mbarker: (ISeeYou2)
[personal profile] mbarker
 Original Posting 1/27/2021

Writer's Digest, October 1990, pages 10-12, had an article by Nancy Kress talking about "your story lives and dies on the strength of your opening. Here's how to live."

Nancy starts out by putting us in the head of an editor looking at the slush pile, with all the other work that the editor also has, and asks, "How far do you get before you decide to either finish the story or put it in its SASE?" (aka, reject it!)

Ideally, the writer hopes that the editor is going to give that story the same kind of attention they did, reading it all the way through without any distractions… However, the truth is, "you have about three paragraphs to capture that editor's attention enough for her to finish her story."

Nancy suggests that there are four elements that help an editor (and a reader!) get interested: character, conflict, specificity, and credibility.

Right off the top, the character, "who goes there?" gives a reader someone to focus on. So, introduce them right away, make sure they are integral to the main action of the story, and make sure they are an individual.

"Most successful openings give the reader a genuine character because most stories are about individual human beings."

Second, conflict! "Coming to a scene near you." You don't have to start with the body crashing through a window or something else like that. "Some stories feature overt, dramatic conflict; in others the conflict is subtle perhaps contained completely within the skull of one character." No matter what kind of conflict your story has, the first few paragraphs need to hint at it, give us a clue about the nature of the conflict ahead.

Third, specificity, "a new one on me." Specific details. Speech, setting, thoughts, something that is fresh and original for the readers. This also convinces the reader that you know what you're talking about.

Fourth, credibility, "can this prose be trusted?" Part of this is trust, built by those details, good handling of the language, and so forth. A tight portrayal? The right words, not the almost right word. Language that brings us into the story, not eloquence and erudition that makes us pay attention to the language.

Finally, Nancy suggests that writing "an opening that immediately introduces an interesting individual, hints at the conflict to come, uses fresh and telling details, and convinces a harried editor that you are a master of English prose" is not something that most of us can do immediately. Instead, you get to rewrite. Polish it until it shines!

So, four things to look for in your beginning. That character that makes us want to keep reading, at least a good hint about the kind of conflict that's coming, some really good details, and the right use of language. An obvious exercise is to take something you've written or a work in progress and look at the first three paragraphs, or whatever you think your beginning is (books have a slightly longer beginning than short stories, but you still need a good beginning!). Try writing a variation (or two or three!), emphasizing Nancy's four elements.

Write?
mbarker: (ISeeYou2)
[personal profile] mbarker
 Original Posting 8/4/2019

Writer's Digest, April 1992, pages eight and 10 had an article by Nancy Kress under this title. The subtitle says "To make your characters and setting universal, make them specific."Nancy starts with a short anecdote about a student writer who says their story could be about anybody, so they haven't really decided who the person is. They want to represent the universal human condition!"It's not that a single character in a short story can't represent the universal human condition. Certainly he or she can. But the construction of fiction offers a paradox here: the more universal you try to be, the more particular you must be in terms of character. The way to universality of theme lies not through creating anybody, but only through creating a specific somebody. The only way to achieve Everyman is to create Particularman."Why? Well, basically readers are looking for identification. How much does your character resemble the reader. If the answer is not very much, readers shift to trying to understand a different life. However, those different characters don't represent universals. They don't represent you! On the other hand, when a reader does identify with the character, they become universal – at least there's the author, the character, and the reader… And then there's everybody else."If your reader can identify with your character, that character has at least a shot at representing universality of human truth to the reader."So when do readers identify with the character? It's not through a lack of individual characteristics. Vagueness does not create identification. No, bonds are best built through similarities between the reader and the character, through definite qualities. "That's why the well-drawn individual character will seem more universal than a vague, amorphous one." What the character does and says and believes are things the reader can predict because the people feel real, and the reader can imagine themselves sharing.Reader identification!But, wait a minute, sex, age, socioeconomic class, interests… Those are not likely to be the same as the reader? Well, yes, but while such attributes influence how the character thinks and acts, it's really character, personality, individual essence that let the reader identify the character. Emotions!Along the way, it's not just characters. Setting also needs to be specific, with details chosen to illuminate, to give a impression.So, clean up the fuzz! "Fuzzy characters in fuzzy settings do not add up to depictions of the universal human condition.… To create the universal, create the particular, and create it in such a way that you take us below the surface of both character and setting." Make us notice, make us care, and we will love the story.So there you go. If you're looking for an exercise, take something you're working on, and go through and look for the fuzzy places, the characters and settings that aren't really specific. Then add the details, make them pop into the reader's mind.
[identity profile] mbarker.livejournal.com
Original Posting 4 March 2011

OK. So lesson one was use lipstick to write your stories?

No, no. Stories, like lipstick, generate emotion. They make us feel.

But, lesson two at http://johndbrown.com/writers/getting-specific/ points out...

That's not very specific. Emotion? Which one? There's so many. OK. So let's see if we can figure out which emotions you like to read about and would like to create. Get specific.

John Brown recommends an exercise (I like this guy! He wants you to work for it.)

Step one: list 10 of your favorite stories. Not necessarily your most favorite, just 10 favorite stories. Fiction, history, biography, novels, movies, poetry, whatever. Make a list.

Step two: beside each one, write down what you liked about it. What did it make you feel? What did it do to you or for you? Did you laugh, cry, wonder, hold on to the edge of your desk, feel that sense-of-wonder, say, "I wish I could do that?"

Step three: Look at your lists. You'll probably see a pattern. These are what John Brown calls your draws. What draws you to a story. You might want to write those down as a separate list, although keeping them with the stories that make you feel those can help you. After all, when you want to write your stories, you'll need to have models of stories, characters, setting, problems, plots that make you feel those. Then you'll want to do some imitation.

OK? So we've got lipstick -- stories make us feel emotions. Now we've got draws -- the specific feelings that we like in stories.

Go make your lists. We'll come back to thing one, lesson three real soon now.

Oh, my. The Phantom... no, don't look ahead. Make your list.
[identity profile] mbarker.livejournal.com
original posting 7 April 2009

Setting the scene

Writer's Digest, November 2005, pages 22 to 23, in the Freelancer's Workshop column, and article by David A. Fryxell about scenes. How do you give your readers a feeling of place? Six points:
  1. Start with setting. Like the establishing shot on a TV show, sometimes you can start with setting. Usually you need to have something happen relatively fast within the scene, but you can still say where things are happening right up front.
  2. Be specific. Avoid generalities. Specific, vivid details make the scene feel real. The example David uses is don't write, "birds sat on the car." Be precise, "two goldfinches sat on the hood of a blue Mustang convertible." Which one gives you a feeling of reality?
  3. Put it into motion. Let something happen on the stage, have characters interacting, and suddenly that scrap of setting description isn't static anymore.
  4. Attach setting to dialogue. Someone says something, they said, and a little bit about the setting. The sugar of the dialogue helps the scenery description medicine go down?
  5. Easy on the adjectives. Select strong details, and leave out the piles of adjectives and descriptive blather.
  6. Use all your senses. Not just what you can see, but what you can hear, what you can smell, what you can feel -- and don't be afraid of using a strong metaphor.
So there you go. Now what to do about it? Well, as an exercise, take your work in progress, and look at that scene you're working on. Does it have a setting? Apply David's six points to help your scene really fit into the setting that makes it come alive.

And write!

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