When Is A Story Ready To Publish?

Or, to use Kris Rusch's term, when is a story ready to be released into the wild?"

"Into the wild." I like that phrase. It covers a multitude of events: sending your work off to an editor, a contest, that sort of thing, as well as publishing it yourself.

So, how does one determine when one's story is ready?

Perfection

I feel some folks would say: "When it's perfect."

Let's say you've given your story to beta readers, your plot points are strong, your characters reactions make sense, there are no unfired guns at the end (Chekhov's Gun), and so on.

I guarantee you there are still going to be parts of your manuscript that could do with polishing.

But nothing's ever perfect. (And perfect for whom?)

The 80-20 Principle

The other day I read an article by Tim Ferriss and he--as he often does--mentioned the 80-20 Principle, that 80% of your benefits come from 20% of your efforts.

For instance ...

Economics: 20% of the world's population earns 80% of the income,

Business: 80% of your profits come from 20% of your customers.

Software optimization: "Microsoft noted that by fixing the top 20% most reported bugs, 80% of the errors and crashes would be eliminated. (Pareto Principle, Wikipedia)"

That got me thinking. Perhaps the 80-20 principle applies to writing as well.

Kris Rusch: No Story Is Ever Perfect

Kris writes:

At every craft workshop I teach, I make at least one writer cry. This week, I’m teaching a short story workshop for professional writers. These are workshop-hardened folk, people who have been eviscerated by the best of them, people who come to my workshops having heard that I make writers cry, expecting me to be the most vicious critiquer of all.

How do I bring writers to tears? Usually by saying this:

I loved this story. It’s wonderful. Mail it.

That’s my entire critique.

Is the story perfect? Of course not. No story is. Not a one. No matter how many times it’s “polished” and “fixed” and “improved.” No one can write a perfect story.

If such a thing existed, then we would all read the same books and enjoy them equally. We would watch the same movies and need reviewers to tell us only which movie is perfect and which one isn’t. We would buy the same comics, again, going only for the comic that is perfect, and ignoring all the others.

Am I telling people to write crap? No. Because the choice isn’t between crap and perfection. Those are false choices. (The Business Rusch: Perfection)

Kris continues:

... I always begin by asking them [my workshop-experienced students] this, “What’s wrong with Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

Well, we’re all raised to believe that Shakespeare is a god who never could do anything wrong. Had he done anything wrong, had his stories been less-than-perfect, we wouldn’t be reading them? Right?

Wrong.

If William Shakespeare—professional writer—had turned A Midsummer Night’s Dream in at a workshop I taught, I would have told him this:

“Bill, lose at least two of your endings. The main story of the play ends in Act IV, Scene 2—and then you go on for two more scenes. All of these endings would work. Pick one.”

Bill Shakespeare, dutiful workshopper that he is, would nod sadly, go back to his room, and delete one of the most favorite and quoted scenes in all of English literature. Puck turns to the audience and says,

If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, and all is mended,

That you have but slumber’d here

While these visions did appear.

I would have said to Bill, “Lovely. Thematically significant. Beautifully written. Lose it. You can do the same thing elsewhere.”

Yeah, right. My harsh words, spoken with authority, and Workshopper Bill’s insecurity would have stolen 400 years of enjoyment from audiences all over the world.

Anything can be critiqued. Criticizing something is easy. It makes the critiquer feel smart, and just a little bit superior to the writer.

But that kind of critique serves no real purpose, because that kind of critique is wrong from the moment the critiquer picks up the story or the manuscript or the 400-year-old play.

Readers read for enjoyment. They vote for what they like with their hard cold cash. (The Business Rusch: Perfection)

In other words, write the story that's in you, finish that story (so hand it to beta-readers and make the changes that resonated with you if that's your process), then send it out.

Besides, you need to know not only what writers think about your work, but what readers do, and the best way of doing that is to send your work out into the wild.

Challenge: leave a link to the last thing you published, whether traditionally or independently. Let's celebrate the stories we've released into the world!

Other articles you might like:

- Owen Egerton's 30 Writing Tips, Inspiration For Your Muse
- 5 Rules For Writing A Murder Mystery: Keeping the Murderer Secret Until The End
- What Slush Pile Readers Look For In A Story

Photo credit: "Fly away" by martinak15 under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0.

Owen Egerton's 30 Writing Tips, Inspiration For Your Muse

In the spirit of Jack Kerouac's list of thirty points he called "Belief and Technique for Modern Prose: List of Essentials" here are Owen Egerton's 30 pieces of writing advice.

Owen Egerton's 30 Writing Tips

1. Write. Now. Go.

7. Do not wait for inspiration. Go out and hunt it. Seduce it. Pin it down and dribble spit on its forehead until it cracks your leg bone and renames you.

8. Writing takes time. Don't find the time to write. Make the time. If necessary, abandon sleep, people, television and drink.

9, Treat writing like a hobby and you will receive nothing but the fruits of a hobby. It's a vocation. Honor it as such.

10. Don't say you're trying to be a writer. If you're writing then you are a writer. Publication is nice, but has nothing to do with the definition.

11. Love rejection. In letters, in criticism, in sales. Rejection is evidence you are in the game. If you're striking out, it means you got up to bat.

12. Drink and talk with those that write and create, but never mistake talking about writing for actual writing.

13. Love solitude.

15. A person can only read so many words in a lifetime. Your reader is choosing to read you instead of Shakespeare, Hemingway, Whitman. Humbly honor that and give them the best of your soul.

16. Do not write from answers. Write from questions. Discover more questions. Our work is not to explain the mystery, but to expand it.

17. The craft of the sentence is important. But a perfectly crafted sentence with no passion is a well-dressed corpse. More fun to dance with a beggar than kiss a corpse.

23. In life many of us aim to avoid conflict. In fiction, we force enemies into a room with no doors.

25. If you discover nothing while writing, don't expect your reader to.

29. You are going to die. So are all your readers. Let this inform every story you write.

As you see, I didn't list all thirty of Owen Egerton's points. I encourage you to head over to Type So Hard You Bruise The Screen and read the entire list. (Thanks to The Passive Voice Blog for passing on the link.)

All of Owen's points inspired me, but I think I'm going to put these on my wall:

1. Write. Now. Go.

10. Don't say you're trying to be a writer. If you're writing then you are a writer. Publication is nice, but has nothing to do with the definition.

What was your favorite quote?

Other articles you might like:

- 3 Ways To Create An Antihero Your Readers Identify With
- Publish Your Own Magazine On Flipboard!
- 5 Rules For Writing A Murder Mystery: Keeping the Murderer Secret Until The End

Photo link: "Untitled" by The hills are alive (Taking time off....) under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0.

3 Ways To Create An Antihero Your Readers Identify With

Yesterday I asked a friend what kind of short story I should write next. He thought about it for a moment and said, "Why don't you write something from the bad guy's perspective?"

At first I was like, Heck ya! That would be fun!

Then it hit me: how could I get a reader to identify with the bad guy? After all, they're the bad guy. We root for the protagonist, in part, because the antagonist is so horrible we want the other guy to win.

It's a problem.

The Villain As Hero

A few days ago Joel Jenkins sent me a link to his article, Writing Unrepentant Characters in which he discussed the challenges of using an antihero.

An antihero is ...

No, not anteater. Though having an anteater as a protagonist would be cool.

Here's Wikipedia's take on what an antihero is:

An antihero ... is a protagonist who has no heroic virtues or qualities (such as being morally good, idealistic, courageous, noble, and possessing fortitude), blurring the line between hero and villain. (Antihero, Wikipedia)

Writing a story that had an antihero for a protagonist could be refreshingly different. It could be surprising and interesting, and both those things are the opposite of boring.

Which is good.

But here's the problem: how are we going to get a reader to identify with our protagonist if they're no better than the villain?

(How to get your readers to identify with your protagonist)

In her article, The Flip Side: Writing Villain Protagonists, Liz Bureman puts her finger on the problem. She writes:

We’re used to rooting for our protagonists. The easiest way to get an audience behind your character is to give them a moral compass that consistently points toward good.

So how are we going to get an audience behind a character whose moral compass consistently points toward evil?

(Jim Butcher on how to build a great villain)

I think there are three ways we can do this.

1. Evil is skin deep

This kind of an antihero (arguably) isn't really an antihero, they're more like a misunderstood hero.

Yes, they have terrible manners and, sure, they don't know how to talk to people without deeply offending them (Monk, Holmes from Sherlock) but, deep inside, they're a good person.

Or at least they're not bad.

Perhaps they don't love everyone, but at least they love someone. That makes them human enough to identify with.

What makes it possible for a reader to identify with this kind of antihero is that: 

a) They aren't really evil.

The traits that mark the hero as different, that make him or her an outcast, are superficial. Sherlock Holmes knows he is smarter than everyone else, with the possible exceptions of Moriarty and possibly his brother Mycroft. And he doesn't in the least care what people less intelligent than him think.

Except for Dr. John Watson.

And his landlady Mrs. Hudson.

And Irene Adler.

And ...

He actually does care ... at least in certain circumstances.

b) The antihero has a redeeming trait.

I think (a) and (b) overlap. Holmes' redeeming trait is his love for Watson. We're not exactly sure what kind of love it is, but it's there and it's enough to make him (somewhat, marginally) relatable.

2. Lesser Of The Two Evils: The enemy of my enemy is my friend

Here we have what I think of as a 'true' antihero. He's (or she's) not just socially awkward--perhaps made so because he has an amazing and unusual ability (a gift and a curse)--he's the kind of person who would kill you if the money was right, and it wouldn't bother him in the least.

What makes it possible for a reader to identify with this kind of antihero is that:

He is fighting someone worse, and that someone worse wants to kill characters you identify with.

Also, the antihero often has the admirable (or minimally decent) quality of not going back on his word, though perhaps for him it is a mark of professionalism rather than morality.

Whatever the reason, if you make a deal with him to kill the bigger 'big bad' then you can be sure ... okay, relatively sure ... he won't turn around and kill you when he's done.

Though if you don't pay him he probably will. Nothing personal.

Examples: Riddick from The Chronicles of Riddick.  Also, possibly, Hannibal Lecter.

3. Familiarity Makes The Heart Grow Fonder/Shared suffering

For me this is the trickiest category.

Imagine someone irredeemable. He's evil. Heck, evil people think he's evil.

And you've had to spend years together.

Perhaps you're in the same cell together. Perhaps he's your dad. It doesn't matter why, the essential thing is that you've shared a lot of time together.

He's saved you a few times (for completely self-serving reasons, but still) and you've saved him a few times (perhaps because he keeps you alive and you like being alive).

Shared experience--repeated exposure to the same person--can build a bond.

Yes, sure, if this person is continually rude to you, insufferable to be around, no bond will form. You'll go to bed each night dreaming of pressing the button that ends the evil so-and-so's life.

But let's say they're not rude to you, that they watch your back, that they're there for you. They're a friend to you. Not to anyone else, but to you.

If you could communicate that in a story, then perhaps a reader could identify with this kind of protagonist.

What makes it possible for a reader to identify with this kind of antihero is that:

- They're polite. I know that probably sounds odd. But if a character has no other redeeming qualities I think they have to be marginally polite, at least to folks who don't disrespect them (Hannibal and Barney).

- Mutual need. The antihero is protective of another person, not because he likes them but because either he needs them or because of his particular pathology. Hannibal was decent to Barney because Barney respected Hannibal. But if Barney had slipped up, Hannibal would likely have still eaten his nose.

Also, Hannibal liked Clarice Starling (in part) because he reminded her of his sister. In the book, Hannibal, we learn that Hannibal thinks that, in an odd and very crazy way, Clarice is his sister. He doesn't kill Clarice--instead he remakes her personality--because it ties in with his pathology.

Example: In Supernatural Dean Winchester befriended a vampire when he was in purgatory.

This is something I'm still thinking about, feeling my way through.

Question:

I'm curious, have you ever written a story with an antihero? If so, what kind of antihero did you use? Would you do it again?

Other articles you might like:

- Publish Your Own Magazine On Flipboard!
- How To Write Episodic/Serialized Fiction
- Larry Brooks On The Structure Of Short Stories

Photo credit: "Project 50 - Day #6 (Midnight)" by seanmcgrath under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0.

Publish Your Own Magazine On Flipboard!

Create Your Own Magazine And Share It With The World, Or Just Your Friends

This is great! Have you ever wanted to curate your own magazine? Flipboard recently added the tools to enable you to do just that. A.J. Dellinger writes:

You can now take that custom built collection of stories that matter to you and share it with your friends as a digital magazine, essentially making you editor-in-chief of a paper made up of just things that interest you and distributed to an audience of likeminded readers. Creating a magazine is just as easy as the rest of the app, as you simply tap the “+” icon on an article and the option to add it as the page of a custom magazine comes up. You also get to title the personalized publication and set it to public or private. (Hands on: Flipboard 2.0 lets you create and share your own digital magazines)

How To Create Your Own Magazine On Flipboard

The good folks at Flipboard emailed me the following:

Flipboard has recently launched a new self publishing feature called Magazines ....

Magazines can incorporate content from virtually any source, including your website, blog, RSS feed and anything you share on social networks like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, SoundCloud, LinkedIn and Tumblr.

You'll need to:

1) Setup an account

2) Go to share.flipboard.com and install the 'Flip it' bookmarklet. The bookmarklet will allow you to add content to your magazines directly from your web browser.

3) Start browsing the web, and when you find something you want to add to your magazine click the 'Flip it' button. You'll be prompted to login the first time.

4) Click 'Create a magazine', then customize it by adding a name and description, and simply start adding content.

You can also easily create a magazine from within the app.

Once done, check out your magazine on Flipboard, where you'll see your “flipped” items in a print-style layout. You can also tap into any item and promote it to the cover.

You can keep track of your magazine's popularity via it's cover. There you'll see it's number of Readers (Subscribers) and Page Flips.

You'll also get notifications in the app when people like, comment or subscribe to your magazines - so be sure to check.

You can tell people about your magazine by clicking the “share” button on the cover. You'll be able to post a custom link to Facebook and Twitter or have it sent via email.

I set up a magazine to test out Flipboard's new functionality and published some of my most viewed posts to it, along with a scattering of articles from my Twitter feed. It's here: Karen Woodward: The Art of Writing.

What Is Flipboard?

For those of you unfamiliar with Flipboard, it is the Swiss Army Knife of social media aggregators. It is also the Vogue of aggregators since it has a beautiful, magazine-like, interface.

In order to view Flipboard you need to download the app. You can get it here: Flipboard app.

Share Your Magazine!

If you create a Flipboard Magazine, please share the link in the comments. :-)

Other articles you might like:

- 5 Rules For Writing A Murder Mystery: Keeping the Murderer Secret Until The End
- How To Write Episodic/Serialized Fiction, Part 2 of 2
- How To Write Episodic/Serialized Fiction, Part 1 of 2

Photo credit: Karen Woodward: The Art of Writing.

5 Rules For Writing A Murder Mystery: Keeping the Murderer Secret Until The End

It seems like a contradiction of sorts, I love reading murder mysteries--whodunit's--but I've never written one.

I think about writing one from time to time, I've even started to sketch an outline, but I lose interest. It's a puzzle. I don't understand how I can love to read something but have no real desire to write one.

So it was with eagerness, and perhaps a wee bit of envy, that I read  Price McNaughton's guest post on how to write a murder mystery, Keeping the Murderer Secret until the End.

Price writes:

When I first began writing murder mysteries, my biggest fear was that I would reveal the murderer too soon. I hate books that make the perpetrator evident from the moment he/she steps onto the page. I didn’t want to be guilty of the same!

Price's solution was to make up his own set up rules for mystery writing (I'm paraphrasing):

1. Know who your murderer is and why they did it.

- What was their goal?
- What are the stakes?
- What motivates the killer?

By the end of the story make sure you've answered these questions in your manuscript.

2. Leave clues

The clues "do not have to be obvious or even fully explained. You'll want to leave some "mystery in your mystery."

3. After you finish the first draft add in clues where needed

Price's tip:

Red herrings are much easier to add in after the book is written as long as you don’t write yourself into a corner with your characters, such as explaining everything they do and why.

4. Don't fully explain everything

Price writes: "Let your characters retain some mystery."

People aren't fully explained any more than they are wholly good or bad, your characters should reflect this.

5. Your protagonist doesn't have to know everything, at least not right away

Like you and me, it's okay if your sleuth doesn't have all the answers and is unsure about what happened ... as long as she gets there in the end.

Question: Have you written a murder mystery? What are your rules?

Other articles you might like:

- How To Write Episodic/Serialized Fiction, Part 2 of 2
- Larry Brooks On The Structure Of Short Stories
- What Slush Pile Readers Look For In A Story

Photo credit: "7:08 AM" by dicktay2000 under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0.

How To Write Episodic/Serialized Fiction, Part 2 of 2

Yesterday I started writing about Janice Hardy's excellent article, "What Downtown Abby Can Teach us About Tension," and her absurdly useful dissection of that shows structure.

Today I'll pick up where I left off yesterday (How To Write Episodic/Serialized Fiction, Part 1 of 2) and take a look at the structure of the third and fourth episode.

Episode Three: Subplots

So far the storyline has concentrated on the main plot or arc. Call this the A plot or story. In the third episode we start focusing on the subplots.

You can have as many subplots as you like, but you'll probably have at least two in a book-length story, or an extended serial. I'll call these the B and C plots.

Conflict

Janice Hardy reminds us that every character is going to be in conflict, in some way, with every other character. Even her allies! That is, the characters' goals will be exclusive, in some way, of every other character's goal: if one character gets what he/she wants then the other characters won't be able to.

Characterization

Each character--not just the main ones--wants something desperately, and has both strengths and weaknesses, quirks and contradictions, motivations and plans for action.

Opposition

Something is not only going to oppose each character's plans for action, but also oppose their will to act.

I made up a long example to illustrate what I mean here, but, briefly, if John's plan is to kill Mark then two kinds of things are going to oppose his plan: internal drives and external obstacles.

For instance, one thing that is preventing John from walking over and burying a mallet in Mark's head is that he'd go to jail (external obstacle). Of course, if John is very careful he might not get caught, but there's always a chance. After all, no one thinks they're going to get caught.

Another thing that is preventing John from killing Mark is the inner certainty that it would be wrong and John wants to be a good person--or, failing that, at least not a very bad one (internal drive).

The purpose and utility of subplots

In terms of the overall story these subplots add to the building tension. At every moment something is on the verge of going horribly wrong.

Subplots inject variety and keep the main plot from going stale by creating other goals, other problems, other solutions, for the A plot to pick up on.

Episode Four: The Unexpected and Out-Of-Control

Just as your characters are settling down into a routine--the first episode introduced the Central Problem, the second episode intensified the problem, the third episode explored the B and C stories, the subplots, and deepened our understanding of the Central Problem--now it's time to throw something new and unexpected, something different and out of control, into the mix.

This new element will change things on a fundamental level. Just as we feel we have a good handle on the Central Problem, the Core Conflict, something happens to shake up the playing field. I think this works best when the change is something your characters couldn't possibly see coming.

Perhaps this change involves a much bigger threat of a different kind.

Why would we want to do this? Why would we want to change direction? 

Janice writes:

Plots in the Abbey had played themselves out as far as they could, and forcing the issues would start feeling contrived. Add a war that changes everything, and sudden the petty problems become less vital, and the important problems become more so.

When should we throw something big at our characters and change the nature of the Central Conflict?

Janice writes:

Sometimes things going wrong for the protagonist every single time starts to feel forced. You'd have to make your protagonist act like a total idiot for them to make a mistake or cause a problem. There's nothing you can do to make things worse or muck up the works, but you still need things to go wrong. An outside event could be the right answer to that.

Even on a smaller level, things can happen in the world or character's life that are outside their control and have serious effects. It doesn't have to be WWI-level drama to make it work. Something a character couldn't possibly see coming works just as well.

Tips (based on Janice Hardy's analysis of Downtown Abby)

- Have the subplots connect back to the Core Conflict

For example, have the main character need something from a secondary character, something that will create a problem for that secondary character since it opposes one or more of her goals.

Also, we could do this the other way. What a secondary character needs from a main character could conflict with the main character's goal.

- The unexpected is interesting

Mistakes are unexpected. After all, who is going to intentionally interpret something incorrectly or purposely employ defective judgement? (And, no, examples of your ex's behavior don't count! ;)

Janice writes that mistakes and creative complications keep things unpredictable and reminds us that this is something we can take advantage of when we're escalating the stakes.

- Just plain mean

Try having a couple of secondary characters who are selfish and mean-spirited. A couple of people who "don't care who they hurt to get what they want."

Janice Hardy reminds us: People often don't want to do what's best for others, they want to do what's best for themselves.

- "Don't have things happen without it mattering to someone."

Excellent advice! Janice Hardy (@Janice_Hardy) also writes a column called Real Life Diagnostics where she pinpoints the problems in user submitted manuscripts. Great reading and valuable advice.

Caveat

I think it's worth noting that what I've presented here is just one way of structuring a serial and I offer it only as a potential starting point, perhaps like a grain of sand provides the starting point for a pearl.

For instance Chris Fox, in his fabulously popular series Star Sailor, starts with a smaller Central Conflict and keeps building on that same conflict, making it bigger and escalating the stakes, until the end.

... or at least that's what I gleaned from his helpful, yet brief, comment on my Google+ feed! (Sorry, Chris, if I mangled it. :-)

Chris Fox's stories are well worth checking out, as is his YouTube channel which is populated with short, original, marvelously creative, videos analysing various aspects of writing and the writing life. Here's an example:

Question: Have you ever written a serial? What structure did your stories have?

Other articles you might like:

- How To Write Episodic/Serialized Fiction
- Larry Brooks On The Structure Of Short Stories
- How To Get Honest Book Reviews

Photo credit: "Misty winter adfternoon" by Bert Kaufmann under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0.

How To Write Episodic/Serialized Fiction

I wrote about the structure of short stories yesterday so I normally wouldn't do another post on story structure but today Janice Hardy published one of the best articles on episodic story structure I've ever read: What Downton Abbey Can Teach us About Tension.

By the way, I think the information contained in Janice's post is about much more than episodic structure. Whatever story you're writing, whether it's a novel, novella or even a short story, I'm confident that something in her article will apply.

I've broken this discussion into two posts; I'll publish the second one tomorrow.

Episode One: Introduce The Problem

Introduce the Core Conflict

Everything starts with a problem. The first episode will start by setting up the Core Conflict, but every episode should start by introducing a problem, either a new problem or a complication to an existing problem.

By the way, here's what I mean by a problem: something that needs to be solved that directly impacts the main character's life such that if she fails her life will be changed for the worse.

There should also be a solution to the problem, but one that conflicts with the main character's other goals/desires.

The story question then becomes: Will the problem be solved and the main character achieve her goal? Will the main character be rewarded for her sacrifice or will she fail and have her life--and the lives of those around her--changed for the worse?

What needs to be done:

a. State/show the problem clearly.

b. State/show the plan the hero has come up with to solve the problem.

c. State/show how the plan is going to be implemented.

d. State/show the stakes. What will happen if the plan fails? What will happen if the plan succeeds? The price of failure should be something that will change not only the main character's life for the worse, but the lives of everyone she cares about.

Showing the stakes--spelling them out for the audience--helps build tension because it lets the audience see how very bad failure would be for the main character, who (hopefully) we've come to care about.

Episode Two: Complications

The hero's solution to the problem fails.

In Episode One the main character hoped her plan would work and the problem would be solved but the plan doesn't work.

It could be that the main character's plan works in part, but a major complication is introduced, or it could be that the plan was a complete and total failure and not only does the thing she feared would happen, happen, something much worse than that occurs. Ideally this would be something completely unexpected that the main character couldn't have foreseen or prevented.

What needs to be done in this episode:

a. The problem becomes harder to solve.

The problem was tricky before, but now it seems unsolvable. People were nervous before, but now they're downright terrified.

b. The stakes get larger.

Part of the reason our characters are downright terrified is that the stakes have gone up. Way up. While the payoff remains the same (or possibly has been diminished) the consequences of failure have become much more stark.

For example, if the problem was that a single mother and her newborn baby were going to lose their rent controlled apartment in two months the problem becomes that they are going to lose the apartment tomorrow. And a blizzard is raging outside. Or something like that, you get the gist.

#  #  #

I have two more points to go over but I'll leave those for tomorrow.

Happy writing!

Question: Have you ever written serialized fiction? If so, have you tried out Wattpad? I've been thinking of opening an account over there and was curious what you folks thought of it.

Other articles you might like:

- Larry Brooks On The Structure Of Short Stories
- How To Get Honest Book Reviews
- What Slush Pile Readers Look For In A Story

Photo credit: "spectacular view of sunset" by Kamoteus (A New Beginning) under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0.

Larry Brooks On The Structure Of Short Stories

I'm excited! For months I've been looking for a really good sink-your-teeth-in analysis of short story structure.

Today I found it in Larry Brooks' post: The Short Story on Structuring Your Short Story.

"short stories are harder to wrap your head around than a novel"

It's so true!

And that seems strange. A novel is 80,000 or so words while a short story can be as brief as 1,000. It would seem that a short story would be easier, not harder, to write.

Larry Brooks writes:

For every famous short story writer out there, there are 100 famous novelists.  That’s no accident.

To help explain this – as much to myself as for those reading this – consider this analogy: we get about two decades to raise our children.  We have that long, give or take, to send them out into the world with a shot at success and happiness.

A lot has to happen.  Sometimes two decades isn’t enough.

Try doing it in six months.  Or even a year.

 The Elements of Any Story

Larry Brooks lists the following as essential elements in any story, regardless of length:

- Conflict
- Stakes
- Need
- Journey
- Opposition
- Characterization
- Setting
- Arena
- Sub-text
- Voice

Your story is like a canvas laid out before you. Perhaps the canvas is huge and populated with dozens of characters (+120,000 word novels). Perhaps the canvas is tiny as a postage stamp (flash fiction).

It's up to you what size you want the canvas to be (/how maybe words you want to use) but you still have to communicate the same elements, though you have far less space and opportunity to do so.

If you're looking at this list wondering how the heck you can get all that into a 1,000 word piece of flash fiction, here's what Larry Brooks says is the trick: One or more of the above can be implied.

(By the way, Stephen King talks about his book, Under The Dome, and compares its scope to the size of a painter's canvas. The video clip is 4 minutes 11 seconds long.)

Know Your Theme

Writers need to be crystal clear about their objective for the story. Larry writes:

To pull this off, the short story writer needs to be perhaps even better at one specific aspect of the storytelling craft than the novelist.

The short story writer needs to be mission-driven.  The writer’s intentions – which implies a clear understanding of why this story needs to be written – requires a clear, concise objective before it can work.

 In other words, while this isn't always true for novels, for a short story you need to know your theme before you set pen to paper.

Once you understand the mission of the story--the work you want it to do--then you can decide on what structure you want the story to have.

Larry writes:

And for that [the story's structure], you can use the four-part structure for novels (set-up, response, attack, resolution, each part separated by specific plot points) to put a fence around your short story intentions.

The Structure of a Short Story

The question: Does a short story have to be structured like a novel? Does it have to have three acts, two plot points (/reversals), pinch points, and so on?

Larry says no, it's up to you.

Imagine a novel as a house. An 80,000 word novel would be like a 2,500 square foot family home. Perhaps we can compare a 120,000 word high fantasy novel to a sprawling 6,000 square foot manor house.

In larger works, you show the whole house while in a short story you have a choice. You can show a very very small house (friends of mine lived in a 500 square foot thimble of a house while they were going to university) or you can choose to only show one room of a larger house.

Larry writes:

Yes, you can create a four-part short story that is, in essence, a condensed version of the classic structural paradigm.

Or, you can hone in on any specific moment or segment of the four-part structure – such as, a single plot point element or a single scene from within any of the four contextually-defined parts – and have that become your architecture.

It’s like building a one room addition next to your house.  The end product might be intended to accommodate anything and everything that could go in inside the house, and when it’s done it needs to blend into the aesthetics and structural design of the bigger house.

Even if, in a picture or a drive-by, nobody gets to actually see the larger house.

 Brilliant analogy.

The Elements Of Any Story

I'm writing a 1,000 word piece of flash fiction for Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenge and it's difficult! So much has to be included but even more has to be left out.

Here, though, are the elements I think any riveting story has:

- At least one character who wants something desperately.
- Clear stakes, what will happen if he succeeds and what will happen if he fails. And not just generally, personally. To him, to the people he loves.
-  Made the protagonist's motivation clear. (e.g., motivation vs goal: Frodo took the One Ring to Mordor because he wanted to, basically, save the world from destruction. That was his motivation. His goal was to destroy the ring.)
- One way in which your main character is strong
- One way in which your main character is very weak
- A character who takes decisive action to achieve his goal.

I think the key here is, in the case of flash fiction, that you can show more than one thing at the same time (for example, show a character's weakness at the same time as you show what he wants most in the world).

Story Structure: The Essentials

Jack went to the corner grocery store, lit it on fire, and came home. 

That is kinda, sorta, a story. Not a very good one, though. Why did Jack light the store on fire? What did he hope to gain? Was he trying to prevent something? Who is Jack anyway?

There is no cause and effect structure, the events of the story--Jack going to the store, setting the store on fire, and coming back home--seem completely independent of each other; unrelated.

There are certain elements every story should have, which is not to say that every story should have the same structure.

I think Chuck Wendig is right, every story is unique and so, unsurprisingly, has it's own unique structure. That said, there are certain things gripping stories, riveting stories, the kind of stories that keep you up reading till 3am even when you have an important meeting the next morning ... there are certain elements those stories have in common. For instance, one of the characters will always want something and there will be something preventing him/her from achieving it.

But, still, the structure of every single individual story will be unique.

1. A Set-Up/Ordinary World

Call this part what you will, but there needs to be something that came before the inciting incident, even if that something is never shown in the story. Some stories have the action begin at the inciting incident or after it, but at some point we need to get a peek at what the protagonist's life was like before the call to adventure.

2. Inciting Incident/Call To Adventure

Something happens to break the status quo and offers the hero/protagonist a challenge, a goal to pursue. A course of action which has an endpoint and clear stakes. We need to see:

- How the protagonist reacts to this incident. Is he scared, elated, cocky? What actions does he take in response to this change?

- What are the stakes? What will happen to the hero if he takes up the challenge and achieves the goal/prize? If he fails? (Often there's a sequel after the scene in which the inciting incident occurs in which the hero discusses his options.)

- What is the heroes goal?

- What is the heroes motivation?

3. Midpoint

Something big needs to happen. This could involve explosions and hand-to-hand combat but it needn't. The essential thing is that the hero confronts or experiences something profound, something that will fundamentally change him or her.

This realization doesn't have to be something big. For instance, sometimes these revelations are like the last domino falling, they can be triggered by gazing out the living room window after the first snowfall of the year. (But of course that will have been built up to.)

When I write/edit, I strive to make it clear how this event, whatever it is that happens at the midpoint, changes the protagonist's goal--if it does. How it changes the stakes. How it causes the opposition to increase.

4. Reversal/All Is Lost/Complications (approx 3/4 mark)

After the midpoint and before the resolution there's probably going to be a big setback or at least a surprising, unexpected, change that complicates things, that makes it much harder--if not impossible--for the hero to attain his goal.

The stakes have been clearly spelled out in the other sections of the story so, here, the hero is staring failure in the face. Whatever plans the hero has, whatever progress they've made, is wiped out--or seems to be wiped out--right at the moment of victory.

But wait! It's so much worse than he thought it would be.

The negative consequences of failure aren't changed, not really, but they are intensified. Whatever the hero was anticipating, the negative stakes are now 10 times worse. If, in the beginning, only the hero's life was in danger, now the lives of his companions (if any), his tribe, and indeed the entire planet (perhaps the galaxy!), hang in the balance.
 
Now comes the really tricky part, getting the hero out of the mess he's in!

The hero as phoenix

One way of pulling the hero out of both the fire and the frying pan is to use his weakness. By overcoming his weakness, his great flaw, he will discover a way around the obstacles before him, a way to achieve his goal.

Or perhaps your hero has a special strength. For example, Indiana Jones had both knowledge and control--he knew not to look at the Ark when the Nazis opened it and, because (unlike Pandora) he could control his curiosity, he survived their fate.

The important thing is that if the hero does save himself at the 11th hour how he does it should come as a surprise, but one the audience feels they should have seen, or at least one that they could have worked out for themselves if they'd had more time to think about it.

5. Resolution

This is the climax, the final confrontation. This is where the hero either achieves his goal or fails.

Whichever outcome, we need to show the aftermath.

- The hero realizing the stakes, either victory or defeat. We needed to see Frodo back on The Shire. We need to see the One Ring slip into the liquid fire.

- Show the effect of victory or defeat on whatever it was that motivated him.

- Show what happened to whatever opposed the hero in his quest.

And in flash fiction you have to try and do the essential bits in the above in under 1,000 words!

Challenge: I'm taking up Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction challenge this week. Join me! Which sentence would you pick as the first line of your 1,000 word story?

Other articles you might like:

- How To Get Honest Book Reviews
- What Slush Pile Readers Look For In A Story
- Is Writing Rewriting?

Photo credit: "verde amarelo" by alexdecarvalho under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0.

How To Get Honest Book Reviews

Book Review Bloggers

Honest reviews are one of the best ways of increasing book sales. I know it's anecdotal, but Amanda Hocking credits reviews left by bloggers as being responsible for much of her early success. She writes:

Book bloggers have saved my life. Book bloggers absolutely without a doubt sell books. I can prove it to you. In May, I sold just over 600 books. In June, I sold over 4,000. In May, I had no reviews. In June, book bloggers started reviewing my books. (Book Bloggers Are People, Too, February 9, 2011)

I think even an honest one-star review is better than no review! That is, as long as it's not a screed against the author admonishing him to never again put pen to paper.

So how does an author go about soliciting honest reviews?

Book Bloggers

Book bloggers read and review books free of charge and will often post their reviews not only on their book blog but on sites like Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

It vastly increases ones chance of receiving a review if one reads and follows each blogger's submission guidelines as carefully as one would those of a publisher or agent.

Keep in mind that many bloggers only accept traditionally published books and, of those who will review indie books, often they will only review certain genres or they will only accept a physical, paper, book.

I look at it this way: if I don't do what a reviewer wants me to do then how can I ask the reviewer to do what I want her to do?

What to send

If a reviewer specifies in their submission guidelines what they'd like you to send then that part's easy, but sometimes they don't. Then what do you send?

Mike Reeves-McMillan suggests the following:

"1. A good brief blurb that piques interest in your book ..."

"2. A synopsis."

"3. An author bio. Try to find something interesting to say about yourself."

"4. Links to where your book is for sale, if it is."
These links will make it easy for the reviewer to find where on the internet to post their review of your book.
   
"5. More links to you and your book on Goodreads (or Shelfari or LibraryThing if you use them; some reviewers will post there), to your blog, and to your social media. Some reviewers want these."

"6. Your cover art."
  
"7. An author photo."
   
"8. An extract from the book."

Mike put all of the above in a press kit and included a link to the kit in the email he sent off to any reviewer who didn't specify what they wanted an author to include in their submission.

I think that's a brilliant idea!

Keep track of your submissions

Mike also recommends starting a spreadsheet--he used Google Docs--so you can track:

- Which book reviewers you submitted to
- When you submitted
- When they responded
- What they said
- If they posted a review

Mike also kept track of:

- Where the review was posted (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, etc.)
- How many stars the reviewer gave

Once you have this information you can use it when you're getting ready to send out your next book for review.

Mike reports that the number of bloggers who accepted his work for review outnumbered those who didn't by a factor of 2 to 1. That response rate is excellent! He also included a generic letter in his post, one that he sent out if a reviewer didn't request anything specifically.

You can find Mike on the web over at The Gryphon Clerks.

Finding Reviewers: Databases Of Book Blogs

Last year I discovered a couple of databases containing contact information for book bloggers who accept independently published work. These are all honest reviewers who take pride in the fact they write and post their reviews for free.

The Indie Book Blog Database

The Indie Book Blog Database contains information about hundreds of blogs which review indie books completely free of charge.

Jennifer Hampton, the database owner, reminds writers that since these bloggers review books as a hobby, and since they are routinely flooded with review requests, authors must be prepared for a lengthy wait between submission and review.

The Indie View

The Indie View is another database which keeps track of review blogs which will consider indie published books for review.

In order for a reviewer to be included in the database he/she must:

- Actively post reviews
- Not charge for reviews
- Not be affiliated with a publisher

Definitely something to take a look at!

Book Blogs Search Engine

The Book Blog Search Engine allows you to search thousands of book review blogs but be aware that many of these reviews do not accept independently published work.

Question: Have you ever submitted your book to a blogger for review? What was your experience like?

Other articles you might like:

- What Slush Pile Readers Look For In A Story
- Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenge: Choose Your Opening Line
- Is Writing Rewriting?

Photo credit: "Song (John Keats, 1795-1821)" by jinterwas under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0.

What Slush Pile Readers Look For In A Story

Yesterday I read a fascinating article written by Ferrett Steinmetz, an accomplished author and slush pile reader, about what he looks for in a story.

Slush Pile Readers Want To Love Your Story

Some of what Steinmetz wrote surprised me. For instance, that readers of slush want to fall in love with your story. He writes:

As we lay our eyes upon the first sentence of your epic tale, we are filled with the hope that you—yes, you!—will win the Nebula for this very story.

What you as a writer must understand is that our Hope-O-Meter starts topped off—but as we encounter each bit of bad writing in your story, our Hope-O-Meter drops.

There are many things that can cause a slush pile reader's Hope-O-Meter to drop but it all comes down to this: The reader doesn't care about what's happening.

Steinmetz writes that this lack of caring usually comes from one of three things:

• Who is this character we’re expected to follow along until the end of the story?
• What is s/he doing, and why is s/he doing it?
• Why should we care about this particular action?

If we don’t know all three of those soon, then generally speaking we’re going to lose interest.  (Great writers can break any rule, of course… but if you’re a great writer, then why are you still in our slush pile?)

The Secret: How To Get Your Short Story Accepted

Steinmetz writes:

So what you’re doubtlessly asking by now is, “How can I keep that Hope-O-Meter filled all the way up?”  And the answer is, “Get me to care about your characters, quickly and efficiently.”

And now for the 64 million dollar question: HOW does a writer get a reader to care about their characters?

Steinmetz's answer:

A writer gets a reader to care about their characters by answering the right questions.

To illustrate this, Steinmetz gives examples from actual slush that didn't make it:

1. Who is your protagonist?

Jason’s hand trembled as he crouched in the bush and aimed at the slaver on the rooftop. The slavers had come to Juniper County to put anyone they could find in shackles, so now Jason had no choice: he had to shoot.

The slaver turned, his eyes going wide as he saw Jason. Jason pulled the trigger; the slaver’s head burst open.

Swallowing back nausea, terrified that someone had heard, he ran for cover…

The flaw here, Steinmetz writes, is that we don't know who Jason is.

- If slavers came to their home town, most people would shoot at them, so this doesn't tell us a whole lot about Jason.
- Jason is nauseous and nervous so that might indicate he's inexperienced but it could also just be that he's afraid of being caught.

What we needed to know about Jason:

a. Who or what he is fighting for. Does he have a family that he's trying to protect? (This covers two things: character and motivation.)

b. How experienced of a fighter is he? Is he an able hunter or a clueless accountant?

c. What are his ultimate goals? Does he want to escape the town? Drive the invaders out? Rescue his family? His friends?

Further, the reader needs to know the answer to these three questions in the first three paragraphs.

2. What is your protagonist's goal?

Here's an example of a passage that nails the "who" but falls short when it comes to "what":

At six o’clock on the dot, Damien clicked off his computer and stacked his unfinished paperwork neatly in his in-tray. The desk had become untidy over the course of the day, so he lined everything up geometrically; the desk blotter perfectly parallel with the keyboard, the monitor at a forty-five degree angle.

He made his way to the elevator, observing a spot on his shiny leather shoes. He unfolded a handkerchief to buff it clean, then pressed the exact center of the button that marked the first floor.

When the elevator arrived, Damien spritzed the air with a small can of perfume, trying to neutralize the odors of stale BO and farts pent up within

Here we know the kind of person Damien is, but we don't know what motivates him and we don't know what his ultimate goal is. Steinmetz writes:

Note how this opening has no real indicators of Damien’s wants or needs, aside from a clean shoe and a fart-free elevator.  It’s a kind of weak characterization, because it does tell us what his immediate needs are without letting us know what his goals are.

However, if we know that Damien is leaving work to go to a pick-up bar to try and get a girl, then suddenly all of these mundane details take on personal shape; he’s buffing his shoes so he’ll look good, he’s spraying the elevator to avoid smelling bad for his partner.

Or, if we know he’s going to visit his dying mother in the hospital, the rituals take on an air of desperation; his mother’s illness is out of his control, but he can control his own personal space.

3. What makes the protagonist interesting?

Here's an example of a passage with bland characters:

Beatrice stirred her soup in time to the rhythm of her husband chopping wood outside. Her cousin Jack took over stirring as she went into the bedroom to check in on Cindy. As Beatrice picked her daughter up, she wriggled and grinned.

Steinmetz writes:

In this case, you have four characters in the first paragraph, none of them doing anything that makes them memorable.  Anyone can chop wood, if they need to.  Anyone can stir soup or check on a baby.

We want our protagonists to be interesting. If they're not interesting then they're boring and who wants to read about a boring character? Steinmetz writes:

Interesting characters do things that no one else would do in their circumstance; that’s why you remember them.

Also, a writer needs to make each of their characters interesting and memorable but in different ways. Otherwise characters blend into one another.

4. What is the story goal?

Usually the story goal(/story question) is the same as the protagonist's external goal.

For example, in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, Indiana Jones' goal was to find the ark and bring it back to the university for further research and study. That was also the story question: Will Indiana Jones find the ark and bring it back to the university museum before Dr. Rene Belloq and the Nazis snatch it from him and use it to swing the tide of war their way?

However, the protagonist's goal isn't always so closely linked to the story question.

For example, in Star Wars IV: A New Hope Luke's goal is to destroy the death star and thereby save the rebel alliance. However the overarching story goal is to destroy the empire. Even when Luke succeeds in destroying the death star the empire is far from beaten since the emperor is still alive.

Steinmetz holds that it's important for readers to know both what the protagonist's goal is, and what the story question is (if they're different), from the beginning.

Here's an example of an opener where the story goal is withheld:

The work will take three months, and if done poorly, risks fatally poisoning you,” Nellie explained to the scent-engineer. “So I need to make sure your skills are up to speed.” She tightbeamed a spec over to his PDA; he whistled.

This is quite an unusual request,” murmured Paco. “Even if you granted me full access to your family’s pheromone farms, I’m not sure it could be done.” He nodded, contemplating the request. “But if so, I’m the only man who can do it.”

That’s the attitude I’m looking for,” she said, reaching out to clasp hands and seal the bio-contract.

Steinmetz writes:

A lot of writers, for some reason, think it’s more interesting to conceal the central premise of their story and then reveal it later on.  At some point around page five or six, we’re going to finally have the Big Reveal that what Nellie is looking for is an Enslavement Pheromone to turn humans into mindless ant-drones.  Mwoo hah hah!

Unfortunately, the irritation of leaving your reader in the dark is almost never as cool as your actual central concept.

5. Don't include too much description

I know, that's not a question, but Ferrett Steinmetz makes an excellent point:

[I]f a story started with, “The tendril-fields were wet and pulsing, the rose-pink tentacles reaching up to grab at the spine-birds that flew overhead,” then fine, I’d be like, that’s amazing.  Tell me more. But generic descriptions of landscape are a pace-killer.

6. Show don't tell

Steinmetz writes:

Thing is, there’s a big difference between “he’s insane” and “he thinks bugs crawl into his ear whenever he talks on his cell phone.”  There’s a big difference between “He’s in love” and “Every time he fills up at the gas station, he buys a single flower for his wife and leaves it on her pillow.”  There’s a big difference between “exhilaration” and “The story you spent three months agonizing over just found a home at Shimmer.”

Stories are about concrete details.  If you write about emotions as though they’re just these abstracted principles, then your story lacks all power.  When you write about characters feeling stuff, get as gritty as you can; it’ll make them more unique and pay off, and it won’t make us slush editors go, “Oh, yes, another story written by a madman who doesn’t actually sound all that insane.”

Great examples and excellent advice. The epitome of something simple to understand but not easily done.

I encourage you to read the rest of Steinmetz's essay here: Confessions of a Slush Reader: Why Should I care?

Other articles you might like:

- Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenge: Choose Your Opening Line
- Short Story Structures: Several Ways Of Structuring Short Fiction
- Alexa.com: Find Out How Much Traffic Your Blog Gets

Photo credit: "recession" by Robert S. Donovan under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0.