each day they hope to find, somewhere in the slush pile, a distinct voice — language and perspective that stands out as individual and authentic.

I've written a few posts about voice in the past. I think there are some right ways to develop your own voice open: using dictation, writing dialogue–only scenes, and (ironically) writing pastiches that capture the voices of other writers. There are wrong approaches: writing diatribes, writing essays in ways dictated by long-forgotten sixth grade teachers, and any sort of "how to" writing — which needs to be clear and often becomes generic.

So, for this addition to the blog, I'm going to suggest three exercises that may help you to develop your own voice. They all begin in the same place, choosing an individual you know well to address with your work. Picking out someone in particular forces you to deal with intention, interest, pacing, and word choice that writing for an audience can't match.

Do you have someone in mind? Good. Now try this:

• Describe your favorite scene from a story. It doesn't matter whether it's from your own work or from an author or movie that you connected with. Just communicate the images and the feelings in a way that would be understood by the person you've chosen to address.
• Write about an occasion in your life when you were hurt, but not wronged. We all have cases where people around us, including people who love us, cause us harm. And it can be difficult to put these in perspective when blame isn't easily assigned. The hurt itself becomes more vivid when you try to explain why it felt bad without complicating your explanation with accusations or intentions.
• Imagine a circumstance when you felt wonder or gained a positive insight about people, society, your world, or life. Then relate this incident as clearly as you can while including all the reasons why it mattered to you.

For each of these, the goal is to identify something that's meaningful to you, but is not overwhelmed by relationships, feelings of guilt, or feelings of injustice. The language you use to bring these experiences to someone you know well is likely to be distinct and completely owned by you.

If you wish to, you can return to these exercises and write to different people you also know well. This will give you a different dimension of your authentic voice. If you can do this work by dictating it, you'll probably have better results than if you simply type the words out. If that doesn't feel comfortable, take the time after you've finished your writing to read your exercises out loud. This will help you to connect with your own voice and smooth out any pieces that didn't come naturally.

Once you've done this, the trick is to take the voice you've discovered and move it into your novels, short stories, scripts, or whatever else is your usual writing. This may not happen automatically, but with practice, the sound of your work will change in ways that will help it to stand out when it reaches agents, editors, and other gatekeepers.

Writers, Try This at Home 5 - Creating the best secrets

I've become borderline obsessed with the use of secrets, surprises, lies, and revelations in stories. These turns creates excitement and delight. They capture attention and keep readers and audiences engaged.

The fun can range from someone shouting "boo!" (or coming through the door with a gun) to curious facts to stunning images to deep, life-changing insights. All of them are valid and, minimally, increase the entertainment value of the story. Often, especially in terms of secrets and revelations, it's assumed that these are developed in plotting. This does happen, but I think the most fruitful secrets and revelations emerge from deep knowledge — of characters and of the worlds in which they operate.

For me, surprises appear in two ways. Some of their by design, having emerged from analysis of the characters and the worlds. Others — which interest me the most — seem to come from someplace else. There is no real chain of logic that I can identify. Intuition may be at work. Effectively, the surprises that thrill me most are those that blindside me. A character whispers in my ear or an image appears in the daydream.

I'm not sure this can be turned into a repeatable approach. But an exercise I do, which I call connect the dots, often creates situations that lead to unexpected ideas. Here's how it works:

For a world, especially a world that is intimately tied to the story's premise, I make a list of captivating images or scenes that might belong in the story. Then I activate my logical, analytical brain and try and see how they might be connected with each other. I don't do this once. I do it several times.

This pushes me to go beyond the obvious. It helps me to create a narrative that makes me uncomfortable and even shocks me. When I feel that what I have is both exciting and disturbing, I know that this will take the story to a new level. As an added bonus, since I have created parallel narratives, I sometimes can use one of those as an alternate explanation that may change expectations for readers and audiences enough so the turn in the story will be fair, but won't be anticipated.

For a character, I focus on intentions. There's nothing more powerful than a deep understanding of why a character is doing something (or series of actions). Often, the character is motivated by the needs (at times, hidden even to them) and the approaches they take are twisted by some trauma.

After I’ve played around with ideas around the character's intention, I think of three specific critical actions or tasks. It's best if these come separately like the captivating images or scenes explore to uncover secrets about the story's world. The less they have logical connections, the better. Then I work, once again, to connect these three in a variety of ways. Once again, I'm hoping to come up with something that's exciting and disturbing.

So here's what I suggest you try at home:

1. Take your story, your work in progress.
2. Look closely at either the world or the protagonist.
3. Find your three images, scenes, actions, or tasks.
4. Connect these in 3 to 10 different ways, making sure at least one disturbs you.

With luck, you'll have secrets, surprises, revelations, and lies that will make your story more vivid. And here's one more thing to consider. If you are far enough along to have a sense of what the theme of your story is, look at some of these connections and see if any of them express your theme in an intriguing and memorable way. If so, it's likely that you are on your way to providing insights that will delight your readers or audiences.

Writers, Try This at Home 4 -- The character flaws trick

A good character flaw can enhance every element of your story. Flaws create risks and conflict. They lead to decisions that raise the stakes. Ultimately, a powerful flaw will reveal character and provide depth to the story’s theme.

The easiest place to begin looking at flaws is with your villain. Obviously, if nature is an antagonist, this won't work. And it won't work if some faceless organization takes the place of the bad guy. So think in terms of an individual with bad intentions.

This has to be someone who has some strong points. Most villains that catch our interest are intelligent. Some have clear (though often twisted) virtues.

Okay, do you have a villain with redeeming features in mind?

This one should be easy. Your villain needs to want something desperately. Unless they are (uninteresting) sociopaths, they need something and have a reason why they need it. In fact, they may even have justifications that make sense.

So now you have a villain with positive traits who desperately want something for what he or she believes are good reasons. I'm interested already. Now comes the fun part — give the villain a flaw. Not a simple vice. A villain may park in handicapped spots, but he or she needs more than that. Greed is good. Lust can be effective. Murderous rage always leads to (delightful) trouble. A good definition of a strong flaw is something that creates havoc in almost any context.

Now think of three things a villain would do in your story. If you can, make them essential tasks. And go beyond normal limits. Make these actions as extreme as you dare.
By now, you should have a potent brew of bad intentions, self-justification, a flaw, and evil actions. If you're like most people, you probably had some fun sticking your toe into the deep waters of the dark side. It's time for me to ask you to do something difficult. Give your hero as much of what you've just developed for the villain as possible. In particular, give your hero the villain's flaw.

That's got to hurt. And it will leave a mark — on your readers as well as you. But it's not as crazy as it sounds. Most writers identify too closely with their heroes and give them namby-pamby flaws nobody cares much about. Killing any prospects of having a powerful character arc in the story. They don't like their heroes to make mistakes or do bad things. They worry that people will not be able to identify with flawed heroes. This is nonsense.

This exercise takes advantage of the ease with which most writers can attribute evil to villains. Interestingly enough, this often leads to them giving all the best parts of the story to villains. A classic activity by some actors playing heroes is for them to mark the best lines in the villain's dialogue and ask that they be given to the hero (adapted as necessary).

If you do this exercise often enough, it will become easier for you to give your heroes the flaws they need to act with true heroism. Courage is not doing something dangerous. Often, that's foolhardy behavior. Courage is doing the right thing when you're terrified.

Have some courage here. Take on this challenge and make your hero work harder to get to a happy ending.

Writers, Try This at Home 3 - The power of images

A great movie has three great images. This wisdom was imparted to me by a producer decades ago. I've always kept it in mind, and I've made a point in all my stories – whether scripts, novels, or short stories — to take a step back and check to see if I had images that meant something to me.

For my current work, I decided to explore imagery more methodically. I listed 10 films I love and, under each, noted three visuals that first came to mind. I didn't research or review or do any preparation, and I was very careful to avoid movies where the trailers were too familiar.

All those images were freighted with emotions, and, in my mind's eye, I was more likely to see clips than stills. For most, I could easily remember what happened before and after the images.

My next step was to note next to each image whose eyes it was seen through. Some seemed to be godlike views. For example, the transition from bone to satellite in 2001 A Space Odyssey. Some were a little more personal. In Casablanca, when Rick and Captain Renault walk away together, the camera shows both men, but it's arguably Rick's point of view. The look on Doc's face in West Side Story is from Tony's point of view. And there is an interesting level of irony because I feel Doc's anxiety and I know Tony doesn’t.

Doc: Buenas noches? So that's why you made it a fair fight...
Tony: I'm gonna see her tomorrow an' I can't wait!
Doc: Tony... things aren't tough enough?
Tony: Tough? Doc, I'm in love!
Doc: And you're not frightened?
Tony: Should I be?
Doc: [after a pause] No. I'm frightened enough for the both of us.

For the most effective image in my collection, everything came together to connect immediacy, emotion, action, and character. It's when photographer Jeff Jeffries in Hitchcock's Rear Window feeds flashbulb after flashbulb into his camera to blind his assailant. The hero has gone from selfish voyeur to a participant who has taken on his responsibilities as a member of the community. He fights back with a weapon that is distinctly his. He's fighting for his life. And the visual itself is stunning and a perfect fit for cinema.

Many of the images I listed are visually arresting and perfect in tone. In The Natural, Iris Gaines, in her haloed hat, rising from the crowd to offer the redemption Hobbs needs so he can regain his power. The horrible triumph of Salieri in Amadeus as Mozart's shrouded body slips into the common grave. Joe Gillis's body floating face down in the pool in Sunset Boulevard.

At this point of my exploration, I looked for patterns. An essential question I asked myself was, why do these images resonate with me?

I won't go into any deep analysis here, but I was surprised to find how often images had to do with previously powerless people who found the capacity within themselves to make a difference. Similarly, there were cases where people who seized power for good reasons were nonetheless destroyed. Moments of redemption were also common among the images I'd chosen.

This exercise has provided me with insights as to my tastes, my concerns, and how the great artists of film have used imagery to make their work indelible. So, if you want to try this yourself, here are the steps:

1. List about 10 films that are your favorites. Be leery of those that are less personal – many older films tend to use an omniscient point of view. Also be careful of those instances where clips from the trailers are fixed in your mind.
2. Note down the first three images that come to mind for each of the films you've chosen. Don't spend a lot of time thinking about whether you have the "best" images. This is about you, your memory, and your emotional responses.
3. Determine whose eyes you see the scene through. This can be as direct as the photographer's view of the murderer in Rear Window or have the distance of Rick's walk into the sunset at the end of Casablanca.
4. Give yourself the opportunity to feel what you felt when you first saw this scene. This may take a while. In fact, shifts in emotions may need to take place throughout your day. It's not a bad idea to contemplate one image, write the emotion down (or sequence of emotions for that image if it's a clip), and do something else for a while before returning to your list to consider a new image.
5. Analyze the visual content and see if you can figure out what about it touches you and makes it distinct and brilliant.
6. Look across all the images that you've selected and see if there are any patterns that provide insights you might use to improve your work. Make this personal. Focus on the elements and characteristics that resonate with you.

If this exercise works for you, it may provide some direction on how to more effectively use imagery in your storytelling. It also may offer an opportunity to deepen the emotion and meaning of your work.

Writers, Try This at Home 2 - Visualizing your characters

At one time, I worked for a company that was very big on education, and I ended up having dinner with a communications guy who also was prominent in voice acting. As soon as I found this out I immediately flashed on a cartoon character he resembled — McGruff the Crime Dog.

This flash turned out to be absolutely accurate. In fact, it turned out the cartoonist had drawn the character's face based only on the voice. My dinner companion looked like he sounded.

Much of my introduction to characters as I write comes through an experience of what they sound like. Long before I know who they are and what they look like, I have their voices in my head. But at some point, I need to be able to see them, too. This helps me both to visualize scenes and to provide apt descriptions for readers.

Many of my writer friends begin with pictures. I know some who have folders full of magazine clippings that represent their characters. I've also found online that people search actors directories and use gaming software to make it easier to see their characters. Some writers actually sketch out entire casts and even specific scenes.

The best hint I ever had on how to visualize a character comes from a friend who said if you want to remember what someone you love looks/looked like, think of them in motion. I found that to be excellent advice for recalling memories, but it easily extends to seeing characters I know only by voice.

The first thing I try to imagine is a scene that has both motion and emotion. I want the character to be feeling something — joy, rage, terror, love. Ideally, I place the action in an environment that allows me to see it, without forcing things, from afar. Then I work in cinematic terms by viewing the action as a long shot, a medium shot, a close-up, and in extreme close-up. The particulars are likely to change, but, almost always, I end up seeing the person's full body, hands, face, and eyes.

Now, I may not know enough about the story to create a scene that is relevant. Because of this, I have three "go to" activities to explore with my characters:

• Flying a kite.
• Loading a gun.
• Lighting a candle.

Motion is obvious in each of these cases. And it's easy for me to imbue each with specific, powerful emotions.

So try this at home:

1. Choose a character you want to visualize clearly.
2. Select an activity that includes both motion and emotion. (Feel free to use one of mine.)
3. View the scene in your imagination from different distances. You can go from distant to close (as I usually do), close to distant, or at random distances that suit your mood.

The main point for all these is to get at least a few visual cues in your head. Be sure to write these down for later use. You can even create a complete description of the scene in great detail if you wish, just don't overdo your descriptions and your actual story. The reader usually wants to participate by filling in some of the blanks.

One more thing. I poked around and found a few references if you want to dig more deeply into character visualization.

https://writeitsideways.com/how-to-bring-your-characters-into-focus/

https://www.helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com/get-cclose-characters/

https://mythicscribes.com/community/threads/how-do-you-visualize-your-characters.3138/

https://www.reddit.com/r/rpg/comments/2tgjkc/looking_for_some_character_visualization_software/