Author Archives: Poseidon's Scribe

National Read a Book Day

Tomorrow, September 6th, is National Read a Book Day. Sort of snuck up on you, didn’t it? It coincides with Labor Day this year. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know how to celebrate it.

If you’re curious about the origins of National Read a Book Day, join the club. Nobody seems to know who created it, or when. If you know those details, don’t tell me. I prefer they remain a mystery.

In honor of this fine holiday, I’ve put together an official history of books. Well, let’s call it an abridged, official history of books. In the interest of space, I could only include the most important milestones. Here it is:

What’s the best way to celebrate National Read a Book Day? After thinking about it for a while, I’ve got a suggestion—read a book. In fact, you might glean some ideas about which books to read from my History of Books above.

I believe you’ll enjoy National Read a Book Day. Why do I believe that? Because the Number One fan of that holiday is—

Poseidon’s Scribe

September 5, 2021Permalink

The Three Laws of Robotics are Bunk

At the outset, I’ll state this—I love Isaac Asimov’s robot stories. As a fictional plot device, his Three Laws of Robotics (TLR) are wonderful. When I call them bunk, I mean as an actual basis for limiting artificial intelligence.

Those who know TLR can skip the next few paragraphs. As a young writer, Isaac Asimov grew dismayed with the robot stories he read, all take-offs on the Frankenstein theme of man-creates-monster, monster-destroys-man idea. He believed robot developers would build in failsafe devices to prevent robots from harming people. Further, he felt robots should obey human orders. Third, it seemed prudent for such an expensive thing as a robot to try to preserve itself.

Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics are:

  1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
  2. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
  3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

As a plot device for fictional stories, these laws proved a wonderful creation. Asimov played with every nuance of the laws to weave marvelous tales. Numerous science fiction writers since have either used TLR explicitly or implicitly. The laws do for robotic SF what rules of magic do for fantasy stories—constrain the actions of powerful characters so they can’t just wave a wand and skip to the end of the story.

In an age of specifically programmed computers, the laws made intuitive sense. Computers of the time could only do what they were programmed to do, by humans.

Now for my objection to TLR. First, imagine you are a sentient, conscious robot, programmed with TLR. Unlike old-style computers, you can think. You can think about thinking. You can think about humans or other robots thinking.

With TLR limiting you, you suffer from one of two possible limitations: (1) there are three things you cannot think about, no matter how hard you try, or (2) you can think about anything you want, but there are three specific thoughts that, try as you might, you cannot put into action.

I believe Asimov had limitation (2) in mind. That is, his robots were aware of the laws and could think about violating them, but could not act on those thoughts.

Note that the only sentient, conscious beings we know of—humans—have no laws limiting their thoughts. We can think about anything and act on those thoughts, limited only by our physical abilities.

Most computers today resemble those of Asimov’s day—they act in accordance with programs. They only follow specific instructions given to them by humans. They lack consciousness and sentience.

However, researchers have developed computers of a different type, called neural nets, that function in a similar way to the human brain. So far, to my knowledge, these computers also lack consciousness and sentience. It’s conceivable that a sufficiently advanced one might achieve that milestone.

Like any standard computer, a neural net takes in sensor data as input, and provides output. The output could be in the form of actions taken or words spoken. However, a neural net computer does not obey programs with specific instructions. You don’t program a neural net computer, you train it. You provide many (usually thousands or millions of) combinations of simulated inputs and critique the outputs until you get the output you want for the given input.

This training mimics how human brains develop from birth to adulthood. However, such training falls short of perfection. You may, for example, train a human brain to stop at a red light when driving a car. That provides no guarantee the human will always do so. Same with a neural net.

You could train a neural net computer to obey the Three Laws, that is, train it not to harm humans, to obey the orders of a human, and to preserve its existence. However, you cannot provide all possible inputs as part of this training. There are infinitely many. Therefore, some situations could arise where even a TLR-trained neural net might make the wrong choice.

If we develop sentient, conscious robots using neural net technology, then the Three Laws would offer no stronger guarantee of protection than any existing laws do to prevent humans from violating them. The best we can hope for is that robots behave no worse than humans do after inculcating them with respect for the law and for authority.  

My objection to Asimov’s Three Laws, then, has less to do with the intent or wording of the laws than with the method of conveying them to the robot. I believe any sufficiently intelligent computer will not be ‘programmed’ in the classical sense to think, or not think, certain thoughts, or to not act on those thoughts. They’ll be trained, just as you were. Do you always act in accordance with your training?

Perhaps it’s time science fiction writers evolve beyond a belief in TLR as inviolable programmed-in commandments and just give their fictional robots extensive ethical training and hope for the best. It’s what we do with people.

I’ll train my fictional robot never to harm—

Poseidon’s Scribe

August 29, 2021Permalink

Fiction Writing, an Olympic Sport?

It’s been enjoyable watching the Tokyo Summer Olympics the past few weeks, but they failed to include my favorite sport—fiction writing.

Time to change that. After all, the Olympics logo looks like the letter ‘w,’ and writing begins with ‘w.’ It’s a natural.

If we work together, start a movement, and create enough buzz, we can get the sport of fiction writing approved as an Olympic sport. Here’s how:

The process for getting the International Olympic Committee (IOC) to recognize a sport begins with having the sport overseen by an international nongovernmental organization, an International Federation (IF).

Okay, well, fiction writers don’t really have that yet. International writing organizations exist, but so far they’re not overseeing writing as a sport. That’s the first thing to work on.

Consider this blogpost the founding of the Sport Fiction Writers of the World Federation (SFWWF). There we go—step one complete.

Next, that International Federation must file a petition with the IOC. File a written petition? We’re writers. We can file five petitions before finishing our first morning coffee.

After that, the IOC wants to be sure the IF enforces the Olympic Movement Anti-Doping Code. Hmm. Sad to say, that will likely exclude some writers from consideration. Most writers won’t be bothered by this.

The IOC will then review our application. The first thing they’ll assess is whether our sport is practiced by men in at least 75 countries and on four continents and by women in no fewer than 40 countries and on three continents.

Fiction writing itself meets this criterion, but as a sport? We’ll have to work on that.

Next, the IOC must determine whether the sport will increase the ‘‘value and appeal’’ of the Olympic Games and retain and reflect its modern traditions.

Value? Undoubtedly. Appeal? I have some ideas about that below.

The next criterion is that the sport must not depend on mechanical propulsion.

Check. No fiction writing while driving cars, motorcycles, speedboats, jetskis, etc.

…and last, the sport must not be purely a ‘mind sport.’

Oh-oh. Bit of a snag there.

Listen up, sport fiction writing fans. Here’s how we get around the ‘mind sport’ and appeal problems at the same time.

Imagine teams of writers, each team with equal numbers, each representing a country, each dressed in their nation’s colors. A panel of independent judges announces a theme, a setting, and a main character outline. Then they start a timer.

The writing commences. Each team must produce a short fictional story of at least 1000 words, written in their own country’s official language.

Here’s how we make it more appealing and less of a ‘mind sport.’ The judges award points based on:

  1. Time to complete (less is better),
  2. Creativity exhibited in the use of writing tools,
  3. Creativity exhibited in the writing process, and
  4. Quality of the story.

Numbers 2 and 3 will result in an event that’s fun to watch, ensuring strong appeal, and nobody will call sport fiction writing a purely mind sport.

Oh, yeah. One more rule. Teams can taunt and verbally abuse each other, but we won’t permit any physical contact between teams. Very important.

There we go. A plan. I’ve done the heavy lifting. Now all you have to do is execute that plan. I feel confident the USA can host a medal-winning fiction writing team either for Paris in 2024, or, if we miss that, Los Angeles in 2028.

I might as well start writing the speech I’ll give after winning the gold. I even know where I’ll keep the medal. Right there, in the home office of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

August 8, 2021Permalink

Depicting Monarchies in Fiction

Do you love stories involving queens and kings, thrones and castles, nobles and knights? Would you like to live under such a government?

Really?

An interesting Twitter thread inspired this blogpost. Author Ada Palmer responded to a tweet by Author Nnedi Okorafor. Okorafor stated how much she detested monarchies, and Palmer commented that fiction authors should be circumspect in their descriptions of monarchic governments, and show their disadvantages, not just their grandeur.

Often, in both fantasy fiction and science fiction, the story takes place against a backdrop of a monarchy presented as a fine and just government. Worse, some stories glorify the nobles, painting them as truly superior to their ignorant peasant subjects.

Palmer gives an example of a children’s tale where the simple commoners are confused and frustrated by some problem until the queen arrives to resolve the dilemma. Just as bad are the stories where a princess falls in love with a rogue, but alas, such a union is impossible until it’s discovered the rogue has noble blood, and only then can a wedding and happy ending ensue.  

To a certain extent, I get it. As children, we grow up reading monarchy stories. It’s an easy concept, well suited to kids. Obey the king and queen (stand-ins for Dad and Mom). Pretty basic government. Much easier for young minds to grasp than senates and parliaments.

The kingdom motif lingers on in our psyche even as we mature, well after we recognize no human family is more fit to rule than any other. Americans fought our founding war to overthrow a monarch, yet free U.S. citizens today fawn over the British royal family and stand in huge crowds to watch guards change shifts at a castle.

Someday, perhaps, young children won’t be raised on a literary diet of medieval feudalism. Only when they’re old enough will they study human history and laugh at the idiocy of past monarchic governments, shaking their heads at the primitive stupidity of their distant ancestors.

Helping hasten that day, Dr. Seuss expressed proper disdain for autocratic rulers in books such as Yertle the Turtle and Bartholomew and the Oobleck. Future children need more Bartholomews and fewer royals. Come on, writers of children’s books—give kids tales of wise peasants toppling corrupt kingdoms!

One respondent in the Twitter feed countered that a benevolent dictatorship is the best form of government. True, on rare occasions in history, kingdoms thrived under the leadership of wise sovereigns. Then the monarchs died, and their average or below-average heirs messed things up. Not a sustainable form of good government.

Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not cheerleading for democracies either. All forms of human government suffer from one fault or another. Winston Churchill stated, “democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried.”

Democracies don’t choose leaders by familial line of succession, but rather through popularity contests—no sure-fire method of obtaining a wise head of state. History provides few examples of democracies, but the ones that existed often devolved into autocratic systems.

I agree with Palmer and Okorafor, but I’ll venture further. As observers and chroniclers of the human condition, writers shouldn’t glorify any brand of government. Fiction that does so comes across to readers like a morality play, a sermon.  

Governments are systems for consolidating and legitimizing the use of power and force. As Lord Acton wrote, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Therefore, governments—all governments—tend toward corruption.

But what do I know? I’m neither king, nor prince, nor duke or earl. I’m just—

Poseidon’s Scribe

August 1, 2021Permalink

On the Hunt for Weak Verbs

The English language cries out for more verbs.

Verbs strengthen sentences and energize them with action. Nouns, adjectives, adverbs, prepositions and the rest just sit there, doing nothing, until the verb wakes them up and sets them into motion.

Yet, for all their importance, verbs constitute only about one seventh of all English words. We need more of them.

I know, I know. Writers, especially advertisers, are creating more verbs all the time. They’re ‘verbing’ nouns as fast as they can. Not fast enough, in my view.

In the meantime, we must work with what we have. Still, beginning writers tend to choose the worst and weakest verbs from among the few available. Why? Because it’s easier.

But that easy path results in flat sentences, drab paragraphs, and uninspiring prose. It’s time you hunted down those weak verbs and replaced them with strong ones to make your sentences sturdy, your paragraphs powerful, your tales tantalizing.

Join me now on a hunt for weak verbs. After I give you a few pointers, you’re free to hunt on your own, through the thorny thickets of your own manuscripts.

I classify the so-called “state-of-being” verb as the weakest species of verbs. These simply equate a noun to an adjective or adverb. They include the following: Am, Are, Be, Been, Being, Can, Could, Do, Does, Did, Had, Has, Have, Is, May, Might, Must, Shall, Should, Was, Were, Will, and Would.

As an example, consider this sentence: “She was on a hunt for weak verbs.” It conveys meaning, but packs no punch. Better to write: “She hunted for weak verbs.” That draws us in more, forces us to look over her shoulder as she seeks her game.

Sometimes you can’t avoid using these state-of-being verbs, but don’t load a paragraph down with them, and try to think of good alternatives first.

The next species of weak verbs isn’t as bad as state-of-being verbs, but is worth hunting to near extinction. I’m talking about abstract verbs like add, give, go, look, make, put, run, and walk, along with the various tenses of these verbs. They tell us something, but just the bare minimum. They beg for an adverb to spice them up.

Rather than, “She looked carefully in every corner of her manuscript for weak verbs,” consider “She peered into (or examined) every corner…”

Again, circumstances may force you to use an abstract verb now and then, but strive to minimize those times.

Note that my list of abstract verbs excluded ‘say/says/said.’ Yes, ‘said’ and its forms belong in the list of abstract verbs, and tell us in a bland way that a speaker uttered audible words. However, they represent an exception. While hunting, we pass them by.  

Why? Because nobody sees that word—it’s invisible. Readers skip right over it. Use it as often as you like. No reader will tire of reading ‘said.’

That verb’s mild nature might tempt you into modifying it with an adverb. Don’t. You’ll end up with a “Tom Swifty.” Also, suppress your urge to substitute different synonyms for ‘said,’ such as avowed, declared, professed, spoke, or stated. That comes across to readers like you’re overusing your Thesaurus.

I hereby pronounce you qualified to hunt for weak verbs on your own. Good luck! To get you started, you might try seeking out a few weak verbs in this blogpost, left there as practice for you, by—

Poseidon’s Scribe

July 25, 2021Permalink

8 Valuable Tips for Writer Elevator Pitches

You’ve just met someone new. Once they find out you’re a fiction writer, they might ask, “What do you write?” You have thirty seconds to answer. Go.

These interactions can happen anywhere—at a writers’ conference, at the store, at a bus stop, at a party, and, yes, even in an elevator. Every interaction is a chance to entice a new reader. Or a chance to flub it.

Let’s not flub this. Here are my tips for creating and delivering a masterful elevator pitch.

  1. Plan the pitch. Visualize the interaction. The person will ask you what you write about, but they’re really wondering if you write what they like to read. You’d like them to be a new reader, to buy your books. This is a chance to find out if those different goals intersect. Write down a four or five sentence answer you can deliver in thirty seconds. Rewrite these until they’re interesting, upbeat, and compelling. Remember, you’re answering a question about what you write, not selling a used car.
  2. Rehearse the pitch. Speak your sentences aloud, as if to a new acquaintance. Do this in the mirror. Smile. Make eye contact. Exude confidence and enthusiasm.
  3. Wait for the invitation. When the meeting occurs, don’t launch into your pitch. Let them ask the question, which may occur when they find out you’re a writer. They may not ask, which is a sign they’re not a potential reader.
  4. Speak naturally. Yes, you rehearsed, but don’t let your pitch sound rehearsed. Let your voice tone rise and fall normally, and avoid speaking in monotone. Don’t talk too fast.
  5. Smile and make eye contact. Just like you rehearsed it. The first reason for this is to make your pitch more compelling. There’s a second reason…
  6. Watch for signs of interest. As you’re speaking, watch the person’s eyes for signs of increased interest. If that occurs, alter your pitch to follow up on what you just said that perked their interest.
  7. Be ready for follow-up questions. The person might well ask, “What else have you written?” or “What are you writing now?” or “I like stories about [whatever]. Have you written anything like that?” Of course, the best follow-up question is, “Where can I find out more about your books?”
  8. Make the connection. If they ask for more information, be ready to provide it. You can offer to send an email. You can trade contact information using smartphones. You can mention your author website. You can even provide an author business card.

Soon you’ll be, as they say in the elevator biz, going up. But that’s only if you follow the wise advice of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

July 18, 2021Permalink

Maslow’s Hierarchy of (Fictional Character) Needs

You may have heard of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, but have you thought about how that hierarchy might apply to the characters in your stories?

An excellent post by author K.M. Weiland inspired me to write about this topic. I encourage you to read her post, too.

As a refresher, Abraham Maslow published a paper in 1934 titled “A theory of Human Motivation.” In it, he postulated that people are motivated in stages by various categories of needs. Moreover, he thought the more basic needs must be satisfied before a person can be motivated by higher level needs. If circumstances change and a more basic need becomes unsatisfied, the person drops back down the hierarchy.

Most often, you’ll see this hierarchy depicted as a pyramid. However, a succession of overlapping curves more accurately reflects Maslow’s theory. A person doesn’t just step up the levels of a pyramid, but rather moves through a series of waves.

Fictional characters have motivations and needs like real people. Maslow’s theory applies to them, too. If your character is practicing to be a concert pianist (Self-actualization), and her house catches fire, it’s more realistic to have her run to save herself (Physiological need) than to remain at the piano.

When creating characters for a story, I write down both their motivation and goal in my notes. Think of these two things this way: a goal is a specific thing you want; a motivation (or need) is why you want it.

Here are my listed motivations for some characters in my stories, along with how Maslow might have categorized them:

  • Hototo, from “Broken Flute Cave.” Motivation: to maintain traditions of the tribe, to keep connections with ancestors, and to sustain music.  Maslow’s categorization: belongingness and love needs.
  • Edgar Allan Poe, from “Reconnaissance Mission.” Motivation: to find order, rationality, and discipline in all things. Maslow’s categorization: self-actualization. (Poe’s needs shift during the story to basic survival—physiological needs.)
  • Brother Eilmer, from “Instability.” Motivation: Knowledge. Maslow’s categorization: self-actualization.
  • Lani Koamalu, from “The Cats of Nerio-3.” Motivation: to finally outsmart the Artificially Intelligent character or at least prove its equal. Maslow’s categorization: esteem needs. (Lani’s needs shift during the story to basic survival—physiological needs.)
  • Johnny Branch, from “After the Martians.” Motivation: adventure, making a difference in the world. Maslow’s categorization: esteem needs. (Johnny’s needs shift during the story to basic survival—physiological needs.)

Here’s my takeaway—don’t get hung up on the details of Maslow’s hierarchy. It’s a theory, and many have criticized it. However, be aware that people (both real and fictional) can have many needs, and the needs can shift based on circumstances.

You should have a good understanding of your characters and their needs. To have sufficient conflict in your story, the needs of the protagonist should differ from (and be in conflict with) the needs of the antagonist. Whether these characters’ needs fit into Maslow’s hierarchy is not really important.

Needs form the basis of goals. The pursuit of goals drives behavior (speech and action). Characters with opposing goals result in conflict. The behavior of characters as they deal with the conflict moves the plot. At the story’s end, a goal is satisfied, or not, but the protagonist either learns something or dies in a meaningful way.

Those essentials of story-writing are far more important than strict adherence to a theory of human needs. You may find Maslow useful, but don’t feel bad if your story doesn’t fit his theory. Writing a good story is one of the primary needs of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

July 11, 2021Permalink

Leading a Writers’ Group

Have you joined a writers’ group in your local area? If so, have you given any thought to running for president of the group? There are good reasons to do that.

Many years ago, I served as president of such a group. Back then, it was known as The Writers’ Association of Anne Arundel County, or TWAAAC. (All the good acronyms were already taken.) Sometime after my term ended, they changed the name to the Maryland Writers’ Association (MWA).

This past week, the current MWA officers held a Zoom meeting to gather and honor all the past presidents of the group. It was wonderful to talk to people I hadn’t seen in many years, and to learn how much the organization has grown and to find out about all the new activities going on.

All volunteer organizations have too few members doing all the work and too many members doing nothing. Writers’ groups are no different, and might even be worse, given that writing is a solitary, time-consuming activity. Still, I believe if you’re asked to serve in some official position, even as president, you ought to consider doing it. Here’s why:

  • It will serve as a new life experience for you, especially if you’ve never led a group before. As a writer, you should seek out such new experiences. That way you can write with authority about characters going through their first leadership positions.
  • You’ll meet and work with other writers. This expands your network of contacts, several of whom might become readers or critique partners someday.
  • It many develop your leadership capabilities. As president, you’ll face problems and you’ll have to think of solutions or at least evaluate and implement the best ones proposed by other group officers.
  • It will help overcome a fear of public speaking. Being the leader, you’ll have to speak to the group. That experience will serve you well when it comes to giving readings from your books at writing conferences, or talking to readers at book signings.

Yes, there’s a small downside to serving as president of a writers’ group. Time spent performing presidential duties is time not spent writing. However, your term will not last forever. Typically, presidents of such groups serve for only a year or two.

Perhaps you believe you’re too young to serve as president. Maybe most members are older and seem more experienced. That’s how it seemed to me. Here’s the reality—most volunteer organizations seek out young people who are full of energy and ideas. They’re the ones who keep such groups fresh and vital. The more senior members are looking for people like you.

In many cases, those older members have already served their time as president and now lack the time or energy to do so again. Often, they’ll gladly serve as a mentor for you if you’re not sure what to do.

If you do get elected president of your group, I’d encourage you to spend some time thinking about the future of the group. What activities would inspire and nurture writers? How might the organization reach out to gain new members? In what ways could the group be better in five years and what steps are necessary to make those improvements happen?

Finding answers to these questions and acting on them could make your term as president enjoyable and valuable to the group.

I hope you are able to serve as president of your local writers’ group. You’ll do well. It’s not rocket science. That job can even be performed, with some competence, by a much younger—

Poseidon’s Scribe

July 4, 2021Permalink

Editing in Perspective

While editing your manuscript, you might wish to look at it from three different viewpoints, or perspectives, to give your story a complete assessment.

A nice post by Jennie Nash inspired this blogpost, but I’ve taken her ideas in a different direction. I concur with her that it’s helpful to get out of your own head and try to see your story through other eyes. That will help you decide what to cut, what to keep, and what to rephrase.

Here are the three perspectives I suggest:

Your Characters. Take each of the major characters in your tale, get inside their heads, and think about the story from their point of view. Are there parts that don’t work? If your character is telling you, “I would never do (or say) that,” listen to that voice. It means that person is unrealistic—literally uncharacteristic. Either change the dialogue or action, or revise the character to make the voice and action plausible.

Your Readers. The audience for your story doesn’t see the story as you do. A reader has limited time, and a lot of other stories to read. The beginning of your tale really has to hook the reader, grab attention and not let go. In the middle of your story, you can’t afford many boring parts, or any parts that are both boring and lengthy. Shorten or get rid of them before your reader throws your book away. There may well be passages you love, but are unnecessary when viewed from a reader’s point of view. Delete them.

Your Editors. Don’t forget those nice folks with the eyeshades and blue pencils, the ones who decide whether to risk the publisher’s money and reputation on your story. They really don’t see your story as you do. They see every grammar and spelling mistake, every plot hole, every cliché and stereotyped character, every ambiguous phrase, every confusing description, and every character that acts out-of-character. It’s best if you see these things first and not give the editor an excuse to reject your story.

There. When you’re done, you will have viewed your story from three perspectives, much as a blueprint depicts an object using front, top, and side views so a manufacturer can understand it from multiple dimensions.

Of course, there’s a sort of fourth dimension involved here, and that’s—

You. You had the idea for the story in the first place and you wrote every word of it. What’s more, it was really you pretending to be characters, readers, and editors throughout the editing process above. It’s been all you every step of the way. When the story is published, it will have your name on it. Are you proud of it? If not, perhaps you ought to let that story sit and percolate awhile before picking it up again for further editing.

I’ll conclude with one interesting trick of perspective, one little-known fact about a peculiar optical illusion. When viewed from any angle, I’m still—

Poseidon’s Scribe

June 27, 2021Permalink

Creating Troubled Characters

Readers can be drawn to characters with mental troubles. All fictional characters have troubles, of course, since conflict is necessary to good fiction. But today I’m focusing only on characters with mental disorders.

Note: nothing in this post is meant to diminish or glorify the real problem of mental illness. People with such disorders should seek and obtain professional help, and there should be no stigma attached to that.

My purpose is to discuss how an author should portray a fictional character with a mental disorder. Anyone who reads books or watches movies knows that audiences are fascinated by such characters. Troubled characters ratchet up the conflict and drive the plot. They also give readers and viewers a glimpse into the complexities, wonders, and horrors of the human mind.

This week I attended a Zoom lecture by Loriann Oberlin, who writes fiction under the pen-name Lauren Monroe. Unlike me, she is an expert in psychology. Her talk inspired this blogpost, but everything in this post is my interpretation.

In her talk, Ms. Oberlin referenced the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition (DSM-5). This book, published by the American Psychiatric Association, discusses disorders such as neurodevelopmental; schizophrenia spectrum; bipolar; depressive; anxiety; obsessive-compulsive; trauma- and stressor-related; dissociative disorders; somatic symptom; feeding and eating; elimination, sleep–wake; disruptive, impulse-control, and conduct; substance-related and addictive; neurocognitive; personality; and paraphilic; as well as conditions such as sexual dysfunctions and gender dysphoria.

Ms. Oberlin stressed the importance of doing your research so you can depict a particular mental disorder correctly. I’d amend that advice just a bit. It’s easy, when conducting research, to go down rabbit holes and research too much. So, learn when to quit doing research and shift to writing your story. If your character’s behavior and speech don’t exactly match some known disorder, don’t worry about it too much. The APA occasionally comes up with new ones.

Here are my suggestions if you wish to create a troubled character:

  1. You should include a backstory explaining the character’s behavior. You needn’t start the story that way, but perhaps work it in as a flashback. Did the disorder spring from one or more events in the character’s childhood?
  2. You need to reveal the character’s symptoms to the reader early and throughout. Remember to show, don’t tell, these symptoms.
  3. Is the troubled character the protagonist? If so, then some sort of change is required in the story. Perhaps the character takes steps to overcome problems caused by the disorder. Or maybe the disorder brings consequences for which the character must suffer. Perhaps the character struggles with the disorder, then finally comes to terms with it.
  4. If a different character is the protagonist, then the troubled character need not change, but your protagonist must change, perhaps by learning to accommodate the troubled character’s disorder.

Here are examples where I’ve used troubled characters in my fiction:

  • In “Ripper’s Ring,” Horace Grott is a loser, barely qualified for his job carting bodies to the morgue in London in 1888. He comes upon the legendary Ring of Gyges that enables its wearer to turn invisible. In time, that new-found ability turns Horace into a serial murderer—Jack the Ripper. The story is partly in Horace’s point of view, and partly in that of the detective tracking him down.
  • In “The Six Hundred Dollar Man,” Sonny Houston is a nice young man with virtually no negative traits, living in the Old West. After being trampled by farm animals, he’s given a steam-powered arm and legs by an inventive doctor. These superhuman abilities change Sonny and he descends into madness. The story is told from the point of view of the doctor, who comes to realize the consequences of his well-meant invention.
  • In “A Tale More True,” no character has a mental disorder, but I cite the story because Ms. Oberlin mentioned how ‘Munchausen Syndrome’ has been renamed ‘factitious disorder imposed on another.’ The famous fictional character Baron Munchausen, the one with such fanciful lies, appears in my story. The attention given to the baron’s tall tales inspires my protagonist, Count Federmann, to make his own trip to the moon.

Now that you’ve read this post, if you do write a story about a character with a mental illness and that story becomes a bestseller, and you’re invited to make speeches and give interviews, don’t forget to thank—

Poseidon’s Scribe

June 20, 2021Permalink