Writing — For the Mere Joy of It

What do you love about writing?

Is it time for yourself, discovery, reading or hearing your words? Maybe it’s the chance to listen to your inner self or to think your thoughts instead of having them think you.

Whether you enjoy one of these aspects of writing or another of its qualities, writing can, for many reasons, become a drudge. If that’s how you’re feeling, take time to think back to what writing was before the “you shoulds” came crowding in.

As an editor, I’m among the guiltiest of the “you should” pushers — for publication, discipline, diligence, development, revision — you get the picture. Thankfully, I’m also a writer and can call to mind, for myself and others, the joy of just taking time to write.

So for today and for the coming Labor Day weekend I’m advocating for the mere experience of writing, the tea or coffee or glass of wine on the porch or in the park with pen, paper and the solitude of peace. I’m also advocating for taking the usual structures and strictures and throwing them out to write just of the sake of it.

If we view writing as a form of relationship — with self, others, Creator or creation, the world at large or in a grain of sand — then, as is true of any other relationship, writing can suffer from chafe, the fiction of constant wearing. But what if writing can return to the kind of relationship where just being is enough? Wouldn’t that, in itself, be something?

Do you have a writing query or comment to share? Email WordforWords.

Know and Control Your Characters' Self-Awareness

Among the joys of writing is “flow”, when we’re so immersed in creating the story’s world that we forget we’re writing. But we can’t afford to check out on how much our characters, especially main characters, know at each stage of their individual arc.

First, what types of things do characters know? To some extent, they know themselves, what’s happening around them, their motivations and other characters. One element of creating a character arc is the character’s (typically) increasing awareness of these elements and their consequences. Sometimes characters are ignorant of these aspects of their world. However, there’s all the difference between intentionally keeping a character in the dark and achieving ignorance because we failed to realize that by now the character should know more than he does.

So how does a writer control, at each stage in the story, how aware a character is of these elements? First, we must be aware of what our characters already know. Then we must decide whether they should know more. To check your characters' self-awareness at each stage of development, ask yourself these questions:

• What are the main stages of development in the character’s arc? What might the character not know but need to realize by each point?
• If the character doesn’t know something, such as his motivation for betraying someone else, is it due to a flaw that fits the character, or because you’ve forgotten to develop the character’s awareness at that point?

To add texture to characters and story, also note the consequences of what the character does and doesn’t know. It can be daunting to do this exercise for each character. So start with your main character. The very effort with one character often enables you to be mindful of him or her and of other characters from that point on.

What should your main character know by now that he or she doesn’t?

Do you have a writing question to share? Email WordforWords.

The Joy of Discovery (Part 2) — You Can't Communicate Without Stories

Part 1 of this post gave an example of the importance of stories, based on an ESL class that was reading about author Amy Tan. When the class was queried about what they would ask Tan if they could, one student said, “I would ask which experiences led her to write her stories. After all, we can’t

communicate without stories.” This shed new light on why we encourage writers, “Show, don’t tell.” Today, we want to emphasize the joy of discovery part of this equation.

Previously, we noted that readers don’t want to be spoon-fed a plot or characters; the audience wants the joy of discovering the story en route because journey is as important to readers as destination. However, the joy—of discovery and of the journey—is not just for readers but also for writers.

When you, the writer, tell yourself a story and then read it, you learn from your work what the story is and isn’t, who the characters are and are not. You may reread what you’ve written and decide it isn’t what you meant to say, that your main character, for example, wouldn’t do what you’ve just written for him or her, or perhaps not quite as you’ve depicted the scene.

Even so, the gist of what you wanted to achieve is likely there waiting in the wings to be revealed. But this realization often won't come until you make the effort to write the scene you initially imagined. The insight you gain from what works and what doesn't, and why, then becomes part of your wisdom as a writer.

What have you recently discovered about your story or character that came as a result of the joy of discovery?

Do you have a writing question to share? Email WordforWords.

The Joy of Discovery (Part 1) — You Can't Communicate Without Stories

A teacher asked students in an ESL class reading about author Amy Tan what would they ask Tan if they could. One student said, “I would ask which experiences led her to write her stories. After all, we can’t communicate without stories.”

The student’s observation, especially in that context, shed new light on why we encourage writers, “Show, don’t tell.” We don’t want readers to be spoon-fed a plot or characters; we want them to have the joy of discovering the story en route because journey is as important to readers as destination, maybe more so since the most intimate communication comes by experiencing the tale.

See us next time for Part 2 of this musing.

Do you have a writing question to share? Email WordforWords.

Grow Your Up Characters Through Voice

Does your story span generations, and do your characters go from youth to age in maturity or chronology? One way to accomplish this and emphasize their development is to grow your characters up by how they sound.

Typically, the closer the viewpoint the deeper the writer is within a character’s thoughts and feelings. Thus, we’re not always conscious of the age-appropriateness of the character’s voice as we write. But once the first draft is done, we can go back and listen to how the character sounds at the beginning versus the end of the story to see —and hear —how much he or she has grown.

It’s also helpful to realize that each character will vary in degree of development and/or devolution. To emphasize these changes, be deliberate in revealing the maturation of your character’s voice throughout the story, especially at pivotal points, such as when they achieve their dreams — or don’t. This will also help support for the story’s pacing.

Do you have a character who seems flat or stuck in a developmental rut? Listen to how he or she sounds at the beginning versus the end of your story. There may be room for growth.

Do you have a writing question to share? Email WordforWords.

The Use of Rest in Fiction

In today’s busy world, no less the world of fiction, writers are always looking to up the stakes for their stories and characters, yet there’s something to be said for moments of rest.

 

A moment of rest in a short story or novel is a moment where the writer gives the reader time to pause and reflect on an element of the story, a character or both. Such moments offer a deeper dive into an aspect of the work from within and give the reader time to better appreciate the read, especially when a lot is happening or when the characters are many or diverse.

 

So how are such moments created? One general principle is the use of detail: about the setting, a character or a point of plot. Such details — the slanting sunlight through a forest glade, the softness in a lover’s eyes or the rumble of thunder heard by a child awaiting a parent's return — actually give the reader's mind a rest, as one might pause and appreciate a moment of beauty.

The Prismatic Artistry of Varied Viewpoints in a Novel

As with the light that comes through a stained glass window, there is prismatic artistry in showing varied viewpoints in a novel. But how does the writer know whether this multiplicity will benefit his or her work?

 

A good example of multiple points of view is Colum McCann’s Let the Great World Spin. Variegated views work well in McCann’s novel because of three key factors: topic, theme and scope.

 

The topic is New York City in the 1970s, its joys, sorrows, beauty and promise. While the theme reflects the spirit of a city and a nation in transition, it also includes a prescient sense of their poignant innocence. The story’s scope plays out over 300 pages.

 

or all these reasons, multiple viewpoints serve the work well, for they aim to convey the depth, breadth, height and soul of the city that never sleeps. If you’re wondering whether multiple viewpoints would serve your work, consider its topic, theme and scope. If these can sustain and would be enhanced by multiple perspectives, your work may be well-served by varied and variegated viewpoints.

 

For more on Let the Great World Spin, see “The Soul of a City.” For more on the author, see Colum McCann.

The Brilliance of “Rebecca”

If you’ve never read the novel Rebecca, or if you haven’t read it lately, you may want to pick it up this holiday season, as a study in the strength of a character the reader never sees except through the eyes of others.

Penned by English author Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca was published in 1938 and became a bestseller that still remains in print. Starting with the ominous, "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again,” du Maurier explores the chilling saga of the second Mrs. Maxim de Winter, whose name du Maurier never reveals. Yet, almost from the start we know de Winter’s first wife, Rebecca, for how can anyone, especially a second wife with no apparent self-identity, compete with the dead?

The story begins with the new Mrs. de Winter’s memory of that inaugural visit to the haunting estate of Manderley, a remote mansion on the windswept Cornish coast, and its equally haunted inhabitants. This is a first step also for the reader in understanding the power of a place and people remembered who are even more real because their significance reaches from the past into the present.

Thus, we find ourselves traveling with the second Mrs. de Winter, the husband she barely knows at the wheel, to an immense estate. There the new young bride is drawn into the life of her predecessor, the beautiful Rebecca, austere as the Cornish coast, dead but not forgotten, whose rooms remain untouched, whose clothes still hang ready. There also we find Rebecca's devoted servant—Mrs. Danvers—loyal and menacing.

Determined to make a place for herself in her new husband's world, the second Mrs. de Winter begins searching for the real fate of Rebecca amid the mysteries of Manderley, which reveals its secrets only at a great price. In Rebecca, the reader will find melodrama and drama at their finest, along with the potency of a story whose main character is seen through the eyes and enshrined memories of those who loved and hated her.