Nonhuman characters provide you with an opportunity to comment on human existence or point out the silly, foolish, and outrageous. As outsiders, nonhumans take nothing for granted and look at humans from a different point of view. This allows them to see our foibles, and since they're outsiders, they can mention these flaws out of scorn, naïveté, or curiosity. I already used the example of the elf attending a birthday party and finding it confusing. To take it a little further, he might ask the family questions about what's going on:
“Why did you set the pastry on fire?” Ranadar asked. “Only a moment ago you told me you teach your children that fire is dangerous.”
“We're not setting it on fire,” Melissa explained. “The candles are symbolic — one for each year of Hailey's life.”
“And she gets a wish when she blows it out?”
“Exactly.”
Ranadar shook his head. “I don't understand. Magic doesn't work in this world, and I heard you tell Hailey there's no such thing as elves or witches or ghosts.”
“Well, that's true,” Melissa hedged. “But —”
“So you lied to her when you said her wish would come true?”
A flush crept across Melissa's face. “Now look —”
“Mommy,” Hailey asked. “Can I blow out the candles now?”
Cultural clashes between humans and nonhumans actually serve to highlight humanity and make the nonhuman characters more fun to read about.
Nonhumans might find human ways disgusting (to be avoided), intriguing (to be watched), or even seductive (to be joined in on). They might want to keep their ways and customs separate from human pollution, or they might be sucked in against their will. The humans change the nonhumans, the nonhumans change the humans, and the transformation makes for a fun story.
The interaction and absorption of human and nonhuman ways is another facet of the supernatural Terry Pratchett explores extensively in several of his books. His dwarves, for example, are quite literal-minded. As a result, the language of humans, “with its unthinking reliance on metaphor and simile, is a veritable minefi — a complete morass — a fog of incomprehensi — very difficult” for dwarves. (This is from Pratchett's The Discworld Companion, with Stephen Briggs.) Additionally, dwarves don't get along well with outsiders — except for the ones who move to Ankh-Morpork, a supernatural combination of Victorian London and modernday New York City. There, dwarves become model citizens, once a few incidents of hacking-at-the-knees with trolls are smoothed over. Ankh-Morpork dwarves still find humans confusing and difficult, but they also find their modern way of life quite seductive. Some of the more daring female dwarves start wearing makeup under their beards, stirring up quite the scandal back home under the mountain and raising questions about equal rights for everyone, regardless of what they wear under their chainmail. Ultimately, all of it is commentary on human behavior.
THE IMPORTANCE OF EMOTION
Not even the stoniest Creature of the Night can operate without emotion. Or maybe they do — who knows for sure? If they do, I don't want to know about it. Your fictional creatures, however, need to emote because the human readers do. It forges a connection between your character and your reader.
Despite this fact, one of the most common comments I write on student manuscripts is, “How does the character feel about this?” or “What is her reaction?” It's easy to narrate events, much harder to show internal reactions. But as a writer, you need to show us these reactions. Knowing how the characters feel draws the readers into the story.
So how do you do it? Here's a primer. (Incidentally, I'm going to use several basic grammatical terms in the following section, ones all writers should be familiar with. If you come across a term you don't know, definitely pause to look it up in a grammar book or online.)
STATE EMOTIONS DIRECTLY
You can tell the reader exactly what the character is feeling:
Nick felt nervous. Jessica was so proud.
Although it's concise and direct, this actually is the weakest way. For one thing, you're telling the reader what the character is feeling instead of showing it, and it's almost always better to show the readers something rather than tell them about it. Second, this method uses linking verbs, which make for dull sentences — the character is existing, not acting. Use this method sparingly, if at all.
HINT AND CONFIRM: ACTION, ADJECTIVES, AND ADVERBS
Action makes for more compelling reading than mere existence. Combining it with a few emotional adjectives or adverbs lets us in on the character's emotional state. You can use an action to hint about a character's emotional state, and use a descriptive (an adjective or adverb) to confirm it.
A nervous sweat broke out on Nick's face.
Jessica proudly tossed her head.
In these examples, note how the action hints and the descriptives confirm.
Sweat breaks out — a hint that Nick is nervous — and it's a nervous sweat, which confirms. Jessica tosses her head — a hint that she's proud — and she does so proudly, which confirms.
This is another method not to overuse, however. Adverbs that end in -ly get fingered as repetitive quite a lot, and if your adjectives outnumber everything else in your sentence, you're heading into what's called purple prose. Passages like Harold crept through the dank, twisted passages, wondering how he'd ever overcome the deep, turgid terror of his frightened soul as his heart pounded hard and timidly within the dark cavity of his chest overwhelm and annoy the reader. Use balance and moderation.
SNEAK IT IN WITH FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE
Figurative language includes simile, metaphor, hyperbole, and personification. Using any of these to set up emotion gets you bonus points (if you do it well) because, in addition to drawing the reader into your character's emotional state, they make your writing more interesting.
Nick slipped into the room, nervous as a mouse in a hawk's nest.
The wall of Jessica's pride surrounded her in an iron fortress.
This method is generally strong, though too many similes and metaphors in a row will bug the reader. Similes especially stand out, since they all use like or as, so you don't want to use more than one or two per page. Again, balance and moderation.
DESCRIBE THE PHYSICAL SENSATIONS
Emotions create physical, visceral sensations. Everyone has experienced a pounding heart, sweaty palms, or a tight stomach. Weirdly, describing these symptoms can actually bring out a similar, if lower-key, response in the reader, which makes this a good method for getting across a character's emotional state.
Nick's mouth dried up and his hands shook. He found he couldn't sit still, and his toes seemed to tap on their own.
Jessica threw her head back and strode across the podium, a proud, well-earned smile on her face. Thunderous applause boomed through her very bones.
I looked over the edge of the cliff and my insides turned to liquid.
While this works very well, notice that it's an indirect method. You're implying what the character is feeling instead of letting the reader know directly. Physical sensations add to emotions. They don't replace them entirely. Don't be afraid to combine this one with some figurative language or a well-placed action sentence that shows us the emotion.
MAKE THE EMOTIONS DO THINGS
This method combines several of the above methods. It actually turns the emotion into a temporary character who acts on the person you're writing about.
Fear turned Nick's hands to ice and his heart jerked inside his chest like it was trying to jump out.
Pride swelled Jessica's chest and put a jaunty spring in every step.
Bright happiness filled me with golden sunshine as I ran down the steps to meet him.
This is one of the strongest ways, though like any method, it gets repetitive if overused. In other words, vary the method of getting your character's emotional state across. But do get it across.
How often? It depends. Emotion slows down action scenes, so you'll want to use it sparingly, and lean
more on the method that describes physical sensation. Romantic scenes, naturally, tend to drench themselves in emotion. As a rule, whenever something significant happens to the character, include an emotional response to the event.
USE THE SETTING
Readers want dialogue the most. In second place comes action. Description rates a distant third. This creates a dichotomy for us writers — we have to describe the setting here and there so the readers know where they are, but perversely, the readers aren't very interested in getting the information from us. One way around this is to force your setting into double duty as an emotional mirror.
Our emotions color our perceptions. The sunniest, loveliest summer day feels dreadful and cruel when you've been dumped, and a nasty, drenching rainstorm feels fine and refreshing when you're in love (as Gene Kelly famously pointed out). Whenever possible, your setting should provide insights into the emotional state of your viewpoint character. This can be tricky, but with a little practice, it can become second nature.
Below we have an example of a perfectly good setting description. Unfortunately, it comes across as dull:
Chris looked out across the wide, shallow river. The water rippled over rocks and sand beneath the noonday sun. Birds sang overhead and animals made rustling noises in the undergrowth behind him. A brown picnic basket sat next to him, and Chris caught a faint whiff of potato salad. He wrapped his arms around his knees and waited.
The narrative is nice enough, but nothing happens, and we have no idea what Chris is feeling. Let's try the exact same scene, slightly reworded:
Chris glared across the wide, shallow river. Chilly water tore over hard rocks and rough sand beneath a harsh noonday sun. Birds shrieked overhead and small rodents rustled in the undergrowth behind him. A prickly brown picnic basket sat next to him, and Chris caught a rancid whiff of potato salad. He coiled his arms around his knees and waited.
An entirely different feel. Adjectives like chilly, hard, rough, and prickly tell us that something's wrong. Even the potato salad is unhappy. Whomever Chris is waiting for is in for a bad time. We can do this again yet another way:
Chris gazed across the wide, shallow river. Warm water rippled over smooth rocks and soft sand beneath a gentle noonday sun. Birds twittered overhead, and tiny animals made rustling noises in the undergrowth behind him. A brimming picnic basket sat next to him, and Chris caught a sweet whiff of potato salad. He hugged his knees with his arms and waited.
Chris's emotional state is entirely different. Now he sees the water as warm, the rocks as smooth, the sand as soft. The basket is comfortable instead of prickly, and the salad is sweet. Whatever's coming up is something to look forward to. The setting tells us this — or rather, Chris's perception of the setting, as the author presents it, tells us. And this presentation makes for more compelling reading. Your paranormal settings should do the same whenever possible.
EXERCISE
Rewrite the scene below as if the viewpoint character hates the place. Make any necessary changes, but all the elements of the original scene should remain.
Sarah stepped into Grandma Nell's old parlor for the first time in fifteen years. The same threadbare carpet with its pattern of cabbage roses stretched over the floor. Dim light filtered in through the curtains, which were closed against the sun. A long couch sat along one wall, the same couch where Grandma Nell had presided over afternoon tea every day at four. Two easy chairs flanked a coffee table. Pictures of relatives, the same photos Sarah remembered, hung from the walls. In one corner sat a single wooden stool. Sarah ran her fingers through the dust that coated the top. How many times had she sat quietly in that corner?
Now rewrite the scene to show the viewpoint character is fond of the place.
the sense of wonder
The most powerful emotion in your arsenal is the sense of wonder. Your readers don't get to visit fantastic worlds, talk to supernatural creatures, or travel in underground societies, but your characters do, and your readers want to experience all these things through these characters. They want to be startled and astonished, amazed and thrilled. However, since you're telling the story through the eyes of your characters, your supernatural creations are only as fantastic as your characters feel they are. If a unicorn strolls onto Bob's suburban back lawn and he accepts the event with bland calm, any chance of wonder if ruined. Your description of the unicorn may be gorgeous and make the creature shine with unearthly light, but Bob's blah reaction cues the reader that a unicorn is nothing special. If Bob reacts with wonder, fear, or amazement, the readers will feel these things too, and experience that sense of wonder that draws them to the paranormal genre.
Even a character who is used to strange events can feel wonder when confronted by the paranormal. Just because something has become part of normal life doesn't mean it's lost beauty or power. Most of us see rainbows and thunderstorms and rock concerts on a fairly regular basis, but each one is still pretty amazing. I've participated in decorating my house for the winter holidays forty-four times now, yet it somehow never gets old. Even “regular” supernatural events should remain filled with wonder.
Ginn Hale demonstrates this quite clearly in Wicked Gentlemen. Belimai Sykes, who is part demon, has been able to fly since he was a child. Hale writes:
I pushed my window open and leaned out. The moon spread its light across my face and bare chest. Wind rolled up through my hair and stroked my skin. When I had been a child, every night had seemed as lush and wondrous as this ….
Taking a deep breath, I threw myself out into the open air. Wind whipped over my bare skin and through my hair as I plunged downward. I smelled the filth of the ground below wafting up toward my face. A rush of terror and exhilaration shot through me.
With a twist of my body I veered up … I swept up over a factory roof and caught hold of one of the tin chimneys. My momentum whipped me around it twice. When I let go, I went spinning off like a top.
Notice how Hale uses every part of the action to feed into the sense of wonder. The sensual description of the night makes it sound like a lover (an emotional use of setting I mentioned in the preceding section). Sykes rises above the filthy smells below — a bit of symbolism — with a rush of emotion. Once fully airborne, he doesn't simply fly. He veers, sweeps, whips, and spins. Even though Sykes has flown hundreds of times before, the sense of wonder remains clear — and we're right there to experience it with him. This thrill is one of the main reasons paranormal readers pick up these books, and it's the author's job to deliver.
CAREFUL WITH THAT METAPHOR — IT'S LOADED
Writers love figurative language, as well we should. A well-placed simile, metaphor, or bit of personification lends life to a dead paragraph, makes a sentence jump, sprinkles starlight over a page. But when you're writing a novel filled with supernatural events, you need to exercise a bit of caution. Figurative language in a normal novel is always taken to be metaphorical, but in a supernatural setting, the metaphoric might be normal. For example, you could perfectly well start a military with the opening hook “Pete shaded his eyes as a dozen metal dragons roared across the sky.” The reader will know that the character is involved with the Air Force and you're describing airplanes with a bit of metaphor.
However, the same metaphor used at the beginning of a paranormal book can confuse the readers. They already know from the cover art and the blurb on the back of the book that your novel has magic in it, so they're ready to believe that a flight of real dragons is coasting over Pete's head with a roar. If the “dragons” turn out to be a metaphor for jet engines, the readers are wrenched around and rightfully annoyed for it. Be sure your wonderful figurative language is clearly figurative.
THE PERFECT FLAW
There's that guy. You know whom I'm talking about. He's handsome. He's rich. He's talented. He has the perfect job. And a perfect wife. He even smells nice.
Don't you just hate him?
By all rights, you should like him. I mean, there's nothing to disl
ike. Not one, tiny thing.
And that's the problem. We have flaws. Imperfections. Problems. And we tend to resent people who don't seem to have any. Why should he have it so good when I'm dealing with a mound of debt, weight problems, and a bad relationship with my cat?
For the same reason, readers usually don't empathize with fictional characters who have no flaws. First of all, such characters are unrealistic and unbelievable — no one can be completely perfect. Second, as I noted above, we resent people who seem to have it all. And lastly, flaws make characters human, which is what you're striving for in a supernatural character. Paranormals are already at least one step removed from humanity, making them less empathetic for human readers. You don't want to leave out those flaws that make them human.
Incidentally, by flaw, I mean personal flaw, an internal problem that makes the character's life difficult. Walter Werewolf's bad reaction to silver is not a flaw, it's a weakness — there's nothing the werewolf can do to overcome it. Walter's gambling addiction, however, is a flaw — he doesn't have to gamble, but he does anyway, even when he can't afford to lose the money. This complicates his life or otherwise makes it difficult. It's a flaw as opposed to a weakness because the character has a choice about it. No one is forcing Walter to gamble; he sits at the poker table knowing full well that if he loses, he won't make his tuition payments and will have to drop out of law school.
Writing the Paranormal Novel: Techniques and Exercises for Weaving Supernatural Elements Into Your Story. Page 14
