How To Write Magical Words: A Writer's Companion

by Unknown

  Third, you also have to decide the setting for that first scene—not just the where (inside a castle, out on a city street, in a space ship) but also the atmospherics: night or day, sunny or stormy, raucous or quiet.

  Finally, you need to make sure that the opening works with the stylistic choices you made in your planning stage. Are the voices we talked about last week still right for what you’re writing, and does your opening begin to establish them? Will you write in first person or third? Will the ambiance you create be light or dark or somewhere in between? Are you writing in the noir voice of an urban fantasy, or in a style more appropriate for high fantasy?

  I’m in the process of finishing the first chapter of the first Thieftaker book. My first sentence isn’t really strange or innovative, but it does put the reader right into the first action, which is what I was after. The first few pages offer insights into my lead character—his past, his strengths and weaknesses. They also tell us where we are and when, they set the mood for much of what follows, and they introduce the magic system. By the end of that first chapter, which is only about 2,500 words, my reader should be informed enough to understand where they are, and intrigued enough to start reading chapter two. And ultimately, that’s what the book’s opening should do.

  §§§

  A.J. Hartley

  As a "pantser," the first section is hard for me because I often don’t know where the story is going when I set out. What that means, of course, is that at some point (when I DO know where the story is going) I have to take all those questions you raise about opening pages and apply them. The result is often a massive edit—even a new start, or a heavy cut. My beginnings are usually too slow and saturated with back story, so I have to find ways to cut that stuff, start with a bang and then work in the essential parts of what I cut later. I find this very difficult.

  Stuart Jaffe

  While I do try to plan quite a bit before I write, I find the best approach for openings to be "jump right in." I don’t mean the opening must be a "jump right in" opening, I mean as the author, I have to just jump in, start writing, and see what develops. Like A.J., this approach means a hefty rewrite, but it does help figure out what works and what doesn’t for an opening. However, in my latest WIP I used your method of writing short stories first. As a result, I was on a more solid footing when I began the novel and have found less problems with the opening. So, thanks!

  David B. Coe

  A.J., I think that the deeper I go into this series of essays, the more idiosyncratic my advice is bound to be, and probably the same will be true of people’s responses to my posts. Writing is a highly individualized endeavor; everyone works his or her own way. The advice I set forth here is probably far less useful to a "pantser" than to someone who works from at least a rudimentary outline. Which is not to say that one way is right and the other way isn’t. But I suppose I’m thinking that I should cast things more in terms of "this is what I do" and less in terms of "this is what you should do." If that makes any sense . . . I also believe that, for me, beginning a book is the hardest part of the writing process. Even with an outline and all the planning I try to do, I still need to rework my opening chapters pretty extensively.

  You know, Stuart, that might be the best (and most succinct) advice we could offer here: just jump in. There comes a time when we have to stop thinking and rethinking, and planning, and outlining, etc., and just write. Yes, maybe it will lead to rewrites, but better that than not getting anything down on the page, right? And wow! You mean I offered advice and not only did someone take it, but it actually worked! I’m amazed. Someone should tell my kids . . . But not me; they wouldn’t believe it coming from me . . .

  Wave Formula

  Faith Hunter

  As writers, we often look for new devices to improve/change/grow our skills. Some writers refer to this is adding tools to our writing tool boxes. One of my favorite devices is the elegant Wave Formula.

  The wave formula was first described by Edith Wharton and quickly became a standard for writers in the mid- and late-twentieth century, though it has fallen out of favor more recently. While it has fallen from fashion, it still works as a good writing exercise, especially teaching you (forcing you to find ways) to show instead of tell. Wave Formula appears in three parts, to solve a writer’s common problem: how to introduce a character to the reader quickly and succinctly.

  The presentation in three parts:

  1. Feelings of the character

  2. Actions of the character, or gestures

  3. Dialogue of the character

  Ms. Wharton said this device was like a wave making its way to the shore.

  1. The motive or feelings is the power of the wind driving the wave.

  2. Action or gesture is like the wave as it suddenly appears, rising, rolling up the beach.

  3. The dialogue or speech is like the foam on the crest of the wave as it breaks and spills over.

  It’s a fluid, smooth, effective introduction of a character, and with little twists, it still works.

  Here are a few Waves I’ve done over the years to keep my skills sharp.

  Angrily, Josh tossed the picnic basket to the sand, scattering sandwiches and the lovely grapes he’d chosen with such care. "I didn’t ask you here to talk about Robert. I asked you to lunch to talk about us."

  Amused, Cheryl laughed, the sound oddly chilling. She stood from the sunny yellow picnic blanket and propped a hand on her hip. "Us? There is no us, Josh. Never has been. Never will be."

  • • •

  Confusion swept through him, followed quickly by embarrassed warmth which he knew showed on his fair features. Tommy wiped his damp palms down his dress slacks, the gesture wrinkling the fine fabric, unlike the denim he usually wore. "Good morning, Mrs. Robinson. Um. I really like that, um, outfit. Ma’am."

  • • •

  Pleased with the effect of the blood red polish on her nails, Emily held out all ten to admire them. "I do declare, there is something about red nail polish that is purely decadent, don’t you think?"

  Do you have to introduce a scene or character in this order and with this presentation? No. Of course not. As we’ve said many times before, there isn’t just one way to write. A writer can introduce a character, emotion, and dialogue any way he wishes. This is the Wave Formula, and it stimulates us to write with the active voice.

  Swing Thoughts + Writing Tips = Swing Tips

  Faith Hunter

  Swing thoughts are the few, important, special things a golfer keeps at the front of his brain before and during each shot. It might be, "Pick a target, let it happen." (That’s a real swing thought as said by a caddy with a lovely accent, caught by a mic, and sent out over the airwaves.) So what do swing thoughts have to do with writing? A lot, as a matter of fact, especially when they get twisted up with writing tips. For the purpose of this group of essays I’ll be blending the concept of swing thoughts with writing tips and I’ll call them swing tips, just because I like the way it sounds.

  These are more than just concepts and rules of writing. These are things (tips and goals) I keep close to the forefront of my mind when I write a scene, any scene, be it battle, fighting, sex, discord, discussion, fire, drowning, internal dialogue, whatever. I keep these swing tips close to my heart, like a golfer will keep his swing thoughts in mind with every swing. Why? Because I have goals for every single scene I write.

  I’m a commercial writer, not an artiste. I don’t expect people to agonize over my work, teach philosophy or ethics classes with my work, nor do I expect to win a Pulitzer. I’m a genre writer who wants to create heroes and stories well enough to make a living at my craft, well enough to have loyal readers who will pay for my work. I’d like that number to grow to bestsellerdom, that’s the goal, but I know my limits.

  Because I want people to pay their hard-earned money for my books, I want to give them the best bang for their buck that I can. That is my credo, oft said, though I can’t remember using it here, odd
ly enough. Bang for your buck. I want readers to say, "Holy hot dang!" when they finish my books. (Or something along that vein. Be creative. I’m open to suggestions.) Swing tips help me accomplish that.

  Writing, for me, is a commercial process, so as the market changes, my focus changes. For the next couple of essays, I’ll be enlarging on the swing tips and on the explanations, giving reasons why keeping them in mind works for me, and reasons why they might work for others. The list below represents my current swing tips. Explanations of the first few follow.

  SWING (WRITING) TIPS

  BIC. Hero? Intensity and POF. Kill Off a Character. No Duh. BS (not what you are thinking). Ruthless Words. Transitions. Five Senses. Immediacy. No Excuses. No Fear.

  1. BIC: The movie Finding Forrester has this great line: "Thinking? No thinking! Later is for thinking! Now is for writing!" More than anything else, a writer must write. I call it BIC—Butt in Chair (a phrase used at MW for years now). The same tip holds true for any creative endeavor. You’re a painter? POC—Paint on canvas. You’re a dancer? SSS—Stretch, stretch, stretch. You’re a singer? ETVC—Exercise Those Vocal Chords. You have to do what you aspire to. Dreams are worthless without the effort and time and practice. In Finding Forrester (see it!) the two main characters are writers (Sean Connery and Rob Brown. What’s not to love?) with Sean as the mentor, demanding a lot from the protégée, Rob. A LOT, especially of BIC. But his demands are effective and Rob’s work takes on a maturity and fullness that is unbelievable to his teachers. That movie came to me at a time when I was not happy with my writing career, despondent, dejected, and, well, not happy says it all. After I saw the film, and for the next couple of weeks, I could feel things stirring inside that were like the rebirth of hope in my writing. I’ve joked over the years about my muse being into S&M. But that ugly, hirsute, bald muse reminds me that it’s work, gritty, demanding work, not the pretty, poetic images of writing that must drive me. My muse has a whip, to remind me to, "Snap to it! Get to work!" He has boots to remind me that I have to walk the walk if I want to talk the talk, and spurs to spur me on when I want to quit. He wears a Speedo so I can see all his flaws, yet know that he (and I) can be creative. But it’s all for nothing if I don’t get my BIC.

  2. Hero? Have I Made One?: A.) For fiction writers, both literary and genre, our plot must challenge the characters’ weaknesses, which then evolve into strengths. B.)The plot must drive the weak character, then the character (changing and growing) must drive the plot. C.) Our main characters must make choices and decisions that drive the plot and their own emotional growth. Some combination of A, B, and C is what makes main characters become heroes worth remembering. Real heroes, the ones we remember long after the book or movie are forgotten, usually start off flawed, inexperienced, broken, or inadequate. When life/karma/disaster calls (or falls on) them, they rise to the occasion and develop into something far greater than they were as they solve the crisis/conflict. The flaws keep them real in the readers’ eyes, make the readers want to see if and how the characters succeed despite their own inadequacies. As I write, every scene has to meet the criteria of: Am I making a hero? Does this scene make my character have to work harder to succeed? Have I shown that my character has a lot to overcome in order to succeed? Am I making it nearly impossible for him to do what I want him to do? Is there anything else I can toss at him to hurt him? And, then: Is this scene making him change? Is this awful thing that has happened making him grow? If so, then I gave Bang for my Reader’s Buck.

  3. Intensity and Presumption of Failure: The idea (concept) that drives a story and every scene in it must carry intensity. It has to matter to the reader. And it has to matter, right now, at this moment in this scene. By using flawed characters, they already start out with the presumption of failure. That’s a line I like because I made it up. The presumption of failure. The writer and reader and the character himself have to presume he will fail, lose, even be destroyed. In a love story, it is nearly impossible for the hero and the heroine to fall in love, and then impossible for them to end up together. However, they still do. In a mystery, it is nearly impossible for the MC (main character) to solve the murder. In a thriller it is all but impossible for the MC to survive the antagonist’s assault. It’s my job to build that impossibility and presumption of failure, and therefore the intensity, so that the reader has a blast seeing how things work out. This has a lot to do with Immediacy which I’ll cover later, but creating intensity is separate and unique. If you haven’t read Intensity by Dean Koontz, then you have missed a writing lesson. It is spectacular in every way.

  Swing Tips: Part 2

  Faith Hunter

  I’ve been breaking down my own writing for so long that I’ve come up with names and tags for my swing tips.

  This essay covers:

  Kill Off A Character. No Duh. BS (not what you are thinking).

  1. Kill Off a Character: I’ve shared this one here before. It always gets a laugh, but I mean it utterly and seriously. It is a major swing tip for my AKA Gwen Hunter and is becoming pretty big for me in writing fantasy. Injury and/or death of someone close to us in real life is the most fearsome and awful and terrifying possibility. We hug our loved ones when we part, hoping and praying that we’ll see them again. We call in the middle of the night when we’ve had a bad dream to make sure it all was just a dream. But when a writer has done his job and created that believability factor, and when a character (especially an important secondary character and not a minor one) dies in the middle of a story, it then becomes a part of the reader’s reality. It changes the relationships between the remaining main characters. It ratchets up the intensity. So I often ask myself, "How long has it been since someone died?" If it’s been a while, then my main character (MC) is getting complacent and so is my reader; things are too easy. In any novel, Rule of Thumb is "Never make things easy on a main character."

  2. No Duh: Duh Moments are the result of trying to make the primary conflict easier on an MC. Making things easy is not my job as a writer. It might be part of a job description of a parent, a social worker, cop, whatever, but not of a writer. If I spot a Duh scene, moment, conversation, whatever, I rewrite and make it harder for the character to resolve the primary conflict at this time. Resolution is for the end of the book, not the middle. The middle of a book is for the conflict to get more difficult and dangerous and impossible. Some writer/teacher/book once said (and I’m paraphrasing, obviously) that a writer’s job is to bring the main character as close to ruin—barring death—as possible. It seems counterintuitive, but the best resolutions come when things are the most difficult for the character. No Duh.

  3. BS – Believable and Sympathetic: See. I told you it wasn’t what you thought. My character has to be both Believable and Sympathetic (BS), yet in today’s market also has to be different, unique, and well, just this side of weird in some cases. Think of Monk. In the mystery market, editors are looking for strange/ weird/odd main characters who can still be BS. The same can be said for MCs in the dark-urban and urban fantasy realms. Different, yet the reader has to care about him/her at all times. This caring part is easy to do if the character in question is a baby being held for ransom or a writer held against his will by a deranged woman. But what about the main character who is solving a crime or rescuing the princess? How do we make the character BS? I do it with a) Conflict and b) Traits.

  Conflict: Conflict in the character’s past, conflict so strong it affects how he does his job and lives his life during the story’s timeline and pertains to the current plotline. Life-conflict that makes it harder for him to solve the main plotline conflict.

  An example from one of my AKAs books, Shadow Valley: Mac’s ex-husband was physically abusive. Her daughter is kidnapped on a photography shoot in the mountains. Mac is beaten half to death and left buried under a cairn of stones. She fights her way free of the stones but not of the ropes binding her hands. She makes her way on foot down the mountain to get help and (despite her damaged ha
nds) joins the search and rescue. Her ex-husband, joins the scene and is part of the situation. Caleb (the main tracker) lost his son on a mountain, never found him and never recovered. In his obsessive search for the boy, Caleb lost his marriage and his job. The main characters’ past conflicts affect the current conflict—to save the daughter from the man who has her. This gives the reader sympathy for the characters and helps the reader believe the way the characters work and act during the book.

  Traits (we’ll look at Caleb):

  • Human and natural traits, AKA selfish traits. Caleb wanted to save his son, then later to find his son’s body. He couldn’t. He had no remorse for his suffering wife. It wasn’t right and good of him, but it was part of who he was at the time. He now has a cold and unfeeling side when it comes to the people who have lost the loved ones he is searching for. They don’t matter much. Only the objective matters: the lost person.

  • Typical traits. Caleb has excellent eyesight, tracking skills, wood/ survival skills—the stuff you expect from trackers.

  • Individual traits. He is unbearably lonely. Caleb is indefatigable. He never never never stops or gives up. He is good with horses. He pushes his searchers and himself to the brink of exhaustion.