Tag: how to write a novel

3 Ways to Handle Subplots

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Photo of confusing road signs

Photo by WonderWoman0731 used under CC license.

Erin asks: I was recently watching a movie (The Huntsman Winter’s War) with my sister. My sister and I didn’t enjoy it for multiple reasons. One of them was that fact that the whole plot is filled with side stories because one was not enough to make a full movie (though each story could have been much longer with more creativity). So basically, we were jumping from story to story. I started to wonder if I am doing that unintentionally. I have one main story, but I have different, smaller conflicts too to go along with it. Is this too much? How do you tell if you’re patching little stories together and don’t have one main focus? How do you ‘cure’ this?

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I don’t feel wholly qualified to answer this, since I haven’t given the subject much thought until now, but the question intrigues me. I tend to love subplots, but I also recently watched a movie with a terrible subplot that totally bored me. My response any time this subplot reared its head was “Why are you showing me this?” It had zero bearing on the main story.

The truth is, any given story contains infinite other stories. Each secondary character is the hero of his own story, with its own secondary characters who each have their own stories and so on and so forth. We can’t tell them all. How do we decide which ones to tell?

Whichever stories serve the main plot.

The main plot, the one that follows your protagonist, is the one your readers are (hopefully) invested in. Any subplot that doesn’t directly impact the main plot by the end, doesn’t belong in the story. Subplots generally impact the main plot in one or all of these ways:

  • Helps the hero
  • Hinders the hero
  • Provides important information about the hero’s background or enemy

Structurally, there are a few different ways to use subplots.

Subplot Structure 1: Split and Converge

Lord of the Rings is a great example of subplot use, and one you’ve probably read or seen, so I can probably go into more detail without spoiling it for you.

The main plot is the mission to destroy the Ring. Nine characters undertake this mission at first, but are soon broken up, and then only Frodo and Sam are carrying the Ring. Why do we continue to follow Merry and Pippin, the three warriors, and Gandalf?

First, because we’ve come to care about them. Just as the members of the Fellowship have grown close to each other, we have grown close to them. Aragorn’s pledge not to abandon Merry and Pippin to death by Uruks despite their broken Fellowship is also Tolkein’s pledge not to abandon their stories. The Fellowship holds for the readers as well as the characters.

Secondly, their further travels teach us things about Middle Earth that are relevant to Frodo, Sam and the fate of the Ring. Frodo and Sam’s journey is relatively isolated—so much so that Frodo himself begins to forget what they are fighting for. It’s the rest of the broken Fellowship that reminds us of the good in the world (as we see the Ents, Rohan, and Gondor) and simultaneously shows us what peril that world is in (forests burning, armies of Orcs and Urukai’, a possessed king of Rohan, and an insane steward of Gondor).

In this way, the subplots actually make us more invested in the main plot. They give it scope and resonance. Here are kings and armies fighting and dying in the name of a trinket held by a couple of humble Halflings. If all we saw was the trinket and the Halflings, we wouldn’t care nearly as much.

Thirdly, they are still all invested in the main plot. What happens to the Ring affects them. In fact, all our original friends (and some we met along the way) end up at the Black Gate of Mordor at the end, to draw the orc armies away from Mount Doom, so Frodo and Sam can finally destroy the Ring. Directly affecting the main plot again. It all comes full circle.

Subplot Structure 2: Surprise Convergence

Both Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities and Sachar’s Holes break away from their main plot to tell us other stories; stories that don’t seem to have more than a tenuous connection with the main characters. Yet by the end, everything comes together; the side stories turn out to be the keys to the mysteries presented in the main story.

This subplot method is riskier, because your readers must have patience, and trust you to reveal the relevant connection in the end, but it can also make for a very satisfying “aha!” resolution. It’s especially useful if you need a lot of backstory to explain what’s going on—instead of telling all the backstory before getting to the main story, you tell both at the same time, jumping back and forth.

Subplot Structure 3: Themed Connection

The movie Love Actually is more like a collection of interwoven short stories. There is no main story, but it does have a theme (romance), and all the individual stories are variations on that theme (love lost, won, unrequited, etc.). The stories do sort of all come together in the end, but only incidentally (the characters all know each other and happen to be going to the same place), not in a plot-relevant way (the stories don’t really affect each other).

If the stories didn’t vary, or conversely if they varied too much and didn’t even share a theme, the movie wouldn’t work. As it is, the individual stories may be shallow (some more than others), but breadth, not depth, is the aim.

 

A fourth subplot structure may be the use of a single subplot as comedic relief. This only works if it brings something new to the story and genuinely lightens up something that’s pretty dark. The movie that annoyed me the other day was basically a rom com/dramedy, and they added a rom com subplot. The movie was already funny—it didn’t need comic relief, and it certainly didn’t need more shallow romance.

Anyway, I hope this helps. In case it doesn’t, here’s a ninja lamenting the many plotlines in the second Pirates of the Caribbean movie:

 

 

What to Do When Your Scenes Are Too Short

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Mount Rainier – Kevin Bacher

Erin says:

I’m writing a book, and I’m having this recurring difficulty that is really bugging me. When I write my scenes (I’m on my first draft), they go by really fast. I see that published writers usually spend a lot more time in one moment, really diving deep. Even when I add a bunch of detail, it’s still like one paragraph for my character to make her way down a mountain in the rain. So I’m going to pose a couple of questions. First, it that normal for a first draft? Do any of you have that problem? Second, how would I fix this in my later drafts if it’s normal and okay, or fix it now if it isn’t?

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This is an interesting question, and the answer depends on a few different factors.

First, not every event (e.g. hiking down a mountain) has to be a scene. It can just be transitional and short. Or you can even cut it out and use chapter breaks and soft hiatuses to imply the passage of time.

But if every scene is coming out paragraph-length, then yeah, you may have a problem. Before you dig deeper, however, ask yourself this:

Is this really a novel, or is it a short story?

I’ve had this problem myself. I get an idea, and it feels like a novel-length thing with layers and depth and plenty of time to get to know and love the characters. But then I start writing at what I think is the beginning, and (a) the scenes are really thin and (b) is takes forever to get to the “good part.” These are usually signs that it should just be a short story.

In that case, start writing at the climax. Read more about that here. Then work in any backstory you need within that climactic scene, but remember less is more. Imply, rather than state, whatever you can. Here’s how to do that.

Bonus: You’ll find you can still fit lots of emotional layers into a short story.

Now, if you need way more backstory and world-building for the climax to make any sense, it may need to be a novel.

If it’s definitely a novel

Maybe this part of the story just doesn’t have much going on. So still ask yourself if you are starting in the right place. Will the story make sense if you open later in the timeline?

Typically it should start just before your protagonist is thrust into a new situation, the “inciting incident”:

  • OPEN: Lucy and her siblings move to the country to escape the WWII air raids.
    • INCITING INCIDENT: Lucy finds a magical land in a wardrobe.
  • OPEN: Luke buys some new droids.
    • INCITING INCIDENT: The droids turn out to be stolen and to be carrying dangerous information. (The opening battle scene works more like a prologue in this case.)
  • OPEN: It’s the day of the reaping.
    • INCITING INCIDENT: Katniss takes her sister’s place.

Each opening provides context, but then we’re thrust into the real tension and action right away.

If your book already starts in the right place

Now it’s time to dig deeper.

It sounds like you might just be moving your character from point A to point B—writing the action without the motivation. Adding details about the scenery will only go so far, and will start to weigh down the prose and bore your readers after awhile. You probably need to take some time to understand your protagonist.

  • What’s her background?
  • What kind of emotional baggage is she carrying?
  • What are her deepest wishes and fears?
  • What does she stand to gain or lose in this scene?

Now, since you can’t just dump all this information into your prose, how will these things affect her behavior? The way she talks? The way she dresses?

  • If she comes from a wealthy background, but has been on the run or down on her luck for awhile, she may have high quality clothes that are a bit worn.
  • If she had an abusive past, she may apologize frequently to avoid offending anyone she meets.
  • If she really wants to get to the bottom of the mountain, but is terrified of heights, her desires and fears will alternately push her on and hold her back.

And so on. These details become little clues into your protag’s past, and it can be fun for your readers to put the puzzle together while the main action carries things forward.

Beyond planting character clues like that, there’s always internal monologue. Some writers avoid it (and obviously most movies do), but I adore internal monologue and it probably takes up the majority of my pages. I love stepping into my characters’ heads and listening to them think, even in third person. Internal monologue can transform a paragraph about a woman hiking down a mountain into a scene about a woman’s struggle against the elements, fighting ever-stiffening joints, rivulets of rain mingling with frustrated tears as she draws closer and closer to her ultimate revenge upon the fire-breathing beast that ate her Chihuahua last month while she was out buying ninja stars at the market.

How much time should you spend on this stuff in first draft vs. later drafts?

It’s true you don’t want to spend too much time on details in your first draft, because they can slow you down. But if your issue really is character depth, you need to invest some time up front, because characters drive the plot, so if you make a misstep here, major rewrites are in your future. (Well, major rewrites will be in your future anyway, but understanding your characters will help minimize them.)

Erin, I hope something in here helps!

Got a question like Erin’s? Suggestion Box, baby.

What to Include in Your First Draft (and What to Skip)

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speed bump sign

Image by VeggieFrog

The “experts” say your first draft should be quick and rough, and that you fix it in later drafts. But when I first started writing, I didn’t get that. Why should I waste time writing a “rough” draft that I’ll have to correct later? Why not just take the time to make it perfect the first time around?

No. No. Nonononono.

If you’ve written anything longer than flash fiction, you probably know why this attitude is a problem: Part of fiction is planned – but part is discovery. As you work your way through the story, your characters and plot will change. So if you try to write in “final draft form,” you’ll waste precious time agonizing over just the right word – when you may end up cutting the entire chapter later.

But where do you draw the line? What do you spend time on in the first draft, and what do you save for later? Here’s what I’ve learned over the years.

The Rule of Thumb for Your First Draft

Write as well and in as much detail as you naturally can in the moment. Skip over whatever slows you down.

 

What that Means

  1. Don’t intentionally make it sloppy.

This may sound obvious to you, but as a young writer, I interpreted “first drafts are terrible” as “you should only worry about what happens, not how it sounds.” But it’s not about discarding grammar and style. It’s about writing what comes naturally to you in the moment. Make each sentence sound as good as you can without losing the momentum of the scene. Speaking of which:

  1. Keep your momentum.

First drafts aren’t about speed; they’re about momentum. Momentum is usually driven by action and dialogue, so focus on those, but don’t be chained by them. If a description flows out of you naturally, write the heck out of it. But if you’re struggling – maybe you just can’t picture the setting, or maybe you need to do a little botanical research – skip over it. Which brings us to:

  1. When you hit a speed bump, flag it and move on.

If you come across a speed bump, do not stop to fix it. You’ll lose momentum, and end up spending hours doing research for one tiny detail. Write a placeholder note and move on. I use all caps because they’re easy to type and to see. So, for instance, if I can’t think of the right word to describe something, I’ll just write ADJECTIVE where the word should go.

Speed bumps can include:

  • Names of places and minor characters
  • Descriptions
  • Tricky sentences
  • Tricky transitions between scenes
  • Single words you just can’t think of
  • Translations if you’re using a foreign or made-up language (I write the dialogue in English, and go back and write the actual language later)

Just remember – only skip these things if they aren’t coming to you naturally.

  1. Know the difference between speed bumps and plot issues.

Speed bumps are details that don’t affect the plot. Ignore them. Plot, on the other hand, is tide-changing. The trickiest area here will be research – deciding how much time to research before moving on. For instance:

  • Don’t spend hours researching semiautomatics to determine what gun your hero carries. That’s a speed bump. Write “He drew his GUN TYPE.” and move on.
  • Do spend five minutes researching how many rounds the average magazine holds so you know roughly how many shots he has in that big action sequence. That’s a plot issue.

  1. Use your writer’s block.

Say you’re blocked trying to write dialogue. You probably don’t want to skip over that, because it can affect the trajectory of the story. Instead, take a break to look back at your flags, like the descriptions and transitions, and work on one of those. By working on a character description, for instance, you might find some inspiration for his dialogue.

  1. Group similar tasks together.

Pretty much any list of organizational tips will tell you this. Every time you jump between tasks, it takes time to reset your brain. Minimize this time by grouping similar tasks together. So when you’re getting near your final draft, comb through and do all the character names at once. Then, do all the translations. And so on.

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If I had known this method when I started writing, I would have saved so much time. Every writer and every story is different, but the same basic rules of thumb apply.

What are your time-saving tips for writing?

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speed bump ahead

What to include in your first draft – and what to skip

9 Storytelling Blunders That Make You Look like an Amateur

  By , , , ,
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?

 

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riker facepalming

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