CAC: Characters Avoiding Conversation

This is one of my bugbears when it comes to fiction (of any kind: TV show; movie; comic; book). I’m sure you’ve all come across what I’m referring to: knowing that if Character A just talked to Character B, they would sort out Major Issue X. But they don’t, because they’re CAC (characters avoiding conversation – pronounced ‘kack’).

For example, if only Gandalf had said, “Elrond! I know these big eagles that can fly us to Mordor; none of that walking crap is necessary.” But no, we had to have two and a half books more to go the long way.

For another example, how many times have you said to a character, “Why didn’t you say that four chapters/episodes/hours ago?”

 There are lots of ways to create challenges, control plot, and create suspense in a story. Surprise events, hidden motives, personality quirks, character history, conspiracy: these are just a few of the options available. All of them help to pick a story up by its skirts and run it along to the end.

Another way is to have characters not share information. Of all of the available options, this simple mechanism is one of the weakest and can be the most aggravating for a reader, partly because it’s so easy to do it badly. When the characters blunder around in ignorance because they won’t/can’t talk to each other, it is frustrating to watch.

There are two ways in which this occurs and annoys the reader:

• When the audience is aware of the information not being shared and there’s no good reason for that not to happen. They spend time waiting for the characters to share their pieces, and the longer the delay, the more frustrating it becomes. It’s nice when the characters catch up and everyone can move on with the story together.
• When the information is revealed to characters and the audience at the same time, and the immediate reaction is, “You couldn’t have said that earlier?!” Continuity can fall down here, which also damages the story.

Both of these can come off as contrived and manipulative. The author’s hand can be obvious (good fiction strives to make the writer as invisible as possible) and intelligent audiences will resent it. I know it annoys me intensely.

There are several reasons why characters might avoid conversations:

• Events conspire keep them apart, making it impossible to exchange information. This is possibly the most forgivable reason for CAC, depending on how contrived the events are and how often it happens. Once or twice might be good to raise tension; more than that, and the reader will start tapping their fingers, waiting for the writer to stop messing around and get on with it.
• The characters decide not to mention it. They speak but fail to share the information that would drive the story forward. It can be a valid part of characterisation: perhaps one character is trying to hurt the other, or is competing. This can work. 
  However, if not handled carefully, it’s often implausible: characters need a good reason not to mention the Major Issue in their lives. If it is in-character for someone to mention something, then they should.
• Everyone is asking the wrong questions. Sometimes this is good and right. However, it’s similar to the point above: there must be a damned good reason for it or it quickly becomes lame and fake, as if there’s a pink elephant farting in the middle of the room and everyone is ignoring it.
• They are interrupted before they can get to it. This is a specific application of events keeping characters apart, and not something to do more than once as it can easily slide into contrivance.

 Let me be clear: these can be valid tactics to use in a story. They can be used well and to good effect. But when they are used too often, it gives the impression that the writer is trying to string the story out. It’s a sign of not enough plot in a story and smacks of desperation. It’s often laziness and a lack of creativity on the writer’s part.

It can also be a sign of a lack of internal continuity. The example with Gandalf above could have been avoided by simply not having the eagles in Middle Earth (and making the Hobbits walk out of Mordor). It looks like the writer has made something up later in the story and forgotten that it might break the continuity or logic of earlier events.

As a rule of thumb, if you’re forcing delays into the story, you run the risk of making the plot and characters look contrived. The readers will most likely notice and be thrown out of the story.

Be smart about it. Be creative. Be plausible. Most of all, don’t make me want to bang your/your character’s heads together. No-one wants that.

Mythical timing

Or, don’t wait, write now

It’s so easy to find reasons not to write. I’m not talking about excuses: I’m talking about solid, unswerving reasons. The kids need to be picked up/put down. Dinner has to be cooked (and eaten). I have to do the day job. Need to clean the bathroom (because ew). Showering regularly is important (also for ew). Sleep is essential, because staying up all night makes me crazy crazy rocking loon.

They’re all valid parts of life. And in between all of those, where does writing fit? Where can it fit?

The truth is that it’s easy to never find the time. For most of us, writing is something we do in between all the other important stuff in our lives. But if you think that way, you’ll never write!

I used to think it was too hard. I thought, ‘I’ll never be able to do it, I’m too busy’. Then I did my first NaNoWriMo and wrote over 60,000 words in a month. A single month. NaNoWriMo is all about finding the time that usually escapes you and making it happen. It’s short-term and therefore (theoretically) easier.

It works. But you know what? So does making it happen in the longer term.

It is possible to make time. If writing is in your blood, if it itches at the front of your brain, if ideas crop up at the most inopportune moments, then write. Work a wedge in between doing the dishes and going to bed, or that quiet time when the kids are asleep. Use your lunch break. Hell, some people drop the day job altogether! For me, it’s my commute to and from work when I make the magic happen, wedged into a tiny train seat with a netbook.

Clear some space – in your day, in your house, in your brain – and devote it to writing. If you look hard enough, you’ll surprise yourself with what you can do. I know I did!

Don’t let yourself procrastinate. That’s a ride that never ends! If you’ve made some time to write, stick to it. The more you let yourself slide, the easier it is to just keep going and going and never stop long enough to put words to page.

Tell everyone what you’re doing. Let them know that you’re busy, that you’re unavailable, that whatever crisis is happening will have to wait. (Unless the crisis is really a crisis, but really, how often is that true?)

Give yourself deadlines. This doesn’t work for everyone, but it does wonders for me. It’s one of the reasons that web serials work so well for me.

There’s this illusion where peace reigns all around a writer, and there is nought but the tapping of keys or the scratch of a nib. That’s bollocks. Real writers living real lives squeeze it in between the sweaty guy who talks too loud and the kid with the thump-thump music beating out of his headphones. There is no magical time: we make it work because we love it.

No more excuses. No more reasons. The right time is now, so write now.

Foreshadowing in discovery writing

Or, I always meant to do that

I recently wrote a guest post about plotting web serials, and I quickly realised that there was a lot that I didn’t have space to squeeze in. One of those things was foreshadowing.

I’ve had many comments about things that I’ve foreshadowed in my stories, from readers who guess what’s going to happen in advance and those who only saw it coming in hindsight. They all love it.

What is it?

Let’s get this out of the way first. Foreshadowing is dropping hints about an upcoming plot element. The element could be an event, a character, a secret, a fact, an object. It could be anything that the reader isn’t told explicitly is coming, as well as something they are told about.

The hints can be anything from subtle to overt. It could be a throwaway phrase, a twist of a descriptive wording, a reference a character makes that could be read several different ways. It could be a poster lying on the ground, a news report in the background of a scene. It could be something that characters actively avoid talking about (gaps can be as useful as fillers!).

What’s it for?

Foreshadowing can be used to warn the readers that something big is coming. This can have a couple of effects. The most obvious is building tension (foreshadowing can often be about hinting at the unseen; think about thrillers and horror stories).

Another is preparing the reader for a major switch in plot, focus, or expectation. Surprising the reader can have wonderful effects: plot twists, sudden revelations, ‘I am your father’. These moments can make up the most memorable points of the story for the reader.

But moments that come out of the blue can also bewilder the reader and push them out of the story. You don’t want them to say ‘hold on, that doesn’t fit’.

Foreshadowing is a way of smoothing the edges of a big-bang surprise like that into the rest of the story, and making it less jarring for the reader; more ‘oh, wow’ and less ‘wait, what?’.

Does that mean you can’t have big secrets? Of course not. You don’t have to tell them everything in advance! Sometimes, hints and clues only make sense in retrospect. This is where using double meanings, subtleties of phrasing, and other easily-misinterpreted lines can work wonders.

Foreshadowing can also add another layer to your narrative (this is one of the ways that I enjoy using it). Crime and mystery writing might be a genre on its own, but in many ways, we’re all mystery writers. Or rather, a lot of readers are mystery readers. They love untangling mysteries, unpicking the hints and clues and trying to work out the puzzle of the story before them.

I like to accommodate those kinds of readers. I like dropping hints, planting subtle clues, so that those readers who are looking for them have something to play with. For those readers who don’t analyse the story too deeply, the narrative is pitched so that they get what they’re looking for too; picking up on the hints is purely optional and missing them doesn’t detract from the story.

But how do you do it in discovery writing?

In order to effectively foreshadow something, you have to have an idea of what it is in advance. When you are discovery writing (writing by the seat of your pants or ‘pantsing’, as some call it), you may not have this! And if you’re a web serial writer like me, writing and posting in a continuous, organic manner, you don’t have the luxury of going back and working them into the narrative retrospectively. There’s no editing and no retcons in web serials like mine!

So how is it possible? For starters, I usually have a good idea of where my plot is going at a high level. The details and the exact path to that destination are determined by my characters, and in many ways it develops as I go, but with that idea in mind, I can start dropping hints fairly early on. They’ll be general at first and become more refined as I build a clearer idea in my mind of exactly what I’m heading towards. And that’s fine: they are, after all, just hints.

That’s not the only way to do it, though. I’m going to let you in on a secret: you can use foreshadowing to make you look smarter and far more prepared than you are. This is because you can do it retrospectively without editing. (Yes, I’ve done this. Shh, don’t tell anyone.)

Think about all those elements that you can use as a foreshadowing element. A phrase, a word. A character quirk. An object out of place. A news story in the background. Something out of the focus of the scene, but put in for another reason – flavour, perhaps, or to illustrate setting or character. They could be completely unrelated to each other. They’re all over the place, and you can put them to use.

Sometimes it takes a little massaging of the idea you’re building up to. Alter a detail of it here, tweak the perspective slightly there, and suddenly, you’ve got something with hints already built into your narrative. Add in a few more clues (on purpose!) to smooth the edges if you need to, but sometimes even this isn’t necessary.

I do love when a plan comes together, whether you made it in advance or after the fact. Often, it surprises me how easy it is to do this retrospectively. Perhaps it’s my subconscious helping me shape the story before my conscious mind knows what’s coming! But it works, and sometimes, if you’re very lucky, you can tie together a number of elements into a neat, plot-tingling package and make it look as if you’d planned to do that all along.

Foreshadowing is fun. So go forth and enjoy it!

Featured Post: Plotting a Web Serial

Not-so-recently, I was asked to do a guest post by the lovely Khaalidah, a web serial and indie author. I was greatly flattered and pleased to agree! Recently, I managed to actually put fingers to keyboard and write something.

Thanks for your patience, Khaalidah, and for hosting my guest post. It was fun to write! I managed to get my thoughts about how to write a web serial by the seat of your pants down in text, which is one of those exercises I always find interesting and illuminating for myself. I hope others enjoy reading it!

Go check it out, everyone!

Garbage in, garbage out

Or, why writers shouldn’t read Twilight

Anyone familiar with software development or computer programming will be familiar with the ‘garbage in, garbage out’ principle (you get the same quality of material out that you feed in). Until the Digital Writer’s Conference, I hadn’t heard this term applied to writing before.

In Christy Dena’s address, she said that writers should keep this in mind too. The quality of writing  that you expose yourself to will affect the writing that you produce.

It’s not as simple as that, but the theory is sound. It’s a fact that the style and quality of what you read can affect how and what you write, from phrasing to mood to literary quirks. It’s not a bad thing in itself, but if you’re reading crap, then that’s likely to influence what you’re producing.

I believe that writers should always strive to improve their skills and craft, and should read as much as possible. Absorbing tips and tricks from high-quality writing is good and can lead to a honing of your style. Learning what is bad or wrong in writing is valuable too; that’s how we learn what not to do. But we should be careful that reading second-rate material doesn’t drag us down!

Definitely worth bearing in mind. Support good writing and let it support you. The next time you think about picking up a trashy novel, do what’s good for your writing: make it something worthwhile!

Writing, talking, absorbing

The writing events are coming thick and fast lately! And it’s only going to get worse (or better, depending on your perspective) for me as November gets bigger in the windscreen.

The weekend was packed full of writing events, rather like last month’s weekend of writing and awesomeness but with less birthday celebrations. Once again, the Creative Writing Group meeting coordinated with other events. This time, however, there were a lot more than two festivals competing for attention!

I managed to get to two of the festivals on offer. These were the Emerging Writers’ Festival – specifically, the Digital Writers’ Conference that was held as part of the EWF – and the Write Around Moreton Bay: Readers and Writers Festival. Big thanks to the lovely Elle, who gifted her Digital Writers’ Conference ticket to me.

Both days were jam-packed, fun, and informative. I had a great time, met interesting people, and caught up with some familiar faces. I also got to hang out with a good friend, so it was all good!

Today, I’ve got pages of notes that I have to write up into coherent blog posts, a Starwalker post to finish (as I was sick last week and didn’t manage to get it up), and some formatting of ebooks to do. Looks like taking the day off work to rest hasn’t led to a lot of resting! But I’m feeling well enough to get started, so might as well get to it. Onwards!

Digital revolution

There has been a lot of attention lately on the digital revolution of textual content, and this was the subject of a talk at this year’s Brisbane Writer’s Festival. As someone who is getting increasingly involved in e-publishing of various stripes, I was interested in what professionals in the writing industry had to say on the subject.

Overall, I would say that the talk was a big disappointment. There was a lot of doom-and-gloom, nay-saying, and general bleakness with regard to the future of writing as a business as text is increasingly delivered digitally. I walked out feeling incredibly negative about the whole thing, which is not the best message to leave an audience with.

I don’t disagree with most of what was said by the speakers, but I don’t believe that the talk was representative of the ‘digital revolution’* or digital writing markets.

Most of the problem with the talk was the selection of the speakers. They were involved in literary publications, publishing, and journalism. In other words, they were involved in the areas of the business most likely to be hit hard by a move towards digital media. There was no representation of fiction writers or indie publishers, or anyone else who might offer a different perspective on this ‘revolution’*.

So, given that the talk was slanted in a particular direction, what did they have to say about the current climate for writers and publishers?

Publishers

The increase of the digital market is hurting publishers – namely, the big ones. According to one statistic given in the talk, traditional publishers are finding that their paper book (cutely known as ‘p-book’, I’m told) sales are going down faster than their ebook sales are going up. This is, naturally, a cause for concern.

Interestingly, however, traditional publishers’ profits are still going up. They are not losing money due to the digital markets or their overall sales going down. And yet the atmosphere among the publishers is one of doom and panic.

This suggests a couple of things to me:

• Traditional publishers do not know how to optimise the digital market yet, and don’t have the appropriate business models in place. Basically, they need to catch up with the times and figure out how to make it work.
• If their profits are going up while their sale volumes are going down, that means that they’re taking a bigger chunk out of the digital sales than they are out of the paper sales. This means that the cost savings of digital over paper books are not being passed on to the authors, and the authors are probably getting crappy royalties. (That’s what it looks like – I’d love to be wrong about this!)

The move from physical to digital media does mean a big change for traditional publishers, and I don’t know how agile they are being in this transition. From the things I’m hearing, their agility is elephantine!

Newspapers and Journalism

Newspapers are moving into the digital world and away from paper publications. The cost of printing newspapers is increasingly being seen as prohibitive, and it is believed that once the baby-boomers die off, the culture of reading newspapers in paper form will go with them.

It’s hard to know if these two things are true. I suspect that the second point is probably right: generations X and Y don’t have the same newspaper-reading habits that the older generations have. The culture is simply not the same, and moving away from it towards instant digital gratification.

The first point is, I believe, a misnomer. There are plenty of papers around who publish at a loss, compared to the money they receive from sales of the paper, and there are many free papers on offer. This is not a new phenomonon. So how do they survive? Pure sales revenue is not how they make their money; advertising revenue is where their profit lives. Like Facebook, they can afford to give their product away for free because their real customers are the advertisers.

The same is true for online content: there are lots of ways to monetise content without charging the reader for it. Newspapers are moving towards this model. However, in the process, there seems to be other changes happening.

A problem that was mentioned several times through the talk is the perceived cheapness of digital content. This perception is across the board; it’s not just readers, but vendors and publishers as well. No-one wants to pay much for it, because it is seen as quick and easy to deliver, and often of a lower quality than paper-published content. (Note: this is a common perception, not my opinion.)

This means that ‘serious journalism’ is at risk. Where (traditional) newspapers have journalists on staff and are willing to pay them for several weeks or even months’ worth of investigation for a particular piece, the belief is that digital newspapers won’t support this. They will pay for the content by the word (or similar length-based currency), not for the time it took to create it. Serious in-depth journalism will be too expensive to support, which means it will become impossible to make a living this way.

That is, without public help. In the talk, analogies were drawn between the digital revolution and the introduction of radio and television. In order to maintain material of quality and ‘cultural value’ in an increasingly commercial landscape, public (government) support was required. Hence, the BBC was born (or ABC, depending on where you are). It was suggested that the same will need to be done for journalism. (Doesn’t the BBC already have a serious news site? Isn’t this already catered-for to a degree? Questions I wish there had been time to ask!)

Whether there is government-funded papers or not, the business of journalism is changing. Digital content writers are already out there making money from this, and they will tell you how much the market is changing every day. One of the speakers at the talk mentioned that making a living from writing (meaning: journalism or non-fiction articles) will become impossible. Serious journalism will move into the hobbyist’s realm, and they’ll all have to get day jobs to put food on the table.

This sounds familiar. That’s because it’s the lot of 90% of fiction writers – only the very biggest sellers can afford to live off what they make from their books alone. It makes me sad to think that other types of writing might be sliding into the ‘hobby’ zone when I’d like to see the opposite become reality.

Literary Magazines

Literary publications in the digital realm have problems with the same cause as journalists: digital content and publication is seen to be cheap and easy, and so no-one is willing to put the same kind of money into it as they are for a paper publication. For literary magazines, which rely largely on donations and grants, this means that funding can be cut if they move online; apparently, they don’t ‘need’ as much money as they did pre-digital! Some publications have already lost funding in this way.

I guess this means that publishers of literary content are being forced to find other revenue streams to support their work. Is this good for the industry? It’s hard to say. It opens up a few questions:

• Is there enough money to pay for quality editing?
• Will literary fiction suffer by being commercialised?
• Will literary publications be forced to close?

The opinions at the talk seemed to be centred on the need for public (that is, government) support for the arts to ensure that quality, culturally-important material is still produced and published for the world to see.

Libraries

This is an interesting subject. Libraries are being forced to change by the move towards digital media, and it will be interesting to see exactly what that means in the long run.

Will the perception of ‘digital=cheap’ hurt them too? Will it lead to a reduction in funding for libraries? I hope not, as in this case, it could be particularly counter-intuitive. For libraries to keep stocks of digital media, they will need servers, archives, back-up systems, IT maintenance, and the power to keep it all running.  Or might libraries become more centralised and ‘virtual’? Is that a good or bad thing?

Quality

One of the concerns that was raised in the talk was about the quality of digital content. The truth is that it is cheap and easy to publish online, especially if you forego professional aspects of writing. Namely: editing, formatting, and design.

In paper publications, editors and publishers are the gatekeepers of quality (and from many of the books I’ve read, they’re not that good at ensuring error-free text, either: I’ve been tempted to take to more than one book with a red pen and send it back to the publisher). In digital publications, there do not have to be any gatekeepers at all; that is both the appeal and drawback of the digital realm. So how is quality ensured?

Honestly, I don’t know the answer to that. I think that writers should take pride in their work and go to the effort to make sure that it is correct and professional, especially if they are charging money for it. I go to pains to edit and proof the work I offer for free, because quality matters to me. I’m also aware that not everyone cares about it as much as I do.

 

It’s a lot to think about, and going over it again leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don’t believe that the ‘digital revolution’ is as drastic or doom-laden as some would like to believe. Things are changing and the publishing industry as a whole needs to move with it. Old roles will change, and new ones will open up.

I believe that writers have a lot of opportunities in front of them right now. It’s not easy to find your way through the morass of information and speculation being thrown around, but I don’t think it’s as dire or as shiny as the various parties would like us to believe. There will always be writing; let’s embrace the new ways of delivering it to people and keep pushing forward.

* I put these words in quotes because, while they’re being bandied about at the moment, they always sound melodramatic to me. I haven’t seen anyone launching at paper with digital pitchforks yet. Perhaps that’s next month!

On literary and popular fiction

I recently attended a talk on writing literary vs popular fiction at the Brisbane Writer’s Festival. When I signed up, I was hoping for answers to a number of questions, like:

• What is considered literary fiction?
• What is excluded?
• What is literary fiction for?
• Why is popular fiction classed as low-brow entertainment?
• How has literary fiction changed with the times?
• How does popular fiction become literary fiction?
• Who decides?
• Can fiction be both?

Sadly, the discussion was not what I had hoped. I don’t think they touched on any of the questions above, apart from a brief flirt with how literary fiction can move with the times (which told us little except that it cando it).

I had a far more interesting, pointed discussion about literary and popular fiction with my two well-read writing-inclined friends afterwards than I heard inside the auditorium.

Part of the problem was that the chair of the panel gave long, rambling monologues that had a question buried among his many, many phrases, and no-one had thought to bring a shovel. The panelists didn’t quite know what they were supposed to be answering, so tended to speak on their best guess about what they were there for.

Another problem was that the one popular author on the panel had come from a background of creating popular television, and the talk skewed towards her screen stories rather than her novels. It wasn’t a good examination of popular fiction today, because they didn’t spend much time actually discussing popular fiction writing. Comparing literary fiction to TV shows is like comparing an egg to a piece of cheese.

They didn’t once mention the place of different genres of fiction, or the struggle to get non-mainstream (or any fiction not classed by a bookstore as ‘literary’) viewed as quality or well-crafted writing. It is rare for a science fiction book to win a literary prize, for example (and until relatively recently, it was unheard-of). But nope, that didn’t rate a mention. Not even a little rant about trash like Twilight becoming so popular.

I’m disappointed by the talk because I don’t read much literary fiction any more and don’t tend to follow the big literary prizes. They’re not relevant to my life or my writing at this point; I don’t consider myself a reader or writer of literary fiction. However, I am interested in the distinctions that are imposed upon literature in the modern climate. Sadly, I have enough trouble squeezing in the things that I want to do right now!

I have a degree in English Literature and can decode literary fiction if I choose to, but it’s simply not the kind of reading that I enjoy; I prefer to read for entertainment rather than intellectual gymnastics. I like intelligent writing, but not the forced way that literary fiction often comes out. I prefer story over stylistic flourishes (though I enjoy literary techniques that enhance the story).

Plus, a lot of that stuff is aspirations to high-falutin ideals dressed in pretentious clothing, containing little of value except a reason for educated people to sound educated at each other. It doesn’t help that all the writers I know who aim to create literary fiction are pretentious, snobby twits who look down their nose at every other kind of writing. (Maybe it’s just the writers I know that are like this!)

To be fair, I don’t think that literary fiction is a waste of time. It has its place; the nature and purpose of that place is what I’m curious about, as well as how big it is (or could be). For me, it’s like the statue of David: important as a piece of art with the potential to be beautiful and instructive, but I wouldn’t want the sucker standing in my living room.

As a writer, I do take a certain pleasure in crafting words onto a page using literary devices. There is something beautiful about weaving text in that kind of way, the subtle layering of subtext and meanings.

However, it doesn’t always fit with what I’m trying to achieve; it might not suit the voice I’m using or the kind of piece I’m creating. First and foremost, I write for character and story (usually in that order). If I can work in devices, craft clever bits of phrasing or imagery, then I’m happy, but it’s usually subtle and not the point of what I’m trying to convey. I use them to support the story, not the other way around, whereas in literary fiction, the opposite is the norm.

After the talk, I made a joke about starting up a review site for literary fiction, done from the perspective of someone who isn’t enamoured of the form. It’s very tempting! If I had the time and the will to do it, I would. Of course, that would mean reading at least some literary fiction, which sounds more like a job than fun to me. But if I had the time, I’d still do it.

Literary fiction remains an enigma on the periphery of my vision, a voice that expounds away to itself in a posh accent and has little relevance to my life. I am curious, and disappointed that the talk did nothing to illuminate the closed halls of literary fiction. I am left with my assumptions and knowledge from a years-ago degree, and can only consign literature to a corner of my world that I don’t look at very often.

One of the panelists quoted an author (in another talk), who was asked, “What would you prefer: a literary prize or high books sales?” Her answer was, “High book sales, because that means reaching more readers.” (This was the highlight of the talk.) It got a laugh from the audience, but I wonder if that’s because she’s right as well as mercenary.

I can’t remember her name now, but I completely agree with her. I’d rather be read than acclaimed. I write to touch people’s lives, share something with them and hopefully entertain them in the process. That’s part of why I (currently) give my work away for free.

I hope to craft my work well but I don’t need an academic (or a highly-educated critic) to tell me that I can write. It would be nice, I admit, but I’m already fairly confident that I have some skill. I’m constantly learning and seeking out new avenues to gain new insights.

I prefer to create more accessible art. I don’t want to produce some untouchable, coded thing that has to be unpicked like a puzzle box. And I write science fiction, because that’s where my heart lies and I don’t care about literary acclaim.

One day I hope to master both, as I suspect that many writers strive for, because it’s good for us to aim for the stars. I don’t know if it’s possible to get there, but maybe we’ll catch an updraft and fly a little way.

Writing about dangerous ideas

One of the talks that I attended at this year’s Brisbane Writer’s Festival was on ‘dangerous ideas’. It brought up some interesting points, and is a topic that I find fascinating. It’s like a shiny, smooth rock that you turn over in your hands and get the urge to launch through someone’s window.

The first question that comes up is: what is a dangerous idea? What kinds of things are dangerous to write about?

Let’s put aside for the moment the effect of location and what that means for a writer’s ‘safety’. There are many parts of the world where the wrong (right!) type of writing will land you in prison, or worse. The BWF always remembers these writers with an empty chair on the stage at each event, representing all those writers who can’t join us because their writing has caused them to be unavailable. I love this tradition in the festival and applaud their desire to keep these suppressed writers in our minds. However, it’s not quite what this post is about, so I’m going to leave it there.

In the Western world, what is considered dangerous to write about? What raises people’s ire, shakes fingers, or is simply viewed as risque? Should we write about these things? Should we restrain ourselves? All interesting questions, and none of the answers are simple.

The danger of silence

One of the most striking comments from the talk was made by Rachel DeWoskin. (This is badly paraphrased from memory, but this is the gist of what she said.) She said that when it comes to taboo topics – like underage sex, or abuse, or teenage desire, or cannibalism – the most dangerous idea was to not talk about it. The notion of shutting these things away and never looking at them is a terrible one for her, and I agree. Talking about dangerous things is less dangerous than not talking about them.

This reminds me of a conversation I once had with a Jehovah’s Witness on my doorstep. The woman opened the conversation by saying how sad it was that things were so terrible for children these days. How we couldn’t let them play outside on their own, how we had to protect them from the many dangers that surround them now. Wasn’t it awful how things had declined over the years and that things were getting so much worse?

I thought about it for a moment, then I said: No. She looked a bit shocked, so I explained.

It is terrible that there are dangers out there for children and the world is a frightening place. But I don’t think it is getting worse. The difference between the past and the present is that we are talking about it more now. We know about all those many things that might hurt a child, such as abuse, paedophilia, or bullying. It’s not new; we are simply starting to understand the size of a problem that was always there.

Yes, it looks awful, but better to look at it than pretend it isn’t happening. Better to be aware and protect our children. Better to be able to fight it. Awareness is the first step in being able to stop it, not a symptom of a decline into an abyss.

(The woman went away after that. This is something of a pattern with me and people who strike up conversations on my doorstep.)

Part of the purpose of any type of art is to reveal the truth. To examine, to provoke, to ask questions. To make people think about something, even if it’s an uncomfortable topic. Pretending that teenagers don’t have a sex drive might make some people more comfortable, but how does that help a teenager learn how to deal with it, or how to protect themselves from the issues that it brings? How does that help us improve anything?

Sensitivity

So, bringing these issues out into the open is a good thing. That said, when you talk about taboo subjects, how do you avoid sliding into voyeurism, cheap sensationalism, or pornography?

The panel agreed that this was largely a matter of taste (the panel being: Rachel, Tim Richards and Cory Taylor). For some, the mere mention of a subject is pornographic, while the bar is much higher for other readers. As writers (or artists of any type), you cannot guarantee that you’re not going to offend someone.

That’s not to say that you shouldn’t try to avoid offense. Treating the subject matter with respect, sensitivity, and empathy is the best perspective to start from.

Do your research in the area you’re discussing, and talk to the people that you’re writing about. Rachel’s book Big Girl Small is about a girl with a form of Dwarfism, and she consulted hundreds of Little People (I believe that is the correct term) to make sure she got it right. Cory made a short film about a Down Syndrome teenager and spoke with many families with Down Syndrome members about their experiences; afterwards, they thanked her for getting it right.

I think these are good rules of thumb, no matter what subject you’re writing about (taboo or otherwise). Coming from a place of empathy is especially important when you’re dealing with a sensitive topic, though. Again, awareness is key.

Morality

Sadly, the talk didn’t get into the moral side of the issues for writers. This is a part of this topic that I find interesting. While the panel agreed that art should bring taboo topics out into the open, should ask questions, I believe that writing does more than that and cannot avoid morality entirely. The way that taboos are presented makes a difference, and that’s where the moral issue comes into play.

If you have ever had to write a questionnaire, you will know that there are many ways to phrase the same question. The wording that you choose influences the answers you’re likely to get. Someone skilled in this can present a survey and get exactly the results that they’re looking for. As writers, we should be aware of this, especially when handling a sensitive topic. Wording, presentation, and perception matter.

So is there a moral imperitive for writers? Should they only present things in an ethical manner?

I find those questions hard to answer. My instinct is to say: no. Writers do not have to be driven by high moral rules in order to write about taboo subjects. We do not have to present every murderer as a blackhearted demon or a mentally unstable drooler, or every rapist as a violent underachiever.

But writers should be aware that their presentation will colour how a reader views that subject. Is presenting a sympathetic paedophile the ‘right’ thing to do? Is, perhaps, the horror that such a thing presents to a reader the point of such a presentation? Is it possible for a piece of art to excuse it?

What about murder? Look at the Dexter series (books or TV) and how a serial killer becomes the hero, even while he’s exercising his serial killing desires. Look at (the dreaded) Twilight and how it presents a violent stalker and a passive, weak girl, as if they are an ideal for others to live up to.

I find some of these presentations insidious and repulsive. To me, they present a talking-point as something to object to – and this, too, can be the point of an artistic presentation. Prompting talk (sometimes of any kind, even negative) can be a worthy purpose. Sadly, with the more popular examples, too few look at the details and take the surface on faith. Too few question it. The writing slides under their skin and they don’t look any further.

Morality is like taste; it varies between readers and you’ll never satisfy everyone. So should you seek to satisfy anyone?

Like I said, I find these questions hard to answer. Personally, I try to stay true to my own morals and go from there. I suppose that that’s all you can ask of an artist. That, and be conscious of what you’re presenting and how it might be read. That is something that I suspect gets lost much of the time.

Awareness. Sensitivity. Empathy. With these three things, I don’t think that you can go wrong when dealing with controversial topics. But keep dealing with them, because we are the world’s window to the truth, whatever flavour we choose to suck on.

How a Web Serial Helped me Write

This is a guest post that I did for the lovely Sharon T. Rose, over at Lilyfields, cross-posted here for your enjoyment. Many thanks to Sharon for letting me play in her sandbox!

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I have always struggled to find time to write. I know I’m not the only person who battles with this; full-time writers are a rare breed! I’m always studying or working full-time, juggling commitments and chores at home, and have some desire for a social life around the edges. Squeezing something like writing into a busy schedule isn’t easy; too often, it loses out to ‘more important’ things and gets sidelined.

Without a schedule for my writing time, I used to binge-write: splurge on one story while the iron was hot, get as far as a particularly tricky part, get distracted or waylaid, find I’ve lost momentum on the story, and move on to one of the many shiny new ideas that cropped up in the meantime. Rinse, repeat. I’ve started lots of stories and many of them continue to be tantalising beginnings, full of possibilities and tied shoelaces. But I’ve finished only two novels.

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo, or NaNo to its friends)  went a long way towards helping me gain the time and focus to really get my head down and write. It’s all about making time and getting it done, and it’s a wonderful excuse to put all distractions aside for a month and just write. It was exactly what I needed.

The first time I did NaNo, I aimed for the target (50,000 words) and stopped there, with much relief and self-congratulations. In my second NaNo, I aimed for the end of the story, and that became completed novel number two. Huzzah! I had found something that worked for me.

But NaNo only happens once a year, and as my fellow Wrimos will attest, it’s somewhat exhausting. As fun as it is to write a novel in a month, I wanted something more sustainable, even if it took slightly longer to reach the end of the story. I wanted to maintain the discipline and momentum of NaNo without burning out. So how to apply that to everyday life?

NaNo encourages its Wrimos to put pen to paper every day, and I had discovered that my hour-long commute was an ideal time to write for me, shoehorned in between work and home. In the feverish post-NaNo celebrations, I started to toss around ideas for how keep that up, and the best one I came up with was to start a web serial. Specifically: a fictional blog in which the main character wrote a post every day, to make me write a post every day.

It was nuts. I had no idea if I could do it or not, but enthusiasm and determination distracted me with web hosting, domain registration, website setup, and advertising, and then shoved me over the cliff while I was still giddy. All of a sudden, I was sprinting down the cliff-face, strewing posts around me with feverish abandon and generally trying not to fall on my head. Thus, the Apocalypse Blog was born.

I set myself a goal and a schedule: a year-long story, posted (and edited) every day. With no time to lose, I barrelled right over obstacles (though my poor characters often had to go around the long way) and kept piling through my list of plot ideas. Hip-deep in the story, I wrote off-the-cuff about characters I was living right alongside. Stepping back and taking stock was for after it was finished!

It was the best fun. I knew it wasn’t perfect, but a big part of letting go to something like this is saying to yourself “that’s okay”. Just go with it and enjoy the ride. Put it out there and see what happens. Sometimes when I think about it, I still get a little giddy.

When the Apocalypse Blog kicked off, I had a week’s worth of buffer: I was always a week ahead in the posts I was writing, which gave me some flexibility. That lasted for the first four months, until I fell sick with pneumonia (don’t try this at home, folks). My lovely buffer was coughed away, and I wound up writing, editing and posting in the same day.

Sounds insane? It was. And yet, it worked, for the remaining eight months of the Apocalypse Blog’s life. I didn’t miss a day.

I often wonder why it worked so well for me. Part of it was being so involved in the story; after a while, it was hard not to write it. I wanted to know what happened next!

A big part of it was the extra pressure to deliver: I had committed to a post every day, so that’s what I did.

On top of that, I don’t like the idea of putting a half-finished piece of work out into the world; the failure would have been very public and disappointed all those who had joined me on the journey. I hate to break promises and knowing that I had readers waiting for the next post, the next revelation, the next arc of the plot, pushed me on. I had to get to the finish.

Best of all, I got feedback. Readers cared enough to send me emails and I wasn’t writing into a void any more. My writing mattered to more than just me, and there’s nothing more wonderful than knowing people want to read your work! I got reviews and ratings on various sites. I also discovered supportive communities of web fiction writers, always willing to give help and advice. All of that encouraged me to keep going, to keep up the pace, and to my surprise, I found I could.

Now, I have a completed story number three. It wound up as long as three traditional novels (over 340,000 words!) written over the course of a year, and I’m absurdly proud of it.

I couldn’t just let that be the end of it, though. A month after the Apocalypse Blog finished, I started a new project: Starwalker, another web serial and fictional blog. I’m posting weekly rather than every day (I couldn’t keep that up forever!), I still don’t have a buffer, and I’m still loving it.

Having that fixed schedule pushes me and makes me push myself. I make room for my writing because I have a commitment to deliver on; it’s no longer ‘just for me’ and losing out to other parts of my life. I’m not only writing more now than I ever have in the past, I’m also pleased with what I’m creating and having a great time doing it. In the process, I’ve discovered a new format that works for me.

Web serials are not for everyone. I know that the kind of pressure it offers isn’t to everyone’s liking – especially the bufferless seat-of-the-pants pressure that apparently works for me. Other writers I know prefer to have months of buffer built up, so that deadline is there but less stressful. Others like to have the whole thing finished first. It’s really up to you and what you want to get out of it.

There are lots of great reasons to start a web serial (and I have many more than I’ve shared here!); this is just one to consider. Have a problem with writing? Try something different and see what works for you. Don’t be afraid to experiment, and don’t be reluctant to push yourself.

If you go for it, who knows what you’ll be able to do?