After I published "First on My List" (It's available here, by the way), I took a little time off from writing to reconnect at home and to give the words a rest. When I came back to storytelling, I found I was in a bit of a slump.
It was difficult to form scenes and have the characters doing interesting stuff. What came out when I sat down at the computer was rote descriptions that got the job done, but only just. Pivotal scenes where characters learn an awful truth or have to make terrible choices were almost - but not quite - as interesting as watching red paint dry on white roses.
At first I was disheartened, thinking I'd lost my grasp on the characters. Then I decided to plow through and see what I could salvage. It turns out, there was a lot I could save.
In one scene, I had two characters chasing someone around in a warehouse, neither one of them knowing exactly what strange thing was about to befall them. The scene flowed from A to B and ended with C, setting us up for the next bit, which would be D.
But it was dull and lifeless. It in no way matched the fear and then the wonder that had to be in that scene.
I did not delete what I'd written. Instead I added several spaces at the top of the page and started adding dialog. I found I still had a grasp on Vivian's character, because while I needed her to go along with what the other character was asking, she was holding back. I had to jump in as the other character and convince her to go. What came out was electric and snappy, with the two bickering back and forth. There were minor threats and veiled insults landing all around.
Then I nixed the warehouse idea and put them in a more open place. Instead of having neither knowing what was happening, I had one knowing exactly what was going on and the other having just the faintest idea.
Then I let their different experiences guide them along their paths until the scene played out in a way far different than I'd imagined, but still led us to point D, where the next scene had to start.
What I got was so much peppier and entertaining than where I'd started.
I had another scene last night that fell so flat I wanted to scrap the whole book. I decided to give it a second go.
This time, I kept the setting, but changed up the way things were happening. The conversation unfolded almost in the opposite order it had originally and by adding frustrating distractions for one of them, when the final part of the discussion happened (still at the end, same as the first pass), it felt like it belonged there and wasn't just the writer saying "OK. We're setting up this next part."
In short, I'm saying don't be afraid to write badly. There's always time to get it right.
If you want to write, there is still only one rule.
Write.
Saturday, August 22, 2015
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Setting the Stage
It’s been a while. Sorry. The day job’s been taxing and the writing has been fast and furious.
Enough excuses.
I’d like to bring up settings and how to handle them. I’ll throw out a few suggestions on how they work to improve a story and add layers without them taking over. Nothing should get in the way of telling a story, including the clutter that’s occupying the same space as the characters.
When you watch a movie or see a play, the stage has to be built before the actors step out. It would be strange to watch a movie and have a grandfather clock appear just as a character needs to check the time. Likewise if someone were to need to sit down, the chair can’t appear under them at the perfect moment.
Because of that, writers are sometimes told to set the stage before the scene starts. We’re supposed to give a clear picture of what’s in the room (or where ever the characters are). If we’ll need a clock, or a chair, or a big-screen TV, it has to be mentioned before anything happens. Otherwise it’s going to be jarring when one person picks up a TV remote and turns on the sportsball game.
I’m going to say that’s true. This is good advice. It’s just misunderstood and often handled terribly.
If you’re reading a book and the author goes on for three pages, or even a few paragraphs, about the house being 200 years old, with creaky floors, broken windows, and threadbare furniture in the parlor, you're going to get bored. Unless it means something to the story, I doubt you care if the magazines on the table are fanned like poker cards or that the most recent one is a Dog Enthusiast title from the 1970’s. Most of what’s in the room doesn’t matter a lick to the telling of the tale and doesn’t need to be brought up at all.
The reader will fill in the details if the writer takes them far enough.
If the room is a parlor in an old house, tell them directly. Call it dark, mention the tea cart in the corner and the low table with chairs around it. Good enough. We have a picture. Anything else that gets mentioned will draw attention to itself, and there had better be a reason for it. The aforementioned TV, grandfather clock, or magazines, had better mean something to the narrative if they get a call out. The idea that “they’re setting a stage” is not reason enough to be mentioned.
One of the worst ways to set a stage is the obvious way. That is when the curtain rises (the book gets opened or a page turned) the writer launches into some sort of description of setting. There is some housekeeping to do on the writer’s part, but the start of a scene is not the place.
Instead of building a set, setting some characters on it, and then having them do something, mix it up. Shuffle the way these tasks are handled. I think it’s most effective when the characters DO something before the reader sees all the things sitting around.
Try these two examples and decide which would be best. Imagine these as the opening page of a novel.
Stage, actors, action:
The room was cold. It was also dark. While the space felt huge, it was also cramped.
Tall cabinets formed long rows. Inside the cabinets were stacks of computer drives and servers. The flashing lights indicated there was major network activity at the moment.
Jerry turned to Maria. “I think we’ve found the place.”
Action, actors, stage:
Jerry pushed the door open.
The room was dark and cold. A long row of computer cabinets blocked his way. The flashing lights inside the cases indicated there was major network activity.
He turned to the woman behind him. “I think we’ve found the place.”
You could argue that the second is really actor, action, stage since Jerry’s name is given first, but since he’s doing something, action comes first. All we have so far is a name.
Notice what didn’t get mentioned. There’s nothing about the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, the halon vents in the corner, the desk where the IT guy is reassembling a Home Star 20 personal computer from the 1980’s, or the Sci-fi calendar on the wall. We don’t know if the cabinets are locked, or if the keys are stored in the locks themselves. Who cares what color the walls, or the cabinets are? Is the IT guy’s desk metal or wood?
Does it advance the story? If not, leave it out.
Obviously, if one of these things does advance the story, mention it.
But unless one of your characters is somehow affected by the beige paint on the wall, or can’t break open the computer cabinets because they’re yellow, those facts are meaningless.
It’s important to set a stage for your characters. Don’t leave them walking in a nebulous netherworld of white walls and fog (unless that’s where they are [and since that’s so far from normal life, that needs to be mentioned!]).
The trick is to give enough idea of the setting, but not to overwhelm the reader.
In this day and age, people know what a server room looks like. Given a minimum of information, the reader can form a picture and set your actors in it. If the readers have seen a server room on TV or in a movie, or if they’ve been in one, they’re going to see one they remember as they read your story. Don’t fight that instinct. Use it!
Give enough detail that the reader knows what’s happening and where those happenings are occurring. Let them fill in the small details. They won’t realize they’re doing it and will find your work all the more enthralling when your description doesn’t pull them out of their imagined world.
Long descriptions of settings the reader is only going to see for a page or two are tedious and wasted. Give the readers what they need and forget the rest.
Even if that vase on the bookshelf has a fascinating story, don’t tell it unless it ties into your real story. It may be entertaining, but ultimately it’s pointless. If you really find the vase’s history interesting, write that story next.
The idea is not to give the readers something they can forgive. The idea is to give them something they can’t put down.
Enough excuses.
I’d like to bring up settings and how to handle them. I’ll throw out a few suggestions on how they work to improve a story and add layers without them taking over. Nothing should get in the way of telling a story, including the clutter that’s occupying the same space as the characters.
When you watch a movie or see a play, the stage has to be built before the actors step out. It would be strange to watch a movie and have a grandfather clock appear just as a character needs to check the time. Likewise if someone were to need to sit down, the chair can’t appear under them at the perfect moment.
Because of that, writers are sometimes told to set the stage before the scene starts. We’re supposed to give a clear picture of what’s in the room (or where ever the characters are). If we’ll need a clock, or a chair, or a big-screen TV, it has to be mentioned before anything happens. Otherwise it’s going to be jarring when one person picks up a TV remote and turns on the sportsball game.
I’m going to say that’s true. This is good advice. It’s just misunderstood and often handled terribly.
If you’re reading a book and the author goes on for three pages, or even a few paragraphs, about the house being 200 years old, with creaky floors, broken windows, and threadbare furniture in the parlor, you're going to get bored. Unless it means something to the story, I doubt you care if the magazines on the table are fanned like poker cards or that the most recent one is a Dog Enthusiast title from the 1970’s. Most of what’s in the room doesn’t matter a lick to the telling of the tale and doesn’t need to be brought up at all.
The reader will fill in the details if the writer takes them far enough.
If the room is a parlor in an old house, tell them directly. Call it dark, mention the tea cart in the corner and the low table with chairs around it. Good enough. We have a picture. Anything else that gets mentioned will draw attention to itself, and there had better be a reason for it. The aforementioned TV, grandfather clock, or magazines, had better mean something to the narrative if they get a call out. The idea that “they’re setting a stage” is not reason enough to be mentioned.
One of the worst ways to set a stage is the obvious way. That is when the curtain rises (the book gets opened or a page turned) the writer launches into some sort of description of setting. There is some housekeeping to do on the writer’s part, but the start of a scene is not the place.
Instead of building a set, setting some characters on it, and then having them do something, mix it up. Shuffle the way these tasks are handled. I think it’s most effective when the characters DO something before the reader sees all the things sitting around.
Try these two examples and decide which would be best. Imagine these as the opening page of a novel.
Stage, actors, action:
The room was cold. It was also dark. While the space felt huge, it was also cramped.
Tall cabinets formed long rows. Inside the cabinets were stacks of computer drives and servers. The flashing lights indicated there was major network activity at the moment.
Jerry turned to Maria. “I think we’ve found the place.”
Action, actors, stage:
Jerry pushed the door open.
The room was dark and cold. A long row of computer cabinets blocked his way. The flashing lights inside the cases indicated there was major network activity.
He turned to the woman behind him. “I think we’ve found the place.”
You could argue that the second is really actor, action, stage since Jerry’s name is given first, but since he’s doing something, action comes first. All we have so far is a name.
Notice what didn’t get mentioned. There’s nothing about the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, the halon vents in the corner, the desk where the IT guy is reassembling a Home Star 20 personal computer from the 1980’s, or the Sci-fi calendar on the wall. We don’t know if the cabinets are locked, or if the keys are stored in the locks themselves. Who cares what color the walls, or the cabinets are? Is the IT guy’s desk metal or wood?
Does it advance the story? If not, leave it out.
Obviously, if one of these things does advance the story, mention it.
But unless one of your characters is somehow affected by the beige paint on the wall, or can’t break open the computer cabinets because they’re yellow, those facts are meaningless.
It’s important to set a stage for your characters. Don’t leave them walking in a nebulous netherworld of white walls and fog (unless that’s where they are [and since that’s so far from normal life, that needs to be mentioned!]).
The trick is to give enough idea of the setting, but not to overwhelm the reader.
In this day and age, people know what a server room looks like. Given a minimum of information, the reader can form a picture and set your actors in it. If the readers have seen a server room on TV or in a movie, or if they’ve been in one, they’re going to see one they remember as they read your story. Don’t fight that instinct. Use it!
Give enough detail that the reader knows what’s happening and where those happenings are occurring. Let them fill in the small details. They won’t realize they’re doing it and will find your work all the more enthralling when your description doesn’t pull them out of their imagined world.
Long descriptions of settings the reader is only going to see for a page or two are tedious and wasted. Give the readers what they need and forget the rest.
Even if that vase on the bookshelf has a fascinating story, don’t tell it unless it ties into your real story. It may be entertaining, but ultimately it’s pointless. If you really find the vase’s history interesting, write that story next.
The idea is not to give the readers something they can forgive. The idea is to give them something they can’t put down.
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