Tim Burton

When I was walking Eva this morning on the seawall, I noticed a large number of tents, ladders, people, and other miscellaneous paraphernalia outside the aquarium...

Seems they're shooting a Tim Burton movie called 'Big Eyes'...

Well, there's always filming going on in/around Vancouver. It's so normal to have roads closed off/etc that it's just a minor inconvenience navigating the city. There are always movies/tv shows/commercials/etc being shot, but I love Tim Burton, so this (to me) is actually worth mentioning :)

It should be interesting to see what *part* the aquarium, and Lumberman's arch, is going to play.

...now, time to walk the pooch again since she's standing beside my desk with her tail waggling...

Stumbled across a good article

Go read this, it's excellent :)

FFF 9.2

Alrighty, here's my quick (and this time unedited!) flash fiction piece for (belated) flash fiction Friday, and it's a mightily short 75 words:

It was her red ribbon, Anna’s ribbon, drowning in the murky pool of decomposing leaves and run-off water. Bright, like her smile, bright, like the fervor that burned through the town when she disappeared, and bright like enamel against dust. They found her by the gleam of her teeth in a trick of light down by the river.

I want to ask mayor Silas why Anna’s ribbon was in the ditch outside his garden.

Flash Fiction Friday 9.0

Okay, I've seriously been averaging 3 hours sleep nightly for the past two weeks straight, so I apologize in advance for emails left unanswered, and a couple submissions still sitting in my inbox (believe me, you don't want me critiquing when I'm this tired).

So, here's a very short line for today, and depending on brain-activity-reserves, I might end up posting my flash fiction piece tomorrow or Sunday.

It was her red ribbon.

Obvious, right?

Sometimes you whirl around a situation so many times you lose sight of the obvious. Until someone smacks you upside the head with it...

Thanks, Lydia for commenting. I really needed to be beaten-down with the obvious:

That query POV issue is always hard. You just have to pretend you're pitching it out loud to someone. It's hard!

So how do I talk about my murky main character when I'm talking to someone, out loud, about the story?

After 2.5 hours of sleep, I bolted awake at 4:30am this morning and typed this 3rd POV query for 'TRoRS' on my phone as an email to myself:

For the nameless, gender-ambiguous main character (MC), riding shotgun in Triss’ car is normal. So is sleeping in her car when it’s not safe to go home, and eating her leftovers cold from a brown paper bag. When the car starts breaking down, it’s normal for the MC to help when Triss gets involved in a twisted game of manipulation so she can pay for repairs. 

At parties Jackson hosts, their game runs on in the background, where they bet on who’s going to get wasted and do something stupid. The bets start out normal, but they quickly escalate until one night, everything goes wrong, and people aren’t like cards or poker chips. They have baggage. They get angry. They want revenge.

Six weeks after that party, Jackson ends up on the wrong side of dead, and now nothing is normal. There are rules when you ride shotgun, because the driver holds all power and responsibility, but when there’s a corpse in the trunk, the car is breaking down, and Triss starts to lose control, the MC must reevaluate the rules of their relationship, and ultimately when to break them.

THE RULES OF RIDING SHOTGUN is a 60,000 word YA Contemporary in the tradition of Courtney Summers and John Green, with a little bit of Justine Larbalestier’s LIAR mixed in. The main character has no name, and no defined gender, as relationships are all about the lines we draw, and the lines that are drawn for us.

Yeah. Still needs work. It's boring and not quite *voice-y* enough, but it's a place to start, and not bad considering I'm deliriously tired from almost two straight weeks of insomnia... or maybe I'm so overtired I can't tell good from bad anymore...

Thoughts? Impressions? The writing sucks, so I'm asking more about the angle... the points I'm focusing on.

Okay, I'm going to try to get a couple more hours sleep. Today's Flash Fiction Friday may go up later than normal, but it'll still be going up.

Like a Virgin round#2

The second round of 'Like a Virgin' contest starts today, results on Friday. Since I'm at my parents' house, and didn't bring my laptop, guess I'll be following along via my phone since I'm not heading home until late Saturday :)

If you do decide to pop over out of idle curiosity, just remember that no one but agents are supposed to comment on submissions.

Don't get too excited, I'm not expecting much, other than *actual* feedback due to my 1st POV query :)

I have spent... oh, so many hours fighting to get that query into 3rd POV, but it just doesn't work. Can't use he/she, can't use a name, and as soon as you start throwing around generic terms like, 'the passenger', the focus shifts entirely to Triss/Jackson, so it sounds like Triss is the MC, rather than the gender-ambiguous, nameless MC.

Argh.

Anyways, I'm expecting the lowest number of *cherries* ;)

Love it!

I love blonde jokes!

Thanks for the laugh, Sue :D

Every word counts: streamlining

Okay, I promise this is the last nerdy post for a while :) This one’s the wrap-up.

...do I hear a collective sigh of relief? Yes, yes, here’s the ladder, so those who jumped in here with me and have kept reading can now climb out of the rabbit hole and scurry to safety...

(isn’t ‘scurry’ a wonderfully delicious/strong word?)

If I’ve managed to succeed in even the smallest way, I hope you can see your writing through slightly different, OCD-tinted lenses.

So, what about application? I’ve thrown eight looooooong posts at you, this is number nine (over 9,000 words and counting), but I originally talked about method, strategy, process.

I think the best way to learn to recognize, and rectify the amorphous ‘show vs tell’ is to write, and edit flash fiction.

Start with a 500 word story, and whittle it down to 300 words. Write a 300 word story, and make it 200 words. Take a 200 word story, strip it to 100 words. Write a 100 word story, and edit until it’s 75 or even 50 words.

Overcompensate. Overwrite. Yes, that's what I'm saying, and that's the reason I posted first-draft material as examples, 'cause I do it ALL the time. Every word counts in the end, but often it's easier to use many words until you've nailed down your point, then delete the unnecessary/filler words later. This is also a good way to figure out what works best for the voice of your characters. How would they describe/explain something? Write it three different ways, then choose the best one, and delete the rest.

In first drafts, I always circle my point like a vulture over roadkill... and only feast when I’ve whirled around and around, and I recognize the piece I want by its perfectly ripe flavor.

If you don't like writing flash fiction, or find it intimidating, you can also do this by choosing one scene from a larger manuscript, which is what I'm going to use here to hopefully illustrate my point.

This is also a great test to see if your characters have distinct ‘voices’ by removing as many dialogue tags as possible.

I'm not actually a chronic over-writer... I used to be, but my first drafts have become way more streamlined/clean from practice. Now I tend to start with very little information, and flesh it out later, which is how I do get myself into trouble once in a while. Janice Hardy had a challenge on her blog, so this is what I edited down to fit the requirements. 

I'm going to post the original first. It was 648 words, I also specifically edited out all swearing (I try to be considerate when it's on someone else's site):

(by the way, this scene is the second half of the one used for description/body language)

Then there’s a double-fisted bang at my door. 

I jump.

I breathe.

I wasn’t breathing until now. Not enough. I’m lightheaded. Blink, breathe. Eyes are dry. Hands, still moving?

“Jay, X-Box!”

Damn it. It’s Donovan.

He pounds again. “Jay, it’s already hooked up, so take off your lipstick and panties for an hour, and come down.”

“I’m working.” My hands are trembling, fingers black. God, it feels so damn good to draw.

“No you’re not.” There’s a shuffle and squeal as the door cracks open. Donny wedges his head inside. “Oh, that’s not the hot white chick you were painting last year.” 

Before I can dignify his incomprehensibly obvious statement with a response, he makes it worse by speaking again.

“Why do you have a Mexican in your room? Are you paying her in food stamps to take her clothes off?”

Blood may be thicker than water, but it’s not thicker than bigotry. The guy is a serious asshole. I’d like to say he grew up in a cult compound, had nut-job parents who taught him to fear his own shadow, or maybe blame it on generations of inbreeding, but that’s not it at all.

Donovan is just an ass, but at least he’s equally an ass to everyone. He calls me a homo ‘cause I paint, and his dad a redneck, even though my uncle is an accountant of all things.  Maybe ‘cause the guy drives one of those small Toyota pickups. I’ve even heard Donny call his mom a bitch, right to her face. Actually, I think he calls all girls ‘bitches’.

I know you can’t choose your family members, but I sure as hell believe you can choose to walk the other way when you see one coming.

Since it’s my house, and my workroom, this isn’t a case where I actually could walk away, but I put down my stick of charcoal and turn around. It’s more difficult than I expect to control the volume of my own voice. “She’s not naked, and she’s not Mexican, you half-wit.”

“She’s brown, ain’t she? That wasn’t racist, y’know, ‘cause she is brown, and anyways, I have the right to free speech.” Donovan winks and flips up both middle fingers. “First amendment, all the way. If you don’t like it, suck it. We’re in America.”

An instant migraine spears through my frontal lobe, and I’m about to yell at him again, when Kell breaks in.

“Wow, double-digit-IQ here knows which country he lives in. Gold stars all around.” She doesn’t sound angry, or even sarcastic. There’s amusement sparking in her low voice.

I manage a tight laugh. “Southpark here gets all his charm from from YouTube. He’s a sophomore at St. Anthony’s.”

Her lips stretch in that weird, not-a-smile way. “I didn’t know private schools consider geography an elective class. I suppose it’s considered extraneous, along with diplomacy and etiquette.”

Donny snorts, tugging at his blue and red striped tie. His shirt is untucked, his pants wrinkled, there are grass stains on his knees. “I’m taking automotive shop, not French.”

Kell’s mouth may not be curved, but her eyes are dancing. “I guess changing oil is one step up from making fries.”

“Hey, Taco Bell, go back to Mexico so Jay and me can shoot shit on the seventy-two-inch plasma.”

“Donovan!” I’m about to get seriously pissed.

But Kell leans forward, out of the good light. “Call of Duty?”

“Fuck, yeah!”

Then she’s off the stool and navigating the room like she’s twirling through a choreographed routine she could maneuver in her sleep. “You better bring your A-game, Butters, ‘cause I’m going to kick your ass.” She pounds a fist into Donny’s shoulder as she slips past him into the hallway.

He turns and gapes at me. “Damn, that kinda hurt!”

Then he’s chasing her downstairs.

Now, here it is edited down to exactly 250 words. I did it really fast, so I know I could have removed more, or been more effective:

There’s a double-fisted bang on my door. “Jay, X-Box.”

“I’m working.”

“Take off your lipstick and panties for an hour!” Donny wedges his head through the crack and sees Kell. “Why do you have a Mexican in your room? Are you paying her in food stamps to take her clothes off?”

Blood may be thicker than water, but it’s not thicker than bigotry. I know you can’t choose your family members, but I sure as hell believe you can walk the other way when you see one coming.

I put the charcoal down. “She’s not Mexican, you half-wit, or naked.”

“But she’s brown. That wasn’t racist, y’know, ‘cause she is brown, and anyways, I have the right to free speech.” He winks. “First amendment, all the way.”

Before I can yell, Kell breaks in.

“Double-digit-IQ here knows what country he lives in. Gold stars all around.” She doesn’t sound angry, or even sarcastic.

I manage a tight laugh. “Donny’s a sophmore at St. Anthony’s”

“I didn’t realize private schools consider geography an elective, along with diplomacy and etiquette.”

Donny snorts. “I’m taking automotive shop, not French.”

“Changing oil is one step up from making fries.”

“Hey, Taco Bell, get out so Jay and me can shoot stuff.”

“Donovan!” I’m about to get seriously pissed.

But Kell leans forward, out of the good light. “Call of Duty?”

“Oh, yeah!”

“Then I’m going to kick your butt.”

He grins. “Well, I don’t mind if you’re wearing lipstick.”

So, what do you think? Did I lose any of the essence of the scene? I lost bits of action, lines were simplified, explanations trimmed, the last line changed, but the voices of all three characters remained distinct. Even when I took out a bunch of the dialogue tags, you should still know which character is speaking.

Take one of your own scenes, and start cutting.

When it’s trimmed down, read it again, cut more.

Think about everything we talked about: description, voice, body language. Think about subtext. Can you use one word/image to imply multiple meanings, or to suggest state of mind? Can you add words from a description, or take away, to accentuate what the character cares about? What about body language? Can you express emotional/psychological/physical state of one character, simply through the observational skills of another character without ‘telling’? What words are you using that are weak, and can you swap them out with a few strong ones?

Now start adding back in.

Alrighty, that’s my process for new scenes, first-drafts, flash-fiction, and novels. Those are the main components I always keep in the back of my head when I write, when I measure/analyze/edit my own words to death, and when I critique my CP’s writing. It’s why I don’t normally do line edits, because sometimes there ends up being more blue text (my comments/questions) than black text.

Okay, this series is now finished, so what did you guys think? Did I miss something, or totally go off-base? Was there something that could be explained better, or confusing parts? I’m definitely willing to refine the posts if you have things to say/critiques/suggestions, or write a new post if you anyone has questions.

Was this helpful at all? I’m never sure when I skulk off on nerdy-tangents whether anyone enjoys it, or if you’re all rolling your eyes and wondering when I’m going to shut up.

It took about 10 hours to write these posts... about 10,000 words in one day (except the examples from SCARLIGHT), and by the end, it felt like my brain was skipping around like a carbonated wasp. I’m sure there were points where I utterly failed at clarity, if not managed to completely bastardize the English language. I expect to be strung up for my crimes, eventually.

Now, anyone who still wants a critique, todays' the last day to email me. 250-ish words only, please.

...after today, that’s the end of it, and only my CP’s will get to enjoy? my insanely OCD-over-analysis-editing of their writing. (Y’know, there might be a reason I keep moving... so no one can sneak up in the middle of the night and take revenge)

Oh, I've decided not to post them online, just to email them back to those who send them to me.

That be all, folks ;)

Back down the rabbit-hole I go :) It was nice having you visit the unfortunate, over-cluttered insanity that is my brain. Aren’t you glad you don’t have to live in here?

FFF 8.2

Okay, my first-draft was 136 words, and I slimmed it down to exactly 100 by the time I finished my coffee. Nice thing is, I did it in less than half an hour!

...but I kinda wish I hadn't wasted an entire 26 words with that first sentence/prompt...

Kiyoshi didn’t consider himself a superstitious man, but when a third crow landed on his mailbox, he felt led to reevaluate his thoughts on the matter. His fingers fell silent against his keyboard, the flashing cursor on his screen forgotten. Mid-scene. Mid-sentence. Mid-murder. 

The crows worked together, beaks and claws cooperating to hoist the tiny metal flag usually flipped by the stumpy hand of the postman.

When the flag had been raised, they flew off, or up, rather, into the shivering limbs of a naked cherry tree. The soil below, disturbed. 

Kiyoshi went to check his mailbox.

Flash Fiction Friday 8.0

Well, never have I been so glad to have pre-written, pre-scheduled nerdy posts going up this week... since the soon-to-be-ex-husband and I have been trying to hash out the separation agreement...

...and now I'm out visiting my parents and hanging out with my sister and nephew (his birthday's on the 27th -> he turns 6!) for ten days, so yeah, you get another flash fiction piece written on my phone!


Not sure how good my flash fiction piece will be today, since (due to stress) I've been averaging about 2-3 hours of sleep all week... and you know what craziness sleep deprivation + dyslexia will do to a girl, but here's the line, and the more people that come play with me, the perkier I will be ;)

I thought I'd swap it up since there have been a lot of 1st POV lines lately... and you know how much I love crows.

Kiyoshi didn’t consider himself a superstitious man, but when a third crow landed on his mailbox, he felt led to reevaluate his thoughts on the matter.

For those of you waiting for the end of said-nerdy-posts, I promise, Monday's is the final one.

Subtext makes for some interesting math

The previous posts about strong words, the benefits and dangers of implied meanings, voice, body language, and description were all a way of talking about subtext.

Now, I know this isn’t true for everyone, but I’ve read some posts/blogs where people seem to want to create a marked division between commercial and literary writing. Often one side is bad-mouthing the other.

I’ve heard ‘subtext’ thrown around like it’s a dirty word.

Subtext isn’t exclusively for literary works, for MFA grads looking down from lofty, academic heights on the commercial-lit slums.

Subtext IS showing, not telling. It’s using implied meanings, it’s using subtle word play, like when the character uses ‘I’. It’s in body language, metaphor, description, and a million other fun things that give writing depth, and make it memorable. Chances are, your favourite scenes from your favorite books are packed-full of subtext. Remember this exercise I linked earlier?

Words without subtext are dead, nothing more than the bland combination of letters. 2 + 2 will always equal 4, but with subtext, it could equal 5, 10, or 23, because the reader is bringing in that added element themselves.

Subtext brings life, it brings breath, it brings volume, it brings weight and depth.

I’ve said, oh, so many times that I am sick of hearing myself say it, that I hate writing background. I prefer to write the implication of background, hand it off to my beta readers, and go kicking and screaming into edits... adding in the absolute minimum of background information so the story makes sense.

Here’s another rough first-draft snippet from SCARLIGHT, pay attention to what I’ve bolded. Also, since we’ve talked about the use of ‘I’, pay attention to where it shows up, and where it doesn’t. What does Jay notice/describe, and what does he ignore? Think about what the implied background is. What am I saying, not directly, but through subtext about Jay, his father, Aricia, the principle, etc?

They try to call dad. Of course they do. Of course he doesn’t pick up. The end-of-day bell rings, the halls fill with bodies. I ask for a box from the office and clean my locker out. Everyone watches, lingering, whispering. Even Ari slows down as she goes by, the buckles and chains on her Coach bag catch the dull, fluorescent light and transform it into something beautiful.

When I’m done, I march back to the office and stack the school textbooks neatly on the secretary’s desk. I sit on the sofa, the leather one which is dyed British racing-green and has mahogany-stained claw legs. The box on the floor, and my bag is on my lap. I could listen to music, but I don’t. I could pull out my sketchbook, but I don’t. I sit. I wait.

They keep calling dad. He still doesn’t pick up.

Actions speak louder than words.

I’m all packed up, ready to leave if they can’t do what I asked.

There are phone calls. School is out at three o’clock. Four-thirty rolls by, the halls are empty, the secretary is long gone, but the principle is still in his office with Dreschner.

He comes out only once to ask me if I know the girl’s name.

“Pink dreadlocks, green eyes. There’s got to be only one.”

He frowns, and closes the door.

One line I really hope you paid attention to was, “Actions speak louder than words.”

Look at the placement.

It’s not in the paragraph where Jay is making his very obvious point... sitting on the sofa with his stuff in his lap, not listening to music or opening his sketchbook.

It’s after the line about his dad not picking up, then is followed by Jay saying he’s ready to go if they don’t do what he wants.

What am I trying to say by placing it there, specifically?

...hopefully, you’re getting that Jay has learned this behavior, this ‘lesson’, from his father’s own actions. I wanted to link them together, so I moved lines around so I could position it in that exact spot.

Another small thing, I don’t know if anyone got, is the line about Ari. Jay talks about ‘everyone’ in 4 words. He takes 29 to notice Ari (his ex-girlfriend) slightly slowing down, and stares hard enough to know her bag’s brand, and how light plays on the accessories.

Description, voice, subtext: it’s often in what’s not said directly, but the clues are all there, if you take the time to line them up, and that’s what I mean when I say 2 + 2 could add up to 5, 10, or 23. Some readers love hunting out subtext, others would have skimmed the line about Ari and not given it a nanosecond of additional thought.

There’s no right or wrong, but I think, as a writer, I want to cater to both kinds of reader. SO, I don’t want to mire anyone in unnecessarily convoluted words to draw attention to the subtext and bore the heck out of those who hate it, nor do I want to leave it all out and leave hungry-subtext-lovers dissatisfied. There’s a happy medium when you go for quality over quantity. Efficiency.

Choosing strong, effective words allows you to keep subtext short and effective. One word instead of ten.

Whether I succeed or not is up to the reader. All I can do is state my intention, my reasoning, and my strategy for achieving it.

This is how I like to write.

Good or bad, love it or hate it, these are qualities of my voice, as a writer.

White room syndrome: Where the hell am I?

THANKS to the 'Like a Virgin' contestants & judges for giving feedback on my entry, and I'm happy to say, I made it to the second round! Updated entries go live on July 23rd, and winners are announced July 26th.

Okay, now back to the nerdy post...

When I read, or write, I like to see where everyone is, and keep an eye on what’s going on around the characters.

Nothing gets on my nerves faster than ‘white room syndrome’, when there is almost no description of anything. I get... turned around, confused, irritated. The thing is though, you don't need huge info-dumps of description, you just need carefully inserted tidbits.

So, another look at the scene from last time, yes, I’m sure this feels repetitive, but we really only focused on body language last time, and now I want to open this up to the wider notion of ‘description’, or observation... but first, a reminder from an earlier post:

The thing about choosing strong words, is that it overlaps with voice and description. How a character views the world is going to impact the words he/she uses, and the importance he/she puts on things.

Jay, who is an artist, is very quick to notice visual information, but is less quick to pick up on other sensory information. His frame of reference is going to gravitate towards art-related terminology, anatomy, light/shadow, etc. He is also arrogant, and entitled, so his focus is self-centered, and his actions self-serving. He can be very manipulative when it comes to getting what he wants.

I also mentioned that you should keep in mind things like emotional/physical/psychological state, how the character views the other people in the room, what his/her goals/desires are, etc.

(Small aside, since I don’t want to write another post: everything I’ve said also holds true for writing dialogue, and ensuring each character’s voice sounds unique)

So now, here’s the scene again:

Kell pauses at the doorway, one hand lingering on the frame. Only her eyes move, sharp, careful, absorbing everything.

Finally, she steps across the threshold. “You weren’t kidding.”

“No.” The word doesn’t come out as firm as I wanted it to. Maybe because I was holding my breath.

She glides through the mess, the stacks of oil pallets, the boxes full of smaller boxes, full of unmixed paint, oil, plaster, and turpentine. She doesn’t hesitate, she doesn’t shy away from the precariously balanced piles, she turns and moves with confidence, like in the couple seconds she looked over the room, she memorized the placement of every bolt of fallen canvas and protruding frame.

It’s not logical, but she does it. I pull the door closed, gently.

“Where do I sit?”

I fumble forward, bang my knee, stub a toe, but I get to the canvas. I heft the green three-legged stool over my head so I can maneuver it over to the window without knocking anything over. The afternoon light is still good, enough to sketch by, anyway.

She runs once finger over the seat. “Retro.”

My face gets hot. “It’s... it was my grandmother’s piano stool.”

“Ah, that’s why it’s so short.”

She doesn’t sit, she doesn’t flop, she alights. That’s it. That’s the movement I want to capture. That effortless grace she can’t hide with ripped Ed Hardy shirts and faded pink dreadlocks. But I’m not Pollock, I don’t capture movement, I want light. Her light.

I pull the canvas from my easel and prop a large two-foot-by-three-foot newsprint sketchbook in its place. The old mug with charcoal is on my left, and I grab a piece without my eyes leaving Kell. I don’t want to waste a moment of looking at her.

She sits still, but awkwardly. Her hands squished between her knees, palms pressed together inside the sleeves of her butterfly print hoodie, shoulders drawn inward. Her chin is up, eyes bright and defiant, an odd juxtaposition with her closed-up body language. She’s not looking at me, but at the door. She’s motionless, but you can almost see the desire to move slowly building up inside.

The light on her skin is deep amber, the same color as the flecks in her green irises, and the shadowed areas rich coffee with cream. The lines of her eyes are exotic, almond shaped, though it might be the heavy black makeup that’s making a connection to Egyptian kole. 

Almond, maybe that’s actually the color of the flecks in her eyes, not amber. More red in the mix than yellow. No, too much red. Hard to tell in this light. Later, next time, I’ll get closer.

Her roots are espresso dark, the hot-pink pink faded to the flush ripeness of a peony. There are no highlights or shadows. Light gets tangled in her dreadlocks, Escher-maze knots of intertwining color and light. A Japanese woodblock print of a tatami mat, Van Gogh’s haystacks, an entire season of fields in Carl Schaefer’s ‘Ontario Farmhouse’. Repetition of pattern, but not uniform. Not consistent. How to bring out the texture with minimal detail, to not lose the blurred light?

Hoodie, always in a damn hoodie, or long sleeved layered shirts. 

Hard to see, can’t get the shape of her body lines. Subtle curves, no straight lines. Breasts? There, small. Fits with the lithe muscle and low BMI.

Ten, no, maybe twelve pages already. Hands work fast, breath shallow. The familiar ache of desperation to sketch quickly, to capture everything before she moves.

A memory flits through my head, sketching robins on the grass. Pause, hop, then the whip-quick dive of their beak into the lawn to snatch a worm. Pause, wings flip out, legs bend, and an instant later, in flight.

One second to note and render the pose, maybe two. Fast, work faster to catch it before it’s gone.

Then there’s a double-fisted bang at my door. 

I jump.

I breathe.

I wasn’t breathing until now. Not enough. I’m lightheaded. Blink, breathe. Eyes are dry. Hands, still moving?

“Jay, X-Box!”

Damn it. It’s Donovan.

Most of the description I used should make sense, right? He’s an artist, he’s going to break her down into anatomy, what he can see, colors he knows, lines, shapes, shadow and light. The deeper his concentration, the less ‘person’ he sees, merely the sum of parts he’s reproducing in every stroke of charcoal on paper. 

I also wanted to ‘paint’ an image of his workroom in as few words as possible, rather than have thick paragraphs detailing everything in there, and how it was set up.

The robin wasn’t only a vehicle to highlight Jay’s fear, and give me a way to describe Kell’s body language without being too repetitive, the robin also gives history (he’s been sketching/drawing for a long time, and in much more informal settings, possibly for fun, rather that for ‘art/work’), it also introduces the idea of how difficult it is to capture/reproduce a moving target/model.

In life drawing classes, it’s normal to do 2, 5, 10, 20 minute poses, where it’s expected the artist will include a fair amount of detail, but it’s also normal to do 30 second, 10 second, and even 2 second poses to train the eye, hand, etc. to move faster, to be more accurate, to break down/replicate from a glance, rather than a prolonged study.

Like flash fiction forces you to use words efficiently.

From experience, I can also tell you that, when doing 2 second poses, you pretty much stop breathing you’re concentrating so hard. Everything falls away, you go into a trance. After a five+ minute stretch of 2 second poses, when we’d break, I’d be lightheaded, I’d see spots, or be unable to focus. Often I’d need to walk, or shut my eyes for a minute.

Every speck of your energy goes into focusing, and you get disoriented when jolted out of it.

You, as the reader, tell me. Was I able to convey that in the scene through the description?

So, what about your characters? What are they passionate about, what are they obsessive about? How does that change their perception, what they notice, and what flies by, unobserved? If your character is into music, he/she would probably notice/think in sound, rather than visually, so what would their ‘memory’ of the robin on the grass be? What aspects of that same scene would lock into their head for 5, 10, 20 years?

See how a single image, a robin, can serve multiple purposes? 40 words about a robin. That’s a lot to pack into very few words. I’m making use of many techniques to push subtext, and by using so few words, it’s actually stronger because you can return to it, again and again, without it feeling like an info-dump.

To spin a basketball on your finger, you only need to touch it a couple times to keep it there, to keep it moving. The better you are, the more it looks completely effortless.

You can get a lot of impact out of a few words, if you choose them carefully, and specifically because they suit your characters.

Can you 'see' the body language?

Fair warning: the next few posts are going to be long because I'm using large chunks of text for examples. Reminder: they are all first-draft, so are subject to change.

You’ve already seen part of the scene I’m going to use today, so first I’m going to show you how I could have written it, but without touching a word of the dialogue, or changing what happens:

Kell stops at the door of my workroom and looks around at the mess.“You weren’t kidding.”

“No,” I reply.

She walks in, and I shut the door.

“Where do I sit?” Kell asks.

I pick up the stool and put it by the window, where there’s good light.

She touches the seat. “Retro,” she says sarcastically.

I’m embarrassed, and a little angry.“It’s... it was my grandmother’s piano stool.”

“Ah, that’s why it’s so short,” she says, and sits down.

I put a big newsprint sketchbook on the easel and start drawing with charcoal.

Kell is beautiful. She’s got dark, Middle-Eastern skin and almond shaped green eyes. She’s wearing lots of eyeliner and mascara. It’s hard to draw the texture of her pink dreadlocks, which are growing out, so there are dark roots.

It’s hard to draw her body because she’s wearing a baggy hoodie.

Since she’s here, and I don’t know if I’ll have another chance, I draw a dozen sketches as fast as I can.

Now, here is how I actually wrote it, I hope the bolded bits aren’t too distracting.

Kell pauses at the doorway, one hand lingering on the frame. Only her eyes move, sharp, careful, absorbing everything.

Finally, she steps across the threshold. “You weren’t kidding.”

“No.” The word doesn’t come out as firm as I wanted it to. Maybe because I was holding my breath.

She glides through the mess, the stacks of oil pallets, the boxes full of smaller boxes, full of unmixed paint, oil, plaster, and turpentine. She doesn’t hesitate, she doesn’t shy away from the precariously balanced piles, she turns and moves with confidence, like in the couple seconds she looked over the room, she memorized the placement of every bolt of fallen canvas and protruding frame.

It’s not logical, but she does it. I pull the door closed, gently.

“Where do I sit?”

I fumble forward, bang my knee, stub a toe, but I get to the canvas. I heft the green three-legged stool over my head so I can maneuver it over to the window without knocking anything over. The afternoon light is still good, enough to sketch by, anyway.

She runs one finger over the seat. “Retro.”

My face gets hot. “It’s... it was my grandmother’s piano stool.”

“Ah. That’s why it’s so short.”

She doesn’t sit, she doesn’t flop, she alights. That’s it. That’s the movement I want to capture. That effortless grace she can’t hide with ripped Ed Hardy hoodies and faded pink dreadlocks. But I’m not Pollock, I don’t paint movement, I want light. Her light.

I pull the canvas from my easel and prop a large two-foot-by-three-foot newsprint sketchbook in its place. The old mug with charcoal is on my left, and I grab a piece without my eyes leaving Kell. I don’t want to waste a moment of looking at her.

She sits still, but awkwardly. Her hands squished between her knees, palms pressed together inside the sleeves of her butterfly print hoodie, shoulders drawn inward. Her chin is up, eyes bright and defiant, an odd juxtaposition with her closed-up body language. She’s not looking at me, but at the door. She’s motionless, but you can almost see the desire to move slowly building up inside.

The light on her skin is deep amber, the same color as the flecks in her green irises, and the shadowed areas rich coffee with cream. The lines of her eyes are exotic, almond shaped, though it might be the heavy black makeup that’s making a connection in my brain to Egyptian kole. 

Almond, maybe that’s actually the color of the flecks in her eyes, not amber. More red in the mix than yellow. No, too much red. Hard to tell in this light. Later, next time, I’ll get closer.

Her roots are espresso black, the hot-pink dye faded to the flush ripeness of a wilting peony. There are no highlights or shadows. Light gets tangled in her dreadlocks, Escher-maze knots of intertwining color and light. A Japanese woodblock print of a tatami mat, Van Gogh’s haystacks, an entire season of fields in Schaefer’s ‘Ontario Farmhouse’. Repetition of pattern, but not uniform. Not consistent. How to bring out the texture with minimal detail, to not lose the blurred light?

Hoodie, always in a damn hoodie, or long sleeved layered shirts. 

Hard to see, can’t get the shape of her body lines. Subtle curves, no straight lines. Breasts? There, small. Fits with the lithe muscle and low BMI.

Ten, no, maybe twelve pages already. Hands work fast, breath shallow. The familiar ache of desperation to sketch quickly, to capture everything before she moves.

A memory flits through my head, sketching robins on the grass. Pause, hop, then the whip-quick dive of their beak into the lawn to snatch a worm. Pause, wings flip out, legs bend, and an instant later, in flight.

One second to note and render the pose, maybe two. Fast, work faster to catch it before it’s gone.

I'm not going to bother with description, I mostly pulled out the words/phrases that imply state of mind, things that aren’t being said, but are important. You’re going to see this scene again in the next post, which will focus on description.

Kell, if you notice, constantly pauses/holds still, then moves quickly, but confidently. She doesn’t speak much, but from the way she moves, it should be clear that she thinks her options through before making a decision, and then acts on it without hesitation. She commits. She is not afraid, or self-doubting. Even though she’s a guest, even though this is her first time in Jay’s house, even though she is the model (passive) to his artist (active), she is the one in control, both of herself, and of the situation. She can get up and leave anytime she wants, and Jay is acutely aware of that fact, even though it’s never stated.

The robin description at the end builds on Jay’s impression of her, which is why he is moving/acting the way he is. Look at the words I bolded.

Is it obvious enough, how afraid he is that she’s going to leave? She has all the power in this scene. He’s scrambling to gather crumbs as quickly as he can, and getting frustrated. You may have noticed that I deliberately changed the rhythm of the writing as Jay starts sketching, hopefully illustrating how, as he starts to concentrate, he’s shutting everything unnecessary out... yet, that’s when I bring out the robin. Why? Because his fear is subconscious, and ingrained/interwoven with his painting.

When we are overwhelmed, we often concentrate on things that seem silly/unimportant, because we need to focus on something that we have control over, or that we could have control over. The difference between ‘risk’ and ‘uncertainty’.

I also repeat ‘ideas/impressions’, without reusing the same words. I remember in university, a professor told me, if you say something once, nine out of ten people will forget what you said. Say it twice, and maybe four or five will remember it. Say it three times, and nearly everyone will remember.

The trick is, how to say something three times without it being obvious that you’re doing so. 

This is especially noticeable with body language. I know I actually count how many times characters shrug or roll their eyes.

How many times, in how many ways did I ‘show’ that Kell is thinking about leaving, or that she isn’t keen on the idea of staying? The primary vehicle I used was her body language, but if you notice, half of it was directly what she was doing/not doing, but the other half was how Jay was responding to her body language, without being consciously aware of it.

The story is in his voice. He’s the one overlapping the image of a wild bird onto Kell. He's 'choosing' the words to describe how he sees her.

One further note on body language... 99% of the time, people are unaware of their own body language, unless they are doing it deliberately. Like, smiling to put someone at ease, or when they catch themselves doing something, like a nervous tick. We notice other people’s body language, and our brain registers it, but most of the time, we don’t consciously think about what it implies.

I deliberately inserted how Jay notices that Kell moves easily/confidently through the room, then in the very next paragraph, he fumbles/stumbles... in his own space, which he should be intimately familiar with. He notices his own clumsiness, but doesn’t think about ‘why’.

Just like he notices he was holding his breath, but doesn't think about it any further, then immediately closes the door gently/quietly when she finally does go into the room.

What implications can you glean from that? About Jay, and about Kell?

Since our brains are used to picking up on body language, but normally we don’t analyze/process it consciously, it’s a great way to subtly get across a character’s emotional state without telling the reader, “she is comfortable/confident”, or “he is anxious”.

BUT, when a character is always thinking/noticing their own body language, it comes across as manipulative.

Like, the example of smiling to put someone else at ease. They could be smiling because they notice the other person is nervous, or they could be doing it so the other person will drop their guard and they can take advantage of them.

Think about the body language you use... what does your character notice about the people around him/her, and how much? Does he/she ever jump to the wrong conclusion based on what he/she sees? Also, what of his/her own body language? When is he/she actively aware of what he/she is showing, and why?

Depending on a character’s background, they might be more inclined to pay attention to some kinds of body language, like kids who grew up in abusive homes, or with parents who are/were addicts, are highly skilled at recognizing the subtle signs of oncoming violence, anger, etc.

Someone who knows martial arts, or other athletic skills, will recognize, and make judgements, about people simply on how they stand or move, similarly to how, someone who is very into fashion, will make snap judgements based on whether someone is wearing ill-fitting clothes, or someone who has struggled with their weight will be sensitive to other character’s BMI, what they are eating, etc.

Jay only consciously notices the physical, what he would recreate on his canvas, but he unconsciously notices much more, and is reacting to it without realizing.

So, what is important to your character, and how could that figure into what they directly notice, and what they instinctively react to?

The notion of 'I', objective vs. subjective

Sorry to anyone popping over from the 'Like a Virgin' contest, but I had already pre-scheduled a series of nerdy posts to go up, and this is number... 5? of 9? Something like that.

For those interested, they're posting the accepted submissions today, so jump over and critique away!

(and shred mine to bits. seriously. go for it. they cut out any personal stuff in the queries, but anyone hanging around here for a while should know which one is mine.)


Let's get into 'Voice' today.

I've already nerded-out on this topic in the past, like the one about emotional intelligence (which you might want to click/read after finishing this post), another one on obsessions, and another on decision making.

A couple weeks ago Carol Riggs linked another post about toxic personalities.

Sarah Fine also has some great psychology-based posts. I am going to re-read her series about trauma before returning to give ‘TRoRS’ another hard look/edit.

One reason I’ve heard people get annoyed by first-person narratives is the over-use of ‘I’.

Now, here’s my theory/perspective on using ‘I’, which I have never read/heard anywhere else... so, 100% opinion. Okay? Pitchforks down, grains-of-salt on hand?

1) ‘I’ personalizes an experience, so there is conscious/unconscious recognition within the character that they are filtering the world/experience through their own, unique point of view.

‘I’ = subjective.

Make sense?

So, not using ‘I’, implies objectivity.

To compare:

I think you are being an ass.

vs:

You are being an ass.

Why am I making this distinction? Because I think the level of self-awareness is the base of every ‘voice’.

Does the character believe themselves to be objective, or subjective? Which leads to:


2) ‘I’ takes/assumes responsibility for an opinion, rather than stating the ‘correct answer’.

Now compare:

I think plan ‘B’ is best.

vs:

Plan ‘B’ is best.

Depending how self-aware your character is, they may believe their view is completely objective. They would rarely use ‘I’ when describing the world around them, or the people they interact with. They would state, with confidence, this is the way things are.

In contrast, characters who are full of self-doubt, or who are deferring to another character, will inevitable tag on, ‘I think’, to clarify that they are not 100% correct.

Did you notice I did that earlier in this post?

I was intentionally clarifying that I do not believe I have ‘the answer’, I only have ‘my opinion’. There's a very good reason I never create posts with titles like, "The five ways to write better characters", because the connotation is that I have 'the answer', and even though I was in marketing (or perhaps, because of it), I always want to make sure the words I put out there are as true as I can make them.

Now, a character is not going to use ‘I’ every time, for everything, nor will they never use it. The question is, when are they confident, and when are they not?

If you are trying to correct someone’s behavior, whether it’s a boss correcting a subordinate, or a parent correcting a child, it’s a well known tactic that personalizing the bad behavior offers the highest chance of success.

What you said hurt me.

vs.

What you said might hurt someone.

The stakes are higher when they’re personal.

So, how does this figure into writing characters?

Here’s Jay, who is a famous artist at seventeen, ‘telling it like it is’ about his Art class. (Remember, ALL first-draft material) Note, there’s no use of the word ‘I’ anywhere in the first two paragraphs. In his mind, he is being completely objective:

Two girls are dabbing botched watercolor paintings with paper towels by the sink. One guy is trying to sculpt a naked women out of clay, but the disproportionately giant breasts are making it top-heavy, so it keeps keeling over at the waist. A group of girls are sitting on the desks by the window flipping through magazines, and someone else, can’t tell if it’s a guy or girl, is asleep on the floor next to the kiln. This class is a joke, full of stoners, slackers, and girls who think henna and nail art is hot shit.

Dreschner is at his easel, taking up in the only good patch of natural light in the entire room. He’s working on his own neo-modern-bullshit, which looks like several mass-produced IKEA prints threw up on his canvas.

Same scene, a little later. Note: Jay only uses ‘I’ when he’s doing something on purpose (and I will probably take out a couple of them during editing):

Around me, everyone starts moving. I yank my headphones off and catch the last reverb of the dismissal bell. Dreschner stays at his easel, a brush impotent in his hand as the classroom clears. 

I tear the page out of my sketchbook, ball it up, and whip it across the room, but miss the garbage can by a good ten feet. Dreschner doesn’t even twitch, not from my bad throw, and not when I slam my bag on the desk and shove in my sketchbook and headphones. I snag a peek at his canvas as I walk by. There hasn’t been a new stroke of paint on the thing in ages, but three times a week he sits at that easel for two hours, in the only good light, with a fully loaded brush in his hand.

Glad I’m not the only one going through a dry spell.

“See you Monday, Jason,” Dreschner calls. He sounds distracted, tired.

Washed up, maybe. Those that can’t do, teach. Isn’t that the saying?

Now, theoretically, how would this scene look if I re-wrote it from Mr. Dreschner’s perspective...? Or another student? If Jay wasn’t famous, again, I’m sure this scene would be completely different. 

Think about Jay’s conclusion in the first paragraph. Looking at his classmates, is it fair to believe they’re all stoners & slackers? Sure, maybe the kid sleeping is a slacker, or maybe he's tired 'cause he was up studying late. What about the girls with the watercolor paintings? Are they slackers, and, if they are over by the sink, can Jay even see enough of their paintings to know they are 'botched'?

Now, as a reader, did you think about whether he was *correct* about his assertions while reading that paragraph, or only now when I brought it up? And what about his view of the teacher, Mr. Dreschner? Do you believe Jay is right? Since Jay’s entire self-worth is tied into being an artist, do you think that’s playing into the way he sees his teacher?