Bigger 13 - The Right Structure for Nonfiction

A departure today - this entry is explicitly for nonfiction (though, I hope, most others benefit nonfiction writers). I've found that choosing the right structure makes the difference between doing a good job and doing a great job that attracts a large audience. But what are the structures of nonfiction?

Most people can readily call to mind a few ways to organize nonfiction, if asked. We all know some form the essay style, with introductions, topic sentences, and closings. Arguments begin with the second strongest point and end with the most powerful. Those who worked on a school newspaper know about the inverted pyramid.

There are dozens of others, and they can add punch to your work, or make it limp and unconvincing. Here are some to consider:

• Chronology, journal, and narrative nonfiction – Tell what happened in sequence. Blogs often fit in with these. Note that narrative nonfiction often doesn’t fit strictly if the author uses flashbacks and other fiction techniques.
• Dialogue, argument, and thesis – The first is at least as old as Plato. It resembles a discussion committed to paper, but, of course, it is carefully organized to make a point. Arguments do this more directly, without using characters. A thesis usually follows a required structure that makes it more abstract.
• Epistolary style and interviews – A letter to the editor is the most obvious of these. They are purportedly written to someone other than the reader. We just get to look over the addressee's shoulder. Often, actual letters are collected and edited for broad circulation. The best interviews may resemble letters most closely when the interviewer provides comments and responds to answers. Some are more stark, with formula questions, and these may be appropriate if the interviewer does not bring special knowledge or perspectives.
• Review or comment – The subject of the discussion, another work or event, is the distinguishing feature here. That subject may be familiar, or may need to be described in a summary fashion. These works provide informed opinion. The best reviews and comments use the reference to illuminate something important. Many depend upon the voice and personality of the author to attract the reader and hold his or her attention.
• Recipe and how-to – Clear, straightforward, and step-by-step. While there may be some personality involved, it cannot distract from the purpose. Success is giving people the outcome they are looking for. If clever words lead to an inedible pie, you lose.
• Contrast – Sometimes the whole picture – especially of a complex event -- emerges best when more than one perspective is offered. Contrast is often used in morality tales, where clear choices are made and we see the consequences.
• Pyramid and hierarchy of interests – Put what is vital to know first, then the next, and so on. My investment as a reader gets diminishing returns -- by design.
• Reference and FAQ – Just the facts, organized (often alphabetically) so I can most quickly get the information I need or want. It is important that I can get all that I need regarding a topic within a single section (or, at least, get everything but what is clearly pointed to in other sections). This means there is some redundancy in these texts. They are not meant to be read from beginning to end. A dictionary may be the most obvious example.
• Theory and exercises – Think textbooks. The point is explained, and then the opportunity to check and deepen understanding is offered through questions and how-tos.
• Memoir, apology and testimony – These tend to be mostly about the writer, written in the first person. Readers read to learn about them as persons.  Think of a conversation with a good friend about how life is going. The writer may, along with sharing experience, also have a point, wish to justify him or herself, or hope to inspire.
• Observations – These should be objective and thorough. A police or post mortem report. A naturalist’s field observations.
• Case history and cautionary tales – Much of this is like a chronology, but the focus is to tell what happened and bring out the lessons. The reader will want to get enough to emulate success and avoid failure.
• Vision and sales pitch – This is forward-looking. It can be what might be for a society or a company, or simply the joys for a consumer of owning a vacuum cleaner. A premise must be stated, benefits must be detailed, and there must be a call to action.
• Parable, fable and joke – Here the readers usually knows that the work is a composite or an allegory with a definite point. In other words, connection to facts is tenuous, but the reader is in on it. While not factual, a truth is expected. The story should be easily overlaid on the real world, and it should be convincing. Urban legends fit here, but they often are so compelling that they are taken to be factual.

Much of book-length nonfiction today does not fit cleanly into any of the above categories. Writers mix in quotes, artifacts, sidebars, and more to vary the tone and break up the text. Also the impact on readers can be dialed in by changing how formal the work is and/or adding humor (ironic, satirical, biting, or gentle).  Also, the medium makes a difference. Will this be a book? An ebook? A blog? A film? A speech?

Which structure do you choose, and how do you determine the tone? Start by articulating the purpose of the nonfiction work. (I do this for every speech I write.) What does success mean for you (or you client)? Do people need to take action? Advocate? Be able to do something? Avoid or embrace a behavior? Build empathy?

Next, determine who your main audience is. I like to get down to one person, and expand in rewrites as necessary. I find that the ideal reader often has strong opinions about which structures work best. Some people prefer works that are stark and abstract, like scientific papers. Others need to get cozy with the writer (think memoir). Your ideal reader will also guide you toward specific media and preferred tone.

Length makes a difference. Parables and fables are short. Textbooks are long, but broken up into sections. Narrative nonfiction can work at any length.

Completeness of information can dictate your choice. I wanted to write a narrative nonfiction book about a historical character, but primary sources were too scarce. Similarly, arguments feel weak if they have fewer than three points to support them.

Requirements matter. A friend of mine spent two years trying to get approval for a biochemistry dissertation written as narrative nonfiction before she submitted a more standard version.

Your comfort with the form can be decisive, especially when you are on deadline. While it is admirable to develop the ability to use all of the structures, you will probably have real facility in only a few of them.

When in doubt, try more than one approach and compare the results. You may be surprised by how dramatically the impact of your content rises or falls. Imagine a parable presented as a business speech, complete with PowerPoint charts.  Or a Hollywood star’s biography presented as a scientific paper.  Or a recipe book prepared as narrative nonfiction. Any of these would either be disasters or hilarious.

Bigger 12 -The Confidence Factor

I have confidence in confidence alone!
Besides Which you see I have confidence
In me!

-- Richard Rodgers

This morning, I woke up with a country song, complete wiht lyrics I never knew I'd memorized, running through my head. When I write speeches, quotes from Abe Lincoln, Hunter S. Thompson, or Seneca show up at just the right time to clarify a point. I never know what useful or instructive snippet will pop up in my mind, but I've learned to pay attention.

The lyrics above, about confidence, arrived as I was reading a self-published novel. While the back of my mind was pointing out formal errors in spelling, grammar, and structure, the rest of me was lost in the story. It isn't unusual for this to happen if the plot has me hooked. I'm often sucked in when the author has taken time to build a minimal amount of empathy for the character, the need is clear, and there are a few surprises.

None of this was really happening in the work I was reading (though, I'm sure from the author's other work that all will be well eventually). What kept me turning the pages was confidence alone. Absolutely nothing about the work was tentative. I could tell he knew he deserved my time.

My favorites works of art and the stories that entertain me most seem to glow with self confidence. The artists, whether they are writers, actors, directors, or contributors in less obvious ways, like lighting, are all in. They bet everything, knowing they'll win. And I can't help but go along.

Where does such confidence some from? I'm not sure. I've put together a tentative list, and I'd love to see additions from readers:

• Mastery - With some writers, you can tell from the first sentences that they have taken the time and effort to learn the techniques and approaches of storytelling. In particular, they have an array of tools to choose from. They use the right one, and they execute flawlessly.
• Warts and all - Does it seem to be a contradiction to say the confident writers have humility? I've found the best are willing to expose their weaknesses -- prejudice, bad judgment, ignorance -- on the page in a matter-of-fact way that grounds their strengths. You know that, like you, they are flawed, and that makes their hard-won wisdom all the more valuable.
• Attitude - Confident writers seem to approach their work with a sense that they will succeed. That bleeds through on every page.
• Bona fides - I love it when writers have done their homework and understand their subjects in detail. They don't need to bury me with facts to prove they know what they're talking about. They may only expose ten percent of what they learned, but it is the right ten percent.
• Respect - I have confidence in the writer if the writer has confidence in me. Don't talk down or get overly explicit, or I'll walk away.
• Voice - Confident writers don't sound like anyone else but themselves. It may even be that confidence is what we mean when we speak of the writer's voice.
• Courage - When a writer goes someplace difficult -- when he or she takes a risk in the story, in exposing a sensitive issue, in sharing a dark moment, or in speaking truth to power -- don't you want to go along?

As a clarification, I'm not talking about charm. That is another way to lure people in. It may have confidence included, but charm relies mostly on sensual appeal, the ability to reflect back attitudes and emotion, and deception (such as telling us what we want to hear). Charm is to confidence what infatuation is to true love. A charming person's impact is likely to fade after they leave the room or when you discover your wallet is empty. Beware of Prince Charming.

Also, confident art may include less than confident characters, and usually does. I saw play Philip Seymour Hoffman play Willy Loman in "Death of a Salesman" on Broadway. No one could imagine that Willy is confident, but the actor playing him inhabited the role without hesitation. He commanded the stage even as his character's weaknesses were exposed. "Attention must be paid?" No kidding.

I am coming to believe that you can't write a bigger story without confidence that shows through. Mastering the tools is a requirement, and writers should never stop working to perfect their craft. Some people also find pep talks useful. And I know people who keep a worthy adversary in mind when they sit down to write -- often with "Screw you, [editor or other worthy adversary]" scrawled on Post-It above their writing space.

Writing fast helps. It shuts down the inner critic. A "What the hell?" attitude enables confidence. I've seen the difference with my students who have jumped in and decided to have some fun. They may (usually) end up with horrifyingly crude pages, but the text is engaging in ways their more considered work isn't. Rewriting, not drafting, is the best time for doubts.

How does confidence affect your writing? Have you found ways to instill it? What are your favorite approaches?

More "Bigger" Posts

Back in June, I started using Saturdays to explore Bigger Stories as a way to help writers enlarge their audiences. The first five posts were listed in Bigger Posts, and it's time to list the ones I've written since then. Enjoy!

Bigger 11 - Sharp Contrasts -Differences matter
Bigger 10 - Find Out How Good You Need to Be - A reality check on the competition
Bigger 9 - Getting Crazy - Pushing the limits beyond reasonable so your work will stand out
Bigger 8 - The Essence of the Scene - Wowing by making every scene matter
Bigger 7 – Five Keys to Bigger Emotions - Make 'em laugh, make 'em cry
Bigger 6 - Crazy Bad Villains - How to create bad guys your readers will love

Bigger 11 - Sharp Contrasts

I love "The Odd Couple." Nasty neat Felix and sloppy Oscar being forced to live together? Genius. You know that, for almost anything, they will make opposite choices. Felix will go for opera, while, Oscar will go for jazz.  Felix prefers a fine wine, while Oscar likes a cheap beer.

And so on. This contrast gives us someone to identify with and connects us with our own choices. On bigger issues related to life events (marriage, death, coming of age) and social concerns (poverty, freedom, loyalty), it sets up conflicts between the characters that draw us in. Differences put things that matter in high relief, so we see what otherwise is invisible. And sometimes contrasts can take us on a journey that makes us wiser.

The bigger the contrast, the bigger the story. Besides having characters with contrasting views, you can have characters in contrasting circumstances (rich and poor). You can give them different allegiances (as with countries at war). And you can find them in different stages of life (parent and child). A playwright once told me that the audience is immediately drawn in if the characters look different. Even having a man and a woman on stage sets up a contrast for an audience.

Fish out of water stories (like "Crocodile Dundee") provide a contrast in setting and character. One of the advantages of these stories is that they get the audience to see a familiar setting through unfamiliar eyes. Disaster films do much the same thing by taking the familiar and twisting it into a new shape -- often exploring the meaning and value of what we take for granted. Time travel stories usually take a protagonist from our time and put him or her into an era where our own knowledge and skills would need to be adapted, so we have a new appreciation of our own lives. In "Back to the Future," Marty can create a skateboard that allows him to escape bullies, but he doesn't know how to open a bottle of cola.

The contrasts need to be big contrasts, and, ultimately, they need to reveal important truths. Moving back in time a few years or having characters who went to different but equivalent high schools in the same town is not especially interesting or revealing (though good stories might be built in other ways). In Genesis, Cain and Abel may be siblings, alike in many ways, but one is a shepherd and the other is a farmer. One offers God a sacrifice of that is not acceptable, while the other offers one that is. And this leads to murder, and the question, "Am I my brother's keeper?" The result is a memorable story that has resonated with millions of people over thousands of years.

Bigger 10 - Find Out How Good You Need to Be

One of the best novels I've read in the last ten years is unpublished. This is an agented manuscript by a person who has had success in other media and had cultivated his own social media posse, and I can't understand why it's consigned to limbo.

It's not alone. I've read works-in-progress, indies, contest entries, and stories on the submission treadmill that range from worth fixing to polished and entertaining. I've read many more manuscripts that declared themselves to be typing exercises from page one, but that's not the point here. The point is, knowing the quality of what is not being sold is important for getting a realistic view of how good you need to be.

Yes. Yes. I can pull ten published novels at random off the shelf in a bookstore and find most, if not all, aren't very good. Novels like that probably lure many people into writing who know they can do better. In one way, that's good because having unrealistic expectations when you begin writing can help you to stay at it until you develop your craft. But, if you still think this way, it is holding you back.

No editor wants to champion a mediocre book, much less a bad book. The hope is ever present that the next manuscript they pick up will send tingles down their spines. Not that is will only be good enough to package and sell (unless you are a celebrity who happens to have a platform).

This is why it is good to gain the humility those good, unsold novels have to offer. And if you want to write bigger books, books that draw large audiences -- hey, look at where the bar is. Pretty high.

How do you get manuscripts into your hands?

• Join a writers group. There are a lot of reasons you should be part of one already, but most have critique groups with lots of manuscripts to read. If you don't have a group nearby, there are online groups.
• Get some writing buddies. And read what they are doing. They'll love you for it. And they will read your manuscript in return.
• Get the word out. Almost everyone I know has someone who as written a manuscript or is working on one. They are almost always looking for readers.
• Read slush. Slush is unsolicited manuscript, and the piles tend to build up quickly for those involved in publishing. Agents are always looking for interns, and often they'll let you work part-time and remotely.
• Teach a writing class. And be wowed by what some of the students produce.
• Judge a contest. This is probably the easiest. Some contests require minimal training, but there is always a need for more judges. Stephie Smith has a great site that lists contests. Volunteer.

For most manuscripts, you'll know immediately why they haven't sold. Often, just by reading the first page. Some will be amusing, but will have obvious flaws. A few will challenge you to find reasons why an agent or editor would pass on them (and the process of determining these reasons can help you to discover problems with your own work).

Then there are the others. The ones that are clearly better than most of what you find on the shelf. Manuscripts that send a tingle down your own spine. These, not the unholy messes or the fine but flawed stories, are the ones that tell you how good you need to be. They are the ones that demand you sharpen your premise, take another look at your structure, ask more of your characters, and polish your prose.

It is easy to imagine you can get away with being good enough when you read through this month's offerings at the bookstore. It is much harder to do that when you read a manuscript that impresses you, but has never been published.

Bigger 9 - Getting Crazy

Algis Budrys once said that all interesting characters were certifiably mad. They are imprudent, action-oriented, and obsessed.

So are many writers. Some that I know terrify me with their stunts, extreme perspectives, and picaresque lives. The characters they meet in the real world compete with the best in fiction. It seems like a great advantage to a writer when they have friends who are available and ready to become memorable characters in their scripts and novels. If this is the kind of writer you are, congratulations. If you live long enough, you have the ingredients for bestselling fiction.

But maybe you're more like me. Not John Belushi. Not Hemingway. More Bob Newhart. Is there any hope for us? Can we create big characters?

Certainly, we can listen to our adventurous friends. When they introduce us to larger than life people,  we can bring all our powers of observation and storytelling to what we experience. It's not the same as being crazy, but it's a start.

What else can we do?

• Research - No matter how cautious you are, you can read about the range of human behavior. A book like The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat will extend your knowledge of what is possible at the limits of the bell-shaped curve. If you are more daring, go where extreme people are. A friend of mine directs a drama group at a federal prison.
• Imagine - What would you do if your life (or a loved one’s) were threatened? Or if there were no social constraints? Or consequences?
• Notice blind spots - It is hard to recognize what you don't see, but it is easy to notice when others around you use circular logic, ignore the facts, and interpret reality in unexpected ways. Here's a tip: if you irritated, perplexed, or surprised by an opinion or justification, step away from your emotion and inhabit that peculiar mindframe. You may discover something valuable.
• Explore - Take an assumption or longheld belief and abandon it for a day. Take the opposite view of what you believe. Give the mad idea the benefit of a doubt and see where it takes you.
• Get to know people better - That mundane person at work? What is she hiding.
• Be prepared - When you happen upon an eccentric or bizarre person, don't waste the opportunity. Be ready with questions.
• Recognize context - Behaviors that are perfectly fine in one situation are nonsensical in others. Dancing at a party is fine. At a funeral Mass, not so much. Transpose what is normal and easy for you to relate to in one arena into another where it is uncomfortable, and then explore why a person might feel their behavior is necessary.

None of this may make you as crazy as your most adventurous friends, but maybe it will nudge your character toward certifiable, toward being authentic and unpredictable. And that will make your story bigger and more likely to reach larger audiences.

Bigger 8 - The Essence of the Scene

All the riveting, memorable, captivating, and emotionally involving bits of fiction happen as scenes play out. While it is possible to have an image that, in isolation, hits you in the gut (think of the eye being cut in The Andalusian Dog), scenes are what really stick.

The best scenes are stories in and of themselves, with beginnings, middles, and ends. We are likely to replay them for ourselves and can take them out of the whole and tell them to our friends. In fact, if someone were to ask you what you liked best about a book, a movie, or a play, chances are good that you would relate a complete scene to them.

Writers depend on scenes to deliver plot turns and emotional payoffs. Big stories -- the ones that become popular -- have scenes that people love to tell their friends about. Look up your favorite movies on YouTube, and you will probably find your favorite scenes, carefully selected from the whole.

I got thinking about scenes and how to make them bigger when I read a wonderful blog post, "Making Every Scene Special," by Hal Croasmun. His main point is that every special scene has an essence. The example he offers is from Notting Hill, and it has as its essence humiliation. Croasmun rightly rejects a weaker description of the scene, "discovering she has a boyfriend." To get to the essence requires a single, emotionally charged word. Which of us cannot taste a past humiliation, based just on hearing that one word?

Other words have this same power: Triumph, sacrifice, revelation, and all seven of the deadly sins (lust, pride, greed, gluttony, sloth, wrath, and envy). 

You can play the game with memorable scenes, and develop a sense for essence. 

• "Luke, I am your father." (revelation, betrayal)
• "Are you looking at me?" (wrath, madness)
• "Frankly, I don't give a damn. (rejection)
• "As you wish." (revelation, true love)

Then you can look at your own scenes -- especially those that are pivotal to the story you are telling. Is it easy to determine the essence? Can you carve away everything that is not contributing and enrich the scene with more that reflects the essence?

If you get the essence right in all you major scenes, people will be dying to share those scenes with others. And, chances are, your story will connect with a larger audience. 

What are your favorite scenes and how to they express essence, and how do they impact the work as a whole? 

 

Bigger 7 – Five Keys to Bigger Emotions

Emotion is what you're selling. This may sound crude. Aren’t writers with high aspirations working toward delivering truth? Revelations? Insights?

Well, yes. But you can have life changing concepts of deep import and never reach a popular audience. (I’m still waiting for the musical based on the Thomas Aquinas’s Summa Theologica.) So, go for the heart first, and go as if your life depends on it.

How?

• Start by caring. If you do not weep, laugh, ache, or rage, neither will your readers. (I have more on this in a previous post http://howtowritefast.blogspot.com/2012/06/emotions-hook-readers-and-drive.html .)
• Create empathy. Make the situation itself one that deeply touches a reader’s values. Family, love of country, and hunger for justice are some of these. Larry Brooks had an amazing blog entry http://storyfix.com/the-secret-weapon-of-crafting-effective-heroes on this recently. Highly recommended.
• Set things up. Strong emotions do not appear in an instant. They come as a result of a careful journey from the pedestrian to the extraordinary. This means the pacing must be right, without empty phrases and extra words. (I just judge a fiction entry that demonstrated this. I felt the scene had all the right content, but it left me cold. I went in, pulled out extra words, redundant phrases and a few paragraphs that distracted. When I reread the scene, I had tears in my eyes.) Also, it is important to move from one emotion to the other in a natural way. Plutchik http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Plutchik provides guidance on this that is particularly valuable.
• Take a sharp turn. As long as it is justified, surprise is your friend. Life teaches us to guard our emotions. When we see a strong one coming either because of the context or because of a steady deepening of a single emotion, we protect ourselves by using distancing and other coping techniques. Creating contrasts in setting and circumstances catches readers off balance. Laughter at a funeral has more impact than tears because it goes against expectations. Similarly, letting a reader catch his or her breath before an emotional punch will maximize impact. This is why comic relief is so effective.
• Be poetic. Fresh simile and metaphors make our concepts concrete. They engage our imaginations and bring along connotations that connect the scenes with our emotional lives. The sound of the language can help, too. Music touches us in ways that are difficult to explain, and words that are lyrical or harsh, flowing or colliding, provide the soundtracks for fiction.

This does not exhaust the ways you can create emotion with your writing. What are your approaches? How do you bring tears, chills, chuckles, dread, and anguish to your readers?

Bigger 6 - Crazy Bad Villains

I think it was Lee Marvin who was asked how he developed a knack for playing villains. His response was he had never played one.

Of course, villains are the heroes of their own stories. The best comic characters have skewed points of view that they believe in without question. I believe the same is true for villains. If your villain has honor, integrity, intelligence, humor, talent, and a flaw as wide as the Grand Canyon, you have a character who can drive your protagonist to the limit - and drive your story to new heights.

The best villains horrify us because, even if they are aliens, they seem real and personally threatening. In fact, I believe we connect them on a deep level. They expose the potential for evil within us, and that gives them their power.

Too many villains are easy to dismiss. They have cliche backstories; they are sadistic for no reason; they are malformed and ugly. This makes them forgettable, mere plot devices.

Even worse, some writers make the villain an entity instead of an individual. Society may be at fault, but a criminal organization or a corrupt government or a merciless alien species isn't personal enough to really engage an audience. This strategy never works. A villain must have a face.

When villains are fully formed, they can be the most memorable part of the story. They also do the dirty work for you. A real villain will come up with ways to make your protagonist miserable that will shock you. Since they are in a battle for existence and identity, they will do almost anything to win. I've also found that they are uncannily articulate about the reasons for their actions.

Since I am reluctant to be cruel to my protagonist, the villain becomes my best ally in a story. I'm not the one torturing the hero/heroine I love. It's the villain's fault.

A great way to create bigger villains is to make a list of you favorite and most memorable ones. Study these and dig into why you connect with them. And don't forget to find the piece that is just like you.

Bigger 4 - Creating Endings That Buzz

Songs that won't let you go are called earworms, but I'm not sure what they call great endings that buzz around your head. Like earworms, the only way to get rid (temporarily) of buzzing endings is by sharing them with someone else.

Of course, this is exactly what you want people to do with your stories. You want those final words to hold onto people and force them to start conversations. But how is this done? Here are a few things to try:

• Delicious ambiguity - Spoiler alert for Inception. This movie ends with a spinning top that might be on the verge of falling - or might never fall. The sense of the entire story depends on what happens next, and the director does not let you see what happens. Which has led to endless discussions.
• An image - I think first here of the freeze frame that ended Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, as they rushed to take on what looked like the entire Bolivian army. That shot was much imitated (diminishing its punch), but I think it worked because it showed action, but did not complete it. The audience could imagine the likely (hamburger heroes) or the unlikely, one more daring escape. I read The Grapes of Wrath decades ago, and I still can see the image of Rosasharn trying to save a starving man with the milk meant for her stillborn child.
• A mixed ending - One of my teachers called these bittersweet. The hero wins the race, but he loses his love. This is somewhat expected and isn't guaranteed to stay with readers, but it beats a pure happy ending.
• If only - Somehow a tragedy that happens only because nineteen things go wrong can get its hooks into you. You  keep going back to see if one of those wrong turns might have been avoided. Were they all inevitable? Were some less inevitable? What would have happened if any of them went the other way?
• A good joke - This is a dangerous one because it can trivialize the whole story. Caper movies use this approach, and I think immediately of the ending of The Sting (I must be in a Newman/Redford mood) where the trick is turned. (Interestingly, Ocean's Eleven turns its trick, but has a powerful image ending - the almost religious assembly at the fountain.)
• A revelation - This may be the most powerful and difficult. If you can have an ending that reveals how society works, how people work - how WE work - in an elegant and satisfying way, people will hold onto that ending with both hands. To Kill a Mockingbird does this for me.

Bigger stories deserve great endings. First and foremost, satisfying endings that are wonderful because of everything that went before.  But if that ending can start a buzz too, the story is more likely to find the audience it deserves.

Also of Interest:

Good Endings 1 - The four essentials 

Good Endings 2 - Satisfaction testing