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80 acres: ancient monsters [May. 16th, 2008|11:37 pm]
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[Current Mood |accomplished]

Yesterday's foray to the creek and gave me the chance to see two bold adventurers climbing the rocks at the Westbrook rock crossing (rocks we put in so we could drive a truck across to the SW meadow with building materials for Owl Pavilion) --one was a fish, which I didn't get to photograph (slow me, fast fish) and one was the crayfish below.   The water was flowing over the rocks, but not deeply, as you can see.  The fish's progress was faster and more spectacular (like the flopping, jumping fish in the PBS commercial) but the crayfish was just as surprising and interesting. 

                                                 
With water flowing partly over it, you can't see how brilliantly this fellow is colored--wine-red markings on olive green, with bright blue (tropical-fish-blue) tubercles on the big nippers.   I've seen this color pattern only once before--again with crayfish right after a flash flood, working their way upstream (that time in the gully system, and I didn't have a very good camera.) 

Alas for the fish, Westbrook dried up today--not only no flow, but only a few puddles, getting smaller by the hour.  Crayfish can live in holes underground and stay moist; fish aren't so lucky.

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80 acres: new species for the place [May. 16th, 2008|03:29 pm]
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Most prickly pear cactus in our area has lemon-yellow flowers, some of which fade a lovely orange on the second day.  I love it when the cactus is in bloom, and the magenta fruits, or "pears," are valuable wildlife food for many species.

But we've had one little odd cactus on the place that I'd never caught in flower...until this year.   Bright  yellow, but with a wine-red center and staining up the centers of the petals, so it looks like a tulip, almost.  According to two of my reference books, it's a red-eye prickly pear, and the catch is that the red-eye prickly pear (in three races) is found from Arizona to west Texas...west of the Pecos River, not on the east side of the Edwards Plateau.



So this little beauty is a sort of mystery.  In its general description, it fits the big Manual of the Vascular Plants of Texas model of the red-eye prickly pear...details of the pads, as well as the flower.  But...what's it doing here?  It's not on a roadside, where seed might've fallen off a truck with a load of cow manure or something.   There was never any structure anywhere near where it is--the land went from prairie to plowland to pasture--so it's not likely to have been deliberately planted (not since pre-European-settlement times, anyway...I suppose an Indian tribe that ranged to the west side of the Edwards Plateau might have found some and brought back fruits or seeds, but that's a long time ago.)

I've asked for help from professional botanists.
 
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Slow and go [May. 16th, 2008|03:03 pm]
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Phone lines are still noisy, so there's only one I can connect on, and half-normal is the best I've had so far.  (At first, though I could get email, my browser would time out before connecting so I couldn't get to LJ.) 

This will improve, I know.  But it's been a bit of a nuisance since I discovered what may be a range record for a species of cactus, or a species not yet reported (I think it's a cactus range expansion of a known species, but not sure....I wanted to send photos of all its floristic details to the Wildflower Research Center but couldn't get the connection.)   I'm going to try uploading images here to post, but with the slow connection that might not work either.  Posting and uploading images here is molasses-in-winter territory.





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Weather! [May. 14th, 2008|08:25 am]
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We had Weather last night, and the next round of thunder can be heard in the distance (so this will be brief).  Extremely strong straight-line winds, heavy rains, lots of lightning, and a power outage (now  obviously back on).  At  first light, the first test of rain gauges was 1.5 inches in both "close in" gauges and 2 inches at Fox Pavilion (about a quarter mile out on the land) with water running across the near meadow's drainage.   It's been raining lightly since the last storm passed enough to make it safe to go check, too.

We needed the rain badly.  Two more inches wouldn't hurt a bit. 

But now the thunder's nearer and I need to unplug things again.

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80 acres: Turtle Rescue [May. 11th, 2008|10:21 pm]
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[Current Mood |accomplished]

Richard was dealing with the afternoon manure pickup when he spotted something odd in the fence between the south and north horse lots. 

A turtle had wedged itself into the mesh of one of the welded panels, and the serrations on the edge of the shell meant it  couldn't back out, even if it had been able to get all its feet on the ground for purchase.

Richard checked, and it was alive (we don't know how long it had been there--it was in a spot where it might not have been noticed) but he was able to get it out by turning it diagonally to the square of the wire.   When put on the ground, it took off at a high rate of speed (for a turtle) in a direction that meant it would have to fight through another set of fence panels.  Clearly it was alive and unhurt.  So he picked it up again and we took it over to our water garden/lily pond.  Because of rain the other night, it's overflowed a little, so there's extremely shallow water (maybe an inch or less deep) outside the actual pond, to where we turned the liner up.  We set it there--no danger that if it was exhausted, it might not be able to swim, but in the shade, with water available if it was dehydrated from being stuck in the fence for a day or so. 

The turtle pretended to be a rock for quite awhile, then began poking its head out cautiously, drawing it in every time we came past (we were doing yard work and horse work).   Then, before dark but after everyone had left the yard for ten minutes or so, it went into the pond.  I came back to check and it was gone--with no wet marks on the liner from its having climbed over the rim.  And a suspiciously turtle-shaped "something" lurking under a little clump of algae and a water lily pad.

It's a Texas river cooter, an adult, and they eat aquatic plants.  The lily pond right now had more aquatic plants than it needs (in fact, the water iris are now filling almost half of it), so a grazer won't be a problem for awhile. 

And it's not stuck in a fence.

There are no pictures of the rescue because we didn't delay the rescue for me to run back to the house for the camera.   I did get some pictures of it being a rock, and a little of its head, but nothing that exciting.

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Writer's Block: Scaredy cat [May. 11th, 2008|12:21 pm]
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What animal frightens you most, and why?


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Homo sapiens.   No other animal is likely to set out with deliberate intent and considerable cunning to hurt or kill me.   

Some nonhuman animals are dangerous...some are annoying or look scary...but humans are the ones with the real power and unpredictable malice.   Very few animal predators look  on humans as possible prey (a few do--I don't swim with sharks, or stroll up to polar bears to pet their fur), but human predators readily regard humans as prey.  And they're smart, sneaky, and often have deadly weapons, not to mention opposable thumbs.

If you insist on the choice of  another species...dogs.   Dogs kill and injure people more often than venomous snakes, in this country.   Dogs owned by irresponsible, criminal, or vicious people--loose dogs, especially in packs--are a constant danger.   Mind you, I like dogs...if they are properly trained and under control.  The problem with dogs is, once again, homo sapiens...humans.
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80 acres: two bugs [May. 11th, 2008|11:50 am]
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[Current Mood |awake]

We have several kinds of black ground beetles, which are usually moving rapidly and thus defying the photographer...it's amazing how fast they can move on those short little legs.  But this large one was just sitting there on the sidewalk from the carport the other night. I like the elegant shape of it--it's a male (the large "jaws") and the thin blue line at the base of the wing-case (the elytra.)  The blue doesn't really show here (on my laptop monitor) but it was there.  I think this beetle is in the genus Pasimachus.  They're insect predators, going after (among other things) caterpillars.

                              

The one on the right is a type of June beetle, but much larger than most of ours, and a plainer brown (not so red-brown), but with spots.  It's about an inch long, and was on the kitchen storm door this morning.  I think it's in the genus Phyllophaga.  (Quick correction--the word back from the entomologist list is that it's a Grapevine Beetle, Pelidnota punctata.)



Beetles, according to my insect books, are the most diverse organisms on the planet--one in five of all living things (plants included) is a beetle.  There are over 24,000 species of beetles in North America north of Mexico.
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About Books: fourth critical interpolation [May. 10th, 2008|05:08 pm]
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[Current Music |Luca Marenzio "Passando con pensier"]


Some critics think reader expectations are a sign of moral/intellectual failing in readers, and thus frustrating reader expectations is a moral imperative for "serious" writers.   They rail against readers who insist they know what they want, and writers who give it to them.

I don't agree.   I feel that there's an implied contract between reader and writer...like that between dance partners, where the leader signals to the follower what's coming next, so that neither trips up nor gets stepped on.  The writer can write whatever he/she pleases...but owes it to potential readers to state the kind of dance they're going to be doing, and not change from (say) a waltz to a jitterbug in mid-dance.

Example:  as a child I loved horse stories.   The horse stories I'd been reading were written for children, and though sometimes horses died (in Stormy, Misty's Foal, for instance) and sometimes parents and kids differed about whether the kid could have a horse,  the general tone was positive: the child protagonist came out of the story feeling OK.  Then one day the librarian handed me John Steinbeck's The Red Pony, which some purblind cataloguer had told libraries should be shelved in the children's section (I saw the card later--a boy and his pony, it said.)  The Red Pony is the story of a boy in a dysfunctional  family whose pony dies--gruesomely--of strangles.  It is NOT a child's story...it just happens to have a juvenile POV character and a horse in it.   That story violated the child-horse-story contract.   I did not become a better person by reading it, nor did it improve my grasp of literature. 

Giving the reader the kind of story they  expect does not mean writing a dull, boring, predictable story.  It does mean respecting a reader's choice: that if they bought a romance, they want a romance in it, and if they bought a whodunnit, they want the criminal exposed.    It's OK for them to want that.  It's OK for you the writer to give it to them.   You can play with the conventions of genre, if you want--you can add decorations, change the color scheme, twist the plot into curlicues--but readers deserve the courtesy of getting what they  asked for. 

Part of the art of storytelling is surprising the reader in a good way...giving them a flavor, a tone, that does not negate, but enhances, what they like about their favorite kind of book.   You  have a lot of scope for that, in any genre, without frustrating/angering the reader by  breaking faith with him/her. 


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About Books: Plot III [May. 10th, 2008|12:47 pm]
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Now to the problem(s.)   Plots move because characters have a problem.  No problem, no plot.  What kinds of problems/conflicts can characters have?   From the inside out: the character has a problem with himself/herself, with another person close to him/her, with his/her community, with external man-made events (war, revolution, social policies that cause him/her difficulty, etc.) , with a natural phenomenon (weather, wildlife, plant life, anything in "Nature.")    Characters engage problems with one or more levels of their awareness--as physical beings when they use physical effort, as mental beings when they use thought, as emotional beings when they use feelings.  As discussed under characterization,  they--like we--have multiple layers of motivational possibilities for each level--based on their inborn nature and their life experience.    Plots can have only one problem/conflict, or many, depending on the length of the story, and the desires of the writer.

The choice of problem relates to the choice of genre, if the writer is working in genre fiction, and the choice of primary plot problem determines the primary reader expectation.  Mystery readers expect a murder (or at least a serious crime), and expect the protagonist to solve the crime.   Spy-thriller readers expect a conflict of spy v. spy, agency v. agency, with a specific goal that is met on one side and frustrated on the other.  Hard-SF readers expect a problem directly involved with some aspect of science (and some of them demand that it be physics, math, or engineering); they expect the protagonist to solve the scientific problem.  Romance readers expect a relationship problem, and expect the protagonist to end up with a (at least temporarily) successful romantic relationship.   Stories that satisfy reader expectation without boring readers (in other words, offer readers something new, but not something that violates the prime plot directives)  are successful in the marketplace.  Writers need to be aware of readers' expectations for the primary plot in each type of book, and write in those areas where fulfilling that requirement isn't a hindrance and doesn't make the writer feel trapped.   If you don't want to make solving the crime your primary plotline, don't write mysteries.   If you don't want to make relationship development your primary plotline, don't write romances.  

In short forms, the main plot-critical problem needs to be introduced early and kept in the forefront: a short-short has no space for adding plot complexity by adding problems.  Piling up problems in a short short ensures that most of them will be left unresolved, with a good chance of annoying readers.   With each increment in length, the writer has a choice: another problem can add complexity to the plot and may increase the punch of the story's climax.  Or, it can dilute it.   That will depend on how the writer handles the relative importance of the plotlines that grow from each problem.

Consider a typical long-mystery plotline:  the detective character needs to find out whodunnit.  The detective character also has a relationship problem at work, and a relationship problem in his/her private life.   The detective's motivations for attempting to solve the three (at least) problems arise from different parts of his/her self, and create three different plotlines.   From the reader end, the reader bought the book knowing it was a mystery, so a successful "whodunnit" plot must ensue, or the reader won't be satisfied.   So if the writer emphasizes the private relationship plot, and skimps on the "whodunnit" plot, the existence of the other problem dilutes the overall success.  Ideally, all three plotlines resolve close to the end of the book, in a way that satisfies the requirements of Plot, or--if this is a mystery series--one or both subplotlines offers enough in the way of plot structure to convince readers that a good resolution will come along in another volume.   "Rolling" subplots in a mystery series can be an effective way to retain readers' interest--it's not just another whodunnit, next time, but a chance to find out if the detective got married, if he/she got a promotion,  if his/her parent/spouse/lover died, etc.  (Used to great effect in Alexander McCall Smith's series about Mma Ramotswe and her "No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency.")  

Each plotline can draw problems from more than one layer, even in stories with multiple plotlines.  As long as the reader finds it easy to stay oriented in person, place, time, and causation,  these additional complications merely enrich the story.  Multi-layer problems for one plotline give the ability to shift from one to another to maintain tension/suspense (the essense of reader "glue") without the obvious sinus-wavetension/relaxation  rhythm of a single-level plot.   Just as we must cope daily with challenges on multiple levels, requiring us to prioritize responses, characters with multi-level problems offer the same opportunities to writers.   As long as the writer avoids too obvious a sequence (physical/emotional/mental/physical/emotional/mental, or  child/spouse/work/child/spouse/work), the very different "feel" of problems at different levels makes it possible to keep the momentum of the story going without boring the reader.  The story will feel both unexpected and inevitable. 

But for reader satisfaction, for readers to stay oriented, one plotline must be strongest, must be the thread readers return to when you've taken them on a subplot side trip for awhile.   The primary character attached to that plotline should be your protagonist, and your protagonist should be the most developed (in terms of levels of motivation) in the story.   The difference in importance need not be great...but it needs to be in your mind even when you're writing in a secondary character's viewpoint. 

Some writers are outline plotters and some are instinctive plotters, but both have to be aware of the necessities of Plot and of balance between the main plotline and the subplots.  Modulating that balance with the choice of problems (specifically the number and "size" of the problems) offers writers a natural way to maintain the impulsion of the overall plot structure.
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About Books: Plot II [May. 10th, 2008|11:23 am]
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A brief review:  Story requires Plot, and Plot requires at minimum  a) a character, b) a problem, c) a sequence in which the character(s) engage with the problem(s) using character traits developed prior to and during the Plot in an increasing level of intensity until the climax, when the character(s) succeed or fail in coping with the problem(s).  Other forms/shapes of narrative involving characer(s) and problem(s) exist, and may be enjoyed, but Story produces a satisfaction unlike the others.  (A given reader may prefer a different satisfaction: that does not negate the truth that Story provides a unique satisfaction that nothing else provides.  So do peaches but those who don't like peaches don't want that flavor.)

The plot skeleton mentioned in the last essay can be linear, a "simple" series of cause/effect alternations in a straight line ("The Little Engine That Could"--the train is on a track with only one task--get over the mountain), or extremely complex, with detours, reverses,  braided lines of plot, etc.   Every complexity requires some wordage (more wordage from the less efficient writers, less wordage from the more efficient.)   Thus the level of complexity is inherently limited by the length  of the story, and also by the efficiency of the writer. 

In the mystery genre, the relationship between character complexity, plot complexity, and wordage shows up well.   Mysteries depend on plot twists--on some complexity of plot--and many readers tolerate less complex secondary characters (especially among suspects, detective's sidekicks/associates) if the plot is convoluted enough.   In some mystery lines, wordage is tightly controlled by the publisher; in others, it's not, especially for bestselling writers.   Long mysteries (by writers such as Sayers, George, James)  spend considerable wordage on the complexity of main (and sometimes even secondary) characters, giving them extra depth so that additional layers of motivation can work in the plot.  This can become overpowering to the point of damaging the mystery aspect of the story, if the reader is dragged through too much psychological angst when what he/she wants is to find out whodunnit and see the detective triumph again.  Shorter mysteries (60-80,000 words, the typical thinner paperback) provide just enough character complexity in the detective to make him/her interesting, and fill the rest of their wordage with plot complexity...and 90% or more of the plot complexity is directed at solving the crime, not untangling the detective's many other problems. 

What this means for the writer is that early on the writer must decide how big a canvas he/she is working on.  In a multi-volume story arc, there's ample room for both character complexity (multiple characters) and plot complexity deriving from both outside events and the characters' internal motivations.  In a short story, there's not.   Writers have a natural bent towards a length, a length that's natural for them, and thus tend to develop characters and plots that fit their natural length.  When a natural short-story writer tries to move to a longer length, he/she needs to know that this is going to require not just more events, but more complexity, more connections between characters (who need to be more complex) and plot.    The natural novelist faced with a short story assignment needs to know that compression and simplification of both character and plot will need to learn the reverse--how to compress character and plot and not allow rampant growth of complexity.

Another difference between shorter forms and longer forms is the "hinge" or "keystone."    Every story--even a short-short--has a place where the story changes direction.   In short stories, the hinge may not be noticed by most readers , especially if the story is fast-paced.    Even in the most linear, obvious plot, has a hinge (in "The Little Engine That Could", it's where the little engine really commits to the task of dragging the train over the mountain.)   Hinges in short forms aren't usually a problem to either writer or reader.   Hinges in very long form stories (multi-volume) are often perceived by reviewers (and some readers) as inferior books in the middle of a series....books that do not stand alone, books whose story arc is, by itself less satisfying.   The "hinge" phenomenon is seen as a failure only because it's not understood.  In a good multi-volume work, the story arc spans the entire group of books: the group comes to a real climax, a true ending.    Once the group is complete and can be read as a whole,  that hinge volume is no more a failure than the middle section of a one-volume novel, or the middle paragraph of a short story, is a failure.   It's a necessary change of direction, part of the essential nature of Plot, and thus inevitable.  (It's also the reason odd-number groups read better than even-number groups...in odd-number groups, the middle volume will be the hinge and the least stand-alone; in even number groups, two volumes--one either side of the middle--will be affected.  Writers whose natural length is very long should consider thinking in 3, 5, or 7 volume units, not 2, 4, 6.)

I've decided to break up the Plot discussion, because covering the many ways to make Plot more complex and satisfying  without violating its requirements is going to take (me, anyway) a lot of words.  

 
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Wildlife [May. 8th, 2008|12:50 pm]
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[Current Mood |awake]

The game-cam registers date, time, temperature, and phase of the moon.   It was 2:03 am, 64 degrees F, and a waxing newish moon when the game-cam took this shot of the lily pond and a critter:
 
                                                   

This is the lower end of the water garden in the house yards--there's a stream section with little pools, some planted, a stream section running over bare rubber liner, and the lily pond, which is 20x40 and half-choked with iris an pickerelweed, with lilies in this end.  It's amphibian heaven--lots of frogs and toads and tadpoles-and apparently also a wonderful cat toy, as the game cam showed the neighbor's cat pacing, trotting, jumping back and forth on the paved edge of the pool..  One of the video segments from last night showed two raccoons pacing along and heading for the upper stream sections.

The weird loop-thing in the foreground is a dragonfly perch, part of which rotted off last year.  The dragonflies don't care.


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Question about game-cams/trail-cams [May. 8th, 2008|12:36 pm]
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Thanks to a generous friend, who loaned me her Moultrie I-60 game-cam, I've been learning how these things work, and thinking about what I want in one or more such cameras for our wildlife management project.

So far the greatest problem I've run into is that the SD memory card in this camera, which is a 4Gb card, will not register in the multi-card reader I have, and glitches my computer (running XP-home edition).   I want a digital camera and I would prefer one that lets me swap cards out in the field, so I don't have to lug the camera back and
forth (it would be on foot, in my backpack, and in addition to the other stuff I carry in the field, it's...an extra weight I'd rather not carry twice a day.)

So, from the groupmind here, does anyone know whether it's the size of the card (4 Gb as compared to, say, 2 Gb, which I use in my regular cameras) and if so, is it a l imitation of my multi-card reader or XP?   Or the fact that it's set up for that camera?   I was able to format it in the camera, from the computer, using the USB cable,  but that would mean bringing the camera in...not as convenient.  I  would think that if I can format the 4Gb card while it's in the camera, it's not XP, or the bus capacity of the USB cable...but...???  My multi-card reader is a mediaGear, and works well with the different sizes of cards I have for the different cameras.  I could, however, get a high-capacity one for this kind of card (also what I use in one of the cameras) if that's necessary.





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About Books: third critical interpolation [May. 7th, 2008|11:29 am]
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Helping your first/alpha/beta readers help you.

We all need reader feedback.  In an ideal world, we would all have ample time to read stories aloud to our friends, who would all be erudite, expert critics and also sensitive and caring friends.   We don't live in an ideal world.  Your family and friends do not know what you, as a writer, need as feedback--either on the literary end or on the emotional end.  They may be afraid of hurting your feelings.  They may think anyone who wastes time writing stories is crazy and should just watch TV or play games on the internet or whatever.  They usually have, as basis for their feedback, some scattered memories of what they learned in school (look for spelling and punctuation errors...um...find the hidden meaning....um....what's the theme?....um....um....)

But you can help your readers help you write better stories by communicating exactly what you need each time you hand them a segment, or ask them to listen while you read aloud. 

First, pick the right readers.   If you write romance, and your friends don't read romance...find some who do.   Ditto for every other kind of story.  Do not expect your very best friend in the world, who only reads cozy mysteries, to put up with your gory hack-and-slash vampire thriller.  Do not let yourself think, even for a moment, "If he/she really *cares* about me, he/she will *want* to read my stuff."  That's the way to lose friends, and it's unfair to both of you.   Writers need friends, including friends who do not read their work.   Find people who like to read what you write; they don't have to be close friends.   Second, pick the right method for the readers.  Some people can enjoy being read to, and think about what they're hearing. Others need to see it in print.  Never impose your reading on a visual-dominant reader, or hand someone who prefers audio books a stack of paper a foot high.   Remember that everyone else has a life, and often a busy, schedule-filled one.   If you come bouncing in with the latest story and your friend/reader has just been fired, found out they or a loved one has cancer, a child has been expelled from school... that's not the moment to say "Oh, that sucks...but anyway, here's this story I want to send off tomorrow,  so read it right now."  (And yes, writers will do things like that.  Not more than once to the same ex-friend, though.)   Try to collect a stable of readers that spans gender, age, social class, political opinion, religious lines.  You'll get more useful feedback that way.

So you've got a reader who loved spy stories and you've written a spy story, and your reader has time, and you hand him/her the story.   Don't stop there.  Before you hand it over (or right after) you should know the following about your story and yourself.  What draft is it?   What kind of critique are you looking for?   Are you prepared to deal with a factual report?   It's not fair to the reader if you say "Now, I want you to be harsh" and then burst into tears or storm off in a depressive rage if the reader says even one negative thing.  (And yes, writers will do that.)

For an early draft, you might tell your reader(s) something like this:  It's an early draft, please don't waste time on the spelling and punctuation and typos...a lot is going to change.  What I need to know is whether it feels like  a story to you, whether you're interested in the characters,whether you want to know what happens next.  If there's a place where you feel like it got mushy or slow, or you lost interest, or you got confused about what was going on, or didn't understand why a character did something, please mark those places right where they happen.  If there are places where you're completely locked in, turning pages as fast as you can, I need to know that, too.

For a later draft, when you think you have the structure nailed down, you might tell your readers this:   What I really need to know now is whether it still feels like a solid story: is there any place that throws you out of the story, any place you want to say "Huh?" or "Say what?", any place where a character doesn't seem to be acting right for that person, any place that feels slow or clunky or boring?   I want to be sure the transitions aren't too rough, that you always feel oriented in the story, always know where and when you are, and you feel connected to the story.  And if you find inconsistencies--someone's hair color changes, or I've confused left and right, or which ship someone is on--please mark that, too.  If you think the sequence of events is out of order somewhere, mark that.

For the final draft, you're ready for the nitpickers (who may be different readers than the early ones--nitpickers are a special breed and they often hate being told not to nitpick early on, when it only gets in your way.)   Now you turn them loose:  What I need is for you to mark every error in spelling, grammar, punctuation, continuity or anything else.

Notice that you are not asking your readers to fix the problems they find--in fact, you don't want them to.  That's YOUR job, as a writer.  A good reader comment such as "Well,  in chapter five I got bored because all Jim did was complain to Bob about his boss...I got the point already that David is a lousy boss; I got that point in chapter two..."  lets you know the problem.  If that conversation is plot-critical, you know you need to make it show.  But "I got bored in chapter five (etc.) and I think you should cut it" is going too far.    It is possible to talk over plot problems with friends/readers and *ask* them for ideas, or talk through your ideas with them, but that's a different process than asking for reader response.  The ultimate reader, when your story is in print, will not have the option of discussing plot problems/solutions with you....your early readers are clueing you to what ultimate reader response will be.

If you're having a bad stretch in the middle of a book, and you have the right reader for this, who has liked the earlier parts of the book, you can hand over a section and admit that what you really need right now is encouragement.  For me, there's always a bad stretch during which I feel it's a horrible mess and I'm completely incompetent.  I take 20 pages down to a trusted friend, say what I need, and he will read it carefully, and tell me that I'm not the worst writer who ever lived, and yes, it's still a story, and yes, he wants to see the end of it.  This is a legitimate request...if it's not your only request.  We all need reassurance at times, and it's OK to ask for it.  It comes best from someone you know likes your writing generally.

So what if the first readers you try don't like your work?   Yes, they like spy stories, but not the kind of spy story you wrote...Ian  Fleming and John Le Carre both wrote spy stories, but not the same kind.   How can you tell if their comments are "right" for you?   Well...you can try to find readers who like the same kind of writing you yourself like, since your writing is probably going to reflect that.    Find out who they read--if they enthuse over your favorite writers, then it's likely you have your best shot at finding a reader who will like your work if it's well done.    Readers cannot be dragged into a new genre or subgenre or style by your manuscript--it's not worth the aggravation to either you or your potential reader to try to force past a mismatch in taste.

What if a comment makes no sense to you?   Then ask.   Suppose someone responds to a character with "I just didn't like Sam" but you know Sam's not supposed to be liked.   You can tell your reader that, but also (since you need to know this)  say "Well, Sam's not supposed to be likeable...where did I give you the wrong signal so you thought he was supposed to be?"   If comments make no sense in the early drafts, either your readers are wrong for your work or did not understand your instructions.  Quite often, if the writer doesn't start crying or screaming, a brief question and answer about a comment is the quickest, most efficient way for a writer to pinpoint a problem.

Can readers be wrong?  Sure.  That's why it's nice to have more than one.  Everyone has hot buttons--and though you need know about them, you can't avoid them all.  If eight of your first reader love a chapter, and one blows up because you  hit his/her hot button...you can choose to ignore or go on.  If you only hear the hot button blowup, you'll think it's your writing (and it may not be.)   When it comes to comments,  I consider that any structural comment warrants rethinking and probably rewriting.   If the reader is a professional (other pro writer or editor) it definitely does.  If three ordinary readers trip over the same thing--that needs fixing.   I may be right, in terms of plot and characterization, but I have not conveyed what I meant in a way that showed I was right.   Readers (including the professionals) are most often wrong when they tell you how to fix a problem.  They are never wrong--NEVER wrong--when they report their own emotional response.  Their feelings are facts you have to deal with.   If you wrote the story in such a way that your reader becomes emotionally disconnected from the story--they're bored, they're so confused it's too much effort to try to figure  it out--it's a flaw in your writing.

Nothing improves storytelling as much as feedback of the right kind at the right time. 
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About Books: Plot I [May. 5th, 2008|05:46 pm]
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I seem to be stuck with this in my head, and the only way to get it out is to write it, so the saga continues.

Except it's not a saga. It's a series of essays.  Which brings up (as intended) the topic of Plot as an element of Story.  What is Plot, when is something not Plot, and why am I so firm about it?   To answer the last first, I'm firm about Plot because it's so often misunderstood.   Plot is one kind of narrative, but all narrative is not Plot.  These terms are used interchangeably by some, and that's unfortunate because we need the distinction if we're going to write Story.

What is narrative?  The relating of a sequence of events connected in some way (however tenuous.)  In its simplest form (before it even gets to a sequence), it's Who  Did What.   John planted a tree.  It grows by adding things in sequence.  John got up and had breakfast and went outside and planted a tree.   Narrative can be nonfiction or fiction: "What I Did on My Vacation", a police report of an arrest or investigation, an account of a battle or a treaty negotiation whether real or imaginary.  Somewhere between reporting events (real or fictional) and Plot are short things that some people call stories: anecdotes, jokes, allegories.  If straight reporting narrative is "what I did today", then anecdote is "you'll never guess what happened on the way to the office"--the report of an event or incongruity that sticks out, a bit of unexpected stuff.  With a little shaping, some anecdotes have story potential  (more on that later.)  But anecdotes don't have some of the essentials of Plot.  Nor do jokes.  Nor--though this is argued by some--allegories.  Allegories and parables are ways of setting up fictional situations that teach a lesson (the fox and the grapes, the dog in the manger, the blind leading the blind.)   Plot as used in Story is more than narrative, more than narrative moving toward a point...Plot is a specific organization of events to produce not a moral lesson but an emotional reaction.

So: back  to Aristotle and the skeleton plot.   The whole notion of the skeleton plot frightens some people and annoys others.  They hear "skeleton" and think "stock/simple/obvious/predictable."   Think a bit.  Every vertebrate on this planet has a skeleton, and all skeletons have a backbone, with a wad of neural tissue (large or small) at one end.   Does this mean all vertebrates look and act the same?   No.  From smallest to the largest, vertebrates exhibit dazzling variety: fish, amphibians, reptiles, birds, mammals...and within each group, more variety...large, small, herbivores, omnivores, carnivores, various methods of reproduction, various social groupings and behavior.  The fact that I have a backbone and a scorpionfish has a backbone and a hummingbird has a backbone and a poison-dart-frog has a backbone and a reticulated python has a backbone does not mean that if the only sample of vertebrates you had was me, you could easily predict the rest.  Or the kangaroo or the duck-billed platypus or the fruit bat--just to stay in mammals. 

What the skeleton plot backbone gives the writer is a link to the hardwiring of human neurology.  Other links exist (musical rhythms that bring forth dance, and characters that connect to our social neurology) but in terms of fiction, the Plot backbone is both essential  and efficient.   All humans with  reasonably normal neurology will develop to what's called "concrete operations", at which point they're aware of cause and effect and have a body of knowledge about common causes and effects, both physical and social.   They're also aware of "justice" (the right effect from a given cause) as defined in their culture, and they're aware that justice doesn't always happen (the wrong child is scolded when the broken pot is discovered.)  

Plot is all about cause and effect.   Here's your complex character, this seething mass of innate and acquired traits...and your character has a problem: a need, a desire, a demand for change.  It does not matter what the problem is, as long as it's big enough to get that character into motion and fits into the rest of the plot, and it can be an internal push for change, or a problem imposed from outside (a storm, a war, being fired, being hit by a car.)  That initial problem is one cause...your character's reaction (born of his/her nature) is the first effect.   That effect does not solve the problem, or it generates a new, larger problem.  The effect becomes another cause...which demands another action, which has another effect.  A cascade of cause/effect, action/consequence, sets off down the plot's slope like a growing avalanche.  The character is active, engaged in the struggle with the problem and its successors--revealing more and more of himself/herself in that struggle.  Like the vertebrae in a backbone, not all the actions/consequences are the same size and shape (not if you want an interesting story), and you-the-writer need to have an end in mind...the tail of even the largest snake doesn't go on forever.  In fact, you don't want a tail on your story--to switch metaphors, you want to follow the backbone down to the pelvis and have the story suddenly "birth" a conclusion that makes perfect sense in light of everything else--that feels right, that satisfies the itch for justice born in the child when he or she first grasp the concept of fair/ unfair.

Plot has a beginning (when the character meets the problem) and an end (when the character succeeds or fails by whatever value system is governing your story.)  In between it has terrain: mountains, hills, valleys, canyons, barren slopes, intricate caves, all of whatever size and difficulty that story needs.   The character's outward and inward progress is fast, slow, difficult, easy, successful, failing, from moment to moment, as the cause-effect avalanche works its way down the backbone  from skull to pelvis.  The outward and inward progression may not be in synch...in the most interesting stories, may not be, as a disconnect between the obvious outward success/failure and internal feelings about those events help reveal character.   If a character is imagined with sufficient complexity, a plot may have five, seven, even ten layers, each driven by a different layer of cause/effect in the character and the outside world.  But even the simplest plot in a child's book has a backbone and a beginning, a middle, and an end that makes sense.

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About Books: second critical interpolation [May. 5th, 2008|01:23 pm]
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In reviews, criticism, and workshops, you'll see/hear a lot of critical comments about characterization.  Some of them will be spot on and some won't--in fact, will be totally wrong.   As a writer, you need some benchmarks for the criticism you'll get, and you need to know how to interpret criticism that--though partly wrong--is also partly right and can clue you in to mistakes you've made.

1) Phrasing: if the person commenting uses only cliched terms to criticize your characterization, the comments are useless even if there's a flaw on your characterization.   "Cardboard characters" simply means the commenter wasn't convinced by, engaged by, your characters.  This could be a limitation in that reader (there are incompetent readers, and most of them think they're good readers), or the reader didn't like the characters for other reasons (confuses "familiar character type" with "shallow"), etc. 

2) Experience outside literature:  does the person commenting have enough knowledge and experience to know when you got the behavior right?    For instance, I've written characters that felt real to people who had experience in that field, but were questioned sharply by those without any such experience.   Even though the reader lacks experience, the best writers can convey enough of an unfamiliar setting/occupation so that most (never all) readers will accept the reality...but not if the reader has strong and unrealistic biases in place.  A common flaw here is that a reader has a theory of character (of human nature, of social/cultural reality) that is not based on fact, and thus imposes a false standard.   I remember shocking a child from a very strict religion by not having the behaviors she was sure all non-members of that church had.   I've run into readers/reviewers/critics who had just as unrealistic beliefs about genders, religions, occupations, political viewpoints, etc. 

3) Experience with literature:  Does the reader have the reading skills to recognize the actual characterization, or is he/she confined to a theoretical or fashionable approach?   Most writers have had reviews that made them go "Huh?  This person could not have read MY book!"   Some readers, though possessed of basic reading skills, are hasty in judgment and do not read books thoroughly even if they finish them.  They do not know how to read deeply, how to notice subtlety, how to recognize deeply layered characterization.  Again, unrealistic literary theories create some of this problem. If a reader believes that stories are binary--either character-driven or plot-driven, and that plots in which something happens necessarily means that characters lack complexity and depth, they will not see what's clear to more perceptive readers.  Reading skill takes time to develop, and it also takes the ability and willingness to read the book that's there on its own--and compare it to reality beyond books--rather than try to fit the book to an existing category. 

Which boils down to: most of the criticism of characterization I've seen is way off base. 

That does not mean it's useless to the writer.  

It's a matter of proportion.  If the readers who think your characters are boring, shallow, or just plain wrong constitute 5% of the responses, then you've just run into the reality that no book satisfies everyone.  If half the readers don't like your characters, you have a problem, but it's probably not exactly what you're hearing.   If the readers are people you know (your alpha readers) you can train them to give  you useful feedback; otherwise you have to look at your characters again and rethink what you know about them and what you've actually shown.   (Another post will deal with training your alpha/beta readers so they're the most help.)

Some writers and a minority of readers like to use unlikeable characters.  If you've chosen to write about unlikeable characters, then you can expect that a lot of people won't like them, and won't like your story as a result.  Your choice--you can accept that you're writing for a smaller audience, or you can modify your characters a little, give them a redeeming trait that may attract some more readers. 

If your characters are intended to be likeable, are they likeable the right way?  Or did you give them the kind of flaw that is really annoying all the way through, rather than plot-critical in a few places?   Do you and most people agree on what likeable is?  (Novice writers may use theoretical versions of likeable rather than real-world likeable...may use Sunday School niceness and perfect manners instead of genuine warmth, wit, etc.)  Are they too good, too perfect?   Are they not good enough? 

Have you shown your character's weaknesses in a way that a) will be recognized and b) will be accepted by readers--so they can empathize?   Have you shown your character's insides--his/her feelings about that weakness--as well as the effects of it? 

If your characters lean toward the ordinary, have you put hooks to their potential interesting/extraordinary bits in a way that most readers will notice them?   Did you make clear connections from their innate and acquired traits, via their motivations, to their actions?   That is, is the chain of causation connected all the way through from biology and psychology to action and consequences?

If you conceive of characters in depth, if you know their insides intimately, you can still leave out (because you know so much) something that's essential for readers--even the best readers--to grasp if they're going to commit to the character.   Though you can ignore the snarky, dismissive comments to some degree, it's always worth checking to see if you *did* leave out what you meant to put in, or if you added details that confuses/camouflages the real nature of your characters.



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About Books: Characters II [May. 5th, 2008|11:42 am]
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It's a principle of logic that statements in the indicative cannot (logically) lead to conclusions in the subjunctive or imperative.  That is, factual statements do not lead *logically* to "should" statements....something we observe when we look at current events.  Without the intervention of a value system,  the existence of a problem does not induce action to correct it.  

For the fiction writer, this means that dumping a problem on your character's foot will not ensure any particular action.  Your character won't act unless he or she is motivated to act, and motivation requires more than "just the facts, ma'am."   It requires a bunch of internal factors that can be summarized as "values" but--for the writer--need to be teased apart because they are all--severally and together--motivators for your character to act and react in response to events.  So the most important things to know about your character are internal things, things that make him/her behave believably in human terms, not just physical-science terms. 

Characters all come with intrinsic, constant traits (race, gender, biochemistry, etc.) and extrinsic, environmental traits (the intrinsic as modified by experience.)   By inheritance, each person has a range of adaptations possible to him/her in different environmental situations...the more constricted the environment (in terms of both physical resources and social ones) the less you can tell what the real potential of that person was.  But that range is not infinite: no amount of perfect nutrition or medical care or anything else would have made me a six-foot-four blue-eyed blonde male.  The more the writer understands about human biology and psychology, the more skillfully he/she can imagine and construct characters with believable complexity of traits and experiences....and thus, with more layers of motivation, arising from many different levels of their being--from the core biological drives to the highest-level, most transient effects of, say, fashion.  The more layers of motivation a writer can tap, the more ways to connect character to plot, to make the character feel real and complex.

Everything we do, we do because of some motivation, and that motivation is beautifully mathematical--a balance of competing forces or vectors (vector calculus, if you will.)   I am sitting here writing this not because of a single compelling drive to explain character development...but because, of the many possible actions which I kindasorta want to do, and think I should do, this is the one that balances the other motivations the best.  I'm not just doing this because I want to--I'm also doing it because I can avoid doing something else (several somethings else) and this is an excuse which lets me feel good enough about myself (oh, gee, I'm helping others--that's worthwhile, right?  So I don't have to do X, because I can do Y...)  to not do the other things.  We all have dozens of things we might do at any moment--and our actual actions are the vector sum of all the influences, internal and external, that bear on the moment.   We are hard-wired for two things: first, we are all hardwired to repeat experiences that give pleasure, and avoid those that give pain (positive and negative feedback)...but second, we are also hard-wired to pay more attention to the novel, the unexpected experience.  These can conflict, to produce the individual who ignores or seeks out experiences that are unpleasant because a) it's become familiar enough to be tolerated or b) the drive for novelty/unexpected overcomes the drive to avoid pain.

So in a story, the characters act for a reason--their reason.  Where did that reason come from?  What are the factors that sum into that action?  And (most important for the writer) how can we use those potential reasons and factors to make a story work?

The longer the story, the more you have to play with, but in any story  (even a short-short) you need more than one level of motivation to make it the best it can be.  Let's look at several  (which should suggest to you that there are even more, if you need them.) 

Physical:  on the physical level of motivation, you have the basic biological needs and their associated drives: the need for air, food, water, space in which to exist (habitat, if you will), and avoidance of adverse stimuli such as pain and death.  Also on the physical level are bodily functions such as excretion and sex.   Choking or suffocating characters will seek air; hungry characters will seek food; characters crammed uncomfortably into a space will try to get out; characters will try to avoid pain and death.  Unless there's another competing motivation...because humans will, at times, find something else more compelling than a desire for food or a fear of pain.

Social:  here you find the motivations common to a particular social situation--at every level from familial to national/cultural.  Cultures set the values that connect facts to actions: hunger to eating or not eating at certain times or particular foods or with certain people or with hands or anything else.  You'll find multiple levels of social motivation: the unconscious response to early social conditioning that makes it hard for most Americans to eat "bugs" (eeeuw!), the engrained beliefs about gender, race, ethnicity, religion, the prevalent dominance structure and acceptable attitudes about it, and very conscious awareness of what is likely to produce the best social result...which clothes to wear to work v. play, which cultural icons to admire openly, etc.   Acceptance, rejection, cooperation, rebellion, dominance games, ambition--arising partly out of individual biology, but also out of the experience of social interaction from infancy on up.  The same objective events have very different effects on the insides of people...one person falls off a horse and never rides again; another falls off the horse (maybe even the same horse the same day) and hops back on without a qualm.  Not only does the physical experience vary (one may be more sensitive to pain, or have a better sense of balance) but the social experience will vary (who got laughed at, who got sympathy, who had a previous experience which made being laughed at or getting sympathy different from the other?)  

Emotional:  On the inside, individual to each character, experience (including social experience) is processed differently and leads to a different balance of emotions.   Parents and teachers know that one child reacts to a scolding with angry defiance and another with sadness...the same level of scolding.  Innately, from birth, personalities are different, and experience can either reinforce that difference or smooth it out--but will not change it.   The same basic emotions--joy, sadness, fear, disgust, satisfaction--are attached to different things, in different amounts, in different people, for different reasons. 

So in a story, a character may, dealing with the problem you give him/her, react from any of these levels or sublevels, or any combination of them, just as you do.  If you have an hour for lunch, you may be juggling errands (the bank, the post office, the dry cleaner's, buy a gift for a friend's birthday) with the need to eat (especially if you skipped breakfast), the awareness that you need to eat carefully because of a health problem, the knowledge that the only places to grab a quick meal near your errand-destinations don't have the food you should eat, guilt over having skipped breakfast and not having packed the lunch you should be eating, concern over gas prices and a struggle to find the most efficient route through your errands, resentment for being expected to do so much in so little time, resentment at not being able to just get a burger and malt without feeling guilty about that, too.  What do you eat for lunch?   More importantly,  what would your character do?   Larry the diabetic,  let's say, who's divorced, with two kids (one of whom has a birthday in two days), with credit card debt,  a bank account nearing zero, only a quarter tank of gas in the car, bills he has to get in the mail today or else, payday's not until next week...you can see that you can tie what he actually does to physical, social, and emotional motivators.   Will he buy his kid the expensive toy the kid really wants and risk more financial problems?  Will he blow his diet because of frustration?  What kind of person is he, at all levels?

When we get to plot, you'll see that this kind of understanding of your character's motivations lets you maintain tension on various levels at different times, so that the reader feels the pull of the character, but isn't being held on the same level throughout.  Sometimes your character's facing a physical threat (maybe--not in all stories), and sometimes a threat to self-respect or social position or financial security or relationship stability.  Just when the character is triumphant in one thing, something else may go wrong (as it does in real life...immediately after my first book came out, when I was jubilant and heading for a bookstore to sign copies--the muffler fell off the bottom of my car, loudly and publicly and expensively.)  Plots need setbacks and complications, but they should not all be at the same level. 
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Beauty of the earth... [May. 4th, 2008|07:05 pm]
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I made it outside again today, as far as the grass garden.  Here are a few of the beauties...the first is a striped snail.  I don't know if it's native or not, but I've always thought it was beautiful, and it doesn't seem to damage the native plants enough to worry about.   The lavender flower's an obedient plant--they like wetter years better, but we still have a lot of them in the dampest part of the grass garden.  And the bird's a blue jay, of course.  Ours are skittish, so this is the best picture I've ever gotten of one.
                                                         
             
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About Books: Characters I [May. 4th, 2008|03:59 pm]
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This will overlap, but not replace, the essay on my website about character creation:
http://www.elizabethmoon.com/writer-characters.htm
Some of you may have read that; some may want to, for the bits that aren't repeated here.

When Aristotle told the writers of his day to use kings or queens as the protagonists, he knew that audiences would respond to interesting characters...just as today, people *still* read about the British royal family, and the modern equivalent, "celebrities."  If you or I  trip and break an ankle, the world doesn't care--papparazzi aren't following us around--but if Oprah or Hillary or the Pope does so, it'll be on every news report and all over the tabloids.   We are hard-wired to attend to newness/change/differences: exotic works (and thus, in SF, aliens.)  But these aren't the only interesting characters...there's a sliding scale between the names everyone knows and a lot of people want to read about (unauthorized biographies of the famous do sell)  and characters so dull that they kill the book.  Somewhere between Emperor of the Universe and the bore who puts everyone to sleep is your protagonist.   E

Let's start at the bottom and get that out of the way first.   Uniform characters (all good, all bad) are boring.  They're well-rounded in the bad sense, like a greased ball bearing--they don't give a plot anything to cling to.    You can use them in minor positions, in the same way you'd use a banana skin--for a more complex character to trip over--but not as protagonists. 

The more average, ordinary, "flat" a character is, the more work you will have to do to make readers want to live with them...the more you will have to show that the character has the potential to surprise and excite.  Some readers, finding a housewife, salesman, teacher, etc. in the first paragraph, will be remembering not only the dull stories in which that kind of character didn't have a plot to work with, but also the people he or she considers uninteresting.   You can use an ordinary/average person as a protagonist, but you need to establish, quickly, that this person has the potential to respond in an extraordinary way and that you're going to toss him/her into the briar patch.   On the plus side, readers easily empathize with ordinary characters, and find the character's struggles believable precisely because he/she starts out with no great abilities.  

The more extraordinary (in ability, social position, political power) the character is to start with, the more easily he/she will 'hook' the reader just by being extraordinary, but you will have to work to show that the character is capable of believable struggle and can actually fail.   So establishing the weaknesses early on prepares readers for this possibility and makes it more believable when your telepath who can read the enemy's mind 500 miles away can't tell that her boyfriend really loves her.   This is why stories of extraordinary people often start when they were less extraordinary, but there are clues to the reader that more is coming. 

The easiest character to make both immediately interesting and believable in conflict  is the "sandbur" type--with a lot of plot-grabbing traits at all levels of awareness and all levels of unusualness between average and extraordinary--ambitions, fears, talents, handicaps, moral qualms, animosities, attachments, etc.  Not all of these need to show right away (in fact, the shorter the story, the fewer will be exposed to view) but this gives you a lot of potential for motivation and response.

(more to follow, but probably not today)




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About Books: first critical interpolation [May. 4th, 2008|02:17 pm]
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If you accept that Story has the essentials in the last post, then one way to judge a work of fiction is by its adherence (or non-) to the classical elements.

Did the main character(s) interest you, pull you in, and contain enough complexity for the plot (flaws and talents, all of which are shown as operational in the plot)?  

Did the main character face a problem of appropriate seriousness/difficulty  for that story, and grapple with it himself/herself? 

Did actions have logical consequences?

Did the plot sequence correctly (causes before consequences)?

Was the final outcome satisfying, in the sense of completion/justice/congruence with character? 

There are other ways to judge fiction, but since Story is part of fiction, a consideration of how well the Story worked should be part of any critical discussion.  Use of language, "sensawonder" ideas, and other considerations should not replace recognition of Story's central position in fiction.
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About books: Story [May. 4th, 2008|01:43 pm]
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As time permits, over the next few (durations not specified) I'll be posting some thoughts on Story, some ideas on what makes books "good" or "bad" in various ways, some thoughts on the craft of writing outside of Story, and how writers can use both good and bad writing to improve their own. 

Well over 2000 years ago, Aristotle set down his observations about effective storytelling in the Poetics.  When I first read it, in college back in the '60s,  I had already written a lot of poetry and fiction.  Not very good poetry and fiction.  So although it was assigned to our class for other reasons, I read it from the viewpoint of the aspiring writer.  At the same time, in Greek class, we were reading the great Greek works--Homer, of course, and Sophocles, and I made (not very effectual) stabs at Euripedes (whose Bacchae I loved in translation) and Pindar.  Later, when someone told me about the "skeleton plot," I recognized it as Aristotle's observations on successful story-telling, updated. 

Aristotle noticed that the audience responded best to certain elements in plays--interesting, compelling characters (royalty, he said--but now we find others interesting too) who had a flaw that interfered with their ability to deal with the problem facing them....in tragedies, the flaw caused the catastrophe, working out from character through logical consequences in the plot, and in anti-tragedies, the flaw was overcome with a resulting "eucatastrophe."   Whichever ending, tragic or triumphant,  had to feel "right"--had to evoke, in the audience,  the awe of justice done, and the pity (for tragedies) or  joy (for triumphs) appropriate to the climax.  That release of pity and awe, he thought, was the great gift that a perfectly told story could give.

In modern terms--an interesting but imperfect character is faced with a problem and eventually (but after reverses, all of which must "fit") either overcomes the difficulty through his/her own efforts, or is "sunk" by his/her own incapacity, his/her own "fatal flaw."   Aristotle also recommended a "unity of place and time"--this imposed by the nature of theater, because audiences will start chatting to each other out of boredom if you try to cram too many changes of time and place into the same performance (though Shakespeare showed it could be done...)   In modern storytelling terms,  this means starting where the story starts, and getting right into it--not dragging a reader/listener through a long drawn-out introduction.

Remember--Aristotle did not spin a literary theory out of his own imagination, the way Plato did for The Republic.   He was an observer; he collected data.  What he saw was that one way of telling a story worked for the audience--and others didn't, or not so well.    Modern research in neurology, backed up by clinical observation, is that humans are hard-wired in a way that makes classical story-telling work across age groups, cultures, languages.  Some cultures like tragedies--the hero (and maybe everyone else) dies.  Some like happy endings--the hero always comes out alive and saves the day.  Some like a mix.  Some like the problem (whatever it is) to be permanently solved, destroyed, gone forever.  Some like to leave menace in the finale--maybe the hero got away *this* time,  but the monster is still in the woods, so you children be careful.  But the basics--one or more characters readers/listeners want to find out about, a problem that must be engaged,  the struggle (successful or unsuccessful) to do that, using the character's own strengths and weaknesses, and an ending that feels "right" in terms of the character, the size of the problem, etc.--are part of what makes us human.

So when I'm talking about the essentials of Story, this is what I mean: without character, without plot, without a problem, without  the motivational glue that holds them together...you don't have a Story.  You may have an anecdote, or a character study, or a problem in search of character and plot--but not a Story.

Other literary virtues exist, and are important in creating a written Story...but none of them are sufficient without the essentials.   Vocabulary, spelling, grammar, syntax, prosody, pragmatics, metaphor, all the rest--excellent tools to have in your toolbox, but by themselves are heaps of words, not Story. 


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