Don't Sweat The Little Stuff
Yesterday I gave examples of why details are important in writing fiction. This week I tell you not to worry about them. What? Make up my mind? Paradoxically, I believe both are true because of two things.
1] Details are easy to layer in and can be layered in at any point in the writing process without creating huge problems for a story.
2] Too much concern over details at the wrong points in the writing process can cause writer’s block.
Admittedly some details are too important to let slide. How the hero gets the heroine off the roof of a burning building when she’s afraid of heights and hugging a chimney, for example. Other details are best to deal with fairly early on because they are going to come up over and over. What color the heroine’s eyes are, for example. But for the most part, details can wait.
It is far more important to get the heart of the story down. You can use details to make the heart beat afterward.
Alice
The Life of Your Story Is In The Details
The devil may be in the details, but so is the life of your story.
This was not a lesson I learned easily. It was darned hard for my critique partners to get my head out of the clouds so I could focus on the five senses. To this day I have to remember to go back and add more.
Details make a huge difference. I’m afraid this is the sort of thing most people aren’t going to believe without seeing for themselves. So lets get straight to the examples.
Since I have no intention of really doing anything with it, let’s use the FanLit Forever Challenge 3 Round One story about the two brothers. We’ll take the story from the point where Benedict has ridden out to Andrew, found him alive after the plain crash, and done what he can for him. Andrew has a broken leg, but he’s awake and aware. Remember, they had a falling out over a woman years earlier.
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***
“She wasn’t worth it,” Benedict said.
Andrew only raised an eyebrow in reply. He looked like he was in pain. Part of Benedict wished he could do more to take the pain away, but another part took some satisfaction in his brother’s condition.
“She never loved either of us.”
“How do you know?”
Benedict poked the fire with a stick. He glanced at Andrew. “I read her diary.”
“That wasn’t a nice thing to do.”
“It was years ago, but I remember every word.” Benedict had a good memory. “The whole time she was going with you or me she was trying to go with this guy named Joe Tison.”
“Wasn’t he the guy she married?”
“I don’t know. I never heard.”
“No. No, it wasn’t. It was Howard Tison. She married Joe’s brother.”
***
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This is both “white room syndrome” and “talking head”. The two are both the result of insufficient details. White room syndrome is the effect of feeling like the characters are sitting around in a white room. They have so little contact with the world around them and so little description of it that they could be anywhere. Talking head is where the characters seem to be disembodied. It makes it much harder to see them as real characters.
Let’s try the exact same scene again, only with more details.
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****
“She wasn’t worth it,” Benedict said. He gave a sidelong look at his brother, whose leg rested on the sleeping bag Benedict had carefully placed close enough to the fire for warmth and far enough for safety.
Andrew only raised one dark eyebrow in reply. Under a mop of ebony hair, pain etched itself into his forehead, making washboard of wrinkles. The wrinkles looked too deep to have come about recently, and didn’t go away when Andrew gazed into the yellow glow of the fire, his jaw tight.
Seven years and they still had not laid to rest the ghosts Samantha put between them. Benedict wished he could smooth away his brother’s lines, yet smiled ruefully. If he couldn’t forgive, then he deserved them.
For long moments they both huddled in their sleeping bags while the evergreen forest around them grew darker and colder, the air pungent in pine needles and tension.
“She never loved either of us,” Benedict said to the fire.
“How do you know?” Andrew’s voice reflected the quiet of the night.
Benedict poked the fire with a stick. He glanced at Andrew. “I read her diary.”
“That wasn’t a nice thing to do.” Andrew’s eyes narrowed with censure.
Benedict looked away, feeling guilty even after so many years. Andrew had always been the noble one. Not always practical, but always noble.
“It was years ago, but I remember every word.” He could hardly forget the white, lined paper covered in swirls of cruel, black ink, her words having engraved themselves in his mind. “The whole time she was going with either you or me she was chasing after this guy named Joe Tison.”
Andrew straightened up. “Wasn’t he the guy she married?”
“I don’t know. I never heard.”
“No. No, it wasn’t. It was Howard Tison. She married Joe’s brother.”
They shared a bitter smile, a smile of brotherhood and understanding.
****
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It gives you a better feel for who and where they are, doesn’t it? But what if we had picked a different set of details. Let’s try it again and see what could happen.
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****
“She wasn’t worth it,” Benedict said, putting his chin out, though he didn’t really expect his brother to argue.
Andrew only raised a questioning eyebrow in reply. The lime-green bedroll under him must have shifted because he winced, and rubbed the injured leg. Benedict reached for the splint to check his work, but Andrew waved him away.
Always carelessly stoic, Andrew had the streeky-blond good looks of a beach bum. In spite of the paint he must feel he looked around at the pine trees around them and breathed deeply, a hint of a smile on his face.
Benedict shook his head in grudging admiration. He knew Andrew would never ask what he meant, probably didn’t want to hear it, but he had to say it anyway. “She never loved either of us.”
“How do you know?” Andrew betrayed himself with no hesitation. He’d known what Benedict was talking about all along.
Benedict poked the fire with a stick. He glanced at Andrew. “I read her diary.”
“That wasn’t a nice thing to do.” Slowly, a mischievous smile and twinkling eyes lit up his face. Benedict tried not to smile back.
“It was years ago, but I remember every word.” He remembered all right, and what she’d said still made his stomach clinch. “The whole time she was going with either you or me she was angling for this guy named Joe Tison.”
“Wasn’t he the guy she married?” Andrew leaned back on his elbows and looked into the deep, starry night, supremely unconcerned.
“I don’t know. I never heard.”
Andrew sat up too quickly, making himself wince. “No. No, it wasn’t. It was Howard Tison. She married Joe’s brother.”
They stared at one another in stunned surprised. Then Andrew started to laugh. Benedict didn’t want to join him, but the longer his brother laughed, the harder it was to resist. Soon they were howling, laughing until tear ran down their faces.
****
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It’s the same dialogue. You’d think the story would be the same either way. And yet they come across very differently.
That is the power of details.
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Alice
FanLit Forever Challenge 3 Round 1 Deadline
Just a reminder, the submissions aren’t due until FRIDAY, folks. You’ve got an extra day to work on them. But don’t slack off and make me post them all on Friday at midnight, please. Even I sleep sometime.
Alice
Testing YouTube
Let’s see if I can get this thing to work.
Yes! Break through!
I love music videos. 😀
Next up? Beer ads! You’ll have to go see Jill for the singing cookies.
Alice
Lettuce Soup
Here’s another strange but good recipe for you. And easy! Never forget easy. I got it from my mother. Lord knows where she got it from.
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1 can beef broth
1 can water
1/2 cup frozen peas
1 cup lettuce, approximately
In a medium saucepan bring broth and water to a boil. Dump in peas. Tear lettuce into salad-size pieces. Drop into saucepan with everything else. Cook until lettuce is limp, aprox 2 minutes. Serve.
Bon Appetite!
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Alice
Watch This Space
I was planning on putting some of Mr. Al’s post cards up today, but I’m having technical difficulties. I’ll have to put them up next weekend. By then I should have everything working.
He has a wild sense of humor. It’s worth checking out.
Alice
Curly Hair
One of my reading pet peeves is the way writer’s portray curly hair. Too often it is clear the writer has no idea what curly hair is like. So in the interest of authenticity, I thought I’d talk about it.
First of all, like most things, one head of curly hair is not necessarily like another. Since I didn’t have curly hair until my early teens, and no one in my family could help me deal with it, I became morbidly fascinated. Any time I got a chance to talk to someone who had naturally curly hair I would do so.
I did not find any universal techniques or conditions, but most of the people I talked to had a few things in common with me:
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1] Do not have other characters mess around with the hair of a curly haired character. No running of fingers through the hair, no petting, and spring only when intended to give offense or testing issues of trust and respect. Every time I see a description of a hero running his fingers through the heroine’s hair I go “ouch!!” This in spite of the fact I finger comb my hair every day. Every person who has tried it on my hair has gotten their fingers stuck within inches. Petting makes it frizz. Springing makes the curls spread and frizz. Rings worn the the fingers running through curly hair are likely to result in pulling out a fair amount of hair.
2] No hair brushing or fine-toothed combing of curly hair. The teeth of combs break off. Brushing makes it frizz big time and tends to mow down the curls. If the hair gets mussed, it’s going to stay mussed until the character has access to water and/or styling products. I’ve never been able to get a straight answer out of other people about how they take care of theirs – with the exception of the lady on the roller coaster. I work styling gel and water into mine and comb it out with my fingers. I use a pick in the shower with a lot of slippery cream rinse to get the worst tangles out. Styling mousse isn’t anywhere near as useful as gel.
3] Putting curly hair up is easy. Keeping it that way is not so easy. I’ve had the kind of decorative combs that were popular in the 80’s fly across rooms. I’ve seen the teeth of them permanently warped from one wearing. I’ve had hair clips suddenly give way and fall apart. I’ve had pencils and chopsticks simply disappear, buried by hair. Rubber bands that are wrapped in thread work well. The ones without thread, like they used to put around newspapers, tend to take a lot of hair with them when they go and sometimes have to be cut out. On the other hand, I can twist it and skewer it with a pencil quickly and easily and it will look all right. Sometimes the pencil will hold it for hours.
4] Sleeping on unbound curly hair is a good way to start growing dreadlocks. Corn rowing curly hair and then leaving it that way for several weeks is a good way to start growing dreadlocks. Camping out for extended periods without braiding it up is a good way to grow dreadlocks. If the character is living in the medieval period and doesn’t have time to mess with it a lot every day or wash it regularly with special unguents, just assume it has either turned into dreadlocks, or become one nasty, solid mat of hair, or is kept very, very short.
5] Curly hair does NOT bounce with every step. It springs a bit with a good, solid jump, but not simply from taking a step, even stomping.
6] If a character with curly hair gets wind-blown, their hair is going to poof out like a dandelion and stay that way until it is put up or gotten wet. Most curly haired people are not all that enamored with convertibles. Blow dryers can have truly gruesome effects on curls. A diffuser helps a lot, but drip-dry works best.
7] Frizzy hair drifts in the slightest breeze. In a strong wind it can writhe around like Medusa’s snakes. When someone with curly hair is out in the wind people tend to stare and go “Wow” and mutter things about lion’s mains, wild and woolly, witches, or say things like “You look so… so… I don’t know but you really do!” They may even remember it and shake their heads in amazement weeks later. It tends to take on a life of it’s own.
8] People with curly hair are used to having strangers go out of their way to talk to them about it. Women are much more likely to do this than men are. Men tend to get annoyed with women who want to touch it.
9] Most people with curly hair owe some of the curl to frizz. There seems to be a notable exception. Some people have a kind of loosely looping curly hair. Individual curls can have a two inch diameter with this kind of hair. It tends to be smoother, glossier, and easier to manage. Those people can actually comb their hair and may not even need to get it wet.
10] Curls can do all kinds of weird things. They can wrap around one another, zigzag, and change the direction of rotation all on a single lock of hair. I have as much trouble with individual hairs tying themselves in knots as with split ends. The curls can curl more tightly on some days than on others. The differences can make the hair appear to lengthen and shorten by several inches. Some locks of hair are more likely to curl than others. I have a fringe of straight or nearly straight hair on the underside. I don’t know why. It just grows that way. Some people with curly hair will have it permed in an effort to make it more uniform.
11] Most beautician say they would love to get their hands on curly hair, but when they do, they haven’t the foggiest what to do with it. The one you want to cut it is the one who has someone with curly hair in their family.
12] Curly hair can itch.
Outside of that it’s just like any old hair.
Alice
Suzie’s House 3: Rules Are Made to Be Bent…
Miranda balanced precariously in her wonderfully wild, high heel shoes as she crouched down to put an arm across her best friend’s shoulders. She tuned out the homey kitchen, the smell of soup, and the ticking of the clock which marked the seconds until Suzie’s son came home from middle-school, claiming his mother’s full attention.
“Face it Suzie-Woozie. It’s take me in or lose the house.”
She watched Suzie’s plain, make-up-deficient face for any sign of resignation. As soon as Suzie bit her lip, Miranda knew she’d won.
Yes! She couldn’t wait to move in. She looked around Suzie’s the bright, cozy kitchen with it’s yellow accents and polished-wood class and grinned.
Everything she’d said to Suzie was true. She liked the idea of being able to help Suzie keep the house while saving a little money. Giving up the ratty little studio apartment in Shanks Corners would be no hardship. She loved the idea of eating a good dinner every night without having to go to a restaurant for it.
But best of all would be the chance to break down the barriers around the mysterious and delicious Andrew Banks. With Marvelous Marvin’s help and the forced intimacy of living in close quarters together she had no doubt she’d get through to the man.
Who knows? Maybe this time her match making efforts between Suzie and Marvin would pay off.
“All right.” Suzie looked grim as she said it, as if she didn’t look forward to the kind of fun they’d had together in college. “You can rent one of my rooms. But only as long as you follow my rules.”
“Well of course.” Miranda straightened. It took her a minute to process what Suzie had said, beyond permission to move in. “Rules?” Her triumphant smile slipped. “What rules?”
“No men.”
“But…”
No men!”
“You’re not being reasonable, Suzie.”
“Miranda! No! Men!”
All Miranda’s hopes and schemes ground to a halt. Getting Andrew and Marvin to move into the other two bedrooms… well it wasn’t a deal breaker. Besides, she was sure to get Suzie to see reason once she’d moved in.
“All right, all right. No men.” Suzie walked to the opposite end of the kitchen table and sat down. “I don’t know why you have to get so worked up about it.”
Suzie clamped her mouth shut mutinously. The expression went nicely with sever hairstyle – plane brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. It gave Suzie a strong, girl-next-door wholesome look that would be perfect for a “Got Milk” ad campaigne. If only she would let Miranda touch her up with a little makeup and take some snapshots.
Later. At the moment she had bigger fish to fry.
“Does the ban on all men include Marvin? He’s your friend too. Surely you could let him come by now and then. I mean, he does anyway, doesn’t he?”
Suzie groaned. She rolled her eyes. She gave a frustrated huff. Then she gave in. “I don’t suppose we could keep him away. Vin can come.”
“Why can’t you call him Marvin?”
“He asked me to call him Vin, so I do. What’s wrong with Vin?”
“I just think Marvin is better. Think about it . ‘Marvelous Marvin’. Doesn’t it roll of the tongue?” Miranda waved her hand in the air, feeding the drama of the moment.
Suzie wasn’t having any of it. She got up and went to the stove, opened the door to the oven, and shoved in the loaf of bread dough she had shaped when Miranda arrived for their usual evening together. Miranda gave her a moment before starting in on her again.
“You know, Marvin’s lease has expired. He had to move to a sublet. When the student’s come back his sublet will run out.”
Suzie slammed the oven closed. She put her hand to her brow and sighed in exasperation. “Don’t tell me.”
“Why not? You can charge him double what you charge me. He won’t mind. Besides, it’ll give you something to live on. I mean what I pay will cover most of the mortgage so you won’t lose the house, but you still have to buy food and stuff, right?”
“Tell me this isn’t happening.”
“I don’t see why you have to be go glum about it. You should be thanking me for solving all your problems.”
Suzie laughed quietly. “All my problems? Not even close.” She gave the soup a stir. It smelled heavenly. “But it would solve some. Fine I’ll let Marvin rent one of my rooms, but no other men. I don’t want my son to see you traipsing around with one man after another. Marvin’s all right, but no other men.”
“Right. No other men,” Miranda agreed. “I’ll meet my dates elsewhere. I won’t bring any home.” Miranda mentally crossed her fingers. Bringing Andrew into the house didn’t count, did it? She didn’t intend to date him. Just marry him.
No need to say anything about it to Suzie now. It could be months before Miranda could convince him to move out of the hotel room and into the house. By then Suzie was sure to see reason. Besides, if she pushed too hard Suzie wouldn’t let her have any of the soup.
The previous was Suzie’s House 2: Friend or Roommate?
This is Suzie’s House 3: Rules Are Made to Be Bent…
Next is Suzie’s House 4: …Or Broken…
Just Do It
I used to hate Nike ads that use the line. Just do it? Like anything is really that easy. Just do it could have me diving off bridges, slogging through the everglades, and generally out breaking my neck.
But when it comes to writing, there’s a lot to be said for “just do it.”
Now and then I will run across writers who desperately want to find an easy out. They want rough drafts to come out perfectly polished. They want to do it in ten days. They want it to happen with minimal effort on their part. So they agonize over how to write as few words possible and still end up with a book.
Bah! What are they afraid of? Hard work? They will tell you no, that it has to do with precious time. Considering how much time many of them waste by agonizing over, and begrudging the time spent writing, I have my doubts.
New authors in particular seem to resent writing anything that isn’t going to sell. It pains them to have written a book only to discover it isn’t well enough written to make the grade. They don’t want to write bits of dialogue or scene settings if it isn’t part of a book.
I find myself falling into the same trap now and then. Every time I end up spinning my wheels, getting more and more frustrated. Once I tell myself I am not afraid of work, I have time, and the story is worth the effort, everything flows much more smoothly.
They say the AVERAGE published writer will have written over a million words before she gets published. So why not do some of those words in practice? Why not try different versions of a scene using different techniques just to see how it might come out?
Why not quit worrying about whether or not the first, or second, or even third book is sellable, and simply write it because it’s a good story?
Alice
Pacing
Early in my writing efforts I believed good pacing was simply to get the action going as fast as you could then keep it going as fast as possible until the end.
How exhausting for both reader and writer.
Pacing needs to have an ebb and flow in order to keep a reader’s interest. The rate of the ebb and flow should match the tone of the story. A slow paced Romantic Suspense may find it harder to keep readers interest than a slow paced cozy Mystery. A fast paced Sweet Inspirational of family oriented Mainstream might annoy readers or leave them confused. But let the story itself determine the best pacing, not simply what genre or subgenera it is in.
Like most of writing, several elements are involved in what produces fast or slow pacing. The easiest to work with is probably the use of scenes and sequels. I am referring to Dwight Swain’s use of the terms.
In this case a scene is a section of prose in which the primary focus is on action. It is characterized by lots of dialogue and/or descriptions of something taking place in the moment. A sequel is a section of prose that focuses on a character’s thoughts, motives, memories, etc. What I think of as a scene – a unit of prose set at a particular place and time – can and frequently does include both scene and sequel as those terms are used by Swain. To speed up the pacing, have a higher proportion of scenes. To slow it down have a higher proportion of sequels.
I have noticed word choices and sentence structure also influence pacing, though more subtly. The slower, more lyrical passages need to have longer, more complicated sentences and can tolerate more passive verbs. The faster, more intense passages need to have shorter, punchier sentences. Putting complicated To go against this tends to annoy the reader, and can even pop them out of the story. However, using the wrong sentence structure for the circumstances can also have comic or even cosmic effects. This is one of those places where you need to know the rule in order to bend it effectively.
The storyline itself can have an effect on pacing. The parts of the stories that are more intense can have more pull, increasing the pace. I’m not talking about the difference between scene and sequel here. I’m talking about one Swain type scene in which the action has more consequence than another Swain type scene.
The pacing of the story should change as the story progresses, becoming faster as you go. This will come from an escalation of the consequences in the scenes, but can be heightened by the shifting of proportion of scene to sequel, and should be accompanied by a change in sentence structure and word choice. Get it all working together and you’ll really have something to crow about.
Alice
Messing Around
Today I’m just messing around. I’ve been meaning to update my blogroll for a while and stuff like that. I was going to crack a joke, but now I’m not sure where I put it.
Hey, can anyone out there tell me how to put a YouTube thing on my blog? I’ve got a couple I’d like to share. And not even the cookie one on Jill’s blog, which is a good one, BTW.
Alice
Hollywood Salad
Since January is “make up for rum balls month,” I figure this is a good time to share healthy recipes. Here’s one my mother learned from my great uncle. That’s a doctor teaching a food scientist a new recipe.
Wash and shred half a head of lettuce
Pile the lettuce on a plate
sprinkle with garlic salt and balsamic vinegar.
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Bon Appetite
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Alice
CM the Scientist
If you’ve ever considered using a scientist as a character in an Historical, go check out today’s blog.
Alice
Sing a Song of Pyrex
I love Pyrex! I have their pots and pans, their pie plates, bread pans, and a remarkable collection of their storage containers. I love the way they clean up when you burn something onto them, the way they handle freezer to microwave or oven, the way they don’t get pitted in the microwave even if you leave them in for WAY too long. I adore the rubber lids. I love the way you can see what’s in them at a glance.
But there is room for improvement *grin*.
Leave Martha Stewart behind! She goes for those lovely “sage” colored lids. They are so attractive. Until you put them over spaghetti sauce. Seriously, give me brownish-red lids! All right, the navy blue are fine because they hide the stains, but I’m not a big fan of navy. I want a decorative shade of brown.
Martha must have a separate room in which to store her kitchen stuff, because she does a lousy job of making things stackable. Simply being able to place one on top of another and have it stay there doesn’t count. When I say stackable, I mean I want each container to sit down inside the other so that a set of four will take up less space than if you placed two of them back to back. To do so, they can’t have straight sides.
Pyrex does this with some of their direct lines, but never with the Martha Stewart stuff. When it comes to buying Pyrex, go direct.
They recently came out with a storage container I LOVE. I mean, more than usual. It’s 7x5x1.5 inches. I didn’t think I’d get all that much use out of it when I first bought it. Silly me. It’s perfect for pork chops and left over lasagna, and baking those shrink-wrapped chunks of frozen fish I’m seeing in the supermarkets all over town.
Sure Pyrex has some problems with chips and scratches, but so does my no-stick cookware. At least Pyrex I can clean with bleach and not pit. I do a lot of freezing, and nothing’s better for telling at a glance what’s inside or putting in the microwave then eating straight out of.
Yep. I love Pyrex.
Alice
