Does it Make You Cry?

            I will just begin by saying you don’t have to cry.  Some people don’t cry, period.  But, like “Saving the Cat,” it doesn’t have to be a literal cat.

So my question is actually, “Do you feel passionately about what you’re writing?”  And that passion can be fury, grief, fear, comedy, you-name-it.  But you must feel compelled, for whatever reason, to tell this story.  Maybe you want to raise awareness, evoke compassion, right a wrong.  Maybe you want to show readers the perils of selfishness or greed.  Or scare the daylights out of them.  Maybe you want to inspire them and show them how to feel greater joy than they’ve ever known.  But whatever it is, there should be intensity in your heart as you write it.

Passionless writing is no fun to read.  People put it down, immediately tired of bland characters who lack direction.  Sure, your descriptions may be vivid and your dialogue snappy, but you need to hook us with a reason to care about what happens to these people. 

Next time you’re stuck, and your work seems to have hit the doldrums, look for passion.  Is it there in your theme?  Do you really care about telling this story?  Sometimes we write what we think will sell.  Or something another writer we admire, writes about all the time.  Or something we think would make a great movie. Those motives will not elicit caring in your readers.  Nor will they make you excited to get up in the morning and get back to work.

Now look at your characters, themselves.  Have you given them a challenge, a goal, an enemy?  Is something huge at stake, here?  Make sure your characters have drive and passion, or they’ll bore us.

If an honest analysis reveals either of these problems, set the story aside.  Come back to it when you can feel some passion about your plot and your people.  It may need a complete re-write.   And, sometimes, it’s better just to start from scratch with a better idea.  As they say, “no tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.” 

And the Moral of the Story is...

            Most literary works have a message.  It may not be a deliberate one, it may not be one that hits you over the head, but it’s there.  Othello’s message is how jealousy can destroy us.  Hamlet shows us the tragedy of dishonesty and revenge. The Great Gatsby is about the emptiness of elitism and decadence. Huckleberry Finn teaches us about honor and living naturally.  Of course there are other themes, but those are a few of the lessons we take away when we read these classics.  And you can find hundreds of messages in the books and movies you know.  Power corrupts.  Infidelity destroys families.  Kindness is its own reward.  Hard work pays off.  And so on.

            We watch characters learn hard lessons, we see villains get their due (or not), we feel inspired by selfless acts.  So I’m not going to tell you to take the “point” out of your stories.  But it has to distill upon the reader as he genuinely cares about your characters.  It has to be a conclusion reached without billboards blasting, “Here comes the main point!”  Events in your story have to lead us along, making us wiser without our even realizing it.

            Winston Churchill once said, “I am always ready to learn although I do not always like being taught.”  That’s the kind of careful sharing of a message I want you to strive for.  No heavy-handed preaching, or “and the moral of the story is,” as if you’re Aesop, writing a fable.  Don’t have characters say, “Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” or “I guess I’ll never do that again!”   

And don’t feel you must tidy up every loose end, making sure the good guys get their reward and the bad guys get punished.  Life is rarely so clean, so black and white.  The reader will still learn from the harm that resulted when a crazy person went on a shooting spree.  They don’t have to see the shooter twist in the wind.  Often the most satisfying ending shows a character’s inner contentment at having done right; he doesn’t have to get even, or be openly acclaimed or rewarded.  That, in itself, is a good lesson. 

Some writers say, “But I don’t have an objective; I just want to show the seamy side of the circus (or the big city, or mafia life, or whatever).”  You still need a story.  The seamy side is a setting.  Something has to happen there, something we care about.  And the minute we care, we’re learning.  That’s what gives a story redeeming value. Even if all your characters are consumed by greed and die in the end, that’s a tragedy that teaches us something. It’s why we go to movies, read books, and see plays.  Like Churchill, though we may dislike being taught, we all love to learn.

And Then He Turned and Said--

            Cliff hangers.  They’re everywhere:  At the end of chapters in a book, right before TV commercials, at the end of movies whose producers want to have a sequel. Even radio programs tease us with, “And in the next hour we’ll tell you what the alleged bomber told reporters, just outside the courthouse.”

            We want people to stay with us.  We want our readers to keep flipping pages.  Even more, we want them to be unable to put our books down. 

And then she opened the closet door. 

He stopped the car.  That couldn’t be her, walking down the street.  Could it? 

The girl stared into the policeman’s face.  “But I know who killed him,“ she said.

Her cell phone rang and she checked the caller.  Jim?  Wasn’t he dead?

As last lines in chapter books, these make you want to keep reading, to find out what was in the closet, who was walking by the car, who was the murderer, and if a dead person was really alive.

When you’re writing a book, whether it’s a crime novel, a funny chick-lit book, a romance, or a western, you need suspense.  This doesn’t mean you have to inject a mysterious plot line or a police detective into a story about a struggling artist.  It just means that you keep the reader on the edge of his or her proverbial seat.  Keep them fascinated, eager to see what happens next.

When you’re outlining, which I told you about here, take time to arrange cliff hangers before the chapter breaks.  Don’t just lump actions together until it seems you have 10 pages’ worth or so.  Plan the dance.  At the end of each chapter, ask yourself, “Why would a reader want to keep reading at this point?”  And give them a reason. 

Slow down.  Don’t reveal everything you know as quickly as you can.  Reel the reader in gradually, drop hints, promise more to come.  Will you do it with dialogue?  With a physical discovery?  With a sudden, unexpected event?  Vary the techniques you use.  You don’t want every chapter to end with, “Detective Barnes couldn’t believe what happened next.”

Cliff hangers don’t just happen; we craft them.  It’s part of what professional writing is about.  So make sure you use them.  Unless…

Check out my three most recent novels—Jungle, Pinholes Into Heaven, and Sisters  in the Mix.  They’re fiction in completely different genres, but each one uses suspense.  And, dare I say, they make wonderful Christmas gifts.

When it's Just Not Working

            You did it. You finished the page count or word count you promise yourself each day, and gave yourself the evening off.  Whew.  It’s good to set your work aside, then reread it the next day, with fresh eyes.

            Uh oh.  The next day it looks terrible.  It doesn’t pop.  It doesn’t engage.  It sits there like the leftover casserole Great Aunt Edna brought over.  Last week.

            And sometimes we see this happening while we’re writing.  It simply isn’t working.  Is it the storyline?  The pacing?  The setting?  The characters?  What is wrong?  Many writers tear up (or delete) their work in frustration.  If you’re fortunate to have someone you trust take a look at it, sometimes they can help you pinpoint the problem.  But here are some trouble-shooting helps that might come in handy when your work just isn’t hitting the mark, and you have no idea why:

1-      Examine your own motive.  We all know to make sure our characters have motive, but what’s yours?  The reason I ask this is because your writing pays a price when you start to preach.  Do you have a moral or political axe to grind?  Are you trying to teach your readers something?  A popular TV sitcom recently ran an episode taking a strong political stance.  And it lost all its comedic edge.  The writers were so excited to get their opinions out there that they sacrificed both wit and humor.

2-      Are you racing?  Sometimes we get so excited to get to a future scene that we shortchange the ones leading up to it.  The mystery lacks suspense, the romance has no build-up, essential steps are omitted—steps the reader needs, in order to go along with you.  Slow down and see if pacing is the problem.  Likewise, if you know a lot about cars, say, you can get sidetracked talking about them instead of keeping the story moving along.  Watch out for pet topics and areas where you’re showing off expertise instead of keeping only what’s essential.

3-      Try this exercise.  Switch the genders of your characters.  Make the school principal a woman.  Make the nurse a man. Make the baker a woman.  Switch their careers, try giving them each other’s dialog, and see if you’ve fallen into stereotypes.  Put your story in a completely different setting—does it still work?  That might be the element of surprise that’s lacking.  Try seeing if your protagonist is actually a villain, or vice-versa.

4-      Are you too loyal to the facts?  Sometimes we want to tell a story based on a true incident, and we think we have to duplicate it exactly.  (And if it’s nonfiction, then yes you do).  But if it’s fiction, change the year, the weather, the city, the people—anything you wish.  Don’t stick with uninteresting details just for the sake of accuracy.

5-      Are you trying to copy someone else’s style?  It’s always good to read other writers and take inspiration from the ones you admire.  But you must use your own voice and feel confident that it’s good enough.  You don’t need to copy someone else, and in fact, you won’t feel satisfied if you do.  You’ll feel as if you’re plagiarizing.  Besides, why do people want to read another John Doe?  They’ve already got John Doe.  You need to bring your own perspective, your own voice, to the table. 

6-      Work on something completely different, maybe even a project unrelated to writing. Take a week or more before revisiting the problem piece.  Maybe it does work, and you weren’t in the right mood when you re-read it.  Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise?