Monthly Archives: February 2024

Shouldn’t Fiction Writers Get Paid More?

As the old saying goes, if you want to make a small fortune by writing fiction, start with a large fortune. Spoiler alert—the answer to this post’s title question is ‘yes.’

The Problem

Fiction writers should get paid more than most of them do. Consider the loneliness of writing, the struggle to gather the right words—out of many thousands—and to arrange them in just the right order, the trepidation of submitting a manuscript, the anxious anticipation of awaiting a response, the crushing despair of rejection.

Mere doctors and lawyers, accustomed to their lives of ease, could never stand the strain. Yet, by the most paradoxical injustice of our universe, members of these professions earn much more money than most fiction writers.

The Plea

As mentioned in an article in The Guardian, author Philip Pullman wrote an open letter to British publishers, imploring them to pay writers more. He made his case on the basis of fairness, stating that it’s in everyone’s interest to ensure authors can make a living.

Plan A

The uncaring and indifferent among you might ask where the money (these additional funds for deserving authors) should come from. The letter doesn’t cover that matter in detail because the answer is obvious. After all, publishers spend most of their time luxuriating in their vaults, counting and recounting their excess money. They use bills as scrap paper. They use gold coins to shim the legs of wobbly desks. They’re awash in cash, drowning in it.

The letter doesn’t ask publishers to part with all their money, just enough so starving writers can eat. It’s not too much to ask. Publishers will still retain plenty of scrap paper and desk-propping coins.

Plan B

On the off chance those skinflint publishers decline to cough up the necessary funding, the letter hints at another source. Pullman states it’s in ‘everyone’s interest’ to get writers paid appropriately.

Therefore, if publishers prove too stingy, we can turn to Plan B—take money from everyone and spread that sum among writers. However, Plan B may prove more difficult than it sounds. Going door to door with a tin cup strikes me as time-consuming. Also, a few citizens may hold differing opinions of fairness and disagree about what constitutes ‘everyone’s interest.’ Some might even refuse to contribute to the tin cup.

Let’s forget that method and select a far more efficient way of collecting money from ‘everyone’—taxation. We can simply persuade politicians (well known for their powers of logical reason and their sense of fairness) to raise sufficient taxes to pay writers what we’re worth. If they balk at a tax hike, they can feel free to add to the rather minuscule national debt, for payment later, by someone else.

What a grand project! Who’s with me?

The Consequences

Before we march on Washington, there’s one more thing. Failure in this endeavor is not an option. Mr. Pullman’s letter warns that if writers don’t get paid more, they will become an endangered species.

Writers, you may be aware, have almost split off from Homo sapiens to constitute a separate species—Homo scriptor. Failure to pay writers a living wage, Mr. Pullman believes, will cause that species’ population to decline.

What higher purpose does government serve, I ask you, than to protect all the species of the Earth? The endangerment of a beloved species, the possibility of its extinction, should prompt all non-writers to beg their governments to do something to ‘Save the Writers.‘ (Not a bad slogan. I should write that down.)

Rethinking the Problem

As I ponder this, a countervailing thought occurs. As the population of Homo scriptor dwindles, they will produce fewer new books. In a free market, when supply shrinks and demand stays steady or increases, the price goes up. As the price rises, more money should flow to the remaining writers, thus solving their income problem.

In fact, it’s possible this has already happened, and that the world has already reached an equilibrium, with the right number of writers all earning their fair share in a competitive market.

Well, isn’t that a buzz kill? I had my bags packed to march on D.C. Maybe, contrary to Mr. Pullman’s contention, things are as fair as they’re going to be for writers.

And if they’re not, the words of my father keep coming back. He used to ask me, “Who told you the world was fair?” That was a long time ago, before I became—

Poseidon’s Scribe

February 25, 2024Permalink

Good, Evil, and Beyond in Fiction

When contrary facts collide with opinions, opinions should change, but often resist. I experienced that while reading this post by author Catherine Nichols about the good guy/bad guy myth.

My Former View

Prior to reading that post, I’d thought of ancient stories and folk tales as excessively moral. Peopled with characters wholly good or bad, the old yarns instructed readers in proper moral behavior. (And the moral of the story is…) Good guy wins because he’s good—bad guy loses because he’s bad.

I thought of these stories as immature, unsophisticated. We tell children simple stories of clearly-defined good and evil to help them make sense of a complex world, and to point them in a morally right direction.

In my understanding, Shakespeare changed that. He gave the world more complex characters, neither wholly good nor bad, deeper and more realistic. Sigmund Freud carried the movement further. After Freud, bad guys couldn’t practice evil for its own sake. They needed origin stories, psychological explanations for turning to the dark side, thus making them not wholly bad.

That led to our modern era, where stories tend toward the amoral, outside the moral/immoral spectrum. That’s what I thought, and even blogged about before.

A View Overturned

Ms. Nichols made the opposite case, and her post jarred my neuron signals from their accustomed paths. The ancient tales, she said, didn’t focus on morality or values much. Characters acted in accordance with their personality quirks, not in obedience to some moral code.

Citing examples such as the Iliad, Norse mythology, and familiar fairy tales, she asserted that old stories made no attempt to pit good against evil, or even teach moral lessons.

Modern stories, by contrast (particularly those depicted on screen), emphasize the white hat/black hat distinction and assign moral virtues to the characters, giving them codes of conduct to live by.

Nichols said modern re-telling of old stories insert morality where it hadn’t existed in the original. She cited the examples of Robin Hood, King Arthur, and Thor, where later writers assigned moral codes to characters who hadn’t possessed them in the original versions.

Toward a New Understanding

Which version is true? Did ancient authors write stories laden with morality, intended to instruct, while we modern sophisticates have transcended that? Or did past writers spin yarns without regard for moral teachings while today, we feel the need to issue good or evil badges to our characters? Is one type of story more evolved, more worldly, than the other? Or perhaps both views oversimplify the issue, cherry-picking examples to fit a theory?

Let’s start by assuming storytellers existed in every era of humanity, all the way back to the origins of language. With the advent of writing, storytellers documented their tales.

We may also assume people through the ages have differed in practices, cultures, customs, and values. Perhaps these differences influenced each community’s preferences for story types. Only those tales that resonated with a group got passed down. As storytellers and writers experimented, they discovered what worked for their audiences.

If a writer caught a cultural turning point, a readiness for something fresh and different, that writer met the new need. Other writers rode that wave, too.

I’m suggesting that moral and amoral stories have existed in all times and places. They either catch on or not depending on the prevailing preferences of their current, local marketplace.

Whether stories endure beyond the time and culture of their writing does not depend on the degree of morality in them. Rather, classics live on because they say something important about the universal aspects of human nature.

So What?

Meanwhile, at your own keyboard, you’re wondering how this esoteric discussion affects you. Where’s the actionable advice?

Okay, here it is. You may find it interesting to ponder the history of storytelling and debate the ebb and flow of moral and amoral stories. Or you may not. Just write the story within you, and I’ll write the story within—

Poseidon’s Scribe

February 18, 2024Permalink

Oops! You Confused Your Readers

With your written words alone, you can evoke many emotions in your readers. You can mystify, fascinate, dazzle, awe, uplift, sadden, and many more. But strive not to confuse.

Consequences

Confused readers might, for a short time, give you the benefit of the doubt. Your readers might slog on a bit longer, trusting you to straighten things out, enlighten, explain.

If the confusion doesn’t get resolved soon, your trusting readers will lose trust and blame you, not themselves, for the confusion. It’s your fault for not being clear, for writing poorly. Hard to win readers back after that.

Story Level

To prevent reader confusion, let’s start with the big picture. You’ve finished your manuscript, whether short story, novella, or novel. In your mind, picture the entirety of it.

  • Does it make sense?
  • Does it satisfy in some way?
  • Could your target readers pick out the themes?
  • Is your main character vivid and engaging?
  • Could your readers describe the protagonist’s problem, and how that problem got resolved?

If not, perhaps you should do another draft.

Scene Level

Next, look at the story scene by scene. For every one, ask a few questions.

  • Have you provided enough description for each important person, place, and object?
  • From these descriptions, can your readers form a good mental picture?
  • Do your characters stay in-character? That is, do their words, thoughts, and actions make sense in the circumstances, and are they consistent with previously established motivations? If not, have you provided a reasonable explanation for the change in the characters’ behavior?
  • Do your characters choose the easiest or shortest path to achieving their goals? If not, have you provided a convincing explanation why your character takes the more difficult or longer route?

If some answers are ‘no,’ consider editing those scenes.

Sentence Level

Now you must go sentence by sentence. Sorry, but to prevent reader confusion, you must. For this, I urge you to read this post by author and writing coach Kathy Steinemann.

In her post, Ms. Steinemann lists several punctuation and word phrasing errors that can confuse readers. Her post includes examples of each along with ways to correct them.

One section deals with word order, and the examples of poor word order remind me of the old Groucho Marx joke—“One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas, I’ll never know.”

Overall

The best technique for preventing reader confusion lies outside all the levels I’ve discussed. Ms. Steinemann mentions this technique in her post as two things, but I’ll combine them since they’re related: Let your manuscript rest until you can edit it with fresh eyes.

In other words, leave the story unread for a time while you work on other things. How long should it rest? The longer you wait, the better your editing will be, but also the longer the reading public must wait for its publication. You pick the best compromise there.

Exceptions

No writing rule stands unmarred by exceptions. Are there times when you may want to confuse readers? Yes.

You can get away with confusing them for a time, but only if you resolve their confusion with an ‘ah-ha!’ or a ‘ha-ha!’ You might present a confusing situation such that both character and reader get confused, as in a mystery, then solve the mystery for both character and reader. Ah-ha! Or you can make a joke as in the Groucho Marx example. Ha-ha!

Conclusion

In general, you’re not aiming for confused readers. If they can’t figure out what you mean, they won’t read the rest of the story, or any others written by you. They might tell their friends not to, as well. If this post confused you, then the only one to blame is—

Poseidon’s Scribe

February 11, 2024Permalink

An Outline Every Writer Can Love

Ah, outlines. Some writers love ’em. Others despise ’em. In which camp do you pitch your tent?

Dilemma

In general, plotters love outlines. Plotters plan before writing, and that requires an outline, as detailed as possible. It comforts them to know where they’re going, what to write next.

In contrast, pantsers (as in writing by the seat of) abhor outlines. Too restrictive, too inhibiting. They want to write free of constraints, letting the story take them where it will. They figure if they don’t know how it will end, the reader won’t guess either.

Might there exist some rare species of outline acceptable to both types? Such an outline would strike a perfect balance, detailed enough for plotters, yet simple enough for pantsers.

Solution

The folks at Author Accelerator may have found it. They call it the Two-Tier Outline. (For pantsers repulsed by the very word ‘outline,’ you may call it the Two-Tier Guideline, or some similarly inoffensive term.)

The Author Accelerator post explains it better than I can. Although they focus on novels, the technique should work as well for short stories and novellas.

The method is simple: list your story’s scenes. For each scene, add two sub-bullets. The first states what happens in the scene, and the second states why the scene matters to your protagonist. Keep the whole thing under four pages.

How Plotters Benefit

Plotters often focus on action, on events, the essence of plot. When they do, what gets left out? Feelings, emotions, motivations, thoughts. Good plotters add those to the manuscript as they write. Bad plotters fail to include them in the story. The resulting work bristles with action, but contains flat, uninteresting characters.

The Two-Tier Outline forces plotters to include these otherwise missing elements. Also, the three-page limit constrains plotters’ tendencies to over-plan.

I blogged about a different way to factor in motivations here, but the Two-Tier Outline seems simpler.

How Pantsers Benefit

A simple, minimalist outline format grants pantsers plenty of freedom to go where the story leads them. However, having thought through the ‘what’ and ‘why’ of the scenes beforehand, pantsers may avoid writing themselves into a box, and therefore avoid major rewrites.

Also, if the story does end up deviating far away from the original outline, the pantser hasn’t wasted much time outlining. Nor would it take much time to re-do the outline, if desired.

Worth a Try?

Maybe this in-between, one-size-fits-all outline method will work for you. Consider adding it to your writer’s toolkit. If it works, great. If not, modify it to suit you better, or discard it.

An outline tool useful to both plotters and pantsers? Until Author Accelerator introduced it, nobody could have imagined such a thing, least of all—

Poseidon’s Scribe

February 4, 2024Permalink