Opening (and continuing) with desire

Two quotations from “Silent Movie” by Charles Baxter in his collection A Relative Stranger:

 

She was tired of men’s voices, of their volume and implacability. She had the idea that she would spend the day not listening to any of them. She would just shut them off. She would try to spend the day inside images, instead. She wasn’t sure it was possible. 

 

 

“Loretta,” she asked, back at the florist’s, “how do I get rid of this guy?”

“Darling,” Loretta shouted, “first ignore him and then just move out.”

 

What she wanted was a vacation from words spoken by voices below middle C. 
 

The first quotation starts the story; the second is taken from about the middle of the story. In both, the character’s desire is articulated directly, very directly in the second. A plan is also implied, as is the question of how well it can be followed.

Characters with desires that readers are aware of and can relate to are often characters that readers find engaging and interesting. The central question of the story becomes whether or not the character will satisfy his or her desire. This question and the character’s reaction to dangers that would prevent satisfaction can create drama in the way Janet Burroway’s Writing Fiction, for example, outlines. The directness of the articulation of desire and the character’s own awareness of that desire also characterize effectively.

So, where and how will readers of the fiction you are currently working on become aware of the main character’s desire? What dangers to the satisfaction of that desire are there in your story? Obviously, these dangers don’t have to be dangers to physical well-being or health to be dangerous. And what a character desires doesn’t have to be exotic, shouldn’t be, really, to interest readers.

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Controlling knowledge and characters who teach

I finished Cryptonomicon probably two weeks ago. An excellent novel. It ends with an excerpt from Stephenson’s next book and with a system for encoding information. The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress, if I remember correctly, includes in its narrative instructions for creating spy networks. What then would it make sense for one of your characters to teach another (and perhaps incidentally the reader)? How might that “teaching moment” scene characterize the teacher and the teachee?

I also just finished The Butcher’s Boy. I was looking for something unlike my usual reading but in third person (because what I’m currently writing is in third). The book won an Edgar award, which is given to one of the best thrillers written each year and it does seem to be worthy of its award. Even the title, if the book is read closely, has a payoff. I enjoyed the last few pages, though I knew what was coming up. As much as I liked the book, my disbelief wasn’t always suspended. It was easy to feel smarter than one of the main characters, but difficult (perhaps because I rarely read in this genre) to feel as smart as the other. I’m sometimes more conscious of this than others, but knowing who knows what when is probably something writers generally, no matter what their genre, need to think about. Can you write or revise a scene so readers feel smarter than one of your characters? Can you write or revise a scene so readers know much less than a character without alienating those readers?

I’m also reading Spunk & Bite: A Writer’s Guide to Bold, Contemporary Style by Arthur Plotnik, who is fun to quote: “Too much play, of course, distracts authors from the triathlon of writing—getting it down, getting it right, and getting it published.” Or, “Still, those who tilt diction to audience face certain pitfalls, among them the appearance of condescension and pandering. When preppies speak in rap, they hip-hop on thin ice.”

Next, I think, is Freaknestby Lance Olsen, which I hope I like. Again, it’s written in third person because I want to pick my influences.

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Eavesdropping

Eavesdropping was often mentioned as a source for stories in the first creative writing classes I took. Cell phones have certainly improved opportunities for evesdropping. Overheard fragments of conversations can act as, in the words of They Might Be Giants, “a stone to wrap a piece of [narrative] string around.” I’ve heard two this week, days after each other, that just want to be shared.

“When you’re pregnant you can’t think. I read somewhere that when you’re pregnant all the blood goes to your abdomen and your brain shrinks.”

“So, they tell people that dad married his son’s girlfriend. As if that’s not embarrassing enough. . . .”

Eavesdropping is also, of course, a chance to tell stories. Though I did (I swear!) hear the above, I can’t remember if I heard or made up this one:

“You look a lot like my fiancée [he said]. We should have dinner sometime.”

Finally, there are websites that collect the eavesdroppings of others, fiction and non-fiction no doubt, not to mention sites that collect confessed secrets. Some of these are blatantly tragic and sick, but others manage to be hilarious.

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The New-England Primer and Richard Scarry’s Best Word Book Ever

The The Norton Anthology of American Literature,our English 2510 text, points out how The New-England Primer changed as a result of the American revolution and the influence of Puritanism (see page 354 and the footnotes on 355 especially). How similar (or different) are the changes to Richard Scarry’s Best Word Book Ever recorded on this Flickr page? The editions compared are the 1963 and 1991.

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Captivity narratives

Each bullet point below is a quotation from

Vaughan, Alden T. and Edward W. Clark. “Cups of Common Calamity.” Introduction. Puritans Among the Indians. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1981.1-28. The current edition can be found here.

  • Ironically, the earliest New World captivity tales must have been told by the American natives: Spaniards, not Indians, first seized hapless victims to serve as guides, interpreters, hostages, or curiosities.
  • ‘Captivity narrative’ came to mean an account, usually autobiographical, of forced participation in Indian life. The literature of early American colonization is dotted with poignant and often gruesome tales of seizure, torture or adoption (sometimes both), and eventual escape or release. Such stories found a ready audience on both sides of the Atlantic, where they flourished, in one form or another, for three centuries.
  • These stories were immensely popular because-like any successful literature-they served readers a hearty fare of literary and psychological satisfaction, peculiar to their time and place.
  • In sum, the Rowlandsons’ publisher promised an intensely personal account of God’s testing and eventual salvation of a tormented soul, and a broad hint that her experience might foretell in microcosm the fate of all Puritans. Those were compelling attractions to the deeply pious people of seventeenth-century New England, who sought desperately to comprehend their preordained roles in God’s awesome universe.
  • Puritan authors wove the captivity narrative from several existing literary strands. One strand was spiritual autobiography. . . . The New England branch of the Puritan movement . . . encouraged spiritual autobiography as a vital expression of the search for personal salvation. ‘The spiritual autobiographer is primarily concerned with the question of grace: whether or not the individual has been accepted into divine life, an acceptance signified by psychological and moral changes which the autobiographer comes to discern in his past experience.’ But the search for salvation was fraught with torments, doubts, and relapse, in almost perfect parallel to the experiences reported in the captivity narratives. In spiritual autobiographies, God and Satan wrestled for the sinner’s soul; in captivity autobiographies, the captive, with God’s help, battled Satan’s agents. In both cases, of course, God eventually prevailed; the weary pilgrim survived the ordeal because his faith wavered but did not break, and because God’s mercy was stronger than His wrath.
  • ‘Redemption,’ a frequent term in captivity titles and texts, thus had a double meaning-spiritual as well as physical. Similarly, captivity stories combined individual catharsis and public admonition. Implicitly, at least, they exhorted the reader to find his or her own spiritual redemption.
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Quick starts, structure, and emergency fiction

Here are links to two PDFs. The first seems useful for developing large structures or cores (albeit traditional ones) around which long narratives can be built. The second gives simple, direct steps (scaleable steps, good for scenes or books) for building narratives.

The first is from Now Write!: Fiction Writing Exercises from Today’s Best Writers and Teachers. The second is from The Lie That Tells a Truth: A Guide to Writing Fiction.

Enjoy.

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The oral electric notebook

Many creative writers keep notebooks for recording ideas about future and current projects. I’ve found myself using voice mail in a similar way. When I have an idea at 2:00 a.m., rather than searching for my notebook, I try to climb out of bed without waking anyone, walk to the kitchen, and dial my office. I like not having to find a light, a pen, and the pages of the notebook, though I do have to find the phone.

In the morning I evaluate any thoughts recorded the night before and type them into the appropriate document in the appropriate file.

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New England Puritan beliefs and their influence

  • Mortality was a constant part of the Puritan’s lives; they felt death was always very close and this belief affected all the phases of each of their individual lives–not just belief but ideas of family, of career, of the worth of any human action or enterprise.
  • They believed in predestination or that God had chosen his elect before they were born. Election had no connection to the need obey God. Obedience was the result of gratitude or affection for God. Puritans were not bothered that few might be elected; they rejoiced that any were elected at all.
  • Puritans believe in original depravity or that they were sinners by birth.
  • They felt no worldly ritual or prayer will ensure salvation; no human action or gesture of faith obliges the Almighty to respond. The idea that human works were required for salvation undercut God’s omnipotence.
  • They felt religious authority came from the Bible and read it very literally. They saw the Bible as an authority and model for their own lives. Puritan writers use biblical metaphors to explain the Puritan condition.
  • Puritans viewed the Bible as God’s covenant with them; they saw themselves as a Chosen People and identified strongly with the tribes of Israel in the Book of Exodus. In reading both Testaments, they concluded that God, though sometimes arbitrary in His power, is neither malicious nor capricious.
  • Doers of evil suffer and are destroyed; true believers and doers of good may suffer as well, as worldly misfortune is both a test of faith and a signifier of God’s will.
  • Puritan covenant theology taught that although no human being can ever know for certain whether or not he or she is among the saved, the only hope for knowing lay in rigorous individual study of Scripture; relentless moral self-examination; and active, wholehearted membership in their congregations.

Bruce Michelson and Marjorie Pryse suggest the following continuing cultural effects of New England Puritan beliefs:

  • With no central religious authority, and an expectation that each member of the community should encounter Scripture and theological prose firsthand, New England Puritanism would be strongly influenced by a drive toward solidarity and consensus and by a championing of individual thought. These conflicting values would become clear in the collision between the Colony’s elders and Anne Hutchinson, less than ten years after the founding of Boston.
  • An emphasis on individual responsibility, on a direct and personal relationship with God, and on the acquisition of knowledge in anticipation (or hope) of the coming of Divine Grace could be a powerful force for the education of women, and eventually for their political and social equality.
  • A belief that salvation required, and would be signified by, achievement of absolute integrity among faith, worldly conduct, private life, and the spoken and written word would eventually figure centrally in the rise of abolitionist sentiment: race slavery becomes not an economic expediency or a social problem to be overlooked and eventually remedied but a mortal sin, threatening the moral condition of the society and every individual within it. The long-term effects of this kind of thinking are enormous. Nearly two centuries later, Uncle Tom’s Cabin was constructed around a similar proposition.
  • A belief in a special destiny and a conviction that what was unfolding in New England was the last and best hope of the Christian world. Cataclysmic changes in London in the middle of the seventeenth century and the erosion of solidarity in the colony after the Restoration and with the passage of years would bring those convictions into crisis at century’s end.
  • A special emphasis on reading correctly-not only holy texts but commentaries and the events of ordinary life. The New England Puritans were an intellectual people who believed firmly in portents, symbols, and the significance of all that happened in private and public life.
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Characterization: showing and setting

Two exercises about characterization from the sixth edition of Janet Burroway’s Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft:

Write down three adjectives (beautiful, aggressive, haughty) that describe a character in your story-in-progress. (Be sure the adjectives describe different qualities, not the same ones. For instance, handsome, well groomed, muscular are too similar as opposed to handsome, talkative, and mechanically inclined, which show different aspects of the character.)

  • Without using any of the adjectives (or synonyms), write a half-page scene or passage that shows the character engaged in action and perhaps speaking some dialogue that will suggest the selected qualities.
  • Exchange exercises and read them over. Based on this depiction of the character, guess which three qualities your partner wished to convey. Point out the specific lines that created these impressions.

 

Brainstorm details for your story-in-progress. Begin by putting yourself in the mind of your character and focusing on the setting. Take one to two minutes to make notes in response to each question.

  • What sounds can you hear in this place?
  • What is the most distant sound you can hear, the sound that you might not notice if you weren’t paying special attention?
  • What smells do you associate with the place?
  • What are you wearing? How does it feel against your skin?
  • What else can you touch? Not only with your fingertips, but with your whole body-the small of your back, for instance, or the soles of your feet.
  • What can you taste?
  • What colors do you associate with this place?
  • What do you see to the left, overhead, on the horizon?
  • What emotions does this place evoke in you?
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Writing in the Age of Distraction

I don’t know much about Cory Doctorow, but I like some of the writing advice he gives:

Don’t research. Researching isn’t writing and vice-versa. When you come to a factual matter that you could google in a matter of seconds, don’t. Don’t give in and look up the length of the Brooklyn Bridge, the population of Rhode Island, or the distance to the Sun. That way lies distraction — an endless click-trance that will turn your 20 minutes of composing into a half-day’s idyll through the web. Instead, do what journalists do: type “TK” where your fact should go, as in “The Brooklyn bridge, all TK feet of it, sailed into the air like a kite.” “TK” appears in very few English words (the one I get tripped up on is “Atkins”) so a quick search through your document for “TK” will tell you whether you have any fact-checking to do afterwards. And your editor and copyeditor will recognize it if you miss it and bring it to your attention.

When he talks about writing in twenty minute bursts, I assume he’s thinking of multiple bursts during the day, but here is a link to the original article so you can decide.

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