On Communication, pt 2
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Virtually any story can be summed up in sequence – A happens, causing B, causing C, causing D… all the way down to the concluding letter, wherever you put it. What causes the reactions? The characters.
Though the Narrator is the cornerstone of the piece, the characters are what create the plot and, by extension, are the reason people want to read on. In many cases, the Narrator can be a character itself (Jennifer’s completed work “The Narrator,” for instance). The characters can make or break the story. When it comes to the cast, it can be easy to overwhelm your audience with person upon person, building a crowd that is impossible to remember in detail. On the other side of the coin, having no characters or just one can lead to a monotonous experience that is gladly forgotten. As a rule of thumb, I’d try to avoid making a cast of characters that could play a full game of soccer against one another (unless that’s the point of your story). But it is entirely possible to do more – Stephen King regularly has appendices for the characters in his books.
Just as with narration, focusing on a development of voice can create a plethora of opportunities for your story. But there is a necessary distinction to be made between the two: most narration comes from someone whom knows what has happened and what will have happened by the time the story is complete; most characterization comes from someone whom, unless special circumstances apply, know nothing about what will happen.
This is the conundrum I, and I’m sure many others, have faced with characters. How do we write up a character that comes off realistically?
From my experience, there is only one way to make it work – trial and error. Start by considering what you, the writer, know. Everything. You’re the only person that will know everything. So see what happens if you remove one detail from scene, then a different detail. Keep going, and eventually you’ll have put together a set of details that you can mix and match. These are potential starting points for your characters. Once this is done, or if you have a character firmly in mind, you can start adding personal information as needed to define the character. But how much should you flesh out?
Sure, it’s great to fully define a character so we know what we’re dealing with, but remember that there is a story going on. If the character doesn’t change or changes very little, the idea doesn’t really expand all that far. On the other side, it can depreciate the changes occurring in the play if a character is as mutable as the wind. It’s a function of the story, in the end – you can’t know for certain until you experiment.
Voice is a tricky element. Characters, like you and I, filter information through their own perspective; this is where a ear for conversation becomes the most important tool you possess. Each character doesn’t need to have a truly unique voice – people sound exactly the same in a subway car, right? – but it needs to set them apart enough that we can see the differences between them. A nine year-old girl and a Harvard professor do not speak the same. The next time you’re listening to someone, consider their vocabulary, idioms, expressions… You’ll notice patterns. Almost everyone has a natural cadence, and you can find your characters’ voice by looking to this. Again, for example:
“I do not know what you are talking about.”
“I don’t know what yer talkin’ abut!”
What sets characterization apart from third-person narration is the presence of a conditional vocabulary. In the first example, the difference between the two altered the qualification we attributed to each. Here, both expressions can be used because we, as people, use different modes of communication; the latter may be the main character at home, and the former the same character in a more formal work environment. Characters react differently in context, which affects characters within the story more than narrators without.
The point of this essay boils down to three points:
a. A story is an effort by the writer to communicate to an audience;
b. The story is an effort by the narrator to communicate to the audience; and
c. The story is the result of the characters communicating to the characters.
It’s all a matter of communication. Experiment, experiment, experiment, and you’ll hear the voice you’re looking for. But be careful:
“Character and thought are merely overshadowed by a diction that is overbrilliant.”
– Aristotle
On Communication
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Because I’m dumb and messed up, Mitch’s guest post wasn’t actually posted. So here it is this week in two parts. Enjoy!
By virtue of reading this blog, you are engaging in an act of communication. You may never respond to this post, or you may never respond to this author specifically. In some ways, the anonymity of the Internet ensures that unless you purposefully interact with the medium so as to express specific information you will never share a thing. But you are reading this, and it completes a chain of communication. I have sorted through my memory to recall information, have encoded this information through language into a structured set of coda, and utilized this particular medium to express this information as what you are now reading. You have completed a chain whether you reciprocate the act or not, and for that I thank you.
This is the basic skeleton for modern communication theories – most specifically, a form of David Berlo’s Sender-Message-Channel-Receiver Model of Communication. Remember, though, that as a skeleton, it is waiting to be fleshed out. What goes into the empty slots is entirely up to the discretion of the Sender.
Rather, the person who’s got something to say.
As a writer myself, I find it helpful to consider that every act, verbal and nonverbal, eloquent and blunt, written or spoken, constitutes a communicative act. Any and all interaction is an expression of ideas to which both parties contribute and expand. And unlike many other forms of communication, writing offers unparalleled control. Until the moment you share your work, you are in command of every last element of the piece. You don’t have to think of the font on the spot, and generally you don’t have to make yourself louder to have your word choice heard across a room. The piece has your indelible stamp on it.
But that independence requires that you take your work seriously. You’re at the helm of the entire operation, and thus it’s your responsibility to make everything fit together. Just like a carpenter has to brace his walls, you have to go the extra mile and consider as much as you can to ensure your finished product doesn’t fall in on itself.
It goes without saying that to accomplish this feat, you will have to contemplate the world your piece inhabits, measure plot, and check all the mechanical, nitty-gritty components that make the story a story. What I do want to emphasize is that in order to make the narrative’s house a home, so to speak, I have found that I have to really focus on communicating my pieces. Though I could go on for ages, here are two factors I’ve found have helped my focus – and can hopefully help yours:
This is the cornerstone of any work of fiction, and its importance cannot be overstated. This is the focus of the story, the person/people/entity through whom we receive information and pick up cues as to whether or not to sympathize with the main character. It can be anything – a passage in a book, a floating spirit, even the protagonist itself – but it determines what is told when, and why. No matter what, even if there is no “true” protagonist, there is someone or something that clues us in on a set of information (the story) we otherwise do not have access to.
More importantly, though, the story can only be as clearly defined as its source. If we are thrust into a lover’s spat, for instance, a third-person omniscient narrator can give us valuable cues and get us quickly up to speed on the background, allowing us to immerse ourselves in the argument and the tension of the environment. But if that same omniscient narrator doesn’t give us information, we are left puzzled – two people are shouting, and we don’t know why.
In the same example, we could have the first-person narration of a best friend – someone who isn’t omniscient, but provides us with a context and establishes emotional stakes so we know right away the importance of the event. But if that first-person narration comes from, say, a passerby overhearing shouts from the street, we are once again left to decipher the information without a sense of direction.
In both cases, it isn’t the lack of information itself that leads to disengagement. After all, almost all murder mysteries hinge on the withholding of details until the big reveal. What is missing is a distinct voice from the narrator. This voice, no matter the form, qualifies the narrator in such a way as to lead us to accept or deny what they say, depending upon your story’s needs. For instance, compare the two passages below:
“Firebeard the Pirate captured a Spanish galleon. He then sent the captain to the brig.”
“Firebeard, the Pirate King, rammed into the foreign vessel with a mighty crush… Seizing the quivering captain, he guffawed. “Toss ‘im in the brig!”
With the same core action present in both, the second passage is more defined. This is accomplished by applying sensory details (the onomatopoetic “crush,” the visual “quivering,” etc.) that could only be known if the narrator had actually seen the action unfold. Thus, we find the narration more reliable, and affix more meaning to it. This is vital to a work of fiction because fiction still requires a modicum of plausibility to keep readers interested. It strives to achieve not a reality that isn’t true, but one that could be true.
Note, though, that we are still unclear as to the narrator’s identity. Consider every paragraph, every sentence, and even every word as a tool to further define both the storyteller and the story.
to be continued on Wednesday…
5 Great Web Tools for Writers
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Hi there, it’s Lauren filling in today! Jenn said I could write a post here while she was on vacation. Time to hijack this blog (evil laugh)!
Not really, but I am going to touch on a subject that, while being my blog’s specialty, Jenn doesn’t write about very often. And that’s how the wonder that is the Internet is constantly making life easier for all people, including writers. There are some fantastic tools out there that can help you make that conceptual novel a reality with ease.
If you’re a purist, you can stop reading right now and wander back to your antique writing desk in your restored country farmhouse with your feather quill and parchment, but everyone else might want to check out the following free (!) tools:
1. Storybook. Do you need to have your plot laid out in front of you before you can start writing? Do you need a better way to keep chapters, characters, and scenes organized? Then this open-source software is for you. Finally, you can keep all your notes about your novel in one spot, minus the thumbtacks and glue. Once they develop a version for Mac, it’ll be perfect.
2. The Story Starter. We all know the hardest part of writing is the very first sentence. What if there were a tool to do that for you? Thanks to The Story Starter, there is! Each of the 345 million prompts are the first sentence of a story just waiting for you to finish it.
3. OmmWriter. Need a quiet place to write, complete with a Zen soundtrack and some peaceful scenery? With OmmWriter, you can have your own writing retreat in a snowy forest or flowery meadow, minus the frostbite, bugbites, and vacation expenses. The program takes up your entire computer window, surrounding you with inspiration and calm. Sure beats your noisy apartment!
4. urlist. Sometimes it can be hard to keep track of the research you are doing for your writing. If you are working on multiple projects at once, it can be hard to remember which web links are research for which story! urlist to the rescue – it lets you make multiple lists of bookmarks based on categories and topics you decide. Also a great tool for blogging.
5. Google Docs. Everyone’s heard of it, but have you considered its uses for writing? You can access your manuscript anywhere that there are computers. You can share it quickly with editors and friends. You can have it open in one browser tab while you research in another, instead of having to switch between the net and your word processor – leaving plenty more room to get distracted. One of my favorite books, Free by Chris Anderson, was written and edited entirely using Google docs. That’s innovation.
Want even more tools? Try 100 Useful Web Tools for Writers — that’s where I started!
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