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My goal as a novelist is to write fiction that even the most reluctant readers will enjoy. My goal as a nonfiction author is to help fiction writers achieve the cutting edge in fiction-writing technique. The objective of each of my nonfiction articles is to present the most comprehensive analysis of the subject matter available anywhere.
As a means of sharing my views, I have started a free, monthly email magazine (an ezine). Past issues of FOR FICTION WRITERS, by Mike Klaassen may be viewed in the newsletter's archives:
Exposition, as a fiction-writing mode, may be presented in three ways: by direct narration, through characters, or with expository devices. Other significant issues for the effective presentation of information include: • Quantity • Selection of information • Timing • Exposition in scenes • Exposition in sequels • Disguised exposition
QUANTITY How much information is appropriate? Too little, and the reader won’t fully understand the story, or the story may lack texture. On the other hand, too much at one time may become what is referred to as an information dump.
“There are no hard and fast rules about how long exposition should be,” observes Jessica Page Morrell in Between the Lines. “However, exposition is considered [an exposition dump] when it is so long that it stalls the story, contains information that a reader doesn’t necessarily need to know, and is not interwoven into the story.”
Robert Kernen, in Building Better Plots, notes that “Too much exposition, or too much at one time, can seriously derail a story . . . .”
Ansen Dibell, in Plot, advises writers to “Be tough with exposition. Make each piece justify its inclusion—at all, and at that particular point in the story. It shouldn’t be any longer than it has to be to do its essential work.”
Janet Evanovich, in How I Write, sums it up: “Keep you exposition as short and lively as you can.”
SELECTION OF INFORMATION Since the quantity of information is limited, the question arises as to which information should be included.
“Limit exposition to the absolute essentials,” recommends Ansen Dibell. “Important things. Not everything!”
Regarding the technical information that has become so important in some genres, Dibell points out that “Specialist detail comes under the heading, “If you’ve got it, flaunt it! with just the recognition that flaunting doesn’t involve letting it bury the story in footnotes.”
TIMING When is the right time to introduce new information into a story? According to Nancy Kress, in Writer’s Digest, May 2005, “Hold off on including exposition until the storyline makes it relevant.”
“. . . readers are only interested in explanation after their curiosity has already been aroused by something in need of explaining,” says Ansen Dibell. “Only important things, important to understand and present this story, right now, should be explained.”
EXPOSITION IN SCENES In fiction, a scene is a unit of drama: a character attempts to achieve his goal but is thwarted (most of the time).
Ansen Dibell advises that “If you can, build [information] right into the scene. If it’s important that the protagonist has been married before, invent some prop (a belated birthday card from an exspouse? A final divorce decree in the mailbox?) . . .that shows the fact without your having to say a word directly. Try to make each of your scenes multi-purpose: introducing or developing characters, moving the plot, and establishing immediately needed background, all at once.”
“That has the advantage of keeping the story rolling while the exposition is going on,” states Dibell. “It’s not as severe an interruption as it would have been if it were cast as objective narration, the disembodied author/narrator telling the reader directly.”
The amount of information presented in a scene may vary from incidental to scenes built almost entirely around information. Think of the importance of information in novels such as Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code and Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park.
EXPOSITION IN SEQUELS As outlined by Jack M. Bickham, in Scene & Structure, a prototype scene ends with the success or failure of the protagonist’s effort to achieve his goal. A sequel is what follows a scene and typically involves the stages of emotion, thinking, and evaluation. The proximity of emotion and thinking make sequels fertile ground for presenting information.
Nancy Kress, in Writer’s Digest (May 2005), describes it as “ . . . having your protagonist ruminate [about the information] . . .”
Ansen Dibell appreciates the link of information and emotion when he explains that “. . . we tend to remember best the information that comes to us surrounded by highly charged emotion. That’s why so many people can remember precisely where they were and what they were doing when they first learned of the assassination of President Kennedy and how they spent their first date. Applied to exposition, this means that otherwise undigestible chunks of explanation will move faster, and be absorbed more easily, if they’re put in a highly emotional context. If you position the information in such a way that it has a strong and immediate emotional impact on somebody . . . it will become . . . hardly exposition at all.” Dibell suggests that writers dip exposition in emotion whenever possible.
DISGUISED EXPOSITION Jessica Page Morrell recommends that exposition be “. . . interwoven into the story.”
Regarding exposition Ansen Dibell, in Plot, advises that writers: • “Introduce it in the least conspicuous, most natural-seeming way.” • “Leave your plot as unencumbered as possible. Let it move.” • “Integrate it so thoroughly into the fabric of your story and your characters that it becomes part of their rightful structure and substance, bone and flesh, not just a series of labels, speeches, or footnotes.” • “Build it into the story, wherever the story will stand it.” • “Make it come alive so the reader can see it happening and mattering rather than being lectured by an author, either directly or by proxy, through some character.”
As noted in Writing A-Z, edited by Kirk Polking, “Writers skilled at this technique insert exposition subtly, so that the reader or viewer doesn’t recognize it as exposition.”
Jordan E. Rosenfeld sums it up beautifully: “. . . information is best served like food in a fancy French restaurant—in small, elegantly presented courses that neither stuffs the reader, nor leaves him overly hungry.”
Exposition is the fiction-writing mode for conveying information. The concept of exposition may appear to be simple, but as explained by Jordan E. Rosenfeld in Make a Scene, “How you reveal information is just as important as what that information is.”
Exposition may be delivered through: • Direct narration • Characters • Expository devices
DIRECT NARRATION Although it may be referred to by other names (direct exposition, objective narration, summary exposition, or simply narration), direct narration is where the narrator of the story addresses the reader directly. When conveying information by direct narration, the narrator simply states the information without any pretext of channeling it through a character or exposing it through some sort of prop.
As noted by Ansen Dibell in Plot, the simplest way is to just slip the information between scenes as the all-seeing, all-knowing (but impersonal and invisible) narrator.
But, warns Dibell, there’s a price for direct narration: “Authorial intrusions—the story stopping dead while the author rambles on about whatever happens to interest him—used to be common-place, a hundred and a half years ago.” For example, Melville’s cetology chapters telling the folklore, anatomy, and habits of whales. “Now, though,” notes Dibell, “they’re much disliked.”
Example of exposition through direct narration: Meanwhile, in a saloon across the street from Cisco, Black Bart slipped a derringer into his coat pocket.
THROUGH CHARACTERS “The other choice,” according to Ansen Dibell, “is to have your characters give the necessary facts . . . .”
As stated by Jordan E. Rosenfeld, “Dialogue is a wonderfully versatile technique for giving the reader information necessary to drive the plot forward or deepen character understanding . . . .”
But Dibell cautions “Don’t ever put into a character’s mouth anything that’s strictly and obviously for the reader’s consumption. Readers aren’t fooled, and you’ve turned your characters into unconvincing puppets, dummies making silly speeches at each other.”
Another way for characters to provide exposition is through thoughts, especially recollection. According to Dibell “. . . you can have the exposition as one character’s reflections or thoughts—the fiction writer’s version of a soliloquy. Your character can think about something . . . and thereby let the reader know what you want to convey.”
Example of exposition through dialogue: Gabby grabbed Cisco’s shoulder. “Be careful, sonny. I’ve heard that Black Bart carries a derringer in his pocket.”
Example of exposition through recollection: Cisco paused before stepping into the livery stable. He recalled hearing something about how Black Bart had killed a cowpoke in Dodge City. A derringer.
EXPOSITORY DEVICES Jessica Page Morrell, in Between the Lines, observes that various devices may be used to convey information. Examples she provides include • Trial transcriptions • Newspaper clippings • Letters • Diaries
Other time-honored examples of expository devices, or props, include treasure maps and messages in a bottle. The advancement of technology is providing new devices: emails, text messages, podcasts. And in the world of science fiction and fantasy, expository devices are limited only by the writer’s imagination (think Star Trek and Harry Potter).
Example of using an expository device: As Cisco approached the livery stable, a young lad approached him. “Hey, mister, a lady across the street asked me to bring you this note.” Cisco unfolded the paper and read the script, Be careful, Black Bart hides a derringer in his pocket.
Terms such as “information dump” and “expository dialogue” are reminders that exposition is the ugly duckling of fiction-writing modes. No other mode is treated with such disdain and caution. • Robert Kernen, in Building Better Plots, writes that “[Exposition] can . . . be the quickest way to kill a plot’s momentum and get your story bogged down in detail.” • According to Ansen Dibell in Plot, “Exposition involves breaking away from ongoing action to give information . . . telling rather than showing.” • Janet Evanovich, in How I Write, notes that “One of the potential problems with exposition is that it can become tedious and uninteresting, and the reader tends to skip over it.”
If exposition carries such a burden, why do fiction-writers use it at all? As explained by Ansen Dibell, “Well-handled exposition gives perspective, dimension, and needed context that help events in the foreground make sense.” Furthermore, states Robert Kernen “[Exposition] can be one of the most effective ways of creating and increasing the drama in your story.”
As with many terms in writing, the word exposition means different things to different people. In fiction-writing, exposition is the mode for conveying information, which may be in various forms: facts, explanation, opinion.
Not all writers and writing coaches agree as to where exposition fits in the scheme of writing modes. Certainly, exposition may be considered a subset of narration, but so may any or all of the other fiction-writing modes. And direct narration is only one of several methods that may be used to deliver exposition. Sometimes exposition is referred to as a form of summary, and a case may be made for that. But failure to recognize exposition as a distinct fiction-writing mode: • Downplays the unique role exposition plays in fiction • Diminishes the likelihood that exposition will be fully analyzed and understood by students of fiction • Reduces the likelihood that exposition will be utilized skillfully and to its full potential
Some how-to books about writing fiction imply that exposition is predominantly used at the beginning of a story. But exposition may be found anywhere in a story, and it may affect all five of the elements of fiction. Exposition may be used to develop characters, enhance plot, establish setting, and to suggest one or more of a story’s themes. And, of course, how exposition is presented is part of each author’s unique writing style.
Exposition may be delivered by either of three techniques: direct narration, through characters, or by expository devices. Each of these delivery techniques has advantages and disadvantages and each requires skillful presentation for effective use. As observed by Ansen Dibell, “The first, most important part of handling exposition is realizing that it’s going to need handling.”
Beyond the three methods of delivering information in fiction, there are other issues involved: • Quantity • Selection of information • Timing • Exposition in scenes • Exposition in sequels • Disguised exposition
Misuse and abuse of exposition in fiction has earned it a reputation akin to an ugly duckling. But with appropriate respect, care, and craft, conscientious fiction-writers can transform exposition into something graceful and elegant.
Description “ . . . is more than the amassing of details; it is bringing something to life by carefully choosing and arranging words and phrases to produce the desired effect,” according to Writing from A to Z, edited by Kirk Polking.
Todd A. Stone, in Novelist’s Boot Camp, observes that “Good description has a purpose (or purposes) other than description. Description is not an end in itself; you don’t write a sentence, paragraph, or passage with the single goal of providing description. The purpose of fiction is to cause the reader to have an emotional experience. Description is just one more tool for achieving that purpose . . . .”
When broadly defined, description encompasses almost all written fiction. But even when description is narrowly defined so as not to overlap other fiction-writing modes, writers face numerous issues: • Word choice • Quantity vs. brevity • Selection of details • Concrete vs. abstract nouns • Verbs: active voice vs. passive voice • Modifiers • Comparative description • Transmorphic description • Clichés vs. fresh language • Obtrusiveness vs. transparency • Disguised description • Narrative vs. point-of-view description
WORD CHOICE Rather than having to settle for a word that will merely do, authors who write in English are fortunate to have a vast reservoir from which to draw just the right word.
In Spunk & Bite, Arthur Plotnik notes that “ . . . perhaps the most intriguing quality of certain [words] is aptness—an exact, right-seeming match between word and thing.”
“Selecting the right word that conveys just the right shade of meaning and can’t easily slip over into some other meaning entirely—that is a writer’s job,” according to Michael Kurland, in The Writer March 2008,
QUANITY VS. BREVITY How much description is enough? How much is too much?
Les Edgerton, in Hooked, provides some insight: “In fiction’s days of yore, it was perfectly acceptable (and even encouraged) to craft great blocks of passive description, also referred to as windowpane description. But today’s description is short and sweet . . . .”
David Morrell, in Lessons from a Lifetime of Writing, notes that less is more. Economy of description may produce clearer effects than description with detail piled upon detail.
“Details may be many or few, but best not to shovel them in wholesale,” observes Susan Bell, in The Artful Edit. And “Many writing mishaps could be avoided if a writer thought harder about the notion of necessity—in other words, about language that is, or isn’t, necessary.”
In Writer’s Digest Handbook for Novel Writing, David Madden summed it up: “Be brief, as always.”
SELECTION OF DETAILS Since quantity of description is an issue, a decision must also be made as to which details of description to include and which to exclude.
“Readers love details, as long as they are interesting, authentic, and colorful,” according to Janet Evanovich in How I Write. But “You don’t need to tell us every detail. Pick a few and the reader will supply the rest from his imagination.”
David Morrell, in Lessons from a Lifetime of Writing, states “The rule I follow is that, if I can assume readers are familiar with a place, I don’t need to describe it at length. Only if I’m adding something new do I get excited about describing it.”
“. . . some things don’t need describing. Never state what’s implied. And don’t imply what’s stated, either,” says Peter Selgin, in By Cunning and Craft.
Stephen Roxburgh, (publisher of Front Street Books) in Children’s Writer (November 1999), states that “The test for including a detail is relevance.”
“Details give your work texture, depth, and credibility,” observes Susan Bell, in The Artful Edit. She also notes that “When you edit, remove random details. Significant details are the ones that describe more than what is visual. Choose the detail that has an echo behind it.” Also according to Bell, “Your obligation. . . is to carefully select details that both mean the most and are the most authentic.”
NOUNS: CONCRETE VS. ABSTRACT Where possible, use concrete nouns instead of abstract nouns.
“A concrete noun refers to a material object (the table, a dog), whereas an abstract noun refers to something intangible (love, art),” according to Gary Lutz and Diane Stevenson, in the Writer’s Digest Grammar Desk Reference.
David Morrell, in Lessons from a Lifetime of Writing, observes that “When you read the word “apple,” you automatically see an image of that object in your imagination. Concrete words are triggers that instantly prompt you to imagine the physical experience that the words represent. By comparison, notice how hard it is to deal with abstract words. Honor. What happened in your imagination when you read that word? You saw a blank.”
VERBS: ACTIVE VOICE VS. PASSIVE VOICE One of the first admonitions writers learn is to use active voice rather than passive voice. As explained by Gary Lutz and Diane Stevenson, the use of passive voice isn’t incorrect, “but it creates a strange and unnecessary sense of disembodied action.” Examples provided by Lutz and Stevenson include: • (Active voice) John hit the ball. • (Passive voice) The ball was hit by John.
Another writer’s adage is “Show, don’t tell.” Active voice is a characteristic of showing, while passive voice is a characteristic of telling.
MODIFIERS The gross overuse of modifiers, sometimes in the form of “purple prose,” can stop a story in its tracks. But even more subtle misuse of adjectives and adverbs can slow the momentum of a story.
“Most modifiers are filler, cotton batting or sawdust, their modifications perfunctory or already implied,” observes Peter Selgin, in By Cunning & Craft. And “As for adverbs, they seldom add anything to an adjective that isn’t already there . . . .”
According to David Morrell, in Lessons from a Lifetime of Writing, “Adjectives tend to get in the way, overwhelming a description rather than sharpening it.” Adverbs tend to have no other function than to strengthen weak verbs.”
“When you use two words, a weak verb and an adverb, to do the work of one strong verb, you dilute your writing and rob it of its potential power,” note Renni Browne and Dave King, in Self-Editing for Fiction Writers,
David Morrell, in Lessons from a Lifetime of Writing, “. . . economy doesn’t only mean reducing a description to its essentials. It also means going for so clean a line that adjectives and adverbs become a sign of bad writing.”
Not all fiction-writing coaches agree on the avoidance of modifiers. After all, adverbs and adjectives are fundamental parts of speech, so avoiding them entirely may be difficult. According to Peter Selgin there is . . . “nothing wrong with adverbs and adjectives—as long as they pull more than their own weight by being fresh, unpredictable. Above all they must add something that isn’t obvious or trite to the words they modify.”
COMPARATIVE DESCRIPTION A common technique for building an emotional connection with the reader is the use of comparative description: similes and metaphors.
Todd A. Stone, in Novelist’s Boot Camp, observes that “Similes and metaphors are like hand grenades—they are two of the oldest and most used descriptive techniques. They’re powerful, but you must use them carefully to avoid cliches, mixed metaphors, and figures of speech that just don’t work. Otherwise, they’ll blow up in the wrong place—your novel.”
TRANSMORPHIC DESCRIPTION Another descriptive technique for building an emotional connection with the reader is to endow the subject with traits not usually associated to it. • Animals or inanimate objects portrayed as people (think cartoons, fantasy, and comics) • Inanimate objects or abstract concepts seemingly endowed with human self-awareness (think fighting trees in Lord of the Rings) • Abstract ideas, people, or animals represented as a physical thing (think soldiers standing as a stone wall) These techniques are sometimes described by somewhat overlapping terms such as anthropomorphism, personification, or objectification. To borrow a term from science fiction, these techniques could be called transmorphic description.
CLICHÉS VS. FRESH LANUGUAGE In general, fresh language is preferred to clichés.
“Clichés are born when someone, somewhere, comes up with a truly original bit of language, probably to describe something,” according to Les Edgerton in Hooked.
As stated by Ann Hood in Creating Character Emotion, “Clichés . . . are a kind of emotional shorthand . . . .” And “When we read a writer who relies on such emotional shorthand, we don’t trust what that writer is trying to say.”
“Triteness can move an acceptable phrase into the realm of the untouchable,” notes Michael Kurland in The Writer (March 2008). And “Remember: Avoid hackneyed expressions, well, like the plague.”
In Hooked, Les Edgerton states “You’re a writer—use original language. Be the kind of writer who comes up with such inventive phrases that others will eventually transform into clichés.”
OBTRUSIVENESS How much should description jump out at the reader? How noticeable or prominent should description be?
“You don’t want the reader to notice your descriptions . . . ,” advises Janet Evanovich in How I Write.
As stated by David Madden, in the Writer’s Digest Handbook of Novel Writing, “Words, phrases and other material that call attention to themselves—or don’t add to the story—destroy immediacy by putting distance between the reader and your fictional world.”
“It often falls to the writer to make a description absolutely transparent so it doesn’t intrude between the reader and the action. And if the writer achieves that, the reader never notices the words,” according to Michael Kurland (The Writer, March 2008).
DISGUISED DESCRIPTION Should any particular bit of description stand on its own, presented directly from the narrator (as narrated description)? Or should it be disguised by mixing it in with other fiction-writing modes (such as action, dialogue, introspection, recollection, sensation)?
Les Edgerton, in Hooked, states that “Today, static (or passive) description is eschewed in favor of active description, description incorporated within the action of the scene itself, so the bit of description doesn’t stop the scene or even slow it down noticeably.”
“You want your description to exist as part of action and emotion . . . ,” according to Sandra Scofield, in The Scene Book.
In Lessons from a Lifetime of Writing, David Morrell notes that “Description also fails when it is static. Too often, scenes are constructed so that a character arrives at a locale, the locale is described in one lump, and then the action continues. A much better tactic involves using details of the setting as part of the action.”
NARRATIVE VS. POINT-OF-VIEW DESCRIPTION Should description flow from the narrator (as in narrative description) or should it appear to flow through the mind of a point-of-view character?
Janet Evanovich, in How I Write, hints at the answer when she observes that “. . . you want [the readers] to feel like they’re right next to your characters, experiencing the scene as the character does.”
Donald Maas, in Writing the Breakout Novel, notes that since the invention of the novel it has been transformed by a progressive narrowing of point of view: from the once-essential author’s voice, to omniscient narration, to objective narration, to first- and third-person narration, and most recently to close third-person narration. According to Maass, today’s reader wants an authentic experience. Skillful inclusion of description from a character’s point of view can go a long way toward adding verisimilitude to fiction, involving the reader, and making it seem more realistic.
David Madden, in Writer’s Digest Handbook for Novel Writing, sums it up “Filter all description through point of view.”
Broadly defining description to include almost all writing provides little help to fiction writers. More narrowly defining description to exclude the other fiction-writing modes, however, focuses attention on numerous opportunities to enhance the reader’s emotional experience. How a writer uses description and the skill with which he presents description is, of course, an important aspect of his unique writing style.
For more information about description as a fiction-writing mode, see http:www.helium.com/items/1196722-description-as-a-fiction-writing-mode
Description is the fiction-writing mode for transmitting a mental image of the particulars of a story. It’s through description that characters, plot, and setting are portrayed. Description may also be used to help develop one or more of a story’s themes. And, of course, how and when description is utilized throughout a story are important aspects of an author’s unique writing style.
Description is one of the most widely recognized of the fiction-writing modes, together with dialogue, narration, exposition, and summarization. Unfortunately (as with many concepts used in the craft of fiction) the term description has both broad definition and narrow definition, which may lead to confusion and ineffective use.
As observed by Peter Selgin in By Cunning & Craft, “. . . all writing is descriptive.” In fact, under the broadest of definitions, all of the other fiction-writing modes could be described as subcategories of description: • What is action, if not a description of activity as it happens? • What is narration, if not a descriptive account by the narrator? • What is conversation (or dialogue), if not a description of speech? • What is exposition, if not a descriptive transmittal of information? • What is summarization, if not a descriptive summary of events? • What is introspection, if not a description of a character’s thoughts? • What is sensation, if not a description of a character’s perception of the senses? • What is transition, if not a description of a shift in time, space, or viewpoint? • What is emotion, if not a description of a character’s feelings? • What is recollection, if not a description of recalled memory? Such a broad definition has limited value in understanding fiction or writing it: it’s comparable to describing a poinsettia as a plant. A more useful definition of description includes only those aspects of description not otherwise addressed through the other fiction-writing modes: description in its purest sense.
Even a more narrow definition of description leaves quite a few issues to be addressed. • Which word is better than another? • Not every detail may be included in the story, so which details of description should be selected? • How much description is appropriate? • How and when should concrete nouns be used instead of abstract nouns, or vice versa? • How and when should active voice be used instead of passive voice, or vice versa? • How and when should modifiers (adjectives and adverbs) be used to enhance description? • How and when should clichés be used or avoided? • When should comparative description (similes and metaphors) be used? • When should transmorphic description (anthropomorphism, personification, objectification) be used? • When does description become too obtrusive? • How may description be disguised? • Should description be presented directly by the narrator of the story or should it seem to flow through a point-of-view character?
Although description is one of the most widely recognized and appreciated fiction-writing modes, failure to appropriately define it (as it relates to other fiction-writing modes), diminishes the likelihood that description will be fully analyzed and understood by students of fiction. Failure to identify and address the numerous issues faced by an author when presenting description reduces the likelihood that description will be utilized skillfully and to its full potential.
The more I learn about writing fiction, the more I realize how complicated and challenging it can be to tell an interesting story. A quote from Ernest Hemingway gives me some comfort, "We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master."
Most of what I've learned about writing has been by studying how-to books about fiction. I'm grateful to authors who have taken time to study the craft and then share their knowledge through fiction-writing seminars, articles, and books. I've reviewed many of the books I have studied over the years, and I've posted the reviews on my blog and at Helium.com.
I've noticed that, although most fiction-writing books offer useful insight into the craft, no one book has all the answers. Some books offer advice that conflicts with recommendations in others, and some advice is more confusing than helpful. In an effort to help others better understand the craft of fiction-writing, I've written a series of articles on the subject of fiction-writing and have posted them on my blog and at Helium.com.
To view a list of my articles and book reviews, just scroll down this page. Categories include: • Young-adult fiction • Fundamentals of fiction • Fiction-writing: a learning process • Reviews of books about writing fiction
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A while back at a used book sale, I picked up a copy of How to Write a Damn Good Novel, by James N. Frey. I didn’t notice until I got home that the title ended with a big Roman numeral II. After flipping through II, I decide I better get I as well. I’m glad I did.
James N. Frey has written two books about the craft of writing novels: How to Write a Damn Good Novel: A step-by-step no nonsense guide to dramatic storytelling (1987) and How to Write a Damn Good Novel II: Advanced techniques for dramatic storytelling (1994), both published by St. Martin’s Press. Each of these books is interesting and useful; damn good, in fact. They deserve to be included in any list of the best how-to-write-fiction books.
James N. Frey is an American writer and creative-writing teacher. According to Wikipedia, Frey was selected Honored Teacher of the Year in 1994 for his novel-writing classes at the University of California in Berkeley. Although most of the text in these books is about the craft of writing fiction, Frey shares his philosophy about writing and the process of creating fiction. For example, he warns of pseudo-rules in fiction-writing, but then he puts rules in perspective: “. . . first become a great storyteller who uses the principles of dramatic fiction to create masterpieces of craft before you attempt to break the rules. Yes, the rules may be broken successfully, but for every ten or twenty thousand who try only a handful are successful.”
The strength of these two books is that they provide tons of interesting and practical advice and insight into the craft of writing fiction. Many how-to books are as much about the author as they are about craft. Not so with these two; they’re all about craft and the business of writing. For example, from the first book: “When a character’s will collides with an obstacle that occurs within the character himself, as when duty collides with fear, love with guilt, ambition with conscience, and so on, you have inner conflict.”
Some how-to books focus on a particular facet of fiction-writing, while others attempt to cover the craft from A to Z. But even the broadest books tend to focus on subjects near and dear to the author’s heart. A book’s chapter headings tell a lot about what the author emphasizes. Frey’s first how-to book is structured with nine chapters, addressing the following subjects: • Character • Conflict • Premise • Storytelling • Climax and resolution • Viewpoint and flashbacks • Dialogue • Rewriting • The Zen of novel writing
The second book also has nine chapters: • Fictive dream • Suspense • Characters • Premise • More about premise • Narrative voice • Author-reader contract • Seven deadly mistakes • Writing with passion
Throughout both of these books, Frey provides great examples from films and well-known novels. Frey is obviously a serious student of fiction and craft, but he doesn’t pretend that he invented all the concepts he promotes. He peppers his narrative with quotes from authors who came before him.
I’m not a particular fan of writing exercises or chapter summaries, but I do appreciate glossaries and indexes. In Frey’s books each chapter ends with a recap paragraph that also serves as springboard to the topic of the next chapter. Readers who appreciate exercises at the end of each chapter may be disappointed, as Frey provides none. The second book provides a helpful index, but the first one does not. Neither book provides a glossary or appendix; however, each book offers a useful bibliography of books about fiction.
In a five-star rating system, these two deserve four stars each. The material covered was well addressed, but the author rambled somewhat on the subject of premise. Critics of the books may note that neither adequately addresses scene and sequel, fiction-writing modes, or setting. Of course, no single how-to book seems to have it all; that’s why it’s important to read more than just one.
Even though these books are getting to be more than a few years old, much of the information is timeless. Maybe someday the author and publisher will combine the books, update the material, and add topics not previously addressed.
In both of these books, Frey shares his passion for fiction-writing. For example: “To attempt to write a truly damn good novel is to try your damnedest to write a masterpiece.” But Frey also puts this challenge in perspective: “Anyone with a passionate desire will succeed if he gives himself to it fully, knuckles down and masters the craft, works hard, has good teachers and reliable readers, learns how to re-dream the dream and rewrite in answer to criticism, and actively pursues the selling of the script in a businesslike manner.” Students of fiction-writing will appreciate both volumes of How to Write a Damn Good Novel for years to come.
One of my ongoing projects is to write articles about the craft of writing fiction. In several of my articles, I’ve quoted Evan Marshall, author of The Marshall Plan® for Novel Writing and The Marshall Plan® for Getting Your Novel Published, both of which offer insight and practical tips for fiction writers. In a third book, The Marshall Plan® Workbook: Writing Your Novel from Start to Finish, Marshall presented a set of templates that writers could customize to create a solid plot structure for a novel. Most recently, he has released his template system in software form.
I’ve never read The Marshall Plan Workbook, but my impression is that it’s basically a set of templates for implementing the recommendations in his other books. I don’t have a problem with templates, and frequently develop my own for various tasks. I do recall, however, deciding not to purchase The Marshall Plan Workbook because I felt that paper templates designed by another author would be too confining for my taste. But the concept of Marshall’s templates in software form intrigued me, so I decided to try it.
Downloading the software was easy, even for someone as technologically impaired as I am. Once the program was installed, I just started exploring it. There are tabs for story idea, plot tips, character profiles, and subplots, each with hints on how to proceed. One page is dedicated to selecting genre and story length, while another features over 7,000 names, complete with meaning and origin. Another provides dozens of detailed tips for self-editing the manuscript.
The timing for trying the templates was perfect, as I had been struggling with a pile of notes that I hoped to develop into a novel. Without much forethought I just started filling in the blanks on the template. Sometimes I could quickly plug in information that I had already assembled, but other times I had to stop and think about my answers before proceeding. Before long, my haphazard pile of notes began to take shape on the template; it started to look and feel more like a story.
What astounded me was that in the process of organizing information onto the templates my creative juices started flowing. I began making stuff up that wasn’t already in my notes. Organizing the story components into a predetermined structure forced me to think creatively about the specifics of the story I was developing. The story began to take new direction.
I found that I was able to quickly tune into the structure of the templates, but when I got stumped, the tips provided by Marshall helped get me rolling again. No doubt, I had the advantage of having studied Marshall’s books, but writers otherwise familiar with the concepts of writing fiction should be able to effectively use the software, as well.
My first application for the software was with a story in its early development, but the templates should be useful throughout the novel-writing process. For example, I’m currently putting the finishing touches on a manuscript with five viewpoint characters, by far the most complicated writing project I’ve attempted. To help make sure it is also my best writing, I plan to use a separate template for each of the viewpoint characters, making sure each of their story lines is beefed up to its potential.
I suspect that all fiction writers experience writer’s block from time to time. I’ve found that when I’m floundering with a story, it helps to step back and attack it from a different angle. With that in mind, The Marshall Plan® for Novel Writing Template Generator is likely to prove an effective remedy for writer’s block. Any fiction writer struggling with a story idea, plot structure, character development, or whatever, ought to give this program a try.
In a five-star system, I would rate Marshall’s template generator four stars. I didn’t rank it higher because I would have preferred the program to have more flexibility, such as in adding or deleting the writing sections to fit the unique needs of a story. Besides, even with a great product, there’s room for improvement.
Bottom line, The Marshall Plan® for Novel Writing Template Generator should prove useful throughout the process of writing fiction.
One of my ongoing projects is to write articles about the craft of writing fiction. In several of my articles, I’ve quoted Evan Marshall, author of The Marshall Plan® for Novel Writing and The Marshall Plan® for Getting Your Novel Published, both of which offer insight and practical tips for fiction writers. In a third book, The Marshall Plan® Workbook: Writing Your Novel from Start to Finish, Marshall presented a set of templates that writers could customize to create a solid plot structure for a novel. Most recently, he has released his template system in software form.
I’ve never read The Marshall Plan Workbook, but my impression is that it’s basically a set of templates for implementing the recommendations in his other books. I don’t have a problem with templates, and frequently develop my own for various tasks. I do recall, however, deciding not to purchase The Marshall Plan Workbook because I felt that paper templates designed by another author would be too confining for my taste. But the concept of Marshall’s templates in software form intrigued me, so I decided to try it.
Downloading the software was easy, even for someone as technologically impaired as I am. Once the program was installed, I just started exploring it. There are tabs for story idea, plot tips, character profiles, and subplots, each with hints on how to proceed. One page is dedicated to selecting genre and story length, while another features over 7,000 names, complete with meaning and origin. Another provides dozens of detailed tips for self-editing the manuscript.
The timing for trying the templates was perfect, as I had been struggling with a pile of notes that I hoped to develop into a novel. Without much forethought I just started filling in the blanks on the template. Sometimes I could quickly plug in information that I had already assembled, but other times I had to stop and think about my answers before proceeding. Before long, my haphazard pile of notes began to take shape on the template; it started to look and feel more like a story.
What astounded me was that in the process of organizing information onto the templates my creative juices started flowing. I began making stuff up that wasn’t already in my notes. Organizing the story components into a predetermined structure forced me to think creatively about the specifics of the story I was developing. The story began to take new direction.
I found that I was able to quickly tune into the structure of the templates, but when I got stumped, the tips provided by Marshall helped get me rolling again. No doubt, I had the advantage of having studied Marshall’s books, but writers otherwise familiar with the concepts of writing fiction should be able to effectively use the software, as well.
My first application for the software was with a story in its early development, but the templates should be useful throughout the novel-writing process. For example, I’m currently putting the finishing touches on a manuscript with five viewpoint characters, by far the most complicated writing project I’ve attempted. To help make sure it is also my best writing, I plan to use a separate template for each of the viewpoint characters, making sure each of their story lines is beefed up to its potential.
I suspect that all fiction writers experience writer’s block from time to time. I’ve found that when I’m floundering with a story, it helps to step back and attack it from a different angle. With that in mind, The Marshall Plan® for Novel Writing Template Generator is likely to prove an effective remedy for writer’s block. Any fiction writer struggling with a story idea, plot structure, character development, or whatever, ought to give this program a try.
In a five-star system, I would rate Marshall’s template generator four stars. I didn’t rank it higher because I would have preferred the program to have more flexibility, such as in adding or deleting the writing sections to fit the unique needs of a story. Besides, even with a great product, there’s room for improvement.
Bottom line, The Marshall Plan® for Novel Writing Template Generator should prove useful throughout the process of writing fiction.
According to Mildred I. Reid, in the Writer’s Digest Guide to Good Writing, there is only one must in creative writing: the author must transfer an emotional experience to the reader. Gloria Kempton, in Dialogue, provides an avenue for transferring that emotion when she observes that “The only way to connect with our reader on an emotional level is to first connect with our characters.” And, “The way we do this is to make sure our characters connect with themselves.”
EMOTION AND THE ELEMENTS OF FICTION As pointed out by James N. Frey, in How to Write a Damn Good Novel, “The reading of novels is primarily an emotional experience.”
Each of the five fundamental elements of fiction (character, plot, setting, theme, and style) plays a role in creating emotion. It’s through characters, of course, that authors portray emotion, and thus transfer it to the reader. Emotions can be present anywhere in a plot, but they are especially important when: • Providing and reinforcing a character’s motivation • Creating a catalyst for a story’s turning points • Portraying the emotion phase of sequels. Setting may establish the tone of individual scenes, or the story as a whole, and thus help stimulate character and reader emotion. A character’s emotions may also provide a common thread for the development of one or more of a story’s themes. And, of course, how and when emotion is utilized throughout a story and the skill with which emotion is presented are important aspects of an author’s unique writing style.
NARRATIVE DISTANCE Donald Maas, in Writing the Breakout Novel, notes that since the invention of the novel it has been transformed by a progressive narrowing of point of view: from the once-essential author’s voice, to omniscient narration, to objective narration, to first- and third-person narration, and most recently to close third-person narration. According to Maass, today’s reader wants an authentic experience.
Many modern-day readers expect to live the story through the mind of the character, experiencing the story as if the reader is the character. Effective use of emotion as a fiction-writing mode can go a long way toward making that experience a virtual reality.
READER INVOLVEMENT Orson Scott Card observes that “Reading is not a passive process. While a reader may seem to be sitting still, slowly turning pages, in his or her own mind he is going through a great many emotions.” And “. . . the intensity of the character’s feeling, as long as it remains believable and bearable, will greatly intensify the reader’s feelings—whatever they are.”
As explained by Ron Rozelle, in Description and Setting, “Sometimes you’ll be nudging your readers toward what you want them to feel when they read your fiction, so they can associate a feeling that they might never have experienced with one that they probably have.”
Many times the reader’s emotional response will mirror the character’s emotions, but sometimes not. For example, a viewpoint character may enjoy torturing a victim, but the reader might be appalled. A character may enjoy a tender love scene, but the reader may be horrified because he suspects that one of the characters is a serial killer.
Orson Scott Card notes that “You can’t control everything the reader feels, and no two members of your audience will ever be emotionally involved in your story exactly to the same degree. Still, there are some things you can control, and if you use them deftly, without letting them get out of hand, you can lead most of your audience to intense emotional involvement with your characters.”
CONCLUSION Faith Baldwin (1893-1978), in an article reprinted in The Writer, March 2008, summed up the value of emotion eloquently: “The quality in a book or story that most impresses and interests me as a reader is sincere emotion.” She also observed that, “Any book or story worth the paper it’s printed on must have genuine emotion, communicated by the writer to the character and by the character to the reader.”
Emotion is one of eleven fiction-writing modes, arranged below in order of the anagram D-A-N-C-E S-I-S-T-E-R: • Description is the mode by which people, things, or concepts are described. • Action is the mode of describing things happening, in detail, as they happen. • Narration is the mode by which the narrator addresses the reader. • Conversation is the mode of presenting characters talking. • Exposition is the mode of conveying information. • Summarization is the mode of restating or recapitulating actions or events. • Introspection is the mode of conveying a character’s thinking. • Sensation is the mode of presenting the five senses, or maybe even six. • Transition is the mode of moving from one place, time, or character to another. • Emotion is the mode of conveying how a character feels. • Recollection is the mode of describing a character recalling something.
Find more articles about fiction-writing modes by searching with the modes as key words.
According to Mildred I. Reid, in the Writer’s Digest Guide to Good Writing, there is only one must in creative writing: the author must transfer an emotional experience to the reader. Gloria Kempton, in Dialogue, provides an avenue for transferring that emotion when she observes that “The only way to connect with our reader on an emotional level is to first connect with our characters.” And, “The way we do this is to make sure our characters connect with themselves.”
EMOTION AND THE ELEMENTS OF FICTION As pointed out by James N. Frey, in How to Write a Damn Good Novel, “The reading of novels is primarily an emotional experience.”
Each of the five fundamental elements of fiction (character, plot, setting, theme, and style) plays a role in creating emotion. It’s through characters, of course, that authors portray emotion, and thus transfer it to the reader. Emotions can be present anywhere in a plot, but they are especially important when: • Providing and reinforcing a character’s motivation • Creating a catalyst for a story’s turning points • Portraying the emotion phase of sequels. Setting may establish the tone of individual scenes, or the story as a whole, and thus help stimulate character and reader emotion. A character’s emotions may also provide a common thread for the development of one or more of a story’s themes. And, of course, how and when emotion is utilized throughout a story and the skill with which emotion is presented are important aspects of an author’s unique writing style.
NARRATIVE DISTANCE Donald Maas, in Writing the Breakout Novel, notes that since the invention of the novel it has been transformed by a progressive narrowing of point of view: from the once-essential author’s voice, to omniscient narration, to objective narration, to first- and third-person narration, and most recently to close third-person narration. According to Maass, today’s reader wants an authentic experience.
Many modern-day readers expect to live the story through the mind of the character, experiencing the story as if the reader is the character. Effective use of emotion as a fiction-writing mode can go a long way toward making that experience a virtual reality.
READER INVOLVEMENT Orson Scott Card observes that “Reading is not a passive process. While a reader may seem to be sitting still, slowly turning pages, in his or her own mind he is going through a great many emotions.” And “. . . the intensity of the character’s feeling, as long as it remains believable and bearable, will greatly intensify the reader’s feelings—whatever they are.”
As explained by Ron Rozelle, in Description and Setting, “Sometimes you’ll be nudging your readers toward what you want them to feel when they read your fiction, so they can associate a feeling that they might never have experienced with one that they probably have.”
Many times the reader’s emotional response will mirror the character’s emotions, but sometimes not. For example, a viewpoint character may enjoy torturing a victim, but the reader might be appalled. A character may enjoy a tender love scene, but the reader may be horrified because he suspects that one of the characters is a serial killer.
Orson Scott Card notes that “You can’t control everything the reader feels, and no two members of your audience will ever be emotionally involved in your story exactly to the same degree. Still, there are some things you can control, and if you use them deftly, without letting them get out of hand, you can lead most of your audience to intense emotional involvement with your characters.”
CONCLUSION Faith Baldwin (1893-1978), in an article reprinted in The Writer, March 2008, summed up the value of emotion eloquently: “The quality in a book or story that most impresses and interests me as a reader is sincere emotion.” She also observed that, “Any book or story worth the paper it’s printed on must have genuine emotion, communicated by the writer to the character and by the character to the reader.”
Emotion is one of eleven fiction-writing modes, arranged below in order of the anagram D-A-N-C-E S-I-S-T-E-R: • Description is the mode by which people, things, or concepts are described. • Action is the mode of describing things happening, in detail, as they happen. • Narration is the mode by which the narrator addresses the reader. • Conversation is the mode of presenting characters talking. • Exposition is the mode of conveying information. • Summarization is the mode of restating or recapitulating actions or events. • Introspection is the mode of conveying a character’s thinking. • Sensation is the mode of presenting the five senses, or maybe even six. • Transition is the mode of moving from one place, time, or character to another. • Emotion is the mode of conveying how a character feels. • Recollection is the mode of describing a character recalling something.
Find more articles about fiction-writing modes by searching with the modes as key words.
In published fiction, the portrayal of character emotion may appear to be seamless, almost effortless. In reality the finished product is the result of hard work by an author using six basic techniques for portraying emotion: • Stating emotion • Explaining emotion • Dialogue • Introspection • Bodily reaction • Action
In addition to using the basic techniques for portraying emotion, the author faces other issues and opportunities during the actual process of writing: • Context • Sacrifice • Repetition • Clichés/Fresh Language • Setting • Selection of technique • Choice of emotion • Range of emotion • Intensity • Melodrama/Sentimentality • Emotional complexity • Emotional consistency • Emotional journey
CONTEXT According to Renni Browne and David King, in Self-Editing for Fiction-Writers, simply telling readers about an emotion may not be the best way. A better way is to show why the character feels as he does. You don’t want to give your readers information. You want to give them experiences.”
Orson Scott Card, in Characters and Viewpoint, notes that “. . . you increase the power of suffering, not by describing the injury or loss in greater detail, but rather by showing more of its causes and effect.”
Emotions usually don’t just pop up in a vacuum, they require development. Successful portrayal of emotion depends on context, which requires planning for a buildup to make emotion feel genuine.
SACRIFICE According to Card, “Pain or grief also increase a reader’s intensity in proportion to a character’s degree of choice. Self-chosen suffering for the sake of a greater good—sacrifice, in other words—is far more intense than pain alone.”
REPETITION Also states Card, “Suffering loses effectiveness with repetition. . . . the first time you mention a character’s grief, it raises his stature and makes the reader more emotionally involved. But if you keep harping on the character’s suffering, the reader begins to feel that the character is whining, and the reader’s emotional involvement decreases.” By the third or fourth time, the character becomes comic, and her pain is a joke.”
CLICHÉS/FRESH LANGUAGE Emotion, as a fiction-writing mode, is fertile ground for clichés. Examples provided by Ann Hood, in Creating Character Emotion, include: • a heart pounding • mad as a hornet • one tear rolling down a cheek • green with envy • butterflies in her stomach • a face as red as a beet • happy as a clam
“One of the problems with this,” explains Hood, “is that clichés simply fall out of our heads and onto the paper. We don’t even know it’s happening. But,” she asks, “are they effective writing?”
Far more difficult, Hood notes, is to find a fresh way to evoke an emotion. She encourages writers to be meticulous in fresh description of emotions, to search for the description that jumps out at readers, fits perfectly, and stays with them long after the story has ended.
SETTING The setting of a story can help suggest emotion, either as props for demonstrating emotion, or as a backdrop to create a mood.
In The Anatomy of Story, John Truby says, “The process of translating the story line into a physical story world, which then elicits certain emotions in the audience, is a difficult one. That’s because you are really speaking two languages—one of words, the other of images—and matching them exactly over the course of the story.”
An example of using a prop to suggest emotion: As Cisco approached the livery stable, he pulled the tin star off his shirt and slipped it into his pocket.
An example of using setting to suggest a mood or to enhance it: As Cisco approached the livery stable, thunder rumbled in the distance.
SELECTION OF TECHNIQUE Just because a writer’s emotion-stimulating toolbox contains many tools, doesn’t mean he should use all of them for every task.
According to Ann Hood, sometimes not saying what is felt makes the emotion seem even stronger than dialogue. And also, “Don’t fall into the trap of stating the emotion you want the reader to see, then forcing your character to act in a predictable way.”
Sometimes what is left out of a story is just as important as what is put in. Orson Scott Card provides a specific example “. . . if your characters cry, your readers won’t have to; if your characters have good reason to cry, and don’t, your readers will do that weeping.”
CHOICE OF EMOTION Even a partial list of emotions includes many choices: Repulsion, terror, ecstasy, passion, love, hate, desire, fear, anger, disgust, spite, forgiveness, annoyance, peevishness.
With so many alternatives, which emotion should a writer choose? It depends, of course, on the context of the story and the writer’s objectives. But according to Nancy Kress, there is one emotion that stands out as the most useful in fiction: frustration. Without frustration, there is no plot. Frustration means the character isn’t getting what he wants. When in doubt, she says, writers should frustrate their characters. In fiction, the default emotion is frustration.
RANGE OF EMOTION During the ebb and flow of the story, a character should experience a variety of emotions appropriate to the circumstances. Ann Hood notes that “Characters should have a range of emotion to give them depth and complexity. Otherwise, we end up with fiction filled with stereotypes, flat characters moving through an unbelievable world.”
INTENSITY Even within the context of a single emotion, or a set of related emotions, there is a range of intensity. For example, • Mild annoyance to uncontrollable rage, or • Amusement to hysterical laughter.
Which range of intensity is most useful? Orson Scott Card notes that “The most powerful uses of physical and emotional pain are somewhere between the trivial and the unbearable.”
MELODRAMA/SENTAMENTALITY According to an old adage, writers should “open a vein” and let the emotion flow. But there can be too much of a good thing. The opposite of unemotional portrayal of characters is the melodramatic or sentimental portrayal of characters.
The words melodramatic and sentimental mean different things to different people, but dictionary definitions include exaggerated, overdramatic, excessive, and indulgent. The common ground refers not so much to intensity but to appropriateness within context.
EMOTIONAL COMPLEXITY According to Ann Hood, “Perhaps the most important thing to remember when searching for emotional honesty is that emotion is not one-dimensional. Emotions are complex and often mixed together. Think of a bride on her wedding day. It would be too easy and too flat to describe her as simply happy. Instead, she is excited, apprehensive, worried, fearful, anxious, joyful, smug—so many emotions!”
In Writers Digest, August 2004, Nancy Kress echoes this thought: “Frustration isn’t a ‘pure’ emotion.” It can come mixed with many others: anger, hurt, fear, self-blame, resignation, bitterness, and more.
Sometimes these emotions feed off one another in an emotional swarm.
An example of mixed emotions: Cisco paused at the door. If he stepped into the street and faced Black Bart, he might be able to stop Bart from hurting innocent people. But Cisco also realized that his chances of surviving the fight were slim. Bart was fast with a six shooter—very fast.
EMOTIONAL CONSISTENCY Characters are a representation of humans, and that means they are both consistent and inconsistent in their emotions. Ann Hood reminds writers that Aristotle observed that a character should be “consistently inconsistent,” which does not mean characters jump from emotion to emotion recklessly but rather that they move believably from one emotion to the next.
Nancy Kress, in Writers Digest, August 2004, puts it a different way, “Not only do different people experience different mixes of emotions when frustrated, but also the same person may experience different mixes at different times.”
EMOTIONAL JOURNEY Coincident with a story’s physical journey is the character’s emotional journey, which may appear as an emotional rollercoaster that, in turn, provides the character with internal growth.
James N. Frey in How to Write a Damn Good Novel says, “. . . look at your character’s emotional level at the beginning of the scene and at the end of the scene. There should be a step-by-step change in the character from, say, cool to fearful, spiteful to forgiving, cruel to passionate, or the like, in every scene.” Regarding the story as a whole, he observes, “By the climax . . . the character is fully revealed because the reader has seen him acting and reacting at each emotional level.”
CONCLUSION Emotion may be conveyed with six basic techniques, but numerous other issues and opportunities exist for an effective transfer of emotion to characters and ultimately to the reader.
Emotion is one of eleven fiction-writing modes, arranged below in order of the anagram D-A-N-C-E S-I-S-T-E-R: • Description is the mode by which people, things, or concepts are described. • Action is the mode of describing things happening, in detail, as they happen. • Narration is the mode by which the narrator addresses the reader. • Conversation is the mode of presenting characters talking. • Exposition is the mode of conveying information. • Summarization is the mode of restating or recapitulating actions or events. • Introspection is the mode of conveying a character’s thinking. • Sensation is the mode of presenting the five senses, or maybe even six. • Transition is the mode of moving from one place, time, or character to another. • Emotion is the mode of conveying how a character feels. • Recollection is the mode of describing a character recalling something.
In published fiction, the portrayal of character emotion may appear to be seamless, almost effortless. In reality the finished product is the result of hard work by an author using six basic techniques for portraying emotion: • Stating emotion • Explaining emotion • Dialogue • Introspection • Bodily reaction • Action
In addition to using the basic techniques for portraying emotion, the author faces other issues and opportunities during the actual process of writing: • Context • Sacrifice • Repetition • Clichés/Fresh Language • Setting • Selection of technique • Choice of emotion • Range of emotion • Intensity • Melodrama/Sentimentality • Emotional complexity • Emotional consistency • Emotional journey
CONTEXT According to Renni Browne and David King, in Self-Editing for Fiction-Writers, simply telling readers about an emotion may not be the best way. A better way is to show why the character feels as he does. You don’t want to give your readers information. You want to give them experiences.”
Orson Scott Card, in Characters and Viewpoint, notes that “. . . you increase the power of suffering, not by describing the injury or loss in greater detail, but rather by showing more of its causes and effect.”
Emotions usually don’t just pop up in a vacuum, they require development. Successful portrayal of emotion depends on context, which requires planning for a buildup to make emotion feel genuine.
SACRIFICE According to Card, “Pain or grief also increase a reader’s intensity in proportion to a character’s degree of choice. Self-chosen suffering for the sake of a greater good—sacrifice, in other words—is far more intense than pain alone.”
REPETITION Also states Card, “Suffering loses effectiveness with repetition. . . . the first time you mention a character’s grief, it raises his stature and makes the reader more emotionally involved. But if you keep harping on the character’s suffering, the reader begins to feel that the character is whining, and the reader’s emotional involvement decreases.” By the third or fourth time, the character becomes comic, and her pain is a joke.”
CLICHÉS/FRESH LANGUAGE Emotion, as a fiction-writing mode, is fertile ground for clichés. Examples provided by Ann Hood, in Creating Character Emotion, include: • a heart pounding • mad as a hornet • one tear rolling down a cheek • green with envy • butterflies in her stomach • a face as red as a beet • happy as a clam
“One of the problems with this,” explains Hood, “is that clichés simply fall out of our heads and onto the paper. We don’t even know it’s happening. But,” she asks, “are they effective writing?”
Far more difficult, Hood notes, is to find a fresh way to evoke an emotion. She encourages writers to be meticulous in fresh description of emotions, to search for the description that jumps out at readers, fits perfectly, and stays with them long after the story has ended.
SETTING The setting of a story can help suggest emotion, either as props for demonstrating emotion, or as a backdrop to create a mood.
In The Anatomy of Story, John Truby says, “The process of translating the story line into a physical story world, which then elicits certain emotions in the audience, is a difficult one. That’s because you are really speaking two languages—one of words, the other of images—and matching them exactly over the course of the story.”
An example of using a prop to suggest emotion: As Cisco approached the livery stable, he pulled the tin star off his shirt and slipped it into his pocket.
An example of using setting to suggest a mood or to enhance it: As Cisco approached the livery stable, thunder rumbled in the distance.
SELECTION OF TECHNIQUE Just because a writer’s emotion-stimulating toolbox contains many tools, doesn’t mean he should use all of them for every task.
According to Ann Hood, sometimes not saying what is felt makes the emotion seem even stronger than dialogue. And also, “Don’t fall into the trap of stating the emotion you want the reader to see, then forcing your character to act in a predictable way.”
Sometimes what is left out of a story is just as important as what is put in. Orson Scott Card provides a specific example “. . . if your characters cry, your readers won’t have to; if your characters have good reason to cry, and don’t, your readers will do that weeping.”
CHOICE OF EMOTION Even a partial list of emotions includes many choices: Repulsion, terror, ecstasy, passion, love, hate, desire, fear, anger, disgust, spite, forgiveness, annoyance, peevishness.
With so many alternatives, which emotion should a writer choose? It depends, of course, on the context of the story and the writer’s objectives. But according to Nancy Kress, there is one emotion that stands out as the most useful in fiction: frustration. Without frustration, there is no plot. Frustration means the character isn’t getting what he wants. When in doubt, she says, writers should frustrate their characters. In fiction, the default emotion is frustration.
RANGE OF EMOTION During the ebb and flow of the story, a character should experience a variety of emotions appropriate to the circumstances. Ann Hood notes that “Characters should have a range of emotion to give them depth and complexity. Otherwise, we end up with fiction filled with stereotypes, flat characters moving through an unbelievable world.”
INTENSITY Even within the context of a single emotion, or a set of related emotions, there is a range of intensity. For example, • Mild annoyance to uncontrollable rage, or • Amusement to hysterical laughter.
Which range of intensity is most useful? Orson Scott Card notes that “The most powerful uses of physical and emotional pain are somewhere between the trivial and the unbearable.”
MELODRAMA/SENTAMENTALITY According to an old adage, writers should “open a vein” and let the emotion flow. But there can be too much of a good thing. The opposite of unemotional portrayal of characters is the melodramatic or sentimental portrayal of characters.
The words melodramatic and sentimental mean different things to different people, but dictionary definitions include exaggerated, overdramatic, excessive, and indulgent. The common ground refers not so much to intensity but to appropriateness within context.
EMOTIONAL COMPLEXITY According to Ann Hood, “Perhaps the most important thing to remember when searching for emotional honesty is that emotion is not one-dimensional. Emotions are complex and often mixed together. Think of a bride on her wedding day. It would be too easy and too flat to describe her as simply happy. Instead, she is excited, apprehensive, worried, fearful, anxious, joyful, smug—so many emotions!”
In Writers Digest, August 2004, Nancy Kress echoes this thought: “Frustration isn’t a ‘pure’ emotion.” It can come mixed with many others: anger, hurt, fear, self-blame, resignation, bitterness, and more.
Sometimes these emotions feed off one another in an emotional swarm.
An example of mixed emotions: Cisco paused at the door. If he stepped into the street and faced Black Bart, he might be able to stop Bart from hurting innocent people. But Cisco also realized that his chances of surviving the fight were slim. Bart was fast with a six shooter—very fast.
EMOTIONAL CONSISTENCY Characters are a representation of humans, and that means they are both consistent and inconsistent in their emotions. Ann Hood reminds writers that Aristotle observed that a character should be “consistently inconsistent,” which does not mean characters jump from emotion to emotion recklessly but rather that they move believably from one emotion to the next.
Nancy Kress, in Writers Digest, August 2004, puts it a different way, “Not only do different people experience different mixes of emotions when frustrated, but also the same person may experience different mixes at different times.”
EMOTIONAL JOURNEY Coincident with a story’s physical journey is the character’s emotional journey, which may appear as an emotional rollercoaster that, in turn, provides the character with internal growth.
James N. Frey in How to Write a Damn Good Novel says, “. . . look at your character’s emotional level at the beginning of the scene and at the end of the scene. There should be a step-by-step change in the character from, say, cool to fearful, spiteful to forgiving, cruel to passionate, or the like, in every scene.” Regarding the story as a whole, he observes, “By the climax . . . the character is fully revealed because the reader has seen him acting and reacting at each emotional level.”
CONCLUSION Emotion may be conveyed with six basic techniques, but numerous other issues and opportunities exist for an effective transfer of emotion to characters and ultimately to the reader.
Emotion is one of eleven fiction-writing modes, arranged below in order of the anagram D-A-N-C-E S-I-S-T-E-R: • Description is the mode by which people, things, or concepts are described. • Action is the mode of describing things happening, in detail, as they happen. • Narration is the mode by which the narrator addresses the reader. • Conversation is the mode of presenting characters talking. • Exposition is the mode of conveying information. • Summarization is the mode of restating or recapitulating actions or events. • Introspection is the mode of conveying a character’s thinking. • Sensation is the mode of presenting the five senses, or maybe even six. • Transition is the mode of moving from one place, time, or character to another. • Emotion is the mode of conveying how a character feels. • Recollection is the mode of describing a character recalling something.
Emotion is the fiction-writing mode whereby a character’s feelings are portrayed. Unfortunately, emotion is not widely recognized as a distinct fiction-writing mode. Failure to treat it as such: • Downplays the contribution emotion makes to a story • Diminishes the likelihood that emotion will be fully analyzed and understood by students of fiction • Reduces the likelihood that emotion will be utilized skillfully and to its full potential
Some writing coaches lump thinking, emotion, and sensation into one category. Certainly, each of these is linked to the mind of the character, but thinking, emotion, and sensation are also quite different, in real life and in fiction. Given their importance and their differences, each warrants its own analysis and treatment.
Sometimes emotion is included in broader categories, such as narration, description, or summary. Of course, emotion may be considered a subset of each of these writing modes under their broadest definitions, but lumping emotion into such wide topics does little to clarify its use; in fact, it adds to the confusion.
CONVEYING EMOTION In published fiction, the portrayal of character emotion may appear to be seamless, almost effortless. In reality the finished product is the result of hard work by an author using six basic techniques for portraying emotion: • Stating emotion • Explaining emotion • Dialogue • Introspection • Bodily reaction • Action
STATING EMOTION The easiest means of adding emotion to a story is for the narrator to simply state the character’s emotion. For example: As Cisco approached the livery stable, he felt a growing sense of frustration.
But as Ann Hood states, “One way we fall into ambiguity is by labeling an emotion rather than honestly exploring it.”
EXPLAINING EMOTION One step beyond simply stating an emotion is to explain it or tell about it.
For example: As Cisco approached the livery stable, he felt a growing sense of frustration. If Black Bart got his way, innocent people could get hurt or killed.
DIALOGUE Emotion may be conveyed though dialogue. For example: As Cisco approached the livery stable, he grabbed Billy by the shoulder. “I’m worried that if Black Bart gets his way, innocent people could get hurt—or killed.”
INTROSPECTION Emotion may be conveyed through a character’s thoughts. For example: As Cisco approached the livery stable, he realized that if Black Bart got his way, innocent people could get hurt or killed.
And of course, thoughts should be consistent with the character’s emotional state. For example, as explained by Nancy Kress, “Most characters’ frustrated dialogue and thoughts should be slightly incoherent.”
BODILY REACTION As stated by Evan Marshall, in the Marshall Plan for Getting Your Novel Published, “Nothing conveys emotion as strongly as its physical manifestations.” According to Nancy Kress, in Writers Digest, August 2004, “An effective technique to dramatize your character’s [emotion] is to show how it affects his body. We frequently react to emotion physically before we’ve had a chance to process information rationally.”
Bodily reactions to emotion range from subtle to extreme: goose bumps, blushing, sweating, increased heart rate, laughing, crying, upset stomach, shaking, tingling nerves, vomit, loss of bladder or bowel control. For example: As Cisco approached the livery stable, his heart pounded and his insides tightened.
ACTION Emotion may be portrayed through physical action. As described by Nancy Kress, “. . . most of your depiction of frustration should be through the character’s active and dramatized response . . . .”
Action that expresses emotion may range from subtle to pronounced. An example of subtle action: As Cisco approached the livery stable, he clenched his jaw. If Black Bart got his way, innocent people could get hurt or killed.
An example of pronounced action: Cisco approached the livery stable and kicked the door open.
Emotion is one of eleven fiction-writing modes, arranged below in order of the anagram D-A-N-C-E S-I-S-T-E-R: • Description is the mode by which people, things, or concepts are described.
Emotion is the fiction-writing mode whereby a character’s feelings are portrayed. Unfortunately, emotion is not widely recognized as a distinct fiction-writing mode. Failure to treat it as such: • Downplays the contribution emotion makes to a story • Diminishes the likelihood that emotion will be fully analyzed and understood by students of fiction • Reduces the likelihood that emotion will be utilized skillfully and to its full potential
Some writing coaches lump thinking, emotion, and sensation into one category. Certainly, each of these is linked to the mind of the character, but thinking, emotion, and sensation are also quite different, in real life and in fiction. Given their importance and their differences, each warrants its own analysis and treatment.
Sometimes emotion is included in broader categories, such as narration, description, or summary. Of course, emotion may be considered a subset of each of these writing modes under their broadest definitions, but lumping emotion into such wide topics does little to clarify its use; in fact, it adds to the confusion.
CONVEYING EMOTION In published fiction, the portrayal of character emotion may appear to be seamless, almost effortless. In reality the finished product is the result of hard work by an author using six basic techniques for portraying emotion: • Stating emotion • Explaining emotion • Dialogue • Introspection • Bodily reaction • Action
STATING EMOTION The easiest means of adding emotion to a story is for the narrator to simply state the character’s emotion. For example: As Cisco approached the livery stable, he felt a growing sense of frustration.
But as Ann Hood states, “One way we fall into ambiguity is by labeling an emotion rather than honestly exploring it.”
EXPLAINING EMOTION One step beyond simply stating an emotion is to explain it or tell about it.
For example: As Cisco approached the livery stable, he felt a growing sense of frustration. If Black Bart got his way, innocent people could get hurt or killed.
DIALOGUE Emotion may be conveyed though dialogue. For example: As Cisco approached the livery stable, he grabbed Billy by the shoulder. “I’m worried that if Black Bart gets his way, innocent people could get hurt—or killed.”
INTROSPECTION Emotion may be conveyed through a character’s thoughts. For example: As Cisco approached the livery stable, he realized that if Black Bart got his way, innocent people could get hurt or killed.
And of course, thoughts should be consistent with the character’s emotional state. For example, as explained by Nancy Kress, “Most characters’ frustrated dialogue and thoughts should be slightly incoherent.”
BODILY REACTION As stated by Evan Marshall, in the Marshall Plan for Getting Your Novel Published, “Nothing conveys emotion as strongly as its physical manifestations.” According to Nancy Kress, in Writers Digest, August 2004, “An effective technique to dramatize your character’s [emotion] is to show how it affects his body. We frequently react to emotion physically before we’ve had a chance to process information rationally.”
Bodily reactions to emotion range from subtle to extreme: goose bumps, blushing, sweating, increased heart rate, laughing, crying, upset stomach, shaking, tingling nerves, vomit, loss of bladder or bowel control. For example: As Cisco approached the livery stable, his heart pounded and his insides tightened.
ACTION Emotion may be portrayed through physical action. As described by Nancy Kress, “. . . most of your depiction of frustration should be through the character’s active and dramatized response . . . .”
Action that expresses emotion may range from subtle to pronounced. An example of subtle action: As Cisco approached the livery stable, he clenched his jaw. If Black Bart got his way, innocent people could get hurt or killed.
An example of pronounced action: Cisco approached the livery stable and kicked the door open.
Emotion is one of eleven fiction-writing modes, arranged below in order of the anagram D-A-N-C-E S-I-S-T-E-R: • Description is the mode by which people, things, or concepts are described.
The more I learn about writing fiction, the more I realize how complicated and challenging it can be to tell an interesting story. A quote from Ernest Hemingway gives me some comfort, "We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master."
Most of what I've learned about writing has been by studying how-to books about fiction. I'm grateful to authors who have taken time to study the craft and then share their knowledge through fiction-writing seminars, articles, and books. I've reviewed many of the books I have studied over the years, and I've posted the reviews on my blog and at Helium.com.
I've noticed that, although most fiction-writing books offer useful insight into the craft, no one book has all the answers. Some books offer advice that conflicts with recommendations in others. And some advice is more confusing than helpful. In an effort to help others better understand the craft of fiction-writing, I've written a series of articles on the subject of fiction-writing and have posted them on my blog and at Helium.com.
To view a list of my articles and book reviews, just scroll down this page. Categories include:
in written fiction today has a different role than it has played in the past. As a fiction-writing mode, narration has a much smaller part—and a shrinking one, at that.
As do so many words in the English language, narration has more than one meaning. In its broadest context, narration encompasses all written fiction. More narrowly, narration is the fiction-writing mode whereby the narrator communicates directly to the reader.
Along with exposition, argumentation, and description, narration (broadly defined) is one of four rhetorical modes of discourse. In the context of rhetorical modes, the purpose of narration is to tell a story or to narrate an event or series of events. Narrative may exist in a variety of forms: biographies, anecdotes, short stories, novels. In this context, all written fiction can be viewed as narration. Other than as a means of gaining wide perspective, this definition of narration is of limited value to fiction writers.
Some writing experts describe fiction as having two modes: dialogue and narrative. Such a broad view of narrative may be technically correct, but it ignores the opportunities and challenges presented by more specific fiction-writing modes.
Narrowly defined, narration is the fiction-writing mode whereby the narrator is communicating directly to the reader. But if the broad definition of narration includes all written fiction, and the narrow definition is limited merely to that which is directly communicated to the reader, then what comprises the rest of written fiction? The remainder of written fiction would be any of the other fiction-writing modes. Together with narration, there are eleven fiction-writing modes.
Fiction-Writing Modes
(Arranged in order of the anagram D-A-N-C-E S-I-S-T-E-R):
·
Description is the mode by which people, things, or concepts are described.
·
Action is the mode of depicting things happening, in detail, as they happen.
·
Narration is the mode by which the narrator addresses the reader.
·
Conversation is the mode of presenting characters talking.
·
Exposition is the mode of conveying information.
·
Summarization is the mode of restating or recapitulating actions or events.
·
Introspection is the mode of conveying a character’s thinking.
·
Sensation is the mode of presenting the five senses, or maybe even six.
·
Transition is the mode of moving from one place, time, or character to another.
·
Emotion is the mode of conveying how a character feels.
·
Recollection is the mode of describing a character recalling something.
An appreciation of narration, as a fiction-writing mode, requires an understanding of the issues involved:
·
Choice of narrator
·
Point of view
·
Person
·
Tense
·
Obtrusiveness
·
Tone
·
Reliability
·
Disguised narration
·
Distance
CHOICE OF NARRATOR
One of the most important decisions a fiction writer makes is the choice of narrator. According to Orson Scott Card, in Character & Viewpoint, "The story always has a narrator." Instead of the audience seeing events directly (as in plays and films), the story is unavoidably filtered through the perceptions of a narrator.
To understand the role of the narrator in written fiction, the writer must keep four mindsets in perspective.
·
The author is a living, breathing person. He is the creator, doing the brainwork, making decisions, writing.
·
The narrator is the teller of the story, the orator, doing the mouth work, or its in-print equivalent.
·
The point-of-view character, if the story has any, is from whose consciousness the reader hears, sees, and feels the story.
·
The reader is not merely the intended audience; he is a critical participant, reacting to the presentation, and thus influencing how the story is told, even before it is written.
An author’s choice of narrator comes down to three alternatives:
·
Self-narration by the author ("Now dear reader . . ." is an example of author self-narration, sometimes referred to as author intrusion);
·
One or more of the characters in the story ("Call me Ishmael," from Moby Dick is an example from a story narrated by a point-of-view character, Ishmael.); or
·
Some other assumed persona.
Each is a valid choice for narrator, but few choices made by an author have more impact on how the reader will perceive the story and react to it.
POINT OF VIEW
Once the author has decided who will tell the story (the author himself, a character, or some assumed persona), then he must decide from whose viewpoint the story will be told. The choices are:
·
The author himself,
·
A character, or
·
Some assumed persona.
This may seem redundant, but:
·
A self-narrating author may tell the story from his own point of view or he may tell it from the viewpoint of a character;
·
A story narrated by a character would most likely be from the viewpoint of that character (as with Ishmael in Moby Dick), but the story could also be told from another character’s point of view.
·
An assumed persona may tell the story from his own point of view or from a character’s point of view.
Point of view is sometimes described from the perspective of a movie camera, but a better analogy is the media coverage of a professional football game.
·
An author narrating a story from his own point of view is comparable to a radio announcer describing the game from a broadcast booth.
·
A character narrating the story from his own point of view is comparable to play-by-play coverage from a football player rigged with a microphone and a helmet camera.
·
Having the story told by an assumed persona (omniscient or objective) compares to coverage by television commentators with the aid of a dozen cameras stationed at various angles around the field, including a movable camera hanging over the players.
PERSON
Regardless of whom the author selects to be the narrator, the story may be told in one of three persons, singular or plural:
·
First person (I, we)
·
Second person (you)
·
Third person (he, she, it, they)
Novels are rarely told in second person or plural, but an Internet search reveals plenty of examples in short fiction. For novel-length fiction, the choice is usually either first-person singular and third-person singular.
TENSE
The author also has three basic choices for tense:
·
Present tense
·
Future tense
·
Past tense
As described by Orson Scott Card, in Character & Viewpoint, some writers have experimented with stories using subjective, superlative, or imperative tenses. An Internet search reveals examples of fiction written in the present and future tenses, but the vast majority of novels are written in past tense.
OBTRUSIVENESS
Obtrusiveness is a measure of how noticeable the narrator is. Very noticeable narrators are described as obtrusive, while barely noticeable narrators are described as unobtrusive.
The obtrusiveness of narrators may vary from story to story, even stories written by the same author. Obtrusiveness may also vary from one part of a story to another part of the same story.
Stories narrated by a character have an obtrusive narrator (the character, narrating in first person). Stories narrated by the author or by an assumed persona may range from very obtrusive to so unnoticeable there appears to be no narrator at all.
TONE
Through the narrator flows a story’s tone, its mood. According to Nancy Kress, in Writer’s Digest, July 2003, "A very general definition of tone is ‘the way a story feels.’"
Tone, explains Kress, can range from literary (with its attention to diction, descriptive detail, slower pace, and loftiness) to straight forward (which is designed to tell the story with a faster pace, and without distractions).
Within the broad spectrum of tone are a multitude of attitudes which may be projected into the story through the narrator: playfulness, absurdity, mockery, humor, grittiness, jadedness, romance, lust, mystery, irony, satire, indignation, irreverence, dreaminess, seriousness, nostalgia, cynicism, horror. "This attitude," as stated by Kress, "is embodied in diction, pace, detail, characterization—almost everything on the page."
RELIABILITY
Usually the reader may rely upon the narrator to tell the truth, at least the truth as the narrator perceives it. But sometimes an author toys with the reader and causes the narrator to misstate the events or some perception of the story’s truth. As observed by Les Edgerton, in Hooked, ". . . unreliable narrators almost always carry the promise of at least some fun (for the reader) in the story. It’s just plain fun to figure out the truth of a character from the clues the author provides." And according to Orson Scott Card, in Characters & Viewpoint, "The use of an unreliable narrator can add a delicious element of uncertainty to a story . . . ."
DISGUISED NARRATION
Even though all written fiction is narrated and thus has a narrator, some stories, including entire novels, have no apparent narrator. The author has chosen to camouphlage narration, to make the narrator so unobtrusive that the narrator never addresses the reader directly. Instead of direct address, the author presents the entire story through a viewpoint character, converting direct narration to other fiction-writing modes: description, action, conversation, exposition, summarization, introspection, sensation, transition, emotion, or recollection.
DISTANCE
Also referred to as narrative distance, intimacy, or penetration, distance exists in three dimensions: time, space, and emotional intimacy. Distance comes into play in five areas:
·
Between the events of the story and the telling of the story,
·
Between author and narrator,
·
Between narrator and reader,
·
Between narrator and character, and
·
Between reader and character.
As explained by Orson Scott Card, "The narrator, as a participant in the events, is telling about what happens in the past. He is looking backward. He is distant in time from the story itself."
The more an author attempts to self-narrate, the less distance there exists between the author and the narrator. The more an author narrates through a character or an assumed persona, the more distance between the author and the narrator.
Depending upon the technique and attitude used by the author, an obtrusive narrator may appear anywhere on a continuum from quite remote to downright chummy with the reader. On the other extreme, a very unobtrusive narrator may be virtually unnoticeable to the reader.
Distance between narrator and character may seem as pronounced as between a radio announcer in a broadcast booth and the players on the football field. Or it might be as close as a character on the field narrating the story with a microphone and helmet camera.
Distance between the reader and the character may be a far as a spectator watching the character from the nosebleed section of the stadium, or so close that the reader feels he has been transplanted into the body and mind of the character.
The diminishing role of direct narration is consistent with trends over the last two hundred years. Donald Maas, in Writing the Breakout Novel, notes that since the invention of the novel it has been transformed by a progressive narrowing of point of view: from the once-essential author’s voice, to omniscient narration, to objective narration, to first- and third-person narration, and most recently to close third-person narration.
Narration as a rhetorical mode may include all written fiction, but as a fiction-writing mode in modern storytelling, it plays a shrinking role.
in written fiction today has a different role than it has played in the past. As a fiction-writing mode, narration has a much smaller part—and a shrinking one, at that.
As do so many words in the English language, narration has more than one meaning. In its broadest context, narration encompasses all written fiction. More narrowly, narration is the fiction-writing mode whereby the narrator communicates directly to the reader.
Along with exposition, argumentation, and description, narration (broadly defined) is one of four rhetorical modes of discourse. In the context of rhetorical modes, the purpose of narration is to tell a story or to narrate an event or series of events. Narrative may exist in a variety of forms: biographies, anecdotes, short stories, novels. In this context, all written fiction can be viewed as narration. Other than as a means of gaining wide perspective, this definition of narration is of limited value to fiction writers.
Some writing experts describe fiction as having two modes: dialogue and narrative. Such a broad view of narrative may be technically correct, but it ignores the opportunities and challenges presented by more specific fiction-writing modes.
Narrowly defined, narration is the fiction-writing mode whereby the narrator is communicating directly to the reader. But if the broad definition of narration includes all written fiction, and the narrow definition is limited merely to that which is directly communicated to the reader, then what comprises the rest of written fiction? The remainder of written fiction would be any of the other fiction-writing modes. Together with narration, there are eleven fiction-writing modes.
Fiction-Writing Modes
(Arranged in order of the anagram D-A-N-C-E S-I-S-T-E-R):
·
Description is the mode by which people, things, or concepts are described.
·
Action is the mode of depicting things happening, in detail, as they happen.
·
Narration is the mode by which the narrator addresses the reader.
·
Conversation is the mode of presenting characters talking.
·
Exposition is the mode of conveying information.
·
Summarization is the mode of restating or recapitulating actions or events.
·
Introspection is the mode of conveying a character’s thinking.
·
Sensation is the mode of presenting the five senses, or maybe even six.
·
Transition is the mode of moving from one place, time, or character to another.
·
Emotion is the mode of conveying how a character feels.
·
Recollection is the mode of describing a character recalling something.
An appreciation of narration, as a fiction-writing mode, requires an understanding of the issues involved:
·
Choice of narrator
·
Point of view
·
Person
·
Tense
·
Obtrusiveness
·
Tone
·
Reliability
·
Disguised narration
·
Distance
CHOICE OF NARRATOR
One of the most important decisions a fiction writer makes is the choice of narrator. According to Orson Scott Card, in Character & Viewpoint, "The story always has a narrator." Instead of the audience seeing events directly (as in plays and films), the story is unavoidably filtered through the perceptions of a narrator.
To understand the role of the narrator in written fiction, the writer must keep four mindsets in perspective.
·
The author is a living, breathing person. He is the creator, doing the brainwork, making decisions, writing.
·
The narrator is the teller of the story, the orator, doing the mouth work, or its in-print equivalent.
·
The point-of-view character, if the story has any, is from whose consciousness the reader hears, sees, and feels the story.
·
The reader is not merely the intended audience; he is a critical participant, reacting to the presentation, and thus influencing how the story is told, even before it is written.
An author’s choice of narrator comes down to three alternatives:
·
Self-narration by the author ("Now dear reader . . ." is an example of author self-narration, sometimes referred to as author intrusion);
·
One or more of the characters in the story ("Call me Ishmael," from Moby Dick is an example from a story narrated by a point-of-view character, Ishmael.); or
·
Some other assumed persona.
Each is a valid choice for narrator, but few choices made by an author have more impact on how the reader will perceive the story and react to it.
POINT OF VIEW
Once the author has decided who will tell the story (the author himself, a character, or some assumed persona), then he must decide from whose viewpoint the story will be told. The choices are:
·
The author himself,
·
A character, or
·
Some assumed persona.
This may seem redundant, but:
·
A self-narrating author may tell the story from his own point of view or he may tell it from the viewpoint of a character;
·
A story narrated by a character would most likely be from the viewpoint of that character (as with Ishmael in Moby Dick), but the story could also be told from another character’s point of view.
·
An assumed persona may tell the story from his own point of view or from a character’s point of view.
Point of view is sometimes described from the perspective of a movie camera, but a better analogy is the media coverage of a professional football game.
·
An author narrating a story from his own point of view is comparable to a radio announcer describing the game from a broadcast booth.
·
A character narrating the story from his own point of view is comparable to play-by-play coverage from a football player rigged with a microphone and a helmet camera.
·
Having the story told by an assumed persona (omniscient or objective) compares to coverage by television commentators with the aid of a dozen cameras stationed at various angles around the field, including a movable camera hanging over the players.
PERSON
Regardless of whom the author selects to be the narrator, the story may be told in one of three persons, singular or plural:
·
First person (I, we)
·
Second person (you)
·
Third person (he, she, it, they)
Novels are rarely told in second person or plural, but an Internet search reveals plenty of examples in short fiction. For novel-length fiction, the choice is usually either first-person singular and third-person singular.
TENSE
The author also has three basic choices for tense:
·
Present tense
·
Future tense
·
Past tense
As described by Orson Scott Card, in Character & Viewpoint, some writers have experimented with stories using subjective, superlative, or imperative tenses. An Internet search reveals examples of fiction written in the present and future tenses, but the vast majority of novels are written in past tense.
OBTRUSIVENESS
Obtrusiveness is a measure of how noticeable the narrator is. Very noticeable narrators are described as obtrusive, while barely noticeable narrators are described as unobtrusive.
The obtrusiveness of narrators may vary from story to story, even stories written by the same author. Obtrusiveness may also vary from one part of a story to another part of the same story.
Stories narrated by a character have an obtrusive narrator (the character, narrating in first person). Stories narrated by the author or by an assumed persona may range from very obtrusive to so unnoticeable there appears to be no narrator at all.
TONE
Through the narrator flows a story’s tone, its mood. According to Nancy Kress, in Writer’s Digest, July 2003, "A very general definition of tone is ‘the way a story feels.’"
Tone, explains Kress, can range from literary (with its attention to diction, descriptive detail, slower pace, and loftiness) to straight forward (which is designed to tell the story with a faster pace, and without distractions).
Within the broad spectrum of tone are a multitude of attitudes which may be projected into the story through the narrator: playfulness, absurdity, mockery, humor, grittiness, jadedness, romance, lust, mystery, irony, satire, indignation, irreverence, dreaminess, seriousness, nostalgia, cynicism, horror. "This attitude," as stated by Kress, "is embodied in diction, pace, detail, characterization—almost everything on the page."
RELIABILITY
Usually the reader may rely upon the narrator to tell the truth, at least the truth as the narrator perceives it. But sometimes an author toys with the reader and causes the narrator to misstate the events or some perception of the story’s truth. As observed by Les Edgerton, in Hooked, ". . . unreliable narrators almost always carry the promise of at least some fun (for the reader) in the story. It’s just plain fun to figure out the truth of a character from the clues the author provides." And according to Orson Scott Card, in Characters & Viewpoint, "The use of an unreliable narrator can add a delicious element of uncertainty to a story . . . ."
DISGUISED NARRATION
Even though all written fiction is narrated and thus has a narrator, some stories, including entire novels, have no apparent narrator. The author has chosen to camouphlage narration, to make the narrator so unobtrusive that the narrator never addresses the reader directly. Instead of direct address, the author presents the entire story through a viewpoint character, converting direct narration to other fiction-writing modes: description, action, conversation, exposition, summarization, introspection, sensation, transition, emotion, or recollection.
DISTANCE
Also referred to as narrative distance, intimacy, or penetration, distance exists in three dimensions: time, space, and emotional intimacy. Distance comes into play in five areas:
·
Between the events of the story and the telling of the story,
·
Between author and narrator,
·
Between narrator and reader,
·
Between narrator and character, and
·
Between reader and character.
As explained by Orson Scott Card, "The narrator, as a participant in the events, is telling about what happens in the past. He is looking backward. He is distant in time from the story itself."
The more an author attempts to self-narrate, the less distance there exists between the author and the narrator. The more an author narrates through a character or an assumed persona, the more distance between the author and the narrator.
Depending upon the technique and attitude used by the author, an obtrusive narrator may appear anywhere on a continuum from quite remote to downright chummy with the reader. On the other extreme, a very unobtrusive narrator may be virtually unnoticeable to the reader.
Distance between narrator and character may seem as pronounced as between a radio announcer in a broadcast booth and the players on the football field. Or it might be as close as a character on the field narrating the story with a microphone and helmet camera.
Distance between the reader and the character may be a far as a spectator watching the character from the nosebleed section of the stadium, or so close that the reader feels he has been transplanted into the body and mind of the character.
The diminishing role of direct narration is consistent with trends over the last two hundred years. Donald Maas, in Writing the Breakout Novel, notes that since the invention of the novel it has been transformed by a progressive narrowing of point of view: from the once-essential author’s voice, to omniscient narration, to objective narration, to first- and third-person narration, and most recently to close third-person narration.
Narration as a rhetorical mode may include all written fiction, but as a fiction-writing mode in modern storytelling, it plays a shrinking role.
The more I learn about writing fiction, the more I realize how complicated and challenging it can be to tell an interesting story. A quote from Ernest Hemingway gives me some comfort, "We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master."
Most of what I've learned about writing has been by studying how-to books about fiction. I'm grateful to authors who have taken time to study the craft and then share their knowledge through fiction-writing seminars, articles, and books. I've reviewed many of the books I have studied over the years, and I've posted the reviews on my blog and at Helium.com.
I've noticed that, although most fiction-writing books offer useful insight into the craft, no one book has all the answers. Some books offer advice that conflicts with recommendations in others. And some advice is more confusing than helpful. In an effort to help others better understand the craft of fiction-writing, I've written a series of articles on the subject of fiction-writing and have posted them on my blog and at Helium.com.
To view a list of my articles and book reviews, just scroll down this page. Categories include:
is the fiction-writing mode for portraying a character’s perception of the senses. Authors are often encouraged to incorporate the five (or maybe even six) senses into their stories. Despite all the emphasis on utilizing the senses, sensation is not widely recognized as a distinct fiction-writing mode. Unfortunately, failure to treat sensation as a fiction-writing mode:
·
Downplays the contribution sensation makes to stories
·
Diminishes the likelihood that sensation will be fully analyzed and understood by students of fiction
·
Reduces the likelihood that sensation will be utilized skillfully and to its full potential
Some writing coaches lump thinking, emotion, and sensation into one category. Certainly, each of these is linked to the mind of the character, but thinking, emotion, and sensation are also quite different, in real life and in fiction. Given their importance and the differences in how they are conveyed, each warrants its own analysis and treatment.
Sometimes sensation is included in broader categories, such as narration, description, or summarization. Of course, sensation may be considered a subset of each of these writing modes under their broadest definitions. But lumping sensation into such wide topics does little to clarify its use; in fact, it adds to the confusion.
Fiction writers aren’t limited to sight, hearing, touch, smell, and taste. In Description & Setting, Ron Rozelle describes a sixth sense—where a character suspects something, or senses that something is wrong, as in an intuition or a premonition.
ELEMENTS OF FICTION. Sensation contributes to each of the five fundamental elements of fiction: character, plot, setting, theme, and style. The most obvious role of sensation is in setting. According to Jessica Page Morrell in Between the Lines, "Writers create intricate settings because readers rely on visual and sensory references . . . . You breathe life into fiction by translating the senses onto the page, producing stories rooted in the physical world . . . that creates a tapestry, a galaxy of interwoven sensory ingredients." Also, as characters move about within the story, "using sensory clues in the new locale, especially sights and smells, will help readers adjust as they move . . . into new territory."
Regarding plot, sensation provides the vivid detail that helps bring action to life, creating verisimilitude. Morrell describes it as a "sensory surround," which when "coupled with drama tugs the reader into [the] story and forces him to keep reading." The old adage "Show, don’t tell" means that you ". . . place [the reader] in the midst of the experience with unfolding action." "Showing requires that the writing be solid, not abstract, and this means that at least one of the senses must be involved to show a specific reality."
Sensation can also be a powerful tool for character development, especially regarding a character’sreaction to particular sensations. In fact, sensation may directly stimulate an emotional response. For example, the sight of a puppy may generate a feeling of happiness, while the sight of a maggot or the touch of a spider may stimulate fear or revulsion. Sensation can encourage recollection, which may be useful as a trigger in transitioning to backstory for character development or for stimulating emotion indirectly.
Likewise, a character’s reaction to sensations may provide a common thread for the development of one or more of a story’s themes. And, of course, how and when sensation is utilized throughout a story and the skill with which sensation is presented are important aspects of an author’s unique writing style.
CONVEYING SENSATION. According to Ron Rozelle, "The sensation of what something feels like is used to describe everything from sensual pleasure to pain and torture. It’s a wide range, and your readers have actually experienced only some of those feelings. So your job is to either make them recall exactly what it feels like when something occurs in your story or, if they haven’t experienced it, what it would feel like if they did."
How do fiction-writers do that? A quick review of dictionary definitions of sensation reveals a mixed bag of terms and phrases such as consciousness, stimulation of the body, mental functioning, bodily feeling, reaction, and perception. Not surprisingly then, the mechanics of effectively conveying sensation are also multifaceted. The variables include:
·
Verbs of sensation
·
Action verbs
·
Modifiers
·
Onomatopoeia
·
Other word choices
·
Comparison
·
Symbolism
·
Clichés
·
Intensity
·
Character emotion
·
Reader emotion
·
Physical reaction
·
Hierarchy of senses
·
Choice of sensation
·
Narrative distance
VERBS OF SENSATION. The basic verbs of sensation are see, hear, feel, smell, and taste. For any particular passage involving a character’s perception of the senses, fiction-writers face the choice of whether or not to actually utilize the applicable verb of sensation.
Example using verbs of sensation (in italics):
·
Cisco paused at the back door of the livery stable. He smelled a mixture of prairie hay and manure. He could see horse stalls to his right and rows of saddle racks to the left. He heard a horse whinny and stomp its hooves.
As explained by Evan Marshall, in The Marshall Plan for Getting Published, "Though it’s desirable to make use of your character’s senses in your writing, it’s rarely necessary to use the actual verbs of perception such as saw, heard, and smelled. Ironically, these words distance the reader from your viewpoint character because they remind the reader that he is not actually living the story through the character." In lieu of using the verbs of sensation, Marshall recommends that authors simply describe the sensation.
Example without verbs of sensation:
·
Cisco paused at the back door of the livery stable. The air reeked of prairie hay and manure. On his right stood horse stalls. To his left, rows of saddle racks. A horse whinnied and stomped its hooves.
ACTION VERBS. Distinct from the verbs of sensation are the action verbs needed to either:
·
Maneuver the character into position to experience the sensation, or
·
Describe an action the character must perform prior to being able to receive the sensation.
For example:
·
Before a character can see, he may have to look
· Before a character can hear, he may have to listen
· Before a character feel, he may have to touch
· Before a character can smell, he may have to sniff
· Before a character can taste, he may have to eat
Example where action verbs (in italics) set the character up to experience the sensation:
·
Something in the air caught Cisco’s attention. He sniffed. Smoke. Mesquite wood. He clutched his Colt 45, its grip soothing to his jittery nerves. He edged closer to the door of the livery stable and peeked inside.
If the basic verbs of sensation are see, hear, feel, smell, and taste, then the plain-vanilla action verbs of sensation are look, listen, touch, sniff, and eat. For each of the action verbs of sensation there are synonyms. The number of synonyms available depends upon the sense being employed. For example, Stephen Glazier’s Word Menu software lists dozens of verbs of motion and dozens of verbs of sight, but none for hearing, touch, taste, or smell. Synonyms for look include observe, study, gaze, glance, peek, and many more. For touch there are caress, finger, handle, and so on. For taste, there are various synonyms for eat, including nibble, chew, lick, bite, chomp. The usable synonyms for listen and sniff are pretty limited: hearken? inhale?
Whether or not action verbs are needed or desirable to help the character experience the sensation depends on the situation. And sometimes action verbs are useful for other reasons, such as for dramatic effect, rhythm, or pacing.
MODIFIERS. As a fiction-writing mode, sensation is particularly vulnerable to the overuse of modifiers. Adjectives and adverbs tend to dilute the effectiveness of description; they tell rather than show. This is especially the case with adverbs ending in –ly.
Example using lots of adjectives and adverbs (in italics)
·
Cisco paused at the weathered back door of the rickety, old livery stable. The humid air reeked with the pungent smell of fresh prairie hay and the rank stench of horse manure. On his right stood dilapidated horse stalls. To his left, rows of dusty saddle racks. A horse whinnied shrilly and stomped its hooves nervously.
Example using fewer adjectives and adverbs
·
Cisco paused at the back door of the livery stable. The air reeked of prairie hay and manure. On his right stood horse stalls. To his left, rows of saddle racks. A horse whinnied and stomped its hooves.
Sometimes a modifier adds just the right touch, sometimes it deadens the sensation. It’s case by case, depending on a host of variables, including context, pacing, and tone.
ONOMATOPOEIA. Regarding the sensation of hearing, Rozelle suggests onomatopoeia as a means of letting the reader hear things. Does a fan merely spin, or does it whir? Does a skeleton merely shake, or does it rattle or clatter ? Onomatopoeia may function as either nouns or verbs. The duck quacked. The duck’s quack echoed across the valley.
OTHER WORD CHOICES. Fortunately (even beyond verbs of sensation, action verbs, adjectives, adverbs, and onomatopoeia) there is a rich universe of words available to portray sensation. The choice of one word over another can make a difference in effectively conveying sensation. For example, does a lover touch—or caress? Should a particular smell be described as an aroma? Ascent? An odor? A stench? Does the word generate a positive connotation or negative? How does a change of words alter the emotional response? Which emotions are stimulated by each word choice? Sometimes the differences are subtle; sometimes they’re substantial.
COMPARISON. According to Rozelle, "Saying what something smelled like or tasted like or felt like is always telling." Similes and metaphors are important means of description in many forms of writing. Sensation lends itself to comparison, but sometimes a sensation may be best described through contrast. As in Rozelle’s example of a tasteless stew, sometimes the most effective description is to describe what something doesn’t taste like.
SYMBOLISM. Sometimes sensation can take on a greater meaning. According to Rozelle, ". . . using something seemingly small to enlarge or call attention to the bigger picture, will serve you well time after time." Subtle use of symbols can be an effective means of reinforcing themes. But, warns Rozelle, "The use of symbolism can be tricky business for a writer and can quickly go over the top. Modern-day readers aren’t as a rule very tolerant of blatant symbolism . . . ."
CLICHÉS. The sensation mode of fiction-writing, to borrow a cliché, is a target-rich environment for clichés. As stated by Rozelle, when depicting sensation, "Avoid giving your reader the overused clichés that she’s read time after time after time. Like a startled character being caught "like a deer in the headlights," or one gazing intently "staring daggers." Those have been done to death. But they are resurrected by far too many authors."
INTENSITY. Sensation has a range of intensity, from overwhelming, on one extreme, down to the absence of sensation. Think of movies where action scenes rumble with so much sound that it can shake your popcorn out of its box. But then the aftermath may be marked by softness, silence, or darkness. As explained by Rozelle, "There will be times when you will want to be loud." On the other hand, "Sometimes the absence of something is the most effective description of all."
CHARACTER EMOTION. Sensation can create emotion within a character, and that emotion may be used to channel the story in different directions. A character’s attitude toward a sensation may reveal character. Emotion may be used to transition into backstory. Emotion may hint at a theme or help establish tone. Emotions (such as fear, curiosity, frustration, anger, lust) may advance plot by propelling the character into action.
READER EMOTION. As explained by Rozelle, "When using the sense of touch, you won’t always be describing what a character feels. Sometime you’ll be nudging your readers toward what you want them to feel when they read your fiction, so they can associate a feeling that they might never have experienced with one that they probably have."
Many times the reader’s emotional response will mirror the character’s emotions, but sometimes not. For example, a viewpoint character may enjoy torturing a victim, but the reader might be appalled. A character may enjoy a tender love scene, but the reader may be horrified because one of the characters is a serial killer.
PHYSICAL REACTION. Often the best way to communicate a sensation is to portray the character’s reaction to it. According to Rozelle, especially "When its time to inflict a bit of pain and suffering in your fiction, put more emphasis on your character’sreaction
to it than on the actual description of it." Which sensations would make your character’s mouth water or his skin crawl? Which sensations would make him gag? Jump? Duck? Cough? Hold his nose?
Traditionally, in real life and in fiction, stimulus precedes response: first there is action then there is a reaction. But according to Marshall, "To show a character’s reaction to something shocking, break the action/result rule and show the reaction before describing what is being reacted to. This may seem backward, but what happens is ". . . a tiny moment of suspense is created between the horrified reaction and the description of what’s being seen."
Example of action followed by reaction (stimulus then response):
·
A gun fired, and Cisco flinched.
Example of response preceding stimulus:
·
Cisco flinched. A gunshot.
HIERARCHY OF SENSES. Not all of the senses were created equally; some are more powerful than others, depending on the situation. For example, as stated by Rozelle, "I heard or read somewhere that the sense of smell is the most nostalgic of the five senses." "The fact that your reader’s olfactory memory is laden with treasures is reason enough for you to take full advantage of it. If this truly is the most nostalgic of the physical senses, then you should draw on it like a bank account, tapping it often to engage your readers more fully."
Also according to Rozelle, taste is perhaps the most reliable of all the senses. "The others can sometimes be deceptive, but what something tastes like is usually quite simply the pure essence of the thing." Think of cinnamon, pepper, sugar, salt.
According to Todd A. Stone in Novelist’s Boot Camp, some senses are more intimate than others. He outlines a hierarchy of senses, ranging from least intimate to most: sight, sound, touch, smell, taste. Stone encourages writer’s to build a connection between the reader and the story by using the more-intimate senses to make descriptions emotionally powerful.
CHOICE OF SENSATION. If you were a carpenter, you wouldn’t build a cabinet using just one tool. You might use a saw, but you would probably also use hammers, chisels, planes, and routers; each in its most appropriate time and place. According to Rozelle, "Too many writers make the mistake of packing almost all of their description into showing what everything in the story looks like, bypassing more effective senses." Limiting portrayal of sensation to sight may also mean that the writer is overusing the least intimate of the sensations, and failing to take advantage of opportunities to utilize more intimacy.
To get a feel for the telescoping effect of intimacy in sensation, try this exercise:
·
Imagine seeing a coffee pot
·
Imagine hearing coffee dripping into the pot
·
Imagine touching the hot pot
·
Imagine smelling the fresh coffee
·
Imagine tasting the fresh brew
Real life engages more than one sensation at a time; why shouldn’t fiction?
NARRATIVE DISTANCE. Donald Maas, in Writing the Breakout Novel, notes that since the invention of the novel it has been transformed by a progressive narrowing of point of view: from the once-essential author’s voice, to omniscient narration, to objective narration, to first- and third-person narration, and most recently to close third-person narration.
According to Maass, today’s reader wants an authentic experience. Skillful inclusion of a character’s sensory perception can go a long way toward adding verisimilitude to fiction, involving the reader, and making it seem more realistic.
According to Ron Rozelle in Description and Setting, ". . .the success of your story or novel will depend on many things, but the most crucial is your ability to bring your reader into it. And that reader will be most completely in when you deliver the actual sensations of the many things that comprise your story."
Renni Browne and Dave King, in Self-Editing for the Fiction Writer, observe that "One of the signs that you are writing from an intimate point of view is that the line between your descriptions and your interior monologue begins to blur. Readers move effortlessly from seeing the world through your character’s eyes to seeing the world through your character’s mind and back again." Although Browne and King were referring to internal monologue (introspection), the same could be said of sensation.
WRITING TIPS. Authors intentionally (for whatever reason) writing in a style that puts distance between the character and the reader have wide latitude in their choices for portraying sensation. But writers striving for an unobtrusive style that engages the reader should consider these guidelines:
·
Don’t use the verbs of sensation unless absolutely necessary
·
Use action verbs of sensation only when the situation requires them, or where they are useful for dramatic effect, rhythm, pacing, etc.
·
Avoid the use of modifiers, especially adverbs ending in –ly
· Use onomatopoeia to help the reader hear words
·
Make other word choices carefully
·
Use comparative description and contrasting description, with metaphors and similes, where appropriate
·
Reinforce theme by using sensation as symbols
· Avoid clichés like the plague, unless they fit some purpose to a tee.
·
Utilize the full range of intensity available in sensation
·
Where appropriate, utilize a character’s sixth sense
·
Engage sensation as a means of stimulating character emotion
· Utilize sensation a means of stimulating reader emotion
· Use physical reaction as a means of conveying sensation
·
In action scenes, occasionally reverse the order of stimulus-response reactions
·
Be aware of the hierarchy of sensations, particularly relating to intimacy, when choosing which sensations to portray
·
When appropriate, employ more than one sensation
·
Strive for unobtrusive, intimate conveyance of sensation as a means of reducing narrative distance
Today’s reader expects to live the story through the mind of the character, experiencing the story as if the reader is the character. Effective use of the sensation as a fiction-writing mode can go a long way toward making that experience a virtual reality.
is the fiction-writing mode for portraying a character’s perception of the senses. Authors are often encouraged to incorporate the five (or maybe even six) senses into their stories. Despite all the emphasis on utilizing the senses, sensation is not widely recognized as a distinct fiction-writing mode. Unfortunately, failure to treat sensation as a fiction-writing mode:
·
Downplays the contribution sensation makes to stories
·
Diminishes the likelihood that sensation will be fully analyzed and understood by students of fiction
·
Reduces the likelihood that sensation will be utilized skillfully and to its full potential
Some writing coaches lump thinking, emotion, and sensation into one category. Certainly, each of these is linked to the mind of the character, but thinking, emotion, and sensation are also quite different, in real life and in fiction. Given their importance and the differences in how they are conveyed, each warrants its own analysis and treatment.
Sometimes sensation is included in broader categories, such as narration, description, or summarization. Of course, sensation may be considered a subset of each of these writing modes under their broadest definitions. But lumping sensation into such wide topics does little to clarify its use; in fact, it adds to the confusion.
Fiction writers aren’t limited to sight, hearing, touch, smell, and taste. In Description & Setting, Ron Rozelle describes a sixth sense—where a character suspects something, or senses that something is wrong, as in an intuition or a premonition.
ELEMENTS OF FICTION. Sensation contributes to each of the five fundamental elements of fiction: character, plot, setting, theme, and style. The most obvious role of sensation is in setting. According to Jessica Page Morrell in Between the Lines, "Writers create intricate settings because readers rely on visual and sensory references . . . . You breathe life into fiction by translating the senses onto the page, producing stories rooted in the physical world . . . that creates a tapestry, a galaxy of interwoven sensory ingredients." Also, as characters move about within the story, "using sensory clues in the new locale, especially sights and smells, will help readers adjust as they move . . . into new territory."
Regarding plot, sensation provides the vivid detail that helps bring action to life, creating verisimilitude. Morrell describes it as a "sensory surround," which when "coupled with drama tugs the reader into [the] story and forces him to keep reading." The old adage "Show, don’t tell" means that you ". . . place [the reader] in the midst of the experience with unfolding action." "Showing requires that the writing be solid, not abstract, and this means that at least one of the senses must be involved to show a specific reality."
Sensation can also be a powerful tool for character development, especially regarding a character’sreaction to particular sensations. In fact, sensation may directly stimulate an emotional response. For example, the sight of a puppy may generate a feeling of happiness, while the sight of a maggot or the touch of a spider may stimulate fear or revulsion. Sensation can encourage recollection, which may be useful as a trigger in transitioning to backstory for character development or for stimulating emotion indirectly.
Likewise, a character’s reaction to sensations may provide a common thread for the development of one or more of a story’s themes. And, of course, how and when sensation is utilized throughout a story and the skill with which sensation is presented are important aspects of an author’s unique writing style.
CONVEYING SENSATION. According to Ron Rozelle, "The sensation of what something feels like is used to describe everything from sensual pleasure to pain and torture. It’s a wide range, and your readers have actually experienced only some of those feelings. So your job is to either make them recall exactly what it feels like when something occurs in your story or, if they haven’t experienced it, what it would feel like if they did."
How do fiction-writers do that? A quick review of dictionary definitions of sensation reveals a mixed bag of terms and phrases such as consciousness, stimulation of the body, mental functioning, bodily feeling, reaction, and perception. Not surprisingly then, the mechanics of effectively conveying sensation are also multifaceted. The variables include:
·
Verbs of sensation
·
Action verbs
·
Modifiers
·
Onomatopoeia
·
Other word choices
·
Comparison
·
Symbolism
·
Clichés
·
Intensity
·
Character emotion
·
Reader emotion
·
Physical reaction
·
Hierarchy of senses
·
Choice of sensation
·
Narrative distance
VERBS OF SENSATION. The basic verbs of sensation are see, hear, feel, smell, and taste. For any particular passage involving a character’s perception of the senses, fiction-writers face the choice of whether or not to actually utilize the applicable verb of sensation.
Example using verbs of sensation (in italics):
·
Cisco paused at the back door of the livery stable. He smelled a mixture of prairie hay and manure. He could see horse stalls to his right and rows of saddle racks to the left. He heard a horse whinny and stomp its hooves.
As explained by Evan Marshall, in The Marshall Plan for Getting Published, "Though it’s desirable to make use of your character’s senses in your writing, it’s rarely necessary to use the actual verbs of perception such as saw, heard, and smelled. Ironically, these words distance the reader from your viewpoint character because they remind the reader that he is not actually living the story through the character." In lieu of using the verbs of sensation, Marshall recommends that authors simply describe the sensation.
Example without verbs of sensation:
·
Cisco paused at the back door of the livery stable. The air reeked of prairie hay and manure. On his right stood horse stalls. To his left, rows of saddle racks. A horse whinnied and stomped its hooves.
ACTION VERBS. Distinct from the verbs of sensation are the action verbs needed to either:
·
Maneuver the character into position to experience the sensation, or
·
Describe an action the character must perform prior to being able to receive the sensation.
For example:
·
Before a character can see, he may have to look
· Before a character can hear, he may have to listen
· Before a character feel, he may have to touch
· Before a character can smell, he may have to sniff
· Before a character can taste, he may have to eat
Example where action verbs (in italics) set the character up to experience the sensation:
·
Something in the air caught Cisco’s attention. He sniffed. Smoke. Mesquite wood. He clutched his Colt 45, its grip soothing to his jittery nerves. He edged closer to the door of the livery stable and peeked inside.
If the basic verbs of sensation are see, hear, feel, smell, and taste, then the plain-vanilla action verbs of sensation are look, listen, touch, sniff, and eat. For each of the action verbs of sensation there are synonyms. The number of synonyms available depends upon the sense being employed. For example, Stephen Glazier’s Word Menu software lists dozens of verbs of motion and dozens of verbs of sight, but none for hearing, touch, taste, or smell. Synonyms for look include observe, study, gaze, glance, peek, and many more. For touch there are caress, finger, handle, and so on. For taste, there are various synonyms for eat, including nibble, chew, lick, bite, chomp. The usable synonyms for listen and sniff are pretty limited: hearken? inhale?
Whether or not action verbs are needed or desirable to help the character experience the sensation depends on the situation. And sometimes action verbs are useful for other reasons, such as for dramatic effect, rhythm, or pacing.
MODIFIERS. As a fiction-writing mode, sensation is particularly vulnerable to the overuse of modifiers. Adjectives and adverbs tend to dilute the effectiveness of description; they tell rather than show. This is especially the case with adverbs ending in –ly.
Example using lots of adjectives and adverbs (in italics)
·
Cisco paused at the weathered back door of the rickety, old livery stable. The humid air reeked with the pungent smell of fresh prairie hay and the rank stench of horse manure. On his right stood dilapidated horse stalls. To his left, rows of dusty saddle racks. A horse whinnied shrilly and stomped its hooves nervously.
Example using fewer adjectives and adverbs
·
Cisco paused at the back door of the livery stable. The air reeked of prairie hay and manure. On his right stood horse stalls. To his left, rows of saddle racks. A horse whinnied and stomped its hooves.
Sometimes a modifier adds just the right touch, sometimes it deadens the sensation. It’s case by case, depending on a host of variables, including context, pacing, and tone.
ONOMATOPOEIA. Regarding the sensation of hearing, Rozelle suggests onomatopoeia as a means of letting the reader hear things. Does a fan merely spin, or does it whir? Does a skeleton merely shake, or does it rattle or clatter ? Onomatopoeia may function as either nouns or verbs. The duck quacked. The duck’s quack echoed across the valley.
OTHER WORD CHOICES. Fortunately (even beyond verbs of sensation, action verbs, adjectives, adverbs, and onomatopoeia) there is a rich universe of words available to portray sensation. The choice of one word over another can make a difference in effectively conveying sensation. For example, does a lover touch—or caress? Should a particular smell be described as an aroma? Ascent? An odor? A stench? Does the word generate a positive connotation or negative? How does a change of words alter the emotional response? Which emotions are stimulated by each word choice? Sometimes the differences are subtle; sometimes they’re substantial.
COMPARISON. According to Rozelle, "Saying what something smelled like or tasted like or felt like is always telling." Similes and metaphors are important means of description in many forms of writing. Sensation lends itself to comparison, but sometimes a sensation may be best described through contrast. As in Rozelle’s example of a tasteless stew, sometimes the most effective description is to describe what something doesn’t taste like.
SYMBOLISM. Sometimes sensation can take on a greater meaning. According to Rozelle, ". . . using something seemingly small to enlarge or call attention to the bigger picture, will serve you well time after time." Subtle use of symbols can be an effective means of reinforcing themes. But, warns Rozelle, "The use of symbolism can be tricky business for a writer and can quickly go over the top. Modern-day readers aren’t as a rule very tolerant of blatant symbolism . . . ."
CLICHÉS. The sensation mode of fiction-writing, to borrow a cliché, is a target-rich environment for clichés. As stated by Rozelle, when depicting sensation, "Avoid giving your reader the overused clichés that she’s read time after time after time. Like a startled character being caught "like a deer in the headlights," or one gazing intently "staring daggers." Those have been done to death. But they are resurrected by far too many authors."
INTENSITY. Sensation has a range of intensity, from overwhelming, on one extreme, down to the absence of sensation. Think of movies where action scenes rumble with so much sound that it can shake your popcorn out of its box. But then the aftermath may be marked by softness, silence, or darkness. As explained by Rozelle, "There will be times when you will want to be loud." On the other hand, "Sometimes the absence of something is the most effective description of all."
CHARACTER EMOTION. Sensation can create emotion within a character, and that emotion may be used to channel the story in different directions. A character’s attitude toward a sensation may reveal character. Emotion may be used to transition into backstory. Emotion may hint at a theme or help establish tone. Emotions (such as fear, curiosity, frustration, anger, lust) may advance plot by propelling the character into action.
READER EMOTION. As explained by Rozelle, "When using the sense of touch, you won’t always be describing what a character feels. Sometime you’ll be nudging your readers toward what you want them to feel when they read your fiction, so they can associate a feeling that they might never have experienced with one that they probably have."
Many times the reader’s emotional response will mirror the character’s emotions, but sometimes not. For example, a viewpoint character may enjoy torturing a victim, but the reader might be appalled. A character may enjoy a tender love scene, but the reader may be horrified because one of the characters is a serial killer.
PHYSICAL REACTION. Often the best way to communicate a sensation is to portray the character’s reaction to it. According to Rozelle, especially "When its time to inflict a bit of pain and suffering in your fiction, put more emphasis on your character’sreaction
to it than on the actual description of it." Which sensations would make your character’s mouth water or his skin crawl? Which sensations would make him gag? Jump? Duck? Cough? Hold his nose?
Traditionally, in real life and in fiction, stimulus precedes response: first there is action then there is a reaction. But according to Marshall, "To show a character’s reaction to something shocking, break the action/result rule and show the reaction before describing what is being reacted to. This may seem backward, but what happens is ". . . a tiny moment of suspense is created between the horrified reaction and the description of what’s being seen."
Example of action followed by reaction (stimulus then response):
·
A gun fired, and Cisco flinched.
Example of response preceding stimulus:
·
Cisco flinched. A gunshot.
HIERARCHY OF SENSES. Not all of the senses were created equally; some are more powerful than others, depending on the situation. For example, as stated by Rozelle, "I heard or read somewhere that the sense of smell is the most nostalgic of the five senses." "The fact that your reader’s olfactory memory is laden with treasures is reason enough for you to take full advantage of it. If this truly is the most nostalgic of the physical senses, then you should draw on it like a bank account, tapping it often to engage your readers more fully."
Also according to Rozelle, taste is perhaps the most reliable of all the senses. "The others can sometimes be deceptive, but what something tastes like is usually quite simply the pure essence of the thing." Think of cinnamon, pepper, sugar, salt.
According to Todd A. Stone in Novelist’s Boot Camp, some senses are more intimate than others. He outlines a hierarchy of senses, ranging from least intimate to most: sight, sound, touch, smell, taste. Stone encourages writer’s to build a connection between the reader and the story by using the more-intimate senses to make descriptions emotionally powerful.
CHOICE OF SENSATION. If you were a carpenter, you wouldn’t build a cabinet using just one tool. You might use a saw, but you would probably also use hammers, chisels, planes, and routers; each in its most appropriate time and place. According to Rozelle, "Too many writers make the mistake of packing almost all of their description into showing what everything in the story looks like, bypassing more effective senses." Limiting portrayal of sensation to sight may also mean that the writer is overusing the least intimate of the sensations, and failing to take advantage of opportunities to utilize more intimacy.
To get a feel for the telescoping effect of intimacy in sensation, try this exercise:
·
Imagine seeing a coffee pot
·
Imagine hearing coffee dripping into the pot
·
Imagine touching the hot pot
·
Imagine smelling the fresh coffee
·
Imagine tasting the fresh brew
Real life engages more than one sensation at a time; why shouldn’t fiction?
NARRATIVE DISTANCE. Donald Maas, in Writing the Breakout Novel, notes that since the invention of the novel it has been transformed by a progressive narrowing of point of view: from the once-essential author’s voice, to omniscient narration, to objective narration, to first- and third-person narration, and most recently to close third-person narration.
According to Maass, today’s reader wants an authentic experience. Skillful inclusion of a character’s sensory perception can go a long way toward adding verisimilitude to fiction, involving the reader, and making it seem more realistic.
According to Ron Rozelle in Description and Setting, ". . .the success of your story or novel will depend on many things, but the most crucial is your ability to bring your reader into it. And that reader will be most completely in when you deliver the actual sensations of the many things that comprise your story."
Renni Browne and Dave King, in Self-Editing for the Fiction Writer, observe that "One of the signs that you are writing from an intimate point of view is that the line between your descriptions and your interior monologue begins to blur. Readers move effortlessly from seeing the world through your character’s eyes to seeing the world through your character’s mind and back again." Although Browne and King were referring to internal monologue (introspection), the same could be said of sensation.
WRITING TIPS. Authors intentionally (for whatever reason) writing in a style that puts distance between the character and the reader have wide latitude in their choices for portraying sensation. But writers striving for an unobtrusive style that engages the reader should consider these guidelines:
·
Don’t use the verbs of sensation unless absolutely necessary
·
Use action verbs of sensation only when the situation requires them, or where they are useful for dramatic effect, rhythm, pacing, etc.
·
Avoid the use of modifiers, especially adverbs ending in –ly
· Use onomatopoeia to help the reader hear words
·
Make other word choices carefully
·
Use comparative description and contrasting description, with metaphors and similes, where appropriate
·
Reinforce theme by using sensation as symbols
· Avoid clichés like the plague, unless they fit some purpose to a tee.
·
Utilize the full range of intensity available in sensation
·
Where appropriate, utilize a character’s sixth sense
·
Engage sensation as a means of stimulating character emotion
· Utilize sensation a means of stimulating reader emotion
· Use physical reaction as a means of conveying sensation
·
In action scenes, occasionally reverse the order of stimulus-response reactions
·
Be aware of the hierarchy of sensations, particularly relating to intimacy, when choosing which sensations to portray
·
When appropriate, employ more than one sensation
·
Strive for unobtrusive, intimate conveyance of sensation as a means of reducing narrative distance
Today’s reader expects to live the story through the mind of the character, experiencing the story as if the reader is the character. Effective use of the sensation as a fiction-writing mode can go a long way toward making that experience a virtual reality.
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, by J. K. Rowling
·
Immortal:A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Novel, by Christopher Golden and Nancy Holder
·
Holes, by Louis Sachar
·
Eragon, by Christopher Paolini
Even though these five novels vary significantly, they have one large common denominator: each is a great story that adolescent boys can enjoy. Great stories share common traits, and those traits coincide with the five fundamental elements of fiction (character, plot, setting, theme, and style).
CHARACTER. According to Donald Maass, in Writing the Breakout Novel, great stories " . . . involve characters whom you cannot forget. . . they are larger than life . . . they act, speak, and think in ways you or I . . . do not." Each of these five novels has at least one unforgettable character. In young-adult novels, that often means characters who are intriguing and complicated; they grow or mature; they emerge from the story as changed people.
In four of the five novels listed above, the protagonist is a boy. That’s not a coincidence. Just as girls are more likely to identify with a female character, boys are more likely to enjoy a male protagonist. But Buffy the Vampire Slayer shows that an intriguing female character can also hold a guy’s reading attention.
PLOT. The characters must do something important. According to Maass, in great novels "what happens to the characters in the course of the story is unusual, dramatic, and meaningful. A great story involves great events."
In the novels listed above, the respective protagonist:
·
Wages intergalactic war against aliens
·
Uses magic to battle evil wizards
·
Fights and kills the undead threatening her hometown
·
Searches for buried treasure in a juvenile-detention camp
·
Rides a dragon into battle to defend the oppressed
SETTING. Characters don’t perform on an empty stage. As outlined by Maass, your favorite novels "probably . . . whisked you into their worlds, transported you to other times or places, and held you captive there." That means setting is more than just a stage. It incorporates a milieu, a broader sense of culture and environment, so integrated into the story that setting almost becomes another character.
In the novels listed above, the settings include:
·
A space-station training facility
·
A school for young wizards
·
A town infested with vampires
·
A juvenile-detention facility on a dry lake bed inhabited by poisonous lizards
·
A medieval world ruled by an ruthless sorcerer
THEME. A great novel is more than just entertainment. According to Maass, another aspect of great stories is that they alter the reader’s way of seeing the world. Ideally, a great young-adult novel leaves the reader better able to cope with whatever real-world challenges he may face. In each of the novels listed above, a young protagonist overcomes incredible obstacles and emerges as a stronger, wiser person.
STYLE. Style is the "how" of fiction, reflecting a myriad of choices made by the author, from individual word choice to establishing the tone. Although the novels listed above differ significantly in various aspects of style, they share one overall trait: they are each told in an accessible, straight-forward style.
In capsule form, the cornerstones of a great novel for young-adult males are:
·
An intriguing, complicated, larger-than-life character
·
A dramatic, meaningful plot
·
A captivating setting
·
An appropriate theme
·
An accessible, straight-forward style
When these traits are combined into one story, the reader is hooked from the beginning, keeps turning the pages, and at the end is left hungry for more.
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, by J. K. Rowling
·
Immortal:A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Novel, by Christopher Golden and Nancy Holder
·
Holes, by Louis Sachar
·
Eragon, by Christopher Paolini
Even though these five novels vary significantly, they have one large common denominator: each is a great story that adolescent boys can enjoy. Great stories share common traits, and those traits coincide with the five fundamental elements of fiction (character, plot, setting, theme, and style).
CHARACTER. According to Donald Maass, in Writing the Breakout Novel, great stories " . . . involve characters whom you cannot forget. . . they are larger than life . . . they act, speak, and think in ways you or I . . . do not." Each of these five novels has at least one unforgettable character. In young-adult novels, that often means characters who are intriguing and complicated; they grow or mature; they emerge from the story as changed people.
In four of the five novels listed above, the protagonist is a boy. That’s not a coincidence. Just as girls are more likely to identify with a female character, boys are more likely to enjoy a male protagonist. But Buffy the Vampire Slayer shows that an intriguing female character can also hold a guy’s reading attention.
PLOT. The characters must do something important. According to Maass, in great novels "what happens to the characters in the course of the story is unusual, dramatic, and meaningful. A great story involves great events."
In the novels listed above, the respective protagonist:
·
Wages intergalactic war against aliens
·
Uses magic to battle evil wizards
·
Fights and kills the undead threatening her hometown
·
Searches for buried treasure in a juvenile-detention camp
·
Rides a dragon into battle to defend the oppressed
SETTING. Characters don’t perform on an empty stage. As outlined by Maass, your favorite novels "probably . . . whisked you into their worlds, transported you to other times or places, and held you captive there." That means setting is more than just a stage. It incorporates a milieu, a broader sense of culture and environment, so integrated into the story that setting almost becomes another character.
In the novels listed above, the settings include:
·
A space-station training facility
·
A school for young wizards
·
A town infested with vampires
·
A juvenile-detention facility on a dry lake bed inhabited by poisonous lizards
·
A medieval world ruled by an ruthless sorcerer
THEME. A great novel is more than just entertainment. According to Maass, another aspect of great stories is that they alter the reader’s way of seeing the world. Ideally, a great young-adult novel leaves the reader better able to cope with whatever real-world challenges he may face. In each of the novels listed above, a young protagonist overcomes incredible obstacles and emerges as a stronger, wiser person.
STYLE. Style is the "how" of fiction, reflecting a myriad of choices made by the author, from individual word choice to establishing the tone. Although the novels listed above differ significantly in various aspects of style, they share one overall trait: they are each told in an accessible, straight-forward style.
In capsule form, the cornerstones of a great novel for young-adult males are:
·
An intriguing, complicated, larger-than-life character
·
A dramatic, meaningful plot
·
A captivating setting
·
An appropriate theme
·
An accessible, straight-forward style
When these traits are combined into one story, the reader is hooked from the beginning, keeps turning the pages, and at the end is left hungry for more.
Book Review: HOOKED: Write Fiction That Grabs Readers at Page One and Never Lets Them Go
By Les Edgerton
Writer’s Digest Books, 2007
THE
BOOK ABOUT BEGINNINGS
Books about fiction-writing tend to fall into one of three categories:
·
A-Z books, which address a wide spectrum of fiction-writing issues
·
Quasi-biographical books, which are as much about the author as they are about writing
·
Narrow-focus books, which take an in-depth look at a specific aspect of fiction-writing
Hooked,
by Les Edgerton, focuses on one aspect of fiction-writing: beginnings. In general, readers should expect a narrow-focus book to:
·
Adequately address its topic of focus, compiling and reorganizing the body of existing information
·
Debunk misinformation and out-of-date practices about the topic
·
Offer new ideas and insight about the topic
Les Edgerton has accomplished all of these in Hooked.
Why a whole book about beginnings? As explained by Edgerton, "The simple truth is, if your beginning doesn’t do the job it needs to, the rest of the story most likely won’t be read by the agent or editor or publisher you submit it to."
Edgerton addresses misinformation and out-of-date practices from a historical perspective and as they relate to literary fiction. Whenever an author sheds new light on a subject, there is a risk that someone will be offended: no exception here. Writers, of any genre, in the habit of beginning stories with hefty servings of backstory or description get an earful.
Those who believe that studying the classics is the key to understanding fiction may be turned off by Edgerton’s take on beginnings: ". . . many of the great books from the past aren’t practical structure models for today’s market, particularly in the way some of those books begin." And, "Beginnings have changed more than any other part of story structure."
Likewise, fans of literary fiction may take exception to some of Edgerton’s observations. "Bookscan has revealed the decline of what is usually referred to as literary fiction. This category of fiction may be dying because it has stuck with the story structure model of yesteryear much more so than any other category."
To Edgerton’s credit, Hooked goes beyond a mere regurgitation and reorganization of the subject of beginnings. A cornerstone of Edgerton’s lesson is the distinction between what he refers to as the initial surface problem and the story-worthy problem. Edgerton also breaks new ground by introducing the concepts of:
·
Passive vs. active description
·
Passive vs. active backstory
As with any new concept, time will tell whether these will be accepted by the writing community and incorporated into the body of knowledge surrounding the craft of fiction-writing.
One of the challenges of any narrow-focus book is to take a subject (which is typically addressed in a magazine article or as a single chapter of a book) and fill a book-sized manuscript without resorting to repetition, filler, and padding. Although though some points are belabored and some of the examples are a bit tedious, there is plenty of valuable information and insight in Hooked.
Critics of the book may note that some of the examples are overly literary and fall flat for writers of other genres, but Edgerton more than makes up for this shortfall with examples from popular movies. Although Edgerton pays homage to the use of scene and sequel, he doesn’t adequately explain either, or how they may be used to construct beginnings. More information about fiction-writing modes would have been helpful. Maybe future editions of Hooked will address these issues.
Hooked
is organized into eleven chapters:
·
Story structure and scene
·
Opening scenes
·
Inciting incident, initial surface problem, story-worthy problem
Although the book doesn’t provide a recap or exercises at end of chapters, it does offer an index at the end for easy reference.
Hooked
is a must for the bookshelf of serious students of fiction. It’s the book about beginnings.
The last chapter is structured as questions and answers from agents and publishers. For example, from agent Jodie Rhodes: " . . . the more modest the writer, the better the writing. That’s because good writers know how much they still have to learn."
