Unlike writers of the past, we own computers to make our lives easier. But the machines arrived with plenty of baggage. Have they been worth it?
For most of human history, authors wrote by hand with a scribbling implement making marks with ink on some form of paper. (We’ll ignore the ages of chiseling into stone or making impressions on clay.) By the late 1800s, typewriters became commercially available. Only in the last forty years have writers turned to computers.
The Case for the Pen
Consider the ease and simplicity of pens or typewriters vs. computers. No passwords, no two-factor authentication, no need for backups, no pull-down menus, no need to pay for software updates, and no viruses. No chance of some hacker stealing your manuscript. No need to recharge or (except for electric typewriters), plug in to an outlet. Most of all, with pens or typewriters, there’s little to learn first—you just start writing.
The Case for the Computer
To be fair to computers, we’ve gained much in return, compared to previous methods. We see our text instantly, as it will appear in final form. That’s something. We’ve also swept away the piles of paper and books, the fire hazard that used to clutter a writer’s office. Also, we use the same computer for research, mostly eliminating the need to pore through dusty tomes for obscure facts. We can search through previously written text more easily than flipping through pages.
Computers render certain writing tasks easier—storing, retrieving, searching, and researching. Pens and typewriters ease other writing aspects—ready access, cost, learning, and security.
Decision
Like so many other facets of writing, different writers find their own methods easier. You must make this decision yourself. Sorry if this seems like a copout, but what’s true for you may not be true for—
In a recent post, I mentioned author Shawn Warner said plot-driven stories are dead. Publishers, he advised, want character-driven stories, so, if you want to sell what you write, do the character-driven kind.
Images generated using perchance.org
Definitions
What are Character-Driven (C-D) and Plot-Driven (P-D) stories and how are they different? The C-D types focus on the characters—their personalities, thoughts, motivations, changes, and growth. P-D stories emphasize what happens to characters—the events, action, twists, setbacks, and triumphs.
The Spectrum
Don’t think of these as either-or, binary choices. Consider it a spectrum, with C-D on one side and P-D on the other.
At the extreme C-D end, you have stories with clearly defined and memorable characters, to whom nothing happens. People used to say the TV show “Seinfeld” was about nothing. It wasn’t, but that view of “Seinfeld” may help you visualize the far C-D end of the scale.
At the far P-D end, you find stories with non-stop action, but stereotypical, one-dimensional characters who don’t change or learn anything. Think, perhaps, not about the James Bond or Indiana Jones movies, but the knock-off imitators of those franchises, the forgettable TV shows, movies, and books that tried to cash in on that style.
Near the midpoint of the spectrum you’ll find stories with interesting characters and well-constructed plots.
The Bad News
I grew up loving plot-driven stories. I still love them. That’s the type I write, too. Imagine my disappointment upon hearing Shawn Warner tell me P-D stories are dead.
If that experienced author spoke the truth, it left little hope for me. It meant editors and publishers wouldn’t want what I write. By extension, it meant readers didn’t want what I write.
Yet I sensed the truth of his pronouncement. In recent years, I’ve seen the submission calls. “Give us interesting characters we want to care about.” “Make us love your characters.” No fiction market asked for pure action or intricate plots.
Was I a literary dinosaur, writing in a style gone extinct?
Or should I hope for a pendulum shift? Perhaps a fickle reading public will tire of the C-D fad and turn to my P-D stories as the next new thing.
Causes
What’s behind the trend toward C-D stories? Why are readers preferring them and thus causing editors and publishers to shun my beloved P-D stories?
I can’t say for certain. This blogpost by Abbie Emmons claims character-driven stories are more memorable. We retain memories of distinctive characters longer than we do interesting plots. Maybe, though the reverse may be true for me.
Perhaps, instead, the explanation lies elsewhere. Maybe we live in a more introspective age than did readers of previous centuries. Since the advent of psychology, we’ve turned inward, demanding to know what drives characters, what shapes their personalities.
Or consider a related, but different rationale for the C-D trend. Perhaps readers simply tired of plot-driven tales. After the thousandth car chase, gunfight, starship battle, etc., readers needed a break. Maybe plots had become passe, formulaic, and stale.
Dilemma
Where does this leave me, and all other P-D writers? Should we hop on the C-D bandwagon, go where the market demands, and change our style to the character-driven side? Or should we soldier on, writing the stories we love, suffering low sales, praying for the day when trends shift our way again and plot-driven stories predominate once more?
Solution?
Perhaps Goldilocks was on to something. Maybe the middle of the spectrum is ‘just right.’ Aren’t the best stories really those with engaging characters and intriguing plots?
To attain that ideal balance, writers like me must make the effort to lean toward the C-D side. The fact that I begin with plot and then populate the story with characters doesn’t mean the characters can’t be fascinating in their own right.
Further Reading
If you’re confused about C-D and P-D, don’t worry. Just search the internet for ‘character-driven, plot-driven’ and you can read many blogposts giving complete definitions and examples. I like this post by Yves Lummer.
Now you know what the marketplace wants, at least for now. In your writing, lean toward the character-driven side. As for me, perhaps there’s better balance than I thought in the tales written by—
Forget your high school chemistry classes. We’re talking fictional character chemistry here—human reactions. More complicated, more dramatic, and potentially more explosive.
You know it when you see it on TV or in the movies. Two actors with great chemistry. Somehow, their interaction sizzles and sparks, even ignites into figurative flame.
Written stories, the good ones, portray this chemistry too. When a reader knows two characters separately, and they’re about to get together and interact, the reader anticipates something big will happen.
As a writer, you serve as the catalyst for this chemical reaction. You make it happen, and the only things consumed in the process are your time and some Kleenex.
How do you concoct that chemistry? Author K. M. Weiland wrote a marvelous blogpost explaining the process and giving wonderful examples. After reading my brief summary below, study her post for a better and more complete description. What follows is her process, abbreviated and put in a different order, and in my words.
Connect to the Plot
K. M. Weiland listed this last, but to me it comes first. The scenes where your characters interact must serve the plot. They must move the story along. If you write a scene with great chemistry, but it doesn’t advance the story, you’ve taken an unnecessary tangent and written a darling you must kill. Whether you’re a plotter or a pantser, make sure the scenes propel the action forward.
Put Engaging Characters in the Crucible
The chemistry works best with well-defined characters. If you’ve introduced the characters by themselves earlier, then the reader anticipates the coming interaction. Give your characters different (and very clear) motives, desires, and personalities. These traits needn’t directly oppose each other, though that helps. Perhaps the characters share a common goal, but differ on the manner of achieving it. Exploit all differences.
Alternate the Give and Take
As the characters banter, fluctuate between agreement and disagreement. Give one character the upper hand, then the other. You’re striving for equal yin-yang balance here. Weiland calls it ‘the dance of opposition and harmony,’ a perfect metaphor.
When catalyzing this chemistry, don’t limit yourself to dialogue alone. Give your characters things to do, actions to take. These actions can illustrate and emphasize what they say, or tend to contradict their words, depending on your intent. For example, if a character says something harsh, perhaps she can do something pleasant to soften the impact.
Allow an Out-of-Character Moment
Consider letting Character A say or do something unexpected, beyond A’s usual role. Not only will this surprise the reader, but it will jar Character B, forcing B to adapt to the shifting dynamic.
Let Them Grow
The interaction may well expose character flaws, forcing self-examination. One or both characters may change as a result of their confrontations, which may serve to round out the rough edges of their personalities. A great example of this is C.S. Forester’s 1935 novel The African Queen, and the 1951 movie of the same name. In the course of the story, Charlie Allnutt becomes more confident, daring to accomplish actions for a cause greater than himself. Rose Sayer backs off some of her strict religious intolerance. Both grow as people.
This concludes today’s chemistry lesson. All you mad scientists—er, I mean, budding writers—can now follow the formula for creating great character chemistry, as revealed by K.M. Weiland and—
You long to write stories like the ones you enjoy reading, but doubt you could. Writing seems tedious and you think you lack the required expertise. You just know you’d get bored and disillusioned after a few pages. The late author Ray Bradbury offered some advice that might help you.
Make a list of ten things you love, madly, and write about them. Make a list of ten things you hate, and write about killing them. Make a list of the ten things you fear, and write about them.
Don’t write self-consciously, commercially, what will sell. Find the deep stuff, your inner self. Don’t ask what will sell. Ask who am I?
Exercise
First, you’ll be jotting down three lists of ten items each—things you love, things you hate, and things you fear. No one else will see these lists. Think of ten as a minimum number. Bradbury chose ten to prod you to think beyond the first few easy ones. You’ll be stretching to reach ten, and that’s the point. He’s trying to get you to dive down to your essence, your core.
Given that introduction, I suggest you do the exercise now. Really. Now. Stop reading this and generate your three lists of ten each. I’ll wait until you finish.
Intermission
After the Exercise
All done? Good. You’ve got lists of things you love, things you hate, and things you fear. For every item on all three lists, you feel some level of passion. Positive feelings of adoration accompany each item on the ‘love list.’ Feelings of anger boil up in response to those on the ‘hate list,’ and feelings of dread ooze out of those on the ‘fear list.’
The lists, then, provide two things you’ll need—subjects to write about, and feelings to sustain you while writing.
Subjects
As a fiction writer, you don’t have to write about the exact objects of love, hate, and fear you listed. Perhaps it’s better if you don’t. Use a stand-in, a metaphor, something to represent one or more of the specific things listed.
Say you wrote ‘my spouse’ on the list of things you love, and decided to write on that topic. I’m suggesting you shouldn’t write about your own spouse, but rather write about a character’s love for that character’s spouse. Readers won’t know it’s really your own spouse—they’ll just note the tenderness with which you convey the love.
Caution
I offer a quick note about the list of things you hate. Don’t turn your writing into an angry manifesto. The list should serve as a catalyst for writing, not a prelude to violent action. Take out your vengeance on fictional characters only.
Feelings
The real power of Bradbury’s advice comes from the intense emotions you feel about every item on each list. Those emotions should make it easier (1) to write ‘in the flow,’ (2) to know, at any point, what to write next, (3) to stay enthused about the project until completion, and (4) to infuse your writing with spirit. Your strong feelings about the subject will pass through to readers.
Digging Deep
The other piece of Bradbury’s advice really nails it. “Find the deep stuff, your inner self. Don’t ask what will sell. Ask who am I?” By listing things you love, hate, and fear, you’re getting at your essence, your basic humanity, your soul. Write from out of that core, and your words will ring true. They’ll shine.
Writing from the heart, with fervor, gives you a better chance of reaching readers, too, especially those who care about the same things, readers whose own love/hate/fear lists—if they made them—would reveal some commonality with yours.
Thanks to Ray Bradbury, you’ve got the tools you need. Your lists have fired the coals of an inner boiler. That high-pressure boiler powers a potent writing machine—you. The steam is up, the throttle is open. Go! Nobody can stop you now, least of all—
