Ideas for Writing - Jot this down

Ideas are the lifeblood of writing — both for fiction and nonfiction. A systematic approach toward discovering, managing, and developing  ideas can make a big difference in productivity. Here are some things to consider:

Curiosity - Many people become writers because they want to know everything. By actively developing curiosity — both broad (lots of areas) and deep (digging into the details) -- a writer creates more opportunities for insights and connections.

A prepared mind - Writers need to continue to learn. This means studying the craft and reading, of course, but it also means taking courses and researching a variety of areas, including those that are not for the current work in progress. A future work in progress is likely to come from an interest in mastering a new skill, traveling, or immersion in new experiences. In my opinion, actively seeking out topics that are outside your comfort zone can be especially valuable.

Openness - None of us is immune to filtering information. We choose, judge, and categorize what comes to us. As Harry Nilsson said, “You see what you want to see, and you hear what you want to hear.” Paying attention. Listening. Suspending attempts to interpret and create a narrative. These open you (and your stories) up to new possibilities. Give yourself the chance to be surprised.

Okay, now unexpected perceptions and facts, insights, answers, and connections begin to make themselves available. How do you respond?

Cast a wide net - Be willing to collect what’s useless. Grab anything that your intuition says is worth another look. Utility and relevance are valuable criteria, but they aren’t the only criteria for collection. Create new criteria. Include questions.

Actively search - Take time to brainstorm, to create lists of possibilities that go beyond the obvious, and to chat with people (including people outside your circle) about what you’ve discovered, the questions you have, and what you wonder about.

If all of this has become part of your routine, you’ll have a steady flow of ideas. Through much of my life, I jotted these down in journals or on stray bits of paper. For instance, lots of random notions are jotted in the margins of my college notebooks.

Much of what I noted down is now inaccessible to me, either because it is stored away or written in an incomplete way. 

It takes a lot of discipline even to collect notes for writing. Keeping them ordered is another level of seriousness (or maybe OCD). But capturing ideas in an organized way has a big payoff in terms of richness of opportunities and time saved. I've used computer notes and digital audio memos. The best solution for me is carrying around a tiny notebook of Postits.

From the time an idea is collected, it goes into a specific category. Here are some I've used:

• Titles (This is the only category that does not require full sentences.)
• Incomplete story concepts
• Complete story concepts
• Good references (always includes notes on value to me)
• Setting descriptions (Great when I'm stuck in a place that might be used in a story)
• Notes for stories in progress or in development (always labeled with story titles)
• Character physical descriptions
• Character insights
• Character motivations
• Character tortures
• Story obstacles
• Story stakes
• Loglines
• Fun facts to know and tell your friends
• Physical reactions (especially to emotional experiences)
• Descriptions of action/movement
• Experiences that provoke

This isn't a comprehensive list, but I’ve found it to be a useful set of buckets for me. Not much falls into “miscellaneous.” And, yes, some things go into more than one category or get moved later on.

Either weekly or when I know I have a good number, I copy or just put these Postits into notebooks in under the appropriate categories. It's mindless, so I can do it while listening to an audiobook or watching television.

By the way, discovery and management can be different in cases of collaboration. A well-run brainstorming session with the right people can be productive and a lot of fun. And when I was on an innovation team, my ideas went directly onto a white board. More often than not, people on my team added their own questions, comments, and connections over time. It was like having elves at work as I slept.

The focus in this post is on managing the ideas as they’re discovered, but I’m happy to blur the task when idea development opportunities come up as I work. There are the “maybe withs” that come when my intuition says ideas might belong together. Sometimes, the reason why the idea caught my attention or its potential utility will occur to me, and I’ll write that down alongside the idea. Or there may be a suggestion that a fact or notion belongs with a specific story. I’ll include that, too.

I work to keep all of these development bits tentative. As a reminder of this, they are always followed by question marks. This keeps my options open, and it is not unusual for development bits to be put aside or radically changed (for the better) later on.

Someday, I promise myself, I'll mine the many notebooks and tiny slips of paper that have ideas written down. Someday. But, for now, I'm not adding to the chaos.

A Short (Non-Scientific) Quiz on Your Writing Craft — Find your strengths

Different writers have different strengths. Does that seem strange? I'm not sure why it should be, but I continue to run across people who only separate writers into "ones I like" or "ones I don't like." Often this translates into who they consider to be good writers or bad writers.

This is fine for people who don't write themselves, but it lacks specificity, and that's problematic for those who hope to create and sell works -- especially fiction. Happily, most writers learn to critique along the way, and that leads them to a better appreciation of the strengths of the writers they read. Curiously, it doesn't seem to lead to close examination of their own strengths.

About a year ago, I created a productivity quiz. People seemed to like that, so how about a strength quiz? You aren't stuck with one answer for each. Choose all you feel (mostly) apply.

As a storyteller, I:

A. Hook readers into stories with us and downs and satisfying endings.

B. Create logical stories that make their points.

C. Get down impressions that people find engaging.

D. Tell stories clearly enough so that people don't get confused.

E. Throw things together and hope.

In creating characters, I:

A. Introduce seemingly real people who go through distinct, emotional, and transformative experiences that readers can't forget.

B. Freshen and individualize archetypes that engage readers and encourage them to come along on their journeys.

C. Present goal-oriented protagonists who face obstacles take on risks.

D. Assemble a cast required to act out the story I've chosen.

E. Grab a copy familiar characters from stories I know.

My descriptions:

A. Immerse readers and engage their senses so they feel as if the stories are happening to them.

B. Make sure readers have a sense of time and place, can visualize action, and are clear about important aspects of the setting that will impact the story.

C. Include enough cues to the physical dimensions (place, character appearances, tasks) so they are oriented effectively.

D. Provide enough description to keep readers from getting lost.

E. Describe a lot or a little depending upon what comes out as I compose the story.

My plots:

A. Are fresh, full of surprises, logically sound, and deliver both emotional impact and insights.

B. May get crazy and cheat a little, but they are always entertaining.

C. Have plenty happening and don't confuse readers.

D. May include digressions and omit potentially effective scenes, but always come across to careful readers.

E. Include what I believe readers need to understand, along with my favorite scenes.

My writing style encourages readers to:

A.  Read aloud and reread my work just for the joy of the language.

B. Engage so thoroughly they forget they are reading.

C. Read quickly to get to the good parts, skipping portions as appropriate.

D. Work past difficult passages so they can get to the end.

E. Ask someone else to read it for them and provide a summary.

Okay, that gets things started. I could easily add choices here that would reveal strengths and developing high concepts or mastery of genre tropes or humor or dozens of other skills and talents that attract readers to their favorite authors.

I hope you have lots of "As" and "Bs," but don't fret if you don't.

Here's the point: you can look through these areas of writing (and add your own) to get a better understanding of where your strengths are. Weaknesses, too, but don't let those dominate your thinking. Though it might be tempting to devote yourself to shoring up your weaknesses, knowing your strengths gives you targets for education and practice at what you do best.

Since readers come to writers for their strengths and usually excuse all but their most glaring weaknesses, it might be a good idea to spend at least half your efforts at improving your craft in the areas where you are most strong. These are opportunities to become so good, you'll stand out as a writer.

"Going with your strengths" has been a successful strategy for athletes, but I rarely hear it recommended for writers. So, while you may want to put some work in wherever your answers were "E," don't neglect those for which your answers were "A" or "B." You may find that slight improvements where you're strongest will get your work noticed.

Three Protagonists I Love and Worry About - The flaws will set you free

It is amazingly tough for writers to give heroes and heroines really big flaws because they love them and identify with them. (There are similar problems with creating real obstacles, genuine losses, and real pain.)

The argument that there is no big character arc if the protagonist only has peccadilloes and that villains can’t be as interesting unless the main character has a big sin to exploit is not heard by many writers I work with. In an earlier post, I recommended giving heroes and heroines a deadly sin, one of the classic ones (Greed, Wrath, Lust, Sloth, Envy, Gluttony, and Pride).

But with many writers, a trait like shyness becomes the “sin.” Usually, the response is usually along the lines of “my hero cares too much” or “my hero is too giving.” Fidelity, honor, respect, and so on are brought out as the major flaws. Hmm.

I hope this is clear:

Virtues are not vices, no matter how they get twisted.

They may need management and balance, but they are essentially good. With some exceptions (like revenge tales), few readers wants to see a hero or heroine jettison kindness or courage or loyalty or generosity or empathy or gentleness or self-sacrifice.

A good test is whether, in any context, the behavior caused by the flaw would be problematic. If not, maybe it’s not a useful flaw, storywise.

Let’s look at three flawed protagonists, beginning with the villains.

Singing’ in the Rain

Villain Lina Lamont wants Don Lockwood and to stay on top at the studio. Ultimately, by grabbing Kathy Seldon’s voice, she rescues her career and has a contract written so she can take the studio away if she’s crossed.

The hero, Don Lockwood, is prideful. He lies about his past. He holds onto the matinee image he hates because it is tied to success. He offers up Kathy’s voice as a way to save his career.
Until the end, he is willing to humiliate and sacrifice Kathy to spare himself failure.

Jaws

Villain Jaws is a big shark, malevolent, eats people. The shark’s ally is the Mayor who keeps people in the water despite the dangers.

Hero Chief Brody faces problems like a terror of water and ignorance of the community and the environment, but — until the mother of a lost child slaps him in the face — he doesn’t own the responsibilities of his job. While the stink of cowardice about him is intense, I’d tag him as someone who is Slothful. (As I recall, in the book, he is a cuckold who just takes it.) He doesn’t see himself as someone who can take charge of dealing with the shark, either indirectly or directly. The Mayor seems to know this, and gives him “outs” to avoid taking charge and to back away from his decisions.

Working Girl

The villain, Katherine, has everything. Looks, education, and power. She wants to keep all of these, and is willing to connive and lie at the end.

Before she figures out what’s going on, this story's villains are people who are supposed to be the heroine's friends — Cyn and Mick. They know about all her bad choices (usually going along to get along) and use them to great effect to keep her in her place.

The main character, Tess, lies, steals (identity and possessions), and uses her sexuality to get ahead. Sloth (in the beginning, not standing up to others), Greed, and Dishonesty are essential parts of her behavior. The dishonesty is probably the worst of these, and that is what she gets entangled in at the end. Truth, truth, and more truth are what turns the ending for her.

I like all these protagonists, but they are all seriously flawed. I like them anyway. It is normal to like flawed protagonists. Heroes and heroines don’t need to be perfect.

More importantly, their flaws make me worry about them, and they give them plenty of room to grow and to sacrifice or act with courage in the end. I cheer when they finally find what they need to be all they can be by the end of the story. All of the stories above are big and memorable… and they all include serious growth for the main characters.

If you want to explore this further, analyze a favorite movie where you see a big character arc. Dare to name the flaws of your beloved protagonists. It will set you free to give the main characters of your own stories big flaws.

Elevating the story experience - Creating moments that matter

We read stories for experiences. Some pieces of fiction deliver through an accumulation of images and dramatic action. But, occasionally, there are moments that connect with us. Hallmark used to do (and maybe still does) advertising that touched heartstrings by creating what seemed to be authentic moments in very brief commercials.

These could prompt genuine memories, similar experiences, and, when done most effectively, deep empathy for what we all, as humans, goes through. I actively work to achieve this in my writing – often in nonfiction as well as fiction. So, first let me define what I call a "moment." Then I'll discuss some ways such moments might be created. Finally, I'll talk about some things to consider when using moments in your work.

Moment — a brief, authentic, crystallized experience conveyed to others in a work of art.

A moment may occur in other than prose works. In fact, I was inspired to write this piece after having read a poem by a friend that brought back an experience I had in a museum. And I strongly suspect that the van Gogh featured was a moment captured and shared by the artist — one which touched both me and my poet friend. Music often conveys moments in its own way (and I think it can do so by prompting memories, even when the intention of the composer and the work's artistry is questionable). Photographs, scenes in movies, and an expressive sequence in dance — any of these can create moments for us.

By authentic, I don't mean factual. Art often tells the truth by re-composing, recontextualizing, adding to, or taking away from real experiences. Oh, and sometimes artists just make things up.

So, as a storyteller, how do you create moments?

Memories – There's a lot of power to drawing on your own experiences, the ones that really matter to you. The ones that provided insights and shaped you or that are connected to turning points, changing the direction of your life. These memories, I suspect, are just below the surface for much of our lives. One of the great things about being a writer is having a great reason to note them when they pop to the surface.

One caution about using memories is the challenge of taking a fresh experience and turning it into art. When the memories haven't had a chance to age, it's difficult to tell which elements matter and can be communicated to others.

Listening — As characters become more fully alive, they are more likely to transform scenes into moments. For me, this happens when I let the story deviate from the outline. When a character does something unexpected, it seems like it's often a challenge I don't want him or her to face (or that I don't want to face). I get pulled into the moment, but only if I allow that to happen. I have to cede some control, and I always have reasons not to.

Listening to characters comes up more easily and naturally for me during rewriting. This might be a jump away from the established plot, but it's more likely to be experiencing a deeper connection with a scene that is too sparse. When I come across a scene that is important and I don't feel fully immersed in it, that's an indicator. I need to slow down. I need to let the character live in that moment — which often creates a fiction moment that is organic and highly effective.

Art — Just as my friend created a poetic moment from van Gogh's painting, stories can be enhanced by referring to the works of others. This doesn't have to be so explicit it mentions the work you experienced. In fact, usually, capturing the response itself within a different context works best. Think of how sense memory works in acting. The point there is not to bring your memories to the audience, but to bring your authentic response to the experience of playwright's work evokes.

One way I actively work to improve scenes is to look for inspiration in the works of other writers. I have a catalog in my head of emotional moments in short stories and novels. When I want to create a similar moments in my stories, I read and analyze one of these reference scenes. I don't reproduce them directly. I worked to understand what the writer did. (Often, I'll look at three or four references when creating a moment that is important or difficult.) Once I see what the possibilities are, I can use my own approaches more effectively.

The main warning I have on creating moments is to make sure they serve the story. It's tempting to put in a moment that is powerful, but belongs in a different story. It's easy to give the character a moment that isn't right for him or for her. And there are moments that can disrupt the balance and the flow of the story. It's extremely difficult to cut a well realized moment, but if it doesn't fit, it needs to go.

Creating the right moments for your story may not be easy or feel natural. For me, it often requires a deliberate effort. And things don't always work out, even after I've invested time and imagination. Still, I resist the temptation to abandon my attempts to include moments in my stories. Why? Much of the delight I take from reading stories comes from the moments other writers have included. If they can take the trouble to do that, so can I.

Set Your Stories Apart with Stark Differences - An argument for more positive moments

Contrast. It’s one of the great tools for writers and other artists. It’s one reason heroes have flaws and villains have virtues. It helps a monster stands out starkly in a placid suburban setting.

Following a long tradition of comedy teams, Sesame Street’s Bert and Ernie couldn’t be more different, which is why the are fascinating to watch. A generous act by a character who has been selfish can be poignant… or unsettling. A billionaire who hits the lottery isn’t much of a story. Make the winner a single mom who has trouble getting food on the table, and everything that follows is interesting.

Dystopias, horror stories, and disaster epics often lack contrast, and I think it weakens them. I am not a fan of Night of the Living Dead and its ilk. Not because they're gruesome (Tarantino outdoes Romero for blood), but because they are unrelenting.

This came home to me as I starting digging into contemporary horror. Though I have favorites like Alien, it’s not my genre to watch or to write. That’s why I’ve purposely been immersing myself in it, to get out of my comfort zone.

It is bleak. And, so often, there are few contrasts. This, to me, dulls even the sharpens images. Reading through script after script, it occurred to me that this lack goes beyond horror into other genres. It’s almost as if writers and directors are reluctant to include positive moments or characters who haven’t had the virtues drained out of them.

Going in the other direction is just as bad. Sappy, unrealistic stories that would gag anyone with two brain cells to rub together were in vogue when I was little, and I soon joined the revolt against these manipulative stories that left me unmoved.

Note: Frank Capra took the brunt of the rejection of happy stories, with his work referred to by critics and later generations as “Capracorn.” Pottersville in It’s a Wonderful Life is a nightmare. George Bailey is a flawed, reluctant hero who intends to commit suicide. For all its patriotism, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington ends well because a man blows his brains out. Sappy? Nope.

It’s Capra’s second-rate, would-be imitators that created the culture of happy stories of TV and movies made my teeth hurt. They were as unrelenting and lacking in contrast as many of today’s stories. The falseness of a greeting card world is not what I’ve advocating.

I do believe that it is both daring and powerful artistically to create contrasts by included basically good people in stories. Having successes for characters along the way. Including beauty. And, while I’m a sucker for dark humor, there is a place for heartfelt humor, too. And getting sentimental now and then? That’s okay, too.

Have the courage to bring the full palette of human situations to your work, and you can create more complexity and contrasts that will make your stories memorable.

Upcoming courses…

How To Write Fast  February 1 – February 28, 2018
Crank up the efficiency and get that novel, short story, article or script DONE. Through exercises, evaluations, tips and technologies, you can learn to write faster. Discover how to break through blocks, get ideas, develop plots, draft, and polish in less time without losing quality.
http://threeriversromancewriters.com/2018/01/february-2018-online-workshop/

STORY BOOTCAMP  February 5 – March 2, 2018
Start fast! Keep it humming. End with authority. Polish, correct, and tighten the prose. Learn how to rewrite your story, whether fiction or nonfiction, so it entices, captivates, and delights readers. This course will explore the dimensions of your story and push them to the limits so you get the most from your premise and your readers get compelling experiences. No slackers! This is a highly interactive class that depends on commitment and participation.
http://fthrw.com/online-workshops

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Next week, I’ll send out issue four of my newsletter, Productive Writing. Want to subscribe? Just send a note to howtowritefast@gmail.com with Subscribe in the subject line.  I'll add you to the mailing list. And if you want any of the published issues, just let me know. I'm happy to send you copies.

Issue 4: Idea Discovery (Tasks 1)
Issue 3: Out of Your Comfort Zone
Issue 2: Speed Date Your Character
Issue 1: Plotting Help

Writers, Try This at Home 15 – The power of selection

In my high school chemistry class, one of the first exercises was to write down our observations of a lit Bunsen burner. Most people's lists were small, as I recall. They concentrated on the colors in the flame and the shape of the flame itself. I filled more than a page with everything I took in — the smell, the sound, and even the distortion of visuals beyond the flame caused by what I came to know was the schlieren effect. All this was fine as far as being scientific, but the best literary descriptions are limited. By making the right choices, images can be conveyed that are vivid and convey emotion and mood without being exhaustive.

This is not to say that it's always important to be succinct. In moments of tension, stress, and high emotion, our real experiences tend to include more details. Time seems to slow down. And it's perfectly valid – indeed desirable – to emulate this in writing some of the more important and engrossing scenes in stories. Also, if you are writing something that is closer to poetry (Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes is a great example), more complete descriptions can build and sustain experiences that are both more subtle and multidimensional.

In general, however, a writer who leans toward including everything will wear out his or her readers and drive them away. Not only does it lead to unbalanced storytelling, but it makes it more difficult for most readers to participate in creating fictional worlds. Usually, a better choice is to select a few evocative elements to include, possibly supplemented with an apt metaphor.

How do you make the selections? Primarily, you look toward who your audience is. You don't want to choose elements that are presented with words that force them to open up their dictionaries and care must be taken with going into territories that are unfamiliar.

By the way, it's fine to have descriptions that are good enough for you in early drafts. These can be setups for revisions, providing enough information to narrow the choices, establish the right mood, and fashion strong prose later on. (This deals with all descriptions – of locales, objects, characters, actions, and what goes on inside your characters' heads.)

So, when you are drafting your story don't feel compelled to make your selections immediately. Feel free to include as much as comes to mind without editing yourself. While your muse may help you to find elements that delight you and may end up in the final draft (and even presents you with good metaphors) don't expect it to. Just get the words down.

During revision, focus sharply on your audience and on the larger context for the description. This is particularly important if you are presenting material that must be remembered, such as clues.

Then, you might want to follow three principles:

• Fix anything that doesn't feel fresh. One thing that usually happens during drafting is clichés and "so what" elements come to mind quickly. Challenge these. Make the effort to think about other ways to convey what you want in your description so it can have the maximum impact.
• Trust your gut. For those elements that matter most, your tastes and sense of what is most important is likely to provide the best guidance on what you should select.
• Ruthlessly cut. Especially if you but down a lot of description, it may be tempting to keep it around. It's easy to get charmed by your own words. Keep the overall goal in mind, which is telling your story in a powerful way. My rule of thumb is to highlight three elements in a description and see if the rest can be cut. Often it can't, but striving for the minimum number of words will help you to add punch to your prose.

You might want to take a second look at your work to see if you have included all your descriptions for analysis and revision in this way. Many writers tend to have a limited view on what description is, focusing on describing locales or what strange (such as a monster or an unfamiliar device). But some of the most important descriptions are of what your characters are feeling or what they notice about another person or activities. So don't miss these.

What to try at home? I've included a photograph of Abraham Lincoln. As a first step, you might want to write as complete a description of the picture as you can. Include everything you notice. Feel free to add a metaphor or two.

Then step away from your description for a bit. When you come back, try to convey what you see in the image and what the image means to you in a few sentences. (You might try to describe Lincoln within the context of historical fiction from a specific point of view like a political rival. Or see what description would, if you wanted to presents your emotional response to the photograph. Or even consider how you would present Lincoln as the hero of a romance.)

When you've done this exercise, look to see what you left out and see if you can discover some of the reasons why you made your choices.

Even working with images, emotions, and activities in isolation can make your story stronger. But, if you find your way to consistency and description from scene to scene, making the best choices for your reader in terms of vocabulary, clarity, and emotional hooks, you can put your readers inside your stories in ways that make what you write more memorable.

Writers, Try This at Home 14 - Anchoring your readers to your stories

I saw a short documentary about the creation of a music video. The special effects expert took a detour from all the celebrity gossip to talk about the key elements in drawing viewers in. He said reality was the biggest hook, which was why he had spent time creating just the right shadows for each segment so that the band – which had been reimagined as giants performing against different city backgrounds – would seem real.

This can be one of the great tricks for maintaining the suspension of disbelief for readers or viewers of any story. I think the best way to do this is to incorporate truth expressed in a novel way. When we recognize something the story as being authentic, and apt description as life as we know it, we tend to surrender to the dream being composed by the creator. Another approach, which works with mimetic fiction, is including details from real life. If, for instance, you can correctly describe a place where those in the audience have been, you can get them nodding their heads and looking for more.

What else can you do to stop your readers from escaping the artificial bounds of your story? It goes without saying that any errors – in language, and facts, or in internal consistencies – will pull them out the story. So avoiding mistakes is half the battle. A more subtle trick, which works especially well in the realms of fantasy (including science fiction and horror) is to use the credibility of a sympathetic character to make images and situations more credible.

Ultimately, I think the most powerful anchoring strategy is to choose a few details that connect with the reader through the point of view character. It isn't really necessary in most cases to provide a full description of a scene or a character the protagonist meets or a process – such as a sword fight. Selecting those things that matter to the viewpoint character, especially those that evoke emotion, is one of the most powerful ways to keep readers immersed in the scene you've created.

This is actually so powerful it can overwhelm problems and story logic and distortions in perceptions. Over and over again, I've noticed that readers will completely buy into the perspectives of unreliable narrators – which is a powerful proof of how identifying with a character creates its own reality. (This tends not to pay off for most readers. I found that the most difficult stories to sell are those with unreliable narrators — perhaps because it violates, or at least bends, the contract of trust between writer and reader. But it's not a bad thing to keep in mind when you need to finesse something your story to keep the plot moving forward.)

So what should you try at home this time? Here are three suggestions:

• Find is scene you really love and a story and determine how the writer established credibility.
• Take a scene you've written and see if an apt description will make it more credible. (Try this even if you believe the reality is already well-established. You might discover something useful.)
• Consider one of your key scenes from the point of view of a different character. This is an exercise, so it doesn't have to be the best choice in terms of the full story. Rewrite the scene so that the details and factual elements would be true and compelling for a reader identifying with this alternative perspective.

There are other things worth exploring in terms of anchoring readers and the reality of your story. One powerful technique to look at is anything involving action, movement, or change. Just as it's easier to remember what a person looks like if you think about them doing something, it is more likely that a reader will put him or herself into a story if you can activate the mirror neurons that cause them to experience engaging in that activity.

Ultimately, the goal is to not just get your readers to lose themselves in the story, but to keep them as completely within the story world is as possible. It is this sort of attention to living within your narrative that makes readers want to go back to Middle Earth or Hammett's San Francisco or Scarlett O'Hara's Tara.