9 Storytelling Blunders That Make You Look like an Amateur

image of Riker facepalming

Image from Dark Uncle

 

You may be a grammatical black belt, leaping big vocabulary words in a single bound. But take care: you could still be making elementary mistakes that’ll leave your readers cringing, eye-rolling, and yes, even face-palming.

Protect your writerly reputation! Check out these nine storytelling mistakes that make you look like a total n00b—and learn how to fix them like a pro.

 

1. The Perfect Hero: Best We’ve Ever Seen

The problem: Your character is the Best at Everything, constantly impresses the other characters, and frequently breaks rules yet never gets in real trouble. This character is so cliché she has a name: Mary Sue. She’s amusing for awhile, but only as a daydream. She soon makes you look shallow and self-indulgent.

The fix: Give her fears and weaknesses. Trip her up. Relate to your readers by appealing to their vulnerability. As the Pixar geniuses remind us, we admire characters more for trying than for succeeding.

 

2. The Weak Villain: Foiled Again!

The problem: This mistake often goes with the one above. Your brilliant hero thwarts the villain yet again! Perhaps even single-handedly! But if your villain is that weak, you’re not challenging your hero, which means you have no conflict and therefore no story. It’s boring.

The fix: Give your villain multiple advantages over your hero. A bigger army, bigger guns, more political influence. Your hero should suffer greater and greater losses as he clashes with the villain throughout the story, until he reaches his lowest point, and finds some tiny advantage that helps him defeat the villain—probably an advantage you introduced near the beginning.

 

3. Instant Romance: Just Add Danger!

The problem: Contrary to action movie tradition, “we got shot at together” is not a valid basis for True Love, especially when your characters have only known each other for weeks, days, or even hours. Those stories can be titillating, but not moving.

The fix: Give your characters actual personalities, and something within those personalities that suits them for each other. Watch the first twenty minutes of Pixar’s Up or Wall-E to see how it’s done. (Or here’s more help avoiding shallow romance.)

 

4. Exposition: If You’re Just Joining Us…

The problem: Flat-out explanations for past events instead of hinting at them. You often see these in the subsequent volumes of a series to recap events from previous books, but you’ll also see it in standalone books to reveal heroes’ personal histories, or even to remind the reader what’s happened so far. It’s awkward and often boring.

The fix: This is a classic example of when you should show, not tell. Don’t say it, convey it. Here’s how to get rid of background exposition.

 

5. Laundry List Descriptions: Check, Check, Check

The problem: Describing every character with the same handful of features. Hair color. Eye color. And every article of clothing. You’re trying to give the reader a complete picture, but by the third or fourth detail their eyes are glazing over.

The fix: Pick a few details that inspire your readers to fill in the rest. What would strike you when you first met the character? What would you remember about him later? A unique mustache? A discoloration of the skin? An elaborately pocketed cloak? Focus on these details and give minimalist descriptions for the rest.

 

6. Surprise! It Was All a Dream

The problem: You coax your readers through some tragic or thrilling scene and then jerk them at the end by revealing it was only a dream. Unless you’re writing the next Inception, do not do this. It’s a poor attempt at increasing tension, which ends up feeling more like a broken promise.

The fix: If you must include a dream sequence, make it obvious from the beginning of the scene that it is a dream. Preface it with “I had another dream last night,” or fill it with surreal, dream-like qualities.

 

7. The Idiot Class: They’re All Like That!

The problem: Portraying a people group, often a religious or political organization, as nincompoops. In amateur YA fiction it’s common for all the adults to be idiots, while the kids cleverly fool them at every turn. Unless you’re writing farce, this makes you look shallow and bigoted.

The fix: A few fools are fine, but if you want to be taken seriously, include people with depth on both sides of the conflict. Don’t make your hero—or his cause—infallible.

 

8. Mini Morals: Holier Than Thou

The problem: The hero sidesteps from the plot onto a soapbox for some religious, political or ethical cause. It only lasts for a few lines of dialogue, but it’s spammy, like when you’re talking to a friend about your favorite movie, and he segues into all the reasons you should join the Church of the Lonely Potato. It’s annoying even if you already belong to the Church of the Lonely Potato.

The fix: If you’re going to have a moral or message in your story, the entire story should work to tell that moral, and you shouldn’t flatly state it at the end like in a Saturday morning cartoon. Instead, demonstrate it through the events and consequences of the story.

 

9. Pop Culture References: As Troubling as Justin Bieber

The problem: Modern pop culture references date your work and break your readers’ suspension of disbelief. In five years, is your Gotye reference going to make you look cool or out of touch? And blatant Blazing Saddles references do not help immerse me in your medieval dragon world, Mr. Paolini!

The fix: If your world isn’t connected to our modern world, avoid references entirely. If you’re writing about the future, you have more leeway, but stick with icons that have proven staying power (Bieber will likely follow Aaron Carter into obscurity, but The Beatles are safe territory). Bonus tip: reference your own made-up icons that are popular in your futuristic world.

 

Are you guilty any of these mistakes? What other amateur writing blunders make you cringe when you read them?

 

riker facepalming

Whatever you do when writing your novel, don’t do these nine things.

3 ways to cure Gorgeous Hero Syndrome

You might have noticed a similarity between the two cheesy romance examples from the post at the beginning of this month: both start with “two attractive people.” The vast majority of fictional romances share the gorgeousness trait, which seems a rather unfair statement about all the people who aren’t supermodels, like they either don’t fall in love or their stories aren’t worth writing.

But that’s not the only reason we should think twice about writing all our protagonists to look like Greek gods:

It feels amateur. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, character attractiveness is not important to the plot. Unless you’re writing about actual supermodels, taking the time to point out how drop dead gorgeous your protagonists are is a red flag that you are still just recording an elaborate daydream, rather than writing a real story.

It’s cliché. Most real people aren’t beautiful or ugly, but fall into a “kinda cute” grey area, so it might damage your story’s credibility to even hint at once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess and a handsome prince.

It feels more silver screen than literature. As Jubilare pointed out in our discussion about the three suspiciously fine looking dwarves in The Hobbit movie, looks are important on screen, but not so important on the page. I would rather look at Christian Bale for two hours than at Steve Buscemi, but the written word is a unique opportunity to get to know and love the Steves without being distracted by all the heart-fluttering nonsense of the Christians.

It doesn’t encourage reader sympathy. There are layers of immersion in fiction. There’s the first, superficial layer in which your readers can pretend for awhile that they are beautiful people doing exciting things. Then there’s a deeper layer in which readers come face to face with characters who are eerily similar to themselves. By extension, every event – good and bad – hits the reader harder, because the unconscious implication is that it could happen to them.

 

How do you cure Gorgeous Hero Syndrome?

Make their chief attraction subtle. Something only the people closest to them and/or their recently-introduced soul mate would notice. A unique mannerism that becomes an endearment, like the way he shuffles when he’s standing, or (maybe this is a bad example, but) the six smiles of Rosalee Futch in Win a Date with Tad Hamilton.

Give them something to be self-conscious about. Even the most attractive people have something about their appearance they don’t like. Something that makes them awkward, even if only in their own minds. Maybe she hates her widow’s peak, or he can’t grow facial hair to save his life. But be careful not to fall into the equally bad cliché David pointed out (and the British Biebers take constant advantage of) – the attractive character who thinks she is ugly.

Don’t talk about appearance as much. You are writing about living, breathing people. Not magazine covers. So focus on expressions, rather than features. Body language, rather than shape. Those are the things that keep telling us about the person after the first-glimpse impression.

Related stuff:

6 ways first person narrators can describe themselves

5 ways to make your characters more believable

In other news: Welcome to the new digs, everybody! WP Support kindly moved my followers over here yesterday, but I seem to have gained more than 100 followers in the shuffle, so I suspect some people got double-subscribed? If any of you receive this email twice, you might need to adjust your subscription settings. I’m sorry for the annoyance!