Category: Fiction philosophy

How to be Original

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Photo by WoodleyWonderWorks

Photo by WoodleyWonderWorks

You’ve been working on your novel for several years when you discover the latest uber popular YA book is exactly like yours. And you curse the author’s earlier timing because if you ever manage to publish yours, everyone will say you copied hers.

Then you think about it and realize your book is a mix between Out of the Silent Planet, Lord of the Flies, Ender’s Game, and The Elfin Ship. It’s the mess of words you’d discover on your carpet if your home library threw up.

Crap.

So you throw the idea out the window and sit down to your notebook, determined to come up with something truly new. But after a few hours, all you can think of is a bunch of ideas that have been done several times. For instance:

  • The chosen one
  • Anyone with super powers
  • Villain turns out to be hero’s father
  • Genius child is amazing at everything
  • Eccentric genius solves mysteries
  • Orphans
  • Forbidden love
  • People who see the unseen
  • Art and literature are outlawed
  • Everyday life is a lie
  • Last man on earth

And this is just a small sampling of the ideas that have passed from fresh to done to copied to trendy to cliché. The more you see of the world, art and literature, the more you’ll realize it is all the Same Old Thing. King Solomon said it best: ain’t nothing new under the sun.

He might’ve worded it differently.

Anyway, the point remains. There are no new story ideas. But that’s not such a bad thing. Some story arcs are timeless, so long as they’re driven by strong, interesting characters. Because, while of course we should take the plot road less traveled whenever possible, plot is not the key to being original.

Take it from my favorite writer:

No man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.

– C.S. Lewis

Tell the truth. Tell what you know. Whether you’re actually writing your memoirs or a Martian adventure story, deep down you’re still writing from your own experience. So find the words to most clearly and vividly state what it feels like to be you.

Succeed (it isn’t easy) and one of two things will happen: Either readers will say, with astonished wide eyes, that they never looked at it that way before. Or readers will say, breathless with excitement and tight-throated with tears, that they’d thought until this moment they were the only one who felt that way.

Either way, you have accomplished something incredible.

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What’s as Dangerous as a Fairy Tale Ending – and How to Avoid It

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Photo by Joe Penna

Photo by Joe Penna

Today’s topic comes to us from Jubilare:

“I worry a lot about the dysfunction of my characters being taken as an approval of dysfunction in relationships.…One can avoid idealizing the flaws, sure, but how does one accept that humans and relationships are flawed without sending out the message that people should be satisfied with potentially abusive relationships…without seeming to say ‘look at the nice romance you can have with people who have X dangerous flaws’?”

We have a tendency to write about seriously flawed people. Depressed addicts with childhood scars and abandonment issues. Let’s face it: they’re just more fun.

But through this, we risk giving our readers a skewed view of the world. Just as sugary-perfect princess endings can train little girls to believe their lives will be perfect once they get married, moving tales of troubled souls can lead readers to believe dysfunctional relationships are the only real kind; that the best they can hope for is to find poetry in the pain. Worse, they might even believe such relationships are romantic, something to chase after.

What guy doesn’t want to hold the manic pixie dream girl when she cries?

What girl doesn’t want to soothe the nightmares of the war-torn bad boy?

Now, some readers will romanticize dysfunctional relationships no matter what you do, just as some will find sexual innuendos, political statements, or religious dogma in places you never intended to put them. That can’t be helped.

But we have a responsibility to do what we can: both to faithfully represent reality and to give readers the courage to improve that reality.

Here are three ways you can do that when writing about dysfunctional relationships. Try using at least two wherever the need arises.

Know the signs.

Read up on the signs of abusive relationships so you know whether or not you’re writing about one. Also research the typical physical and behavioral struggles that come with your character’s flaws. Show realistic consequences; don’t pull any punches when it comes to the pain of living in an unhealthy relationship, even if your hero is the one inflicting that pain.

Show an alternative.

Use secondary characters to show a healthier version of the flawed relationship in question. For instance, if your hero’s parents had a horrible marriage, and he struggles with knowing how to treat the girl he loves, give him a happy aunt and uncle, or a best friend with a good marriage. Give him (and your readers) something to aspire to.

Include a victory.

Every story has a physical plot and an emotional one. A dysfunctional relationship is an emotional plot. Don’t just leave it as-is at the end: make your hero come to terms with these problems at the climax, have him make an ultimate decision, and lead him to at least a small victory in the end.

A note about victory:

Be careful how your hero comes by that victory. Real healing is difficult and painful; it doesn’t happen instantly. Her love alone can’t make him stop drinking. His love alone can’t pull her out of a clinical depression.

But maybe it can help them take the first step.

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Got a writing topic you want talked about? Drop it in the Suggestion Box.

4 ways to betray your readers (and I’m not moving to Germany)

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Side note: I hope Monday’s joke didn’t cause any serious distress. I didn’t mean for it to. Please have a chuckle over what happened last time April 1 fell on a posting day.

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Photo by Kelsey

Photo by Kelsey

The beginning of every book is a promise for the end. Every fear mentioned in the first chapter must be faced by the last. Every problem introduced must eventually be solved. Every question must be answered.

It’s an unspoken contract between the writer and the reader.* You promise closure, answers, victory, in exchange for which your readers agree to keep reading. Fail to keep your promise, and you will have robbed them of their time, and left them with an empty feeling.

Here are some ways to do it (or, more accurately, four endings to avoid).

1. Build a mystery you never solve

The plot thickens until it’s practically a solid. You add clue after clue, but the reader never seems to actually get closer to the solution. They expect to find the answer at the end, but you don’t give it to them. You’re good at building suspense, but it’s all random – none of it actually ties together. So you make up a ridiculous half-explanation, that doesn’t offer the “aha!” moment your readers were counting on.

Examples:

2. End it just before the hero succeeds (or fails)

The hero has been striving for something throughout the entire story. Your readers ride the ups and downs with him, watching him overcome every obstacle, until—

That’s it. You’re not even going to finish the

Examples:

3. Have an awesome hero make the wrong ultimate decision

The hero always has to make an ultimate decision, which has a moral component, around the climax of the book. If the hero makes the right one (even if he loses something to the villain in the process), your readers feel a sense of victory. If he makes the wrong decision, you leave them with a sense of hopelessness.

Example:

  • Mockingjay (though more than one person I’ve talked to interprets the ending differently, I don’t see the logic of it, sadly)

4. Kill the hero for no good reason

You’re probably tired of me harping on Nicholas Sparks by now, so this is all I’ll say.

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Have you written anything like these four endings? What endings have left you feeling betrayed?

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* This does not apply to flash fiction.

10 slight differences between paranoia and writing

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Photo by Ralph Unden

Photo by Ralph Unden

You frequently mutter to yourself. Slam fists on the keys. Wish you smoked cigarettes so you’d have something else to do with your hands.

You know you’re not quite “normal.”

But how crazy are you?

Just use this little quiz to determine whether you are actually paranoid – or simply a writer (which might be worse).

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You suspect a car is following you, but then it turns away. You are relieved. Paranoid

You suspect a car is following you, but then it turns away. You are disappointed. Writer

 

You believe your house is bugged because you have the feeling someone is watching you. Paranoid

You believe your house is bugged because movies and TV shows keep stealing your ideas. Writer

 

You’re afraid you’ll be kidnapped by government agents because they know you’re on to them. Paranoia

You’re afraid you’ll be kidnapped by government agents because of your Google search history. Writer

 

You have a plan for going off the grid. Paranoid

You fantasize about the new identity you’d take on if you had to go off the grid. Writer

 

You can think of lots of reasons someone would kill you. Paranoid

You can think of lots of ways someone would kill you. Writer

 

You think everyone is trying to kill you. Paranoid

You think your characters are trying to kill you. Writer

 

You think various organizations are trying to take over the world. Paranoid

You think of various ways you could take over the world. Writer

 

You see danger everywhere. Paranoid

You see grammatical errors everywhere. Writer

 

You think conspiracy theories are true. Paranoid

You think conspiracy theories are writing prompts. Writer

 

Other people think you’re crazy. Paranoia

You think you’re crazy. Writer

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What’s the last thing you’ll say to the world?

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You have a chance to say one last thing to the world.

This thing must be short: less than the length of a tweet.

This thing must be good – it will literally be carved in stone, and people will be reading it for years to come. For some, it will be the only thing they know about you.

So, you story writers, you world crafters, you word fiends; what would you put on your tombstone?

It’s an intriguing question, particularly for a writer. I mean, shouldn’t we have the best epitaphs ever?

A few folks in my family have already decided.

 

My mom:

It could be worse.

This is her life’s motto and she’s said for years she wants it on her tombstone. I find this hilarious. Imagine walking through a cemetery and reading that.

 

My brother:

Born once. Died twice. Now I’ll live forever.

His heart stopped for 45 minutes when he was a baby, so technically he’s already been dead once.

 

Mine:

Our back is to legends and we are coming home.

This is a quote from The Hobbit, when Bilbo is returning from his adventures. Maybe my own words should be on there, but this quote may just be too perfect.

 

While we’re on the subject, here’s bestselling author John Green’s thoughts on tombstones:

 

And because we can’t leave it unresolved, here’s his brother (and guy behind Lizzie Bennet Diaries) Hank Green revealing the story behind Gussie Manlove:

 

So how about you? What will you have etched above your final resting place?

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