Quite a Character: Making Them Memorable

Here's the latest in a series of dialogues between writers — this time with short story writer and novelist Connie Keller of A Merry Heart.

CK: Something in your postcard sparked thoughts about place/setting. I've read to treat place as a character. I understand what's meant by that, but I wasn't sure how to translate it to the page for a murder mystery without slowing the pace. And, of course, I want those place/setting phrases to serve a double function within the novel to create layering.

Then it occurred to me that one way to create place and develop character is to use the different responses of the characters to place so as to define it and create contrast between characters. For example, my main character, who's new to the South, finds it confining and claustrophobic. Another character finds the heat empowering—it fuels her.

AA: You can show the response of two characters to where they live through an occasion where they are naturally together, and through dialogue and scene show how they react to where they are and each other. One obvious way to deal with setting is weather, but there are lots of nuances to southern living, especially for a transplant. Even more interesting is the prospect of a role reversal, if it's organic, where the transplant finds the weather empowering (sick of the cold) and the native finds it a downer (looking for change). The same could occur with other aspects of southern living. The transplant thinks everybody's cordial; the native finds them superficial.

CK: Yes, I think if we really want to show place as a character and still develop our characters that's the way to go. Then place becomes as contradictory and complex as a character. And we can use it to show growth and change in characters as their relationships change. I did a bit of this in the novel (in a subtle way), and I'm really excited to do more and be a bit bolder about it.

As I was thinking about editing this novel and working on the sense of place, I read something by Flannery O'Connor. She has very little pure "place" writing. There are a few "red clay soil" phrases, but not many. Mostly, she establishes a sense of place by character attitudes and writing Southern idiom, which I wouldn't attempt. But there are other techniques, like characterization, I can use to create place. Or even through action and plot. For example, what would a Southerner do/say when a "bad guy" is murdered? That gives me an opportunity to combine plot/dialogue/place (even characterization) all in one sentence.

Show or Tell: How Do You Know?

It's amazing how a simple conversation can spark a line of thought. That happened with friend, writer and multiple Hemingway style award-winner Jack Schmidt. He posed a writing question we all consider: Is it always better to show than tell?

The usual answer, that showing is better, is a point made so often it has lost its meaning. For clarification, here are two examples:

• Stabler stared at the money on the desk. It was clear from his bemused expression there was some interest. [not bad]
• Stabler gaped at the stack of twenties, then wiped his mouth. He looked at me. "What do you want me to do?" [better]

Generally, showing is better because the writer uses detail and more precise language, rendering him or her invisible and making the reader's experience more satisfying. Think of classes where the instructor used the inductive approach instead of lecturing for an hour. As in the above example, showing works best in setting scenes, creating dialogue and moving the plot along through the characters' eyes, preferably all at once.

But one great point made in a recent post is that in writing, rules are made to be broken. Telling usually works better than showing when the writer must convey a lot of information (e.g., back story) in a short amount of space. This can be done through devices like flashback, but sometimes it's best to just say Cal Jones was in prison instead of showing him there.

Ultimately, the test question is: Which technique serves the story best at that particular point?

Let me know how "show versus tell" works for you.

What’s in a Name: “Call Me Ishmael”

Can you imagine Herman Melville's Moby-Dick starting with the line, "Call me Steve?" A dear writing pal and I were talking on the phone last night during our monthly long-distance writing group, and she mentioned something quite profound. She was telling me how hard it is for her to come up with character names: "Then I found this name that when I put it into the story, I said, 'Yeah, that's it.' Then I knew who my character was." Of course, my friend knew who the character was—we were discussing the protagonist, and the first draft of the story is done. But when my friend put that particular name into the story, she not only had the satisfaction of a name that matched the character, but a character who matched the name and whom she now understood in a way she hadn't before. That kind of insight will make editing draft two a lot easier. It also gives readers an immediate sense of the person, or place, they're reading about. After all, a rose by any other name might smell as sweet, but it somehow seems better as a "rose" than "cabbage."

As promised in the New Year, we're sharing links and resources. So, here's the link that helped my friend select a great name for her main character:

Writing World (Names)

If you have a trusted writing site, including your own, to share, send it to Adele Annesi. To put today's musing into action, check out the writing tip at the top of the list, and let me know how it goes.

Want to Keep Writing? Try Editing

It's January, the weather is bad or about to get bad, or worse. Your toe hurts, the cat's rubbed on everything you've just vacuumed, your in-laws are moving closer and closer and closer … You feel as much like writing as getting a root canal. But the quote for this month is right on target. Writing can drive you to distraction, yet it can be a great encouragement. One way to get back into it is to edit something. Not your entire novel, at least not in one sitting, but a scene or short story. If you haven't written in a while or if you haven't written yet today, your first thought will probably be a list of reasons not to. The best thing to do is shut your mind off, like I have to when I consider exercise. Go pull out the piece like you'd pull out your cell or your remote. Don't give it a second thought. Just get the piece up on the laptop or out of the drawer, open it and read. Pretend it's someone else's. Get out your pen or mouse and chip away, one word at a time. That's it. Well, what are you waiting for?

Have We Met? When Characters Are Strangers

I recently read the draft of a novel where two-thirds of the way through, the characters were still unformed and unfamiliar. If I didn't know them, and I'd been trying to, how would other people? In this case, the characters were weak for two main reasons: They hadn't interacted enough, and they hadn't been put to the test—a lethal combination. Fictional characters are like everyone else; if they're never challenged, they don't grow. If they don't grow, they blend with the crowd.

Fortunately, there are several ways to address this problem.

Give the character(s) a past, one that's plausible. Give the main character a unique characteristic, not flying or the ability to see through things, necessarily, but a particular gift, interest or aptitude. Then frustrate that plan. Further raise the stakes by making it seem the dream is dead. For a realistic result, ask yourself what in the characters' past would cause problems now. Consider what ability or gift the character has that he/she would love to use, especially now, but can't. Consider a realistic way this desire could be frustrated. One good reason for doing all this is described well by stakes guru and literary agent Donald Maass in Writing the Breakout Novel: "By risking what we most desire a novelist can show us how we are."

Happy New Year!

Jumpstart Your Story: Change Your Approach

I tend to scavenge writing magazines and pull the articles that are worthwhile, separating them into "read now" and "read later" piles. The rest I chuck. I came across an article by author John Dufresne in "The Literary Life" column of Poets &; Writers' January/February issue. He has this great tip: "When you're writing, don't ask [yourself] what happens next, ask what happened next, and then see it and write down what did." Something about putting the question in the past tense boosts confidence that the question can be answered, and that it already has been.

To put today's musing into action, check out the writing tip below, and let me know how it goes.

Blessings at Christmas and always!

Writing Past the Doubt: Breakthrough

You know what it's like. You suddenly break out in a sweat because your story isn't working. You tell yourself it's your imagination, that you're overreacting. But you're not. You know this because you can point to why you feel this way. The main character isn't working. The writing voice isn't distinctive. The plot lacks depth. Not only can you pinpoint the problem, you have ideas on how to fix it. Should you trash the piece, start over, take a break? Not usually. For shorter work, it can help to take a respite to note the problem and possible solutions to avoid ripple effects. For longer work, it's usually best to keep writing, making notes on what needs to change and, if possible, beginning the new tack from wherever the realization hit you. Of course, you'll have to go back and fix the problems starting where they do, but at least your momentum isn't lost, and that's key to finishing what you start, especially if it's a novel.

If like most of us you find it hard to keep working, consider this from Nathalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones: "If those characters [writer and editor] in you want to fight, let them fight … the sane part of you should quietly get up … and write from a deeper, more peaceful place."

Is This Real? A Study in Verisimilitude

Sometimes you wonder whether a story is fiction or whether it really happened. After hearing "The Mappist" by Barry Lopez on NPR's Selected Shorts, I wondered whether the program had detoured from its usual fiction fare to offer an essay. I was uncertain enough to look up a book mentioned in the story, The City of Geraniums, which I couldn't find on the Web. The book may be out there, but the point is that Lopez created such believable characters (main and supporting), setting and dialog because he knew which details to include and how deep to go with them. Both facets are key, especially in this story, which had some philosophical points for readers to consider.

For effective verisimilitude (from veri similis, like the truth) in fiction, it's important to include what John Gardner in The Art of Fiction calls "vivid detail," which really is the "lifeblood of fiction."

To put today's musing into action, see the writing tip at the top of the list and let me know how it goes.