Once you choose your project, content becomes an issue. Authorship, according to Robert McKee, requires a mastery of the story world.
You need to have a lot of details to draw from and a much fuller knowledge of the context of your story than the reader. On the other hand, knowing too much can sap enthusiasm and make it difficult for you to surprise yourself. In storytelling, there is a natural tension between knowing so much about your subject that it is difficult to decide what to include and knowing so little you can't put yourself into the story.
Of course, your own comfort level comes into play. Plotters usually do exhaustive research before they feel they are ready to begin composing the work. Those who write by the seat of the pants (pantsers) may be happy to jump right in, drawing from a well of experiences and facts, without doing any specific research at all.
When I wonder about whether I have enough information to write, I keep this in mind:
Research exists to inspire and contain.
For any project, I need to find enough about relevant subjects to want to share some of the fun, unexpected facts and to want to explore what the locations, concepts, and conclusions might mean to people and how it might change their lives. I need to feel there is enough there so I will not exhaust the subject before my story is completed. And I need to be excited.
Also, since a blank page presents infinite possibilities, I need to know where the borders are. In worldbuilding, this means I can delineate the important rules -- whether for a fantasy world or a real-world niche, like a hospital or a racetrack. For historical fiction, it might mean having a few events clear in my mind that can be used as anchors for the plot. A few elements that must be included will suggest key scenes, whether I choose to plot, pants, or proceed by a mixture of each.
Since I have an unquenchable curiosity, I put time limits on my research, based on the size of the project and my knowledge. It is too easy to lose myself in the research equivalent of cat videos. On the other hand, I do more than answer top-of-mind questions with my research. I allow myself to follow investigate some topics that intrigue me even though they don't seem necessary.
I avoid over-researching. I like having some loose ends and unanswered questions. I like unexplained discontinuities. A bit of intrigue and risk can add spice to the composition process.
Some of my research is not literal. I explicitly look for models and systems that are not obvious but are either analogous to my topic or in sharp contrast. Sometimes this is as simple as looking closely at a historical event and mapping it into a science fiction story. But I also may play with a concept like how memory is stored in the brain by getting a deeper understanding of how the immune system recognizes a pathogen it has been exposed to before.
I also keep a lookout for collisions of ideas. In fact, many of my stories are based on unlikely combinations, such as putting zombies to work at a health spa.
Once I am in the composition phase, I avoid research as much as possible. This includes inserting explanations that are good enough and searchable words (bagel is my favorite) for names and terms that don't come readily to mind. Any fact or word I know I can grab during revision is simply marked for that step so that the flow of writing will not be impeded.
There is one exception: emotional research. My scenes only come alive when I feel the same sadness, joy, terror, etc. that the protagonist feels. I may, in the course of composition, need to step aside and write something biographical that forces me to re-experience strong emotions. (I can do this before composition and insert words that suggest my feelings as I create an outline -- and I prefer this. But this is more likely to happen in the moment of creation.)
At times, I've found my estimates on research being complete to be wrong, in terms of key topics exposed about which I know little or waning enthusiasm. I approach these the same way I do in prep research, with directed assignments and time limits. And I never replace scheduled composition time with research.
For readers, verisimilitude is essential. By the time you turn in the manuscript, there should be enough true and clear information to immerse the readers in your story. This does not mean sharing all you know or showing off, but the world and sequences of events must be grounded in reality (even in a fantasy). Naturally, you'll lose big if you get something wrong. One reason I never tried to write a Western (a big genre when I started writing) is because its fans were famous for knowing all the details. Putting the wrong pistol in the hero's hands would shatter the illusion for them. You don't need to have everything right when you compose, but you have to be alert to factual errors during revision. Take fact-checking as seriously as a reporter would.
Today, doing research is easier, thanks to the Internet. When, in pre-Web days, I wrote a novel with scenes set in Singapore, I had to gather travel brochures, dig through history books, and page through National Geographic magazines. I even called in a favor and had a bundle of newspapers sent from a friend who was living there.
I was quite happy with the results. When, years later, I had the chance to visit Singapore, I didn't find anything that made me feel as if I'd messed up the facts or gotten the feeling wrong. In fact, I had a strange sense of deja vu as I walked the city's streets.
With that in mind, consider going to a library, interviewing people, and visiting locations where your story takes place. If you've never shot a gun and your character will fire one, take a course at a gun range and talk to the owner and the patrons. Most people love to help you in your research. Take advantage of that.
Ultimately, whatever you do in terms of research is done in service of the story. You do need to know more that the reader does by the time you are finished. You need to pin your interest to enough facts to make it real to you and to maintain your enthusiasm. And you need to make it real with details that you find directly. If all you know about the mob comes from movies and novels, don't try to write about organized crime. We do not need another Godfather knockoff.
Oh, and have fun with research without allowing it to take up your writing time.
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Writer's Resolution 2 - Choose your story
Not every idea makes a good story. Even fewer make good novels or screenplays. Yet, it's easy to be lured by a concept that excites us into plunging into a long-form work that doesn't have a chance of success.
Last time, I covered some starting points to making writing a habit that leads to completed stories. But what should those stories be about?
If you are a beginner, anything is possible, but I recommend creating smaller forms, even flash fiction. These can work with even slight ideas, they give you the reward of completion, and they represent minimal investment in time and effort (which will make disasters less disastrous). Writing short works also helps to give you a sense of where you strengths are, what truly interests you, and what a complete story feels like. So experiment. Have fun. Test your boundaries.
Experienced writers need to experiment, have fun, and test boundaries, and short stories can be good for them, too. But a novel or screenplay based on an idea that is unworkable? That can be dreary. Before you are fifty pages into a long-form work test your idea.
Without a doubt, the idea has to be something you have a passion for. Unfortunately, that tingly feeling is not enough. What appears to be true love often turns out to be infatuation. One protection is writing out the reasons why you must write this work. By articulating these, I can more easily assess and understand my interest. And if I can't say much, I set the idea (written out is a full sentence) aside for a few weeks. With time, I often can't figure out what the attraction was.
Practical concerns often come up next. What can I, through my experiences, knowledge, and skills, bring to this concept that is unique? How can I make it special? Often this leads me into early research that adds to the idea or drives me away. A specific consideration is whether the idea has been done successfully before or is saturating the zeitgeist. I have dropped ideas when I've discovered I'd need to compete against established works or fierce competition. I'd already begun done research and begun writing a work on bringing back extinct species when I got word Crichton was coming out with Jurassic Park. And I redirected my work when I saw, in a Twitter pitch party, that lots of writers were exploring a key element of my work in progress.
Writing a pitch, back cover copy, or even a query letter, can better define what you have in mind and reveal if it is big enough for your ambition (or not). Chuck Wendig (in language that may be offensive to some people) recommends something like this (along with other good advice on choosing a topic). I like to imagine titles, and I look these up online. Often, I find books that have these titles and some handling the same topic I had in mind.
I don't always stop working, even when there is a famous work that explores the same territory as my idea. In fact, many of my short stories have had their origins in a sense that what I've read by another author didn't go far enough or missed the most interesting possibilities in a concept. (It is always a good idea to push things as far as you can, even when your idea seems to be unique. Go crazy, you can always pull back.)
Genre is another consideration. If you are trying to build a career in commercial fiction and you are already beyond the beginning stage, finding a genre that suits you -- where you know the key works, the "rules," and the audience -- is essential. You are likely to stick to one genre for a long time, so choosing your ideas accordingly will help you build a fan base.
Finally, you want your story to stand out. "The same, but different," is guidance I've heard from various sources. In other words, your concept needs to be set in an idea space that is familiar enough to orient editors, agents, and readers (one function of genre), but it needs to have something fresh and intriguing that sets it apart. Whether it's your pitch or your first page, there should be enough there to build anticipation. It's true that beautiful execution of something that is modest in concept can hold readers, but choosing to go this way makes success harder to achieve.
These are suggestions. Ultimately, you need to create your own criteria for choosing projects and use and develop these over time. One guide for me is remembering that what I choose to write answers the question of why I am writing stories.
I'll continue this series next time with a deeper dive on research and knowing what to write.
Last time, I covered some starting points to making writing a habit that leads to completed stories. But what should those stories be about?
If you are a beginner, anything is possible, but I recommend creating smaller forms, even flash fiction. These can work with even slight ideas, they give you the reward of completion, and they represent minimal investment in time and effort (which will make disasters less disastrous). Writing short works also helps to give you a sense of where you strengths are, what truly interests you, and what a complete story feels like. So experiment. Have fun. Test your boundaries.
Experienced writers need to experiment, have fun, and test boundaries, and short stories can be good for them, too. But a novel or screenplay based on an idea that is unworkable? That can be dreary. Before you are fifty pages into a long-form work test your idea.
Without a doubt, the idea has to be something you have a passion for. Unfortunately, that tingly feeling is not enough. What appears to be true love often turns out to be infatuation. One protection is writing out the reasons why you must write this work. By articulating these, I can more easily assess and understand my interest. And if I can't say much, I set the idea (written out is a full sentence) aside for a few weeks. With time, I often can't figure out what the attraction was.
Practical concerns often come up next. What can I, through my experiences, knowledge, and skills, bring to this concept that is unique? How can I make it special? Often this leads me into early research that adds to the idea or drives me away. A specific consideration is whether the idea has been done successfully before or is saturating the zeitgeist. I have dropped ideas when I've discovered I'd need to compete against established works or fierce competition. I'd already begun done research and begun writing a work on bringing back extinct species when I got word Crichton was coming out with Jurassic Park. And I redirected my work when I saw, in a Twitter pitch party, that lots of writers were exploring a key element of my work in progress.
Writing a pitch, back cover copy, or even a query letter, can better define what you have in mind and reveal if it is big enough for your ambition (or not). Chuck Wendig (in language that may be offensive to some people) recommends something like this (along with other good advice on choosing a topic). I like to imagine titles, and I look these up online. Often, I find books that have these titles and some handling the same topic I had in mind.
I don't always stop working, even when there is a famous work that explores the same territory as my idea. In fact, many of my short stories have had their origins in a sense that what I've read by another author didn't go far enough or missed the most interesting possibilities in a concept. (It is always a good idea to push things as far as you can, even when your idea seems to be unique. Go crazy, you can always pull back.)
Genre is another consideration. If you are trying to build a career in commercial fiction and you are already beyond the beginning stage, finding a genre that suits you -- where you know the key works, the "rules," and the audience -- is essential. You are likely to stick to one genre for a long time, so choosing your ideas accordingly will help you build a fan base.
Finally, you want your story to stand out. "The same, but different," is guidance I've heard from various sources. In other words, your concept needs to be set in an idea space that is familiar enough to orient editors, agents, and readers (one function of genre), but it needs to have something fresh and intriguing that sets it apart. Whether it's your pitch or your first page, there should be enough there to build anticipation. It's true that beautiful execution of something that is modest in concept can hold readers, but choosing to go this way makes success harder to achieve.
These are suggestions. Ultimately, you need to create your own criteria for choosing projects and use and develop these over time. One guide for me is remembering that what I choose to write answers the question of why I am writing stories.
I'll continue this series next time with a deeper dive on research and knowing what to write.
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Writer's Resolution 1 - Be ready for tomorrow
Could half the battle of becoming a productive writer be being prepared? That's my conclusion, based on teaching hundreds of students. Most people who freeze up or don't get around to writing on a regular basis have not gotten ready to write ahead of time. You can find your own way to do this, but here's what I recommend for the composition phase.
To set up your writing:
Commit to writing. Give yourself the gift of 15 minutes (or 200 words) a day, five days a week. Set this time aside as appointments that trump all other activity. You deserve it don't you?
Commit to one project. You don't need to write sequentially. You can jump around to "good parts" or places that are working or even write scenes you suspect will be cut. But the words should add to the story you have chosen to write, not be part of another project. (It's okay to work on other projects, but only if you keep your promise to add to the chosen story.) And you need to finish the project you committed to.
Write down what you will work on the next time you write. If you outline, this is already done. If you write by the seat of your pants, this barely intrudes on your creative process (and you are welcome to write something else in addition to what you stated). These words written ahead of time will set a specific goal and get your mind working on the job. Make sure this note to yourself is in one sentence or a few clear words.
"I will write the scene in which..."
"I will describe the place where..."
"I will record the character's reaction to..."
Etc.
That's it. Do these three things -- set aside a time to write, choose the project you'll see to completion, and give yourself the assignment beforehand -- and you'll be ready to write tomorrow (or the next time you're committed to write). The words might not flow every day, but you'll make progress on your story and get it finished.
You may want to use this approach as the bones for your New Year's resolution. Begin by putting a start date on your calendar.
What should you write? Most writers I know already have a project in mind or in progress, so that may be what you use to try out this approach. If you don't have a project or can't choose between them, select the shortest viable project on your list or write a short story based on an online prompt to get yourself going.
If this is half the battle to becoming a productive writer, what's the other half? These are the questions I get from students:
How do I choose a project?
How do I know what to write?
What about research?
What if what I'm writing stinks?
What about story logic?
These point to aspects of planning, selection, exploration, and revision, and all of them are essential to creating stories that are publishable. I'll discuss these in the coming weeks (and I welcome your questions and suggestions for topics). But, with what is above, I think I've provided enough for you to build good habits of productive writing and to develop a process that fits your time, personality, and style.
To set up your writing:
Commit to writing. Give yourself the gift of 15 minutes (or 200 words) a day, five days a week. Set this time aside as appointments that trump all other activity. You deserve it don't you?
Commit to one project. You don't need to write sequentially. You can jump around to "good parts" or places that are working or even write scenes you suspect will be cut. But the words should add to the story you have chosen to write, not be part of another project. (It's okay to work on other projects, but only if you keep your promise to add to the chosen story.) And you need to finish the project you committed to.
Write down what you will work on the next time you write. If you outline, this is already done. If you write by the seat of your pants, this barely intrudes on your creative process (and you are welcome to write something else in addition to what you stated). These words written ahead of time will set a specific goal and get your mind working on the job. Make sure this note to yourself is in one sentence or a few clear words.
"I will write the scene in which..."
"I will describe the place where..."
"I will record the character's reaction to..."
Etc.
That's it. Do these three things -- set aside a time to write, choose the project you'll see to completion, and give yourself the assignment beforehand -- and you'll be ready to write tomorrow (or the next time you're committed to write). The words might not flow every day, but you'll make progress on your story and get it finished.
You may want to use this approach as the bones for your New Year's resolution. Begin by putting a start date on your calendar.
What should you write? Most writers I know already have a project in mind or in progress, so that may be what you use to try out this approach. If you don't have a project or can't choose between them, select the shortest viable project on your list or write a short story based on an online prompt to get yourself going.
If this is half the battle to becoming a productive writer, what's the other half? These are the questions I get from students:
How do I choose a project?
How do I know what to write?
What about research?
What if what I'm writing stinks?
What about story logic?
These point to aspects of planning, selection, exploration, and revision, and all of them are essential to creating stories that are publishable. I'll discuss these in the coming weeks (and I welcome your questions and suggestions for topics). But, with what is above, I think I've provided enough for you to build good habits of productive writing and to develop a process that fits your time, personality, and style.
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
Joy to the Writer - 5 Ways to have fun
When you're grinding through a rewrite or stuck in the middle of a manuscript, it can be hard to remember (or even imagine) what a delight putting together stories can be. Yes. Sometimes you just have to trudge on through to "the end." But you might try a few exercises that can help you get the spark back.
- Write a pastiche. Go reread a few pages of a favorite writer. Choose one with a strong, identifiable voice. Then write a page that sounds like it came from that author. If a scene comes to mind, jump in and get it down on paper. If not, write a scene that comes immediately after the conclusion of the story you sampled. For extra fun, insert a character from your work in progress (WIP). Don't fret over decisions here, just be playful.
- Write from a prompt. There are a lot of these online. Writers Digest posts one each week. Grab a prompt that appeals to you and take it on a test drive.
- Write a gift. This past summer, in celebration of my father's 100th birthday, I started up what I called The Missives Project - one hundred illustrated, one-page notes mailed to him, counting up to his party. Other family members contributed, but I wrote dozens of these, remembering events or recounting thematic experiences (like Christmases). Each one energized my writing and made me feel good about the process. So choose someone to send a note to and get to work.
- Write for luck. Choose a happy moment in your life when things turned out better than you expected them to, by chance. Tell that story in a page.
- Write on a dare. That scene that rattles around in your head and can't find a home? Or that you feel you're not ready to write? Get it out. Put it onto a page. Make it a dance like nobody's watching moment.
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Brag and Boast Your Way to Better Fiction
Every time my wife and I picked up my son from summer Boy Scout camp, we were treated to a ceremony that included wonderful, outrageous boasts. Each troop tried to outdo the others with ridiculous bragging. The object seemed to be both a manly exercise and a test of language skills. For me it was simply fun.
I've always been attracted to tall tales, out-sized insults, and boasts. They show up a lot in Shakespeare. I watched Henry V this weekend, and they inspired this blog's subject. This from the feckless Dauphin:
“When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.”
From someone else, it might come off as dignified, but he is revealed to be delusional. His soldiers don't believe a word of what he says, and the audience is encouraged to be as skeptical. So boasts, and how they are set in a story, can both reveal character and can foreshadow later action (the Dauphin's defeat at Agincourt).
A well-crafted boast can be a memorable part of a story, but I've found boasts useful in developing characters before I write scenes. By its nature, a boast is exaggerated. It captures the public voice of the character in a way that is intended to draw attention. And it often reveals weaknesses between the lines.
Of course, you can take a boast in the opposite direction. In the New Testament, there's a nice turn by St. Paul:
"If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness."
A reverse boast goes in the opposite direction, often revealing fears and insecurities, but it also can reveal hidden strengths. I usually try both kinds of boasts as I explore a character.
Boasts often include powerful comparisons and metaphors: Eyes of an eagle, a mountain of a man, lion-hearted. "I am a hawk." But the best, most useful boasts are about doing things, often tangible, even visceral things like eating, spitting, having sex, and fighting. Powerful verbs combined with elemental forces -- stamping mountains into gravel -- make great boasts.
Again, it's likely most boasts you develop won't make it into your stories, but they can provide fresh perspectives on characters and help you to explore their limits.
I've always been attracted to tall tales, out-sized insults, and boasts. They show up a lot in Shakespeare. I watched Henry V this weekend, and they inspired this blog's subject. This from the feckless Dauphin:
“When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.”
From someone else, it might come off as dignified, but he is revealed to be delusional. His soldiers don't believe a word of what he says, and the audience is encouraged to be as skeptical. So boasts, and how they are set in a story, can both reveal character and can foreshadow later action (the Dauphin's defeat at Agincourt).
A well-crafted boast can be a memorable part of a story, but I've found boasts useful in developing characters before I write scenes. By its nature, a boast is exaggerated. It captures the public voice of the character in a way that is intended to draw attention. And it often reveals weaknesses between the lines.
Of course, you can take a boast in the opposite direction. In the New Testament, there's a nice turn by St. Paul:
"If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness."
A reverse boast goes in the opposite direction, often revealing fears and insecurities, but it also can reveal hidden strengths. I usually try both kinds of boasts as I explore a character.
Boasts often include powerful comparisons and metaphors: Eyes of an eagle, a mountain of a man, lion-hearted. "I am a hawk." But the best, most useful boasts are about doing things, often tangible, even visceral things like eating, spitting, having sex, and fighting. Powerful verbs combined with elemental forces -- stamping mountains into gravel -- make great boasts.
Again, it's likely most boasts you develop won't make it into your stories, but they can provide fresh perspectives on characters and help you to explore their limits.
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
Putting Stories in Motion - Activating your imagination
If you want to remember the face of a friend, think of a time when he or she was doing something. Often, memories are not snapshots, they're movies.
I was given this advice at a time of distress, when I was having difficulty coming up with any memories, and it proved to be invaluable. I found the features of friends and loved ones came more easily to mind. I also found I could hear their voices, and it became easier to relive the most emotionally evocative events we'd shared.
From a personal standpoint, this was a real boon. From the perspective of writing, it was invaluable. Whenever a scene needs to be deeply felt or requires a texture that eludes me, I can immerse myself in memories that otherwise feel rehearsed and stale.
The same thing is true for places. While I get a thrill out of looking at pictures from a visit to India, it can't compare to envisioning a turbaned man on a white stallion riding up to my taxi in New Delhi, leaning down to get a better look at me. A photo of my grandfather's farmhouse can't match the detail and sense of being there I have when I recall climbing onto the antique tractor, starting it up, and mowing the long field where we played baseball and golf.
I am not limited to memories. Once I am into a story, I make a point of imagining characters doing mundane things like buttoning a shirt or eating an ice cream cone. This almost always segues into something more dramatic, revealing who they are and, sometimes, adding scenes I hadn't planned. When I am working on scenes, I don't just take a picture or even stroll through them. I give myself an active job, like repairing an engine on a rocket ship or digging a grave on a moonless night.
Of course, research, especially when it is hands-on and active, feeds imagination, but don't stop there. Remember the adage,"I hear and I forget. I see and I remember. I do and I understand"? Focusing "I do" or "he/she does" when delving for memories and exploring scenes and characters can make your story more vivid and compelling.
I was given this advice at a time of distress, when I was having difficulty coming up with any memories, and it proved to be invaluable. I found the features of friends and loved ones came more easily to mind. I also found I could hear their voices, and it became easier to relive the most emotionally evocative events we'd shared.
From a personal standpoint, this was a real boon. From the perspective of writing, it was invaluable. Whenever a scene needs to be deeply felt or requires a texture that eludes me, I can immerse myself in memories that otherwise feel rehearsed and stale.
The same thing is true for places. While I get a thrill out of looking at pictures from a visit to India, it can't compare to envisioning a turbaned man on a white stallion riding up to my taxi in New Delhi, leaning down to get a better look at me. A photo of my grandfather's farmhouse can't match the detail and sense of being there I have when I recall climbing onto the antique tractor, starting it up, and mowing the long field where we played baseball and golf.
I am not limited to memories. Once I am into a story, I make a point of imagining characters doing mundane things like buttoning a shirt or eating an ice cream cone. This almost always segues into something more dramatic, revealing who they are and, sometimes, adding scenes I hadn't planned. When I am working on scenes, I don't just take a picture or even stroll through them. I give myself an active job, like repairing an engine on a rocket ship or digging a grave on a moonless night.
Of course, research, especially when it is hands-on and active, feeds imagination, but don't stop there. Remember the adage,"I hear and I forget. I see and I remember. I do and I understand"? Focusing "I do" or "he/she does" when delving for memories and exploring scenes and characters can make your story more vivid and compelling.
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
Controlled Flow - Your story in motion/moments
In athletics, form -- the shape and fluidity of motion -- can make the difference between success and failure. This is obviously true in kinetic arts, like dance, as well. Is it true for writing? Is this an element that can make the difference in your writing?
I believe it is, and I think it would be better recognized if form didn't already have a different meaning (article, short story, novel, poem, etc.) in writing. Some of the controlled flow of words, sounds, story, and content is assumed within discussions of style and voice, but looking at it in isolation might be useful. Let's look at each of the elements of controlled flow.
Goal and design - A mason wants to build a wall that serves a purpose (supporting a roof), has aesthetic value, and satisfies the client. From many choices, he chooses a design that will satisfy these needs. My goal for a scene of a commercial novel could be a number of things -- to reveal a clue, to create an obstacle for the protagonist, to reveal character. Scenes fit in to a larger story, usually with logic, and bring the story forward in ways that keep the reader engaged. The overall goal of most scenes is to create emotion within the reader.
Content - The bricks of a scene are the events, discussions, narrations, viewpoint character's thoughts, and facts that are used to build it.
Order - Taking those scene elements and sequencing them may be obvious, tied to cause and effect or assembled like arguments. But many of the best works put the elements together in ways that create surprises, pace reveals, and, most importantly, build toward an emotional ending. The best way to understand how order can freshen a scene and change the impact on readers is by looking at what your favorite authors do in the scenes that mean the most to you.
Transitions -These are the mortar between your bricks. How do you move effectively from dialogue to narration? From action to the thoughts of a character? From paragraph to paragraph. These shifts can be smooth and barely noticeable or harsh and abrupt. I like to think of these in terms of film, where dissolves, cuts, changes in perspective, and many other transitions help to direct attention, moderate energy, and alter the mood of the scene. Or observe how a gymnast doing floor exercise controls the story of the movement by pausing, turning her head, or cocking her hip.
Pace - Some of the above directly impacts the pace at which a scene evolves, but direct attention to how the overall pace goes is essential to controlled flow. Here, paying attention to sentence and paragraph lengths, echoes and repetition of words and images, and placement of reveals can give you the power to time the reader experience in a way that meets your goals.
Music - Read the words out loud. How to they flow? How do they meet each other and what currents do they create? Would they do the emotional job even if they were in a different language?
Structure - Much of the structure is created in the design, but, once the scene is finished, the experienced structure emerges. I find that I can't see this structure immediately after I'm finished. It shows itself to me after I have the chance to get away from the manuscript for awhile and forget my design. This is one way letting the story rest for a month or so pays off.
While I have dealt with scenes here, much of the above could be adapted to control the flow, on the one hand, of elements within a scene, and, on the other hand, larger units like sequences, chapters, and the story as a whole.
Overall, I'm talking here about your story in motion and how its moments engage the head, the heart, and the body. Go back to choreography. Dance, at its best does this, and watching a master dancer share his of her art captures your attention, stops your breathing, and makes it impossible to sit still. Do that with your story.
I believe it is, and I think it would be better recognized if form didn't already have a different meaning (article, short story, novel, poem, etc.) in writing. Some of the controlled flow of words, sounds, story, and content is assumed within discussions of style and voice, but looking at it in isolation might be useful. Let's look at each of the elements of controlled flow.
Goal and design - A mason wants to build a wall that serves a purpose (supporting a roof), has aesthetic value, and satisfies the client. From many choices, he chooses a design that will satisfy these needs. My goal for a scene of a commercial novel could be a number of things -- to reveal a clue, to create an obstacle for the protagonist, to reveal character. Scenes fit in to a larger story, usually with logic, and bring the story forward in ways that keep the reader engaged. The overall goal of most scenes is to create emotion within the reader.
Content - The bricks of a scene are the events, discussions, narrations, viewpoint character's thoughts, and facts that are used to build it.
Order - Taking those scene elements and sequencing them may be obvious, tied to cause and effect or assembled like arguments. But many of the best works put the elements together in ways that create surprises, pace reveals, and, most importantly, build toward an emotional ending. The best way to understand how order can freshen a scene and change the impact on readers is by looking at what your favorite authors do in the scenes that mean the most to you.
Transitions -These are the mortar between your bricks. How do you move effectively from dialogue to narration? From action to the thoughts of a character? From paragraph to paragraph. These shifts can be smooth and barely noticeable or harsh and abrupt. I like to think of these in terms of film, where dissolves, cuts, changes in perspective, and many other transitions help to direct attention, moderate energy, and alter the mood of the scene. Or observe how a gymnast doing floor exercise controls the story of the movement by pausing, turning her head, or cocking her hip.
Pace - Some of the above directly impacts the pace at which a scene evolves, but direct attention to how the overall pace goes is essential to controlled flow. Here, paying attention to sentence and paragraph lengths, echoes and repetition of words and images, and placement of reveals can give you the power to time the reader experience in a way that meets your goals.
Music - Read the words out loud. How to they flow? How do they meet each other and what currents do they create? Would they do the emotional job even if they were in a different language?
Structure - Much of the structure is created in the design, but, once the scene is finished, the experienced structure emerges. I find that I can't see this structure immediately after I'm finished. It shows itself to me after I have the chance to get away from the manuscript for awhile and forget my design. This is one way letting the story rest for a month or so pays off.
While I have dealt with scenes here, much of the above could be adapted to control the flow, on the one hand, of elements within a scene, and, on the other hand, larger units like sequences, chapters, and the story as a whole.
Overall, I'm talking here about your story in motion and how its moments engage the head, the heart, and the body. Go back to choreography. Dance, at its best does this, and watching a master dancer share his of her art captures your attention, stops your breathing, and makes it impossible to sit still. Do that with your story.
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