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Why are Writers so Mean to their Characters?

Authors do awful things to their characters, don’t they? They burden them with intractable dilemmas, cause heartache, fear, misery, and depression, to say nothing of life-and-death peril, often resulting in bodily harm or death. If writers wreaked such havoc on real people, they’d be locked up.

Advice from Authors

This past week, I attended a Zoom lecture given by author Jack Campbell. He said if you get stuck while writing, it’s often because you haven’t been mean enough to your characters. He said Mark Twain called it chasing your characters up a tree and then throwing rocks at them. (I can’t find the actual quote on any Twain site and it’s often attributed to others.)

I recall attending a writing class taught by the late author Ann C. Crispin. She told us, if you met your characters in real life, just walking down the street, they should want to punch you in the nose for what you’ve done to them.

The Reason

Why do authors mistreat their own characters? Does sadism explain it?

No, I don’t think so. I take no pleasure if tormenting my characters, and I suspect other writers feel the same way about theirs.

The answer lies with readers. I’m not reader-shaming here, just stating a fact. Readers take more interest in stories where characters suffer misfortune than in stories where they don’t. If the reading public preferred slice-of-life stories about characters enjoying a nice strife-free day, writers would cater to that need.

If you ask why readers prefer stories about suffering, and keep asking why, you’ll enter the realm of philosophy. I won’t venture far down that path, except to say we humans find ourselves living in an uncaring universe. We all want things, whether it’s an ice cream cone or world domination. Since the universe doesn’t cater to our whims, those unsatisfied desires cause us to struggle to pursue our needs. The struggle leads to suffering.

In other words, the universe treats us just as badly as writers treat their characters. Therefore, readers crave stories about characters grappling with problems and experiencing misfortune.

Degrees of Meanness

Many writers inflict physical pain on their characters, from bloody noses to broken bones and even death. Being mean, though, needn’t involve physical trauma. As often, or maybe more often, characters must endure mental anguish of some kind. They must suffer terror, grief, melancholy, distress, jealousy, rage, or any of hundreds of others.

The author control panel includes selector switches for characters, a thousand buttons for the type of suffering to impose, and a dial for the degree of discomfort, with a scale from mild to intolerable.

Is this Necessary?

I know this sounds twisted, brutal, and merciless. However, no real people are harmed in the creation of fiction. Moreover, the agony suffered by characters serves a purpose. Their survival, if they survive, gives readers hope. If the main character dies or otherwise fails to alleviate the suffering, that failure serves as a warning to readers—don’t do what that character did while alive. Some fault, some flaw in the character led to a deserved death.

You’ll find informative discussions about this by Justin Ferguson, the folks at MightyAuthor.com, and Jami Gold.

Be Nice Instead?

Perhaps you’d prefer to write a pleasant story, where nice people live in a nice place and do nice things to each other. You’re free to do so. It might even sell. You’ll have to craft your story so that readers remain interested somehow, attracted by your style of writing, or fascinated by the characters or setting such that they keep wondering what’s going to happen next.

That sounds difficult to pull off. Such a book wouldn’t meet reader expectations. Most often, they clamor for conflict. As author Veronica Roth said, “If there’s no conflict, there are no stories worth telling—or reading!”

I can’t find the citation, but I believe Isaac Asimov said that the task of the storyteller is to maximize the impact on the reader’s emotions. You’ll find it difficult to do that with out being cruel to your characters.

Cruel to be Kind

Think of it like the 1978 song, “Cruel to be Kind” by Nick Lowe. In this case, you’re being cruel to your characters to be kind to your readers. Since your characters can’t fight back and your readers pay for your books, that works to your advantage.

If you’ll excuse me, some fictional characters are due to get roughed up by mean ol’—

Poseidon’s Scribe

November 24, 2024Poseidon's ScribePermalink Leave a comment

The Inner Drives of Fictional Characters

You should know the motivation of each fictional character you create. What do they desire? What inner need compels them to act the way they do? I’ve blogged about motivation before, and I’ll build on that today.

Motivation versus Goals

Every major character may pursue a goal, too, but that differs from motivation. A goal is the outcome a character seeks, and motivation is why the character wants it.

Maslow’s Hierarchy

In my earlier post, I mentioned Abraham Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. The pyramid shape suggests a character must meet lower-level needs before pursuing higher levels. If an antagonist or other circumstance deprives a character of a lower-level need, the character will revert down to that need and pursue it.

Russell’s Theory

The British philosopher Bertrand Russell discussed motivations (calling them desires) in his 1950 speech accepting the Nobel Prize in Literature. He focused on the motivations of political leaders, because these, he thought, influenced human history the most. If you include a political leader in your fiction, Russell’s thoughts may interest you.

The philosopher named four major desires of political leaders—acquisitiveness, rivalry, vanity, and love of power. Put another way:

acquisitiveness = I want your stuff
rivalry = I want to surpass you
vanity = I want you to worship me
love of power = I want to control you

As Maslow did, Russell put his list of desires in a specific order, but in a more negative way. Perhaps an inverted pyramid makes more sense, for he ordered his group by strength. He rated acquisitiveness the weakest and love of power the strongest.

Moreover, he considered these needs insatiable. Like a snowball rolling downhill, the more you feed any of those needs, the bigger they get. No satisfied contentment awaits at the end.

Combining the Theories

Despite the differing approaches, I see parallels between Maslow’s positive list and Russell’s negative one. Acquisitiveness connects to Psychological and Safety needs—both concern material things and feeling secure. Rivalry connects to Belonging and Esteem—both concern relating with others. Vanity also connects to Esteem as well—both concern how the character is seen by others. Love of Power connects to both Esteem and Self-Actualization—both concern the achievement of full potential through creativity.

It’s Complicated

Perhaps, in trying to categorize and group motivations, both Maslow and Russell oversimplified matters. Humans exhibit a wide array of motivations, not just the ones listed by those two thinkers. Your fictional characters may act out of any motivation you choose, from an infinite list.

As you create characters, you may find Maslow’s pyramid and Russell’s list useful as a starting point. Feel free to add nuance and variation when determining what drives your characters.

Whatever my own motivation, concluding this blogpost is the immediate goal of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

September 8, 2024Poseidon's ScribePermalink 2 Comments

These Days, Character Beats Plot

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.

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.

Reader, Meet Character

Time for introductions. When writing fiction, you often must present a character to readers for the first time. As the saying goes, ‘first impressions are the most lasting,’ so make each a good one.

In this post, the team at NowNovel lists six ways to introduce characters to readers, and provides great examples of each from literature. In my post here, I’ll give you my own spin on this topic. Here are the six methods mentioned by NewNovel:

Methods

Relate Backstory. Here you provide a character’s past history, a form of ‘origin story,’ to establish and explain personality and motivation. Take care not to drone on too long, or the info dump could bore readers.
Discuss Reputation. In this method, you cause a known character to think or talk about an unknown character before arrival. That way readers get to know the new character in advance, from another’s point of view.
Show Action. Depict the new character engaged in an activity. The reader then identifies the character with a specific hobby, job, or characteristic gesture or movement.
Encounter Dilemma. You might show a new character struggling with a decision, on the horns of a dilemma. This reveals that character’s vulnerabilities, helps readers sympathize, and moves your plot along.
Introduce Self. In this method, the character speaks to the reader in a ‘Call me Ishmael’ way. Simple and direct.
Present Description. Here the author describes the new character so the reader forms a mental impression.

When to Use

Each method presents opportunities and challenges. You can even use some of them in combination with others. The first and sixth, if too long, can cause readers to lose interest in the characters and lose respect for the author. The second method works well for introducing antagonists, or any character with an air of mystery, and can built tension. You might reserve the third method for action-oriented characters, or those for whom their job or hobby dominates their lives. The fourth method also creates tension and works well for characters whose later decisions impact the plot, especially the ending. As for the fifth method, that works well early in first person novels where your protagonist narrates the story.

If you use the sixth method, consider descriptions beyond the sense of sight. Show readers the character’s scent, and maybe a sound, perhaps a sound other than a spoken voice. Remember, too, that these two senses work when out of sight, around corners, etc.

How to Decide

For your major characters, you may have written summaries (possibly called portraits or biographies) that include detailed descriptions. The summaries help you envision vivid characters with realistic aspirations and motivations. You’ll sprinkle data from these summaries throughout the novel, and may repeat some items for emphasis, and probably won’t use some facts at all. You’ll keep these summaries at the ready as you write the story, to ensure you keep facts straight and stay consistent.

As you create the summaries, give some thought to how you’ll introduce each character to the reader. In each case, which method of introduction best serves the story? If a particular introduction, once written, feels wrong, re-write it using one or more different methods and select the best. By ‘best,’ I mean the method you judge as the optimum for creating a memorable impression on the reader, and advancing (or not slowing) the plot.

Now, get back to writing. You’ve got a lot of characters to deal with, and a world of readers anxious to meet them. As for me, well, you know me already. Call me—

Poseidon’s Scribe

April 28, 2024Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Perseverance and Luck—Advice from Shawn Warner

An author sits at a table in a grocery store, trying to sell his book. He’s sat there for hours, ready to sign books for buyers, but few stop to talk, and even fewer to buy. At last, one man does stop, and offers to post a video of the author on TikTok. Soon after, the post goes viral and book sales soar.

Luck?

You may regard that author as the luckiest writer alive, the chance winner of some literary lottery. But I’ve left out parts of Shawn Warner’s story. He might well agree with a quote attributed to filmmaker Samuel Goldwyn: “The harder I work, the luckier I get.”

Perseverance

That book signing in the grocery story hadn’t been Warner’s first. He hadn’t just dashed out a book. He’d been writing for fifteen years, without much success.

The TikTok influencer, Jerrad Swearenjin, hadn’t chosen to post to an uninterested audience about some third-rate tale. The novel, Leigh Howard and the Ghosts of Simmons-Pierce Manor, delighted the young TikTok readership.

I took the opportunity to hear Shawn Warner speak this past week, and he seemed well plugged in to the current publishing scene. He gave his audience sound, up-to-date advice about the writing business. Although I’ve heard and read some of these tips from others, Mr. Warner conveyed them in plain, easy-to-digest nuggets. I’ll just summarize a few of my takeaways.

Plot vs. Character

You may write either a plot-driven story or a character-driven story, Warner said. But today’s publishers are rejecting the former and accepting only the latter. (This disappoints me, for I like reading and writing the plot-driven kind.)

You should make your protagonist seem a real person with strengths, weaknesses, and friends. Your antagonist, too, must seem real, with strengths and weaknesses, but the bad guy requires no friends.

Warner discussed what he called the ‘A-Story’ and the ‘B-Story.’ The A-Story involves the external plot, with the protagonist reacting, at first, to events that strike at that character’s weaknesses. The B-Story involves the protagonist’s internal struggle against weaknesses. For books being published today, the B-Story takes precedence. As the tale progresses, the protagonist begins to solve the internal flaw and acts (with what is called ‘agency’) to resolve the A- and B-Stories.

Edit by Audio Recording

Warner suggests making your own audio recording of your manuscript. Then listen to it and edit your written manuscript based on what doesn’t sound right, or where you stumbled while reading.

Taglines

Warner suggests you develop a one-sentence tagline to answer the question, “What is your book about?” For his novel, he says, “It’s about a teenage girl who teams up with a ghost of multiple personalities to solve the mystery of her parents’ murder.” He advises that you memorize and rehearse your tagline until you can roll it out without hesitation. Obviously, you’d want to do that for all your published and upcoming books. Further, I’d suggest a tagline to answer the often-asked question, “What do you write about?”

Conclusion

Mr. Warner offered other bits of advice, but I’ll keep this post short. I’ve blogged before about Malcolm Gladwell’s theory in Outliers that genius requires 10,000 hours of practice, plus luck. I consider Shawn Warner a good example of that. Yes, luck smiled on him that day in the grocery store. But it occurred only after the 10,000 hours of writing, the perseverance to sit for book signings, and the writing of an excellent book.

Perhaps, after the same amount of perseverance, a similar bolt of luck will strike you and—

Poseidon’s Scribe

March 17, 2024Poseidon's ScribePermalink

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, 2024Poseidon's ScribePermalink

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, 2022Poseidon's ScribePermalink

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, 2021Poseidon's ScribePermalink

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, 2021Poseidon's ScribePermalink

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:

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?
You need to reveal the character’s symptoms to the reader early and throughout. Remember to show, don’t tell, these symptoms.
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.
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