Your Type of Writing

Your personality type determines how you write and what you write. Sorry, but that’s a proven scientific fact (says the guy who’s not an expert on personalities, science, or writing for that matter).

In last week’s post, I cited Lauren Sapala’s claim that two Myers-Briggs personality types seemed most suited to pantsing (writing without an outline), rather than plotting. That got me wondering—does your Myers-Briggs Type Indicator reveal your writing process, and the genre of your fiction?

Kate Scott explored this topic well and I recommend her post. What follows is my whimsical take. To determine your type, take this online quiz. Then skip to my assessment of your type. If my write-up doesn’t ring true, well, I warned you. If you do identify with what I wrote, that proves even a blind pig, etc.

ENFJ

Process—Lucky you keep a notebook of interesting words and phrases. Now post that calendar with the deadline circled, and get ready to educate the world. If you can’t collaborate with a co-author, then at least consult.

Genre—Young Adult, with realistic teenage dialogue

ENFP

Process—Time to brainstorm with fellow writers. Get the feel of each character—know them like family. Let those metaphors and similes flow.

Genre—literary fiction or highbrow romance, where you connect your characters to the big ideas, the eternal aspects of human nature

ENTJ

Process—You joined a writer’s group, and soon became its president. You’ve researched all aspects of your book and could teach a college-level course in each. You’ve posted a mind-map on the wall near the executive chair in your ‘command bunker.’ All that remains is to adhere to your detailed outline.

Genre—technothrillers bristling with advanced gadgets, accurate in every detail

ENTP

Process—Peruse your ‘ideas file,’ now bulging with dozens, even hundreds, of story ideas. Bounce notions off your online fan club, or sit with friends at the coffee shop to discuss the book. Follow the intricate plan you’ve laid out.

Genre—mysteries featuring a clever detective, or other problem-solving stories where your hero contrives an ingenious solution to a bedeviling dilemma.

ESFJ

Process—you take your voice recorder everywhere, ‘writing’ by talking first. Collaboration? Heck, you tell everyone about your book, from the grocery clerk to your co-workers. Outlines bore you, so you write on the fly.

Genre—any popular genre, since you know what readers want, but always in first-person, like you’re telling a campfire story

ESFP

Process—You host a party, and the main entertainment is a freeform brainstorm of your story. A few drinks liven things up. For the actual writing, if you’re not collaborating with one or more co-authors on the effort, you wish you were.

Genre—romance, featuring your clever wordplay. with a huge cast of characters, often attending parties

ESTJ

Process—Somebody’s put out a submission call you like, so it’s time to sit at your well-ordered desk and craft an outline. Soon a theme emerges as you work to achieve each milestone of your plan.

Genre—short stories in any genre, prompted by submission calls, written in clear prose, about characters using logic to resolve conflict

ESTP

Process—Good thing you’ve assembled your collection of note cards with all the facts you’ll need. Now head to your favorite restaurant with your writer friends. Once the outline’s done, get the story written and published, because the real fun is at the book signings.

Genre—any genre where your characters can talk their way out of difficult jams

INFJ

Process—You’ve been people-watching in the park, notebook in hand, so you’ve now formed an image of your characters. You even know which actors should play them in the (please let it be!) movie. No outline will constrain you as you let the characters take the story where they will.

Genre—Romance, of course

INFP

Process—Home now after your daily nature walk, you retire to your writing niche, energized by fragrant incense and stimulated by seeing your favorite decorations. Time to write, unhindered by outlines or any assigned topics, you write what you want. You’re no sell-out to the market.

Genre—literary fiction of a deep, introspective, and moody nature

INTJ

Process—You’ve never shown anyone where you write, and you call it your ‘secret lair.’ A blueprint of your story fills the screen of one of the monitors on your desk. Maybe that first draft didn’t work, but that’s why you edit.

Genre—science fiction, alternate history, or steampunk, but always containing political overtones

INTP

Process—It’s well past midnight, but you don’t care, or even notice. You’re writing what you like. The detailed outline guides you. Thanks to careful research, and your collection of how-to-write books, you’ve learned a lot, and that’s the point.

Genre—mixed-genre novels, the kind booksellers can’t categorize, as well as experimental novels that explore untried plot structures

ISFJ

Process—You’ve done your research and know the plot types and tropes that work for readers. You’ve carved out this time to work without interruption, after first ensuring others in your home don’t need you for anything.

Genre—Historical fiction, in your easy style, all parts in harmony, designed to entertain and educate

ISFP

Process—You’re outdoors, on your deck or patio, or in the park, music playing in your earbuds. In your mind, you picture a reader enjoying your book. You just returned from a trip to the city of your novel’s setting, where you soaked in the ambiance of the place. That brisk walk you took earlier sure stimulated your muse and collected your thoughts about the submission call you’ve chosen to respond to.

Genre—novel-in-verse or literary fiction

ISTJ

Process—Here in your home library, surrounded by reference books (including a well-thumbed thesaurus), outline, schedule, and spreadsheets, you’re set to go. You’ve also hand-built a model of the very thing you’re writing about, to inspire you.

Genre—mysteries with a clever detective

ISTP

Process—Above your desk, you’ve posted a clear, one-sentence goal for your book. Nobody tasked you to write this book, and nobody else could craft it as well. You’re going to work as long and as hard as it takes to meet your high standards. Nothing but the Great American Novel will do.

Genre—any established genre, and you aim for the top spot in it

Eerie, isn’t it, how I knew your writing process and genre from your Myers-Briggs personality type alone? What can I say? It’s a super-power reserved to, (and used only for good by)—

Poseidon’s Scribe

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

Writer, Know Thyself

How well do you know yourself? I came across a wonderful post on this topic by Joanna Penn, guest-posting on WritetoDone. I’d like to take her basic idea in a different direction.

As Joanna said, the phrase “Know Thyself” has an ancient lineage, going back at least to the Temple of Apollo at Delphi in ancient Greece, but possibly further back to ancient Egypt. It has various interpretations, but for today, I’ll take it to mean that wisdom begins by looking inside.

If you aim to be a writer, able to write convincing tales about characters who are unlike yourself, you must first understand the person from whom these characters will spring.

Why? It’s the filters.

Let me explain. So far in life, you’ve observed the real world and many people for several years. In your mind, you have a model of that world and those people, but it’s not a perfect model. It doesn’t match the real world exactly.

Every sensation of the world has to pass through a filter in your mind, a filter you built over time based on your experiences. It consists of your stereotypes, biases, personality, political views, gender, education, occupation, etc. The filter through which you see the world is your unique perspective based on who you really are, and it is distorting the view you see.

If you write a book, you’re writing through that filter about a world you see and characters you see. Once published, the book is out there, part of the real world for readers to enjoy. When a reader reads your book, she understands and interprets it through her own mental filter.

It’s possible that, despite all this filtering, many readers will enjoy your book and you’ll earn lots of money. If so, it will be in part because your words reached through the filters and entertained readers.

It’s wise, therefore, to take an introspective look at your own filter, to study it with as much objectivity as you can. Who is this person who wants to be a writer, who would write words describing people and who would comment on the human condition? In short, who are you?

Joanna Penn’s blog post makes some great observations about attributes that most writers have in common. But I think it’s just as important for you to understand the specific attributes unique to you.

How do you do that? You could take a few days off, get away from the world as best you can, and write down what you know about yourself. You could take a personality test, such as the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, the Five Factor Model, or some other measure.

If you do this, I’m certain you’ll find many of the attributes Joanna Penn listed will be true for you (a loner seeking recognition; one who’s scared, doubtful, and creative; one who believes in finishing projects and striving to improve; one who knows the dark side of life).

You’ll find out much more than that, things that make you feel proud to be you and things you wish weren’t true. You will see facets of yourself that are average and facets that are far from the norm.

This project of learning about yourself can benefit you and your writing in several ways:

  • You may find things about yourself you’d like to improve;
  • You’ll know about those parts of you that are unusual, and realize that connecting with readers may take an extra effort;
  • You’ll understand that your characters have personality filters too, and by writing about the world of your story as well as the thoughts of a character, you are revealing something about that character’s filters.

Good luck! And now, excuse me, it’s time for me to get to know—

Poseidon’s Scribe