Category Archives: Characters

Building Memorable Characters from Details

If you, Hopeful Writer, wish to astonish the world with a fictional character whom readers can’t forget, read this post by author Anne R. Allen.

I’ll repeat some of her major points here and add a few of my own. But my post serves only as a supplement to hers, not a substitute.

She advocates creating your character through the judicious use of details—the right details. Choose details both telling and distinctive. As when describing any object or place in words, make as much use of the five senses as is prudent, and add those qualities undetectable by any of those five. In describing characters, the predominant senses you’ll use are sight, hearing, smell, and possibly touch.

Senses

Start with the sense you’d like to emphasize most. We’re visual creatures, but you need not start with sight.

Still, let’s start there. In describing a character’s appearance, Ms. Allen’s post focuses on clothing, though body shape and dimensions also may deserve mention. Makeup, grooming, hair style, facial expression, even characteristic poses or hand gestures and nervous habits or tics come into play. The gait or manner of movement might also bear mentioning.

What distinctive noises can a character make? The speaking voice comes first to mind, but don’t limit yourself to tone or register, but also consider characteristic phrases, dialect, and speech mannerisms. Other parts of your character can also make noise, from the rustling of clothing fabric to the clomping of a cane or the tapping of shoe heels.

You might mention a person’s odor, whether pleasant or not. It can result from the body itself, perfume, clothing, an accompanying dog, etc.

On occasion, you might try the sense of touch—how a character feels on contact. Even if you don’t show another character touching the one you’re describing, you can suggest the potential for that action in another character’s mind. Perhaps the skin appears rough, or smooth, or certain articles of clothing might be of corduroy or silk.

Intangibles

How about those characteristics lying beyond the normal senses? In her post, Allen suggests mentioning the character’s music playlist. But such intangibles might include preferred food and drink, occupation, hobbies, habits, etc. Does the character possess some psychic connection to someone or something else? These things can help define and identify a character, but can’t be sensed.

Creation Process

Given the infinite number of choices, how do you select the right ones for your character? Allen mentions, and links to, several websites that might provide suggestions. I prefer to start by brainstorming. I imagine dozens of possibilities until a multi-sensory vision of my character emerges in my mind. I write ideas as I go, crossing out the ones that don’t work. While doing this, I do the sort of website research Ms. Allen advises. In time, I have a final description I can use.

You might not use every attribute you created, but use the ones most distinctive and telling, the ones that best convey your character’s essence. Old-style fiction writers used to lump all aspects of a character together in one batch, whether a paragraph or several pages. The modern method is to provide a few details at the first mention of a character, and sprinkle in other attributes later.

As the story proceeds, look for subtle ways to remind readers about your character’s description. Don’t overdo it, and don’t use the same words to describe a given attribute each time.

One clever technique is to change one or more attributes (or just the tone with which you describe it) as the story progresses. This change becomes a metaphor to suggest the way the character changes as a result of events in the story.

One cautionary note about character descriptions—make every effort to avoid stereotypes, tropes, and cliched characters. Here’s a way to detour around that pitfall—start with a stereotypical character, but add a clashing incongruity, a contradictory twist. Real people are complex, and you can make your characters complex, too.

Perhaps you’ll create your own famous and beloved character by following the advice of Anne R. Allen and—

Poseidon’s Scribe

January 14, 2024Permalink

The Calf-Path of Writing

You’ve been enjoying my recent author interview posts, I know, but this week I’ll take a short break from them. I’ve got at least two more interviews planned, so stay tuned.

Credit to Pixabay.com and Pexels

Today I’ll discuss a poem and how it relates to writing. Sam Walter Foss wrote “The Calf-Path” in 1895. It’s a funny little poem bearing a significant message.

In the poem, a small calf wanders through the woods in a haphazard, zig-zag way, just ambling in an aimless manner. It tramples foliage as it goes. When a dog walks that way later, the hound finds it easier to follow the trampled path than to carve a new one. More animals follow, still weaving along the same sinuous, torturous path first made by the calf. In time, people choose that path and over the centuries it becomes a well-worn route, even a paved street, albeit a bent and crooked one.

Foss explains the metaphor toward the poem’s end. He’s speaking of “calf-paths of the mind,” how people find it easier to follow tradition and precedent than to break away from them.

How does this apply to writing? Perhaps:

  • you’re basing the plot of your current story on a prior work, or
  • you’re force-fitting the story into a particular genre thinking it would sell better, or
  • you’ve portrayed one or more stereotyped characters, or
  • as you crafted each paragraph and sentence, your inner critic silenced your muse whenever she urged you to experiment with something new.

True, sometimes paths get worn because they work well. The tried-and-true plot types have proven successful. Genres exists because readers (with their own mental calf-paths) prefer books like the ones they’ve already read. Certain character stereotypes can work because readers don’t require a full description—they can fill in the rest themselves. And sometimes your inner critic is correct to dissuade you from your muse’s most outlandish suggestions.

I’m not suggesting you avoid the calf-path. I just advise you to recognize when you’re on it and make a considered choice whether to stay or deviate. It’s akin to the thoughtful decision discussed in Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Not Taken.” In that poem, the narrator states “long I stood/And looked…” implying some deliberation about the options.

I’ll conclude by paraphrasing Sam Foss:

Much with this blog post I could teach

But I am not ordained to preach

Nor in some wise didactic tribe

No, I am just—

Poseidon’s Scribe

July 9, 2023Permalink

12 Purposes of Food in Stories

Real-life humans (you and me, for example) eat food to convert it to energy and use that to grow and move. Fictional characters get along just fine without food. Why, then, do we often read entire scenes showing characters eating?

On the other hand, many novels and short stories don’t mention food at all. Fictional years and decades may pass without a character consuming even one morsel or drinking one drop. Yet the character doesn’t die of starvation. What’s with that?

Readers assume a character eats ‘off-stage,’ just as we assume characters use the bathroom as needed without the author belaboring the waste expulsion process.

Since readers will assume a character eats, that takes us back to our original question—why do authors sometimes describe a character eating? I’ve come up with a dozen reasons, though there may be more:

  1. Setting. Food represents part of the setting in which the characters speak and interact. An author’s description of food helps the reader picture the location and background. Depending on the author’s intent, the food may complement the rest of the setting or provide a counterpoint to it.
  2. Authenticity. Some stories feature food as a central part of the story, and the author must show the character eating for the sake of realism. It would seem weird if the character didn’t eat. 
  3. Mood. The author can use food to show mood. (Apparently that’s true for poets, too.) A character’s opinion about food clues the reader into the character’s state of mind. That mood might not match the character’s out-loud dialogue, but will reveal the character’s true emotions.
  4. Talent. The preparation of food, especially difficult or dangerous types of prep, can showcase a character’s talent. Even an odd method of eating food (such as tossing candy in the air and catching it in the mouth) can demonstrate a talent useful to the story.
  5. Status. The type of food a character eats or prepares, whether hobo stew or truffles, may indicate the character’s status or wealth in the society. An author may also flip that script for an amusing or shocking contrast.
  6. Personality. Discussion about food, or the manner in which a character eats food, can unveil a character’s personality traits. Does the character slurp soup, season food before tasting, eat all the carrots before touching the potatoes, chew very slowly, slice the meat into many pieces before consuming one, etc.? How a character deals with food tells readers about the character’s general behavior patterns.
  7. Thoughts. Delicious food often reduces inhibitions, prompting people to say what they really think. This is particularly true as characters imbibe alcohol.
  8. Dialogue. People talk while eating, and a shared meal gives characters a chance to converse. This dialogue, like all fictional dialogue, must serve a purpose. It must reveal something about a character or must advance the plot, or both.
  9. Prop. The mechanics of food and drink consumption—sniffing, licking lips, arranging a napkin, cutting, lifting to the mouth, blowing to cool hot food, chewing, savoring, swallowing, etc.—help break up dialogue with action. A character may use an eating utensil to illustrate or emphasize a point.   
  10. Relaxation. A quiet meal can serve as a low-tension scene separating two high-action scenes. It gives the reader a chance to catch a breath while characters catch a bite.
  11. Conflict. A meal may afford the opportunity for characters to confront each other over a disagreement. They may argue, or even fight.
  12. Symbolism. An author may use any type of food or drink to symbolize something else. If a character keeps coming back to a particular type of food, and it’s either described or consumed in a different way each time, chances are it symbolizes some aspect of a change in the character.

Unlike us, fictional characters don’t need food to survive, but a story might require a character to eat anyway.

Don’t know about you, but this discussion of food has made me hungry. It’s off to the kitchen for—

Poseidon’s Scribe

June 5, 2022Permalink

Do You Begin with Character, Plot, or Theme?

You’re thinking about writing a novel. Do your first thoughts focus on a character, events, or ideas? Whichever it is, opportunities and dangers await you.

This past week, I listened to an online lecture by author Emily Colin on the subject of “Hooking Readers and Publishers with Your Opening Pages and Never Letting Go.” She mentioned these three types of starting points, and that got me thinking.

I discovered a post by author PJ Parrish dealing with two of the three—character and plot. She listed strengths and challenges associated with each mindset. Using her post as a starting point, I’ll present my own list of pros and cons for all three.

Character-Based

Your first question is, “Who?” and you imagine a character, or more than one, fully formed, with backstory, personality, and appearance all locked in. Your character is like family to you.

Pros:

  1. Reader Empathy. People care about characters, and if yours are interesting and well-drawn, your novel will entrance readers.
  2. Writer Empathy. You know your character so well, you’ll have no problems writing actions, behavior, and dialogue at any point. You’ll know the character’s appropriate action in, and reaction to, any situation.
  3. Editor Empathy. Character-driven stories dominate the fiction market now. A story with engaging characters may be easier to sell.

Cons:

  1. Idolizing. If you fall in love with your character, you may see no flaws, and therefore no change will result, no learning will occur.
  2. Meandering. If your plot is weak, events may seem disconnected or illogical. The plot may seem contrived, with scenes designed to showcase the character instead of presenting a series of increasingly difficult challenges.
  3. Puzzling. If you neglect theme, readers might like your character, but be left wondering what the book was all about, and why they should care.

Plot-Based

Your first question is, “What if?” and you imagine the conflict, the journey, the rising and falling tension, the escalation of stakes, and the resolution.

Pros:

  1. Blurb. You know your back cover blurb already, as well as the story outline and synopsis. A ready blurb makes the story marketable.
  2. Suspense. The thing that keeps readers reading on—suspense—comes easy to you. You’ve lined up the twists that keep readers surprised.
  3. Structure. The writing may go easier for you, since you know where the story’s going.

Cons:

  1. Unsurprising. If you adhere to your plot outline too rigidly, the ending might be predictable. Or you might force a character to act out-of-character, because it’s necessary to your plot.
  2. Boring. In peopling your plot, you may end up with characters who are flat, uninteresting, even stereotyped.
  3. Puzzling. If you neglect theme, readers might like your plot, but be left wondering what the book was all about, and why they should care.

Theme-Based

Your first question is, “What’s the point?” You have something to say to the world. You’d like to persuade, to bring about change. You feel deeply about a message you want to convey.

Pros:

  1. Elevation. Strong themes, well expressed, can raise a book above common genre books into the realm of literary fiction.
  2. Double-Take. Books with strong themes make readers think. Only later do they realize the power of the message, and that makes them love the book even more than when they first finished it. Such books can change lives.
  3. Endurance. Well-written stories that say something true and eternal about the human condition can become classics.

Cons:

  1. Preaching. If you beat your fist on the pulpit too strongly, the reader will walk out on your sermon. If you can’t weave themes into your fiction with subtlety, write a textbook instead.
  2. Forcing. Readers will sense when you’ve engineered your plot to make your larger point, especially if effects don’t follow from causes.
  3. Over-Simplifying. If your characters lack dimension, if they can be summed up in one word, if their purpose is just to symbolize an idea in support of your theme, they’re not realistic.

In summary, it’s okay if you’re any one of the three types of writers. (I’m plot-based.) Strive to recognize your tendency and compensate for the cons associated with your type. Think about the other two aspects as you write and shore up those areas you’re weak in.

Interesting bonus fact: if you rearrange the letters in the words “character,” “plot,” and “theme,” you cannot come up with the words—

Poseidon’s Scribe

April 24, 2022Permalink

The Uses of Bars, Taverns, and Pubs in Fiction

Welcome to Poseidon’s Pub! Come on in. There’s an empty stool here at the bar. What can I get you?

Bars, taverns, pubs, taprooms, watering holes, alehouses, saloons, cantinas, grogshops, dives, and joints serve as frequent settings in fiction. Little wonder. They’re common settings in real life, too.

In fiction, though, they perform a different function than in real life. Let’s examine that subject.

To the reader, it should seem that your character enters the bar for any of the reasons real people do. These include (1) to have a good time in a congenial, social environment, (2) to forget or escape troubles, (3) being dragged in reluctantly by friends, (4) to meet someone the character already knows, and (5) to meet someone the character would like to know.

In real life, that’s about all there is to know. We enter for one or more of those reasons, or some similar reason, and we either succeed or fail, but we leave with less money, fewer fine motor skills, and fewer brain cells.

However, things are different in fiction. The overall point of the fictional bar scene is to advance the plot, add depth to a character, or both. A fictional bar scene might accomplish one or more of the following functions:

  • Show a character’s behavior in a relaxed, non-work or non-family setting. This allows the writer to display new facets of the character.
  • Reveal more of a character’s thoughts, feelings, and background. This scene might serve as a way to unveil the tale’s backstory.
  • Reduce tension after an action scene. It may allow both reader and character a chance to catch their breaths and reflect on what just happened before.
  • Make use of reduced inhibitions. The effect of alcohol on any of your characters might allow them to admit a truth they’ve been hiding, or propose an idea that’s just crazy enough to work.
  • Gain information or ideas from another character. This can be from a direct conversation with that character, or could be gleaned through intentional or accidental eavesdropping on another conversation.
  • Form, strengthen, or end a relationship with another character.
  • Show a conflict between two characters. A writer can illustrate this with a heated conversation, a game like pool or darts, or the classic bar fight.

As with any scene, you’ll need some description of the setting, the layout and ambiance of your fictional bar. Your readers already know what a bar looks like, so choose enough details to sketch a mental picture in the reader’s mind, but trust the reader to fill in the rest. You’ll want the overall mood of the bar to reflect your character’s mood, or that of your story at that point.

Bar scenes in fiction have become so typical, so stereotypical, that you’ll need to find a way to make yours unique, atypical in some way.

If your character returns to the bar later in your story, ensure something has changed. Most likely your character has learned something along the way. Seen through your wiser character’s eyes, perhaps the bar looks different now, or the character notices things missed on the earlier visit. Or maybe the bar looks so much the same that your character reflects on its sameness.

I grew up reading science fiction, and those tales contain plenty of bar scenes, from Isaac Asimov’s ‘Union Club,’ to Arthur C. Clarke’s ‘The White Hart,’ to Larry Nivens’ ‘Draco Tavern.’ No doubt you pictured some favorite bar—real or fictional—as you read this blogpost, so there’s no point in my listing hundreds of examples from written or cinematic fiction.

My story, “The Six Hundred Dollar Man,” contains a bar scene in ‘Shingle & Locke’s Saloon.’ It serves the purpose of relating the first amazing stunt of the Six Hundred Dollar Man and of raising ethical questions about whether it’s right to give a man steam-powered legs and one-mechanical arm.

Sorry! Closing time, folks. Settle up your tabs and have someone get you home in safety. And don’t forget to tip your favorite bartender—

Poseidon’s Scribe

January 30, 2022Permalink

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

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

Raise the Stakes!

Does the current draft of your story seem uninteresting? Do you have to wake up your Beta readers after they get through the first page? Perhaps the stakes aren’t high enough.

Earlier this week, I attended an excellent Zoom talk by author Amber Royer called ‘Giving Everyone a Stake in the Story.’ That talk inspired this blogpost, but, as usual, I’m putting her presentation into my own words.

No, not even spelled right
Yes, a stake, but not the kind we mean

What, exactly, is a ‘stake?’ As a noun it has two meanings, the first being a stick or post driven into the ground, but we’re interested in the second meaning. One theory suggests that people in medieval Europe would wager on events (jousts or other contests) by placing bets on wooden posts—stakes. Over time, they referred to the bets themselves as ‘stakes.’

A stake, then, is the thing being risked, the thing that could be won or lost depending on an outcome of a future event.

What do the key characters in your story have at stake? If they aren’t taking some risk with a chance to win or lose something, your readers won’t care about them.

To have a stake, the characters must want something. The more important that thing is and the more they want it, the more interesting your characters will be. Stakes are tied up with motivations.

The thing your character wants could be tangible, like a physical object, or a job promotion; or it could be intangible, like love, status, or respect. Maybe it’s not something they want, but something they want to avoid, like humiliation, defeat, loss of self-respect, injury, death, etc.

Once you decide what your characters have at stake, think about how far they’re willing to go to get what they want, or avoid what they don’t want. Would your characters give up money, time, their reputation, their honor, a friendship, their life?

Stakes aren’t just for protagonists. Your antagonist needs a stake, too. Consider thinking about this even before developing your protagonist. What does your ‘bad guy’ want, and how far is she willing to go to get it?

Your story might also include a ‘Stakes Character.” This character personifies and represents what’s at stake for your protagonist. Often both the protagonist and antagonist strive for the Stakes Character, or want what that character has, but they use different means.

For example, in the movie Mary Poppins, George Banks is the protagonist. Mary Poppins is the antagonist, and the children, Jane and Michael, are the Stakes Characters. George thinks his career as a banker is what’s at stake, but really, it’s his role as a father. Mary opposes his focus on his career and works to make him realize being a good father is far more important. Seen in that way, they’re both fighting for the children.

Even your minor characters will have stakes. However, don’t let them steal the show away from the main protagonist/antagonist conflict.

How do you find out what’s at stake for your characters? Ask them. (Well, not out loud if you’re in public—that would seem weird.) Ask tough, deep questions. Think about their answers and let those deep, personal confessions influence how you write about those characters in the story.

Amber Royer credits editor Donald Maas with categorizing stakes as Personal, Public, or Ultimate. Personal stakes are inside, usually unknown to the world. Public stakes are known and often shared. If the protagonist fails, more than that one character would be affected. Ultimate stakes are the really deep ones underlying all other motivations. They’re at the end of the ‘why?’ chain of questions. They’re the ones you’d give your life for. A single character can have one, two, or all three types.

If your story is tedious or dull, or the characters seem flat and lifeless, raise the stakes! Give them something more to win or lose. Make them willing to risk more. If that doesn’t work, ask yourself how you’d write your story if you were more like—

Poseidon’s Scribe

June 13, 2021Permalink

6 Things Story-writers Can Learn from Songwriters

Many songs tell stories. Can our musical counterparts—songwriters—teach a few things to prose fiction writers like us?

Many songs, perhaps most, just convey a mood or a thought. Today I’m only considering ‘story songs’ and I’ll define them as tunes having (1) one character with a problem, (2) a plot where the character struggles to solve the problem, and (3) an ending where, as a result of the character’s actions, the problem is resolved. That’s the definition of a story, too.

Songwriters have a few advantages over story-writers. They can:

  • set the mood of the story with the tune and instruments alone;
  • use melody, rhythm, and the tone of their singing voice to convey emotions and the up-and-down cycling of tension;
  • use pauses to delay a surprise ending until the time is right; and
  • can repeat phrases (say, in a chorus) without the listening audience getting bored by the repetition.

By contrast, story-writers must convey their tale using words alone.

On the other hand, songwriters operate under a couple of constraints not faced by story-writers. They must tell their story in a very short time (typically four to ten minutes), and most often they must do so in poetic rhyme. Due to the brevity of story songs, many of them resemble flash fiction stories, those with 1000 words or less.

From what I’ve gleaned in my research, story songs are more prevalent in country music and folk songs than in other musical genres. Also, certain singers are more drawn to story songs than others. Examples include Harry Chapin (“Taxi,” “Cats in the Cradle,” and “Flowers are Red”) and Johnny Cash (“A Boy Named Sue” and “One Piece at a Time”).  

Story songs tend to be somber, dark, or even tragic in tone and message. There are some humorous ones, such as Meatloaf’s “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” and upbeat ones like “Devil Went Down to Georgia” by The Charlie Daniels Band, but these are exceptions.

Often, like most songs, story songs tend to involve young love, or lost love. Further, they tend to be about ordinary people, poor or middle-class people with troubles.

What can story-writers learn from songwriters?

  1. Set the scene with a few well-chosen words. Don’t start with backstory—you can fill that in later. In “Puff the Magic Dragon” by Peter, Paul and Mary, we’re only told the dragon lived ‘by the sea, and frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee.’
  2. Introduce your main character early, and make that character compelling, someone with whom readers will identify. In Barry Manilow’s “Copacabana,” we are drawn to Lola, not because she’s a showgirl with yellow flowers in her hair, but because she and Tony ‘were young and had each other, who could ask for more?’
  3. Early on, force your character to face a difficult conflict, one that’s serious and will drive the plot. The very first lines of “Coward of the County” by Kenny Rogers are, ‘Everyone considered him the coward of the county,’ setting up an inevitable test of manhood. In “Stan” by Eminem, the narrator establishes early that he’s got an irrational obsession, a hero fixation that is messing up his life.
  4. Choose a few key details to describe things. There’s no need for complete descriptions. “Hotel California” by The Eagles is masterful, giving us mental images such as cool winds, warm smell of colitas, hearing the mission bell, lighting of a candle, etc. The song zeros in to give precise details about a few things, and listeners fill in the gaps.
  5. Resolve the conflict in a way that the character learns something, perhaps something unexpected. In “Margaritaville” by Jimmy Buffett, the song’s chorus keeps changing as the narrator learns who’s really to blame for his troubles. In “Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman, the narrator thought a man with a fast car would drive her to a better life, but in the end tells him to ‘take your fast car and keep on driving.’
  6. Story ideas. Take your favorite song and convert it into a story. Twist it enough so you don’t violate its copyright, but you can channel the same emotions inspired by the song into your story.

About now, one of the songs I mentioned is stuck in your head, right? I better quit, since you’re busy humming a tune and no longer reading words written by—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 23, 2021Permalink