Writing the Paranormal Novel: Techniques and Exercises for Weaving Supernatural Elements Into Your Story.

by Harper, Steven

  A proper flaw also gives the character some kind of real problem. Sorry, but creating a Mary Sue and then claiming she's flawed because she refuses to step on sidewalk cracks won't cut it. What reader would see this as a real problem? The flaw has to severely restrict, threaten to harm, or otherwise bring major difficulty into the character's life. The flaw also has to cause the character emotional distress, either directly (“I can't stop gambling, and I hate myself for it”) or indirectly (“My wife left me because of my gambling habit, and I don't know what to do”). Anything less and you have a paper tiger, not a flaw.

  The most famous supernatural character with a flaw is Odysseus from Homer's The Odyssey. At the beginning of the story, Odysseus is too proud of the way he has conquered Troy and refuses to acknowledge the gods' role in it, so Poseidon curses him to roam the seas forever. Later, when Odysseus manages to blind the Cyclops and sneak out of the giant's cave, he can't keep his mouth shut. Pride makes him bellow his true name, which reveals his exact location to both the Cyclops and Poseidon, getting Odysseus into more trouble. (The Greek word for this is hubris.) When Odysseus finally arrives home, he wants to burst into his palace and be welcomed by his long-suffering wife Penelope, but he discovers invaders have taken over his home. They'll slaughter him the moment he steps through the door. Will he proudly rush in anyway, or sneak in through the back? Odysseus grinds his teeth and enters his own palace disguised as a beggar, his pride finally overcome. As a result, the gods take his side, and he wins back his kingdom.

  Although Odysseus is impossibly strong, a fantastic swordsman, and clever beyond imagination, the entire story is driven by a flaw — his pride. This pride also makes the otherwise impossible Odysseus more believable and more human.

  In a more modern story, Jack Torrance from Stephen King's The Shining has two major flaws — he's an alcoholic who can't overcome writer's block. When Jack and his family move to the haunted Overlook Hotel for the winter, the ghosts in the Overlook force Jack to confront his two flaws. Unlike Odysseus, Jack loses the struggle. He starts drinking again and obsesses over his inability to write. Eventually he goes nuts and attacks his family. Jack's flaws provide the hotel ghosts with hooks into his soul and ultimately drive the story. If Jack had no flaws, the ghosts wouldn't have been able to touch him and the story would evaporate. His flaws also make him thoroughly human and sympathetic. Right up until he reaches for the roque mallet to go after his wife and son, we're rooting for him, hoping he'll tell the ghosts to shove it. Why? Because we've been there. Our ghosts are inside our heads and they might be telling us to eat that extra box of chocolate or skip work this week instead of urging us to chug scotch and kill our kids, but we've been there. Jack's struggle just has that paranormal twist to it. Your characters should undergo a similar journey.

  Speaking of multiple flaws, your character will likely have them. Realworld people have multiple flaws, after all, and realistic characters should deal with them, too. (In addition to being too proud, Odysseus couldn't keep his toga zipped, and it cost him several years' travel.) You don't have to riddle your characters with flaws — too many is as bad as too few — but two or three is a good number to play with. It's enough to seem realistic but not so many that the character is dragged into an existential abyss.

  Remember that the key to a perfect flaw is that it exists because of the character's choice. It needs to be something the character could overcome easily enough, if only she had the mental or psychological wherewithal. Ideally, you should force the character to confront the flaw mutiple times throughout the book, and the flaw should hold her back. Really good writers work the flaw into the main plot of the book. At a key moment, usually close to or even during the climax, the character should be forced to confront the flaw in a way that will decide how the story will end. If the character overcomes the flaw: happy ending. If the flaw overcomes the character: tragic ending. Either way, your supernatural character will feel more human.

  Terry Pratchett's young witch Magrat Garlick has a number of flaws in Lords and Ladies, but her biggest problem is that she can't seem to stand up for herself. Ever. At the masterful climax of the book, when the Queen of the Elves is about to kill her, Magrat sees the Queen bring down a close friend, and she forces herself to stand up. Having overcome her flaw, Magrat finds the strength to face down the Queen and defeat her. Pratchett resolves the main plot and a character development subplot in one stroke, which makes for riveting reading.

  PART III: casting the words

  CHAPTER 9: Thinking Big and Small: Arc, Plot, and Subplot

  When I'm not writing, I teach ninth-grade English, and every year I draw the plot mountain on the board. Remember that? It's coming back to get you now, like a zombie rising from a damp graveyard. A diagonal line rises upward, peaks, and slopes back down on the other side. The upward line is the rising action, the peak is the climax (pause while everyone titters), and the downslope is the falling action or resolution.

  This version works fine as an introduction to basic literature. It doesn't stand up to real scrutiny because it's extremely simplistic. As a writer of the paranormal, you need to be aware of your plotting and how it works. Paranormal books have their own quirks and problems when it comes to plotting, however, and we'll talk about those as we go.

  We'll start with the big stuff.

  ARCS

  I pointed out in chapter eight that paranormal novels lend themselves to series. Maybe it's that once you start combining the real world with the paranormal, the stories just keep on coming. Or maybe it's that supernatural elements mixed into the mundane world create so many fascinating ramifications, a single novel can't explore them all. Or maybe readers of paranormal novels are the type that can't be satisfied with a single book about the characters and settings. Or maybe it's a combination of all these things.

  Whatever the reason, if you're writing a paranormal novel, it's not a bad idea to assume you'll write more than one with the same characters and setting. That means you need to plan now, and think about what sort of arc you want to explore. An arc is a long-range story, and it can apply to a plot, a setting, or a character. Laurell K. Hamilton develops Anita Blake in a character arc. Over several books, Anita gains strength and power and deals with her increasingly complicated love life, but the books don't have a single story line that ties them together. J.R.R. Tolkien ran several multibook plot arcs in The Lord of the Rings with Frodo trying to slip into Mordor to destroy the One Ring and Aragorn running interference for him. The entire story isn't fully resolved until The Return of the King, the final book. C.S. Lewis runs a setting arc in The Chronicles of Narnia series. The readers see the creation of Narnia in The Magician's Nephew, explore several places and points of interest in Narnian history with a range of characters in several other books, and watch the world end in The Last Battle.

  There are divergent philosophies about arcs. One philosophy says it's better to know in advance what sort of arc you want to explore. Advance planning will give your long-term story focus. It won't wander off in strange directions and get out of control. Tighter planning will create tighter writing. Planning will also allow you to slip clues and foreshadowing into early books about events that will happen in later books. You'll also have fewer inconsistencies in your books, since you already know what you're doing.

  The opposing philosophy says arcs should grow organically. Advance planning only kills creativity and locks you into a story line that you may later decide you don't like or you discover doesn't work. The more you write, the more you develop as a writer, and your later ideas will be better ones anyway, so it's best to leave yourself open to using them.

  I think a middle ground between the two works the best. You should definitely have at least a general idea of where you want to take your characters, setting, and long-term story, if for no other reason so you can tell your editor what your future plans are. You don't need every detail nailed into place, however. Leave yourself open to new possibilities that occur
to you along the way. Writers live for those “Oh! That would be fantastic!” moments, and you don't want to seal yourself off from them.

  As a rule, plot arcs tend to require a little more planning. Long-term plotting requires you to drop clues and foreshadowing that lays the groundwork for future scenes. If it's important for a character in Book II to know the details of a graveyard scene, you have to make sure he was there at the cemetery in Book I. J.K. Rowling is the modern mistress of long-term story arcs. A number of carefully constructed bits of plot show up in the first Harry Potter book that turn out to be important in the seventh and final one, not the least of which are the details of what happens on the night Lord Voldemort kills Harry's parents.

  On the other side of the coin, character arcs tend to be a little more organic. You might have it in mind that Jessica and Norman, who don't like each other much in Book I, will finally get together in Book III, but exactly how they'll get there is something you'll explore along the way. Really, the answer is to use whatever works best for you.

  SERIALS VS. STANDALONES

  At one time, the standard advice for writing a multi-book series ran something like this: Write the first book to stand alone. Write the second book to end in a cliffhanger. Write the huge third book to resolve the cliffhanger. The reason for this pattern was because a publisher might buy the first book and wait to see how sales went before offering a second book. If no offer came, readers of the first book wouldn't be left hanging. If an offer did come, it would likely involve at least two more books, so a cliffhanger ending was a good strategy to “remind” readers to buy the third book.

  This strategy no longer holds true so much. You can certainly use it — go right ahead — but it's not the near-requirement it once was. Feel free to explore other structures in your series.

  Some authors write standalones. Each book can stand by itself as complete, and readers can enjoy the books in whatever order they find them. Long-term stories tend to be character or setting arcs instead of plot arcs. The advantage to this type of series is mostly to the readers. They can pick up any book in the set and read it without worrying about what came before. This is a tremendous plus in an age when books rarely stay in the bookstore for more than a few months. Few things frustrate readers more than grabbing an intriguing-looking novel and realizing it's the second in a series, with the first one nowhere in sight. The disadvantage is that you can't use a long-term plot arc, and you'll also have to sneak in all the exposition about how magic works in every book, since you can't assume the reader read it in a previous volume. (More on exposition in chapter ten.) Terry Pratchett's Discworld books are standalones, as are Christopher Moore's urban fantasy books. Several of Pratchett's and Moore's novels share characters, in fact, but they can still be read in any order.

  Other authors run serials. These books are more tightly bound together, with a strong plot arc, and readers who try to drop into the middle of the series will be confused because the author assumes everyone has read the previous material and doesn't stop to explain what's come before. The advantage here is that the author can present a long-term, complex story that won't fit in a single volume. The disadvantage is that anyone who can't find Book I won't be able to catch up, and if the publisher lets the first volume go out of print or the bookstores stop carrying it, later readers are out of luck. Many serials come in sets of three, a trilogy, but if a serial is successful enough (i.e., sells enough copies and makes enough money), the publisher may ask for more. C.C. Finlay's Traitor to the Crown books and Anne Rice's first three vampire novels are just two examples among hundreds of paranormal trilogies out there.

  PLAYING WITH AN ARC

  When creating a story arc, you're an artist stepping back to look at the entire painting all at once — you're surveying the big picture. This means your story arc needs to be big. And big is relative. It's certainly big if the character saves the world from an invading army of ghosts. But it's also big if the character does so by overcoming a decades-long hatred and mistrust of his mother in the process. The latter may not be big to anyone else, but it's certainly big to the character.

  In a long arc, a character oft en goes from a position of weakness to a position of strength. A magician's apprentice grows into his power until he's the equal of his former master. A young woman escapes her abusive husband in Book I, starts her own business in Book II, and establishes herself as a woman of wealth in Book III. A new werewolf is saddled with the Beast in Book I, learns the extent of his powers in Book II, and gains control of himself in Book III. You should create your own supernatural protagonist with this sort of long-term growth in mind.

  In addition to long-term growth, character arcs must also provide continual small bits of growth. The character needs to have small personal setbacks and victories within the overall arc so the reader can watch the character change and evolve. For example, a werewolf fighting to keep the Inner Beast under control might initially lose that battle big time and do serious damage to the people around him (setback), spend some time dealing with the guilt and recriminations (victory), gain some control over the Beast (victory), lose it again (setback), and finally admit he can't do it on his own and join Beasts Anonymous (victory). Mercedes Lackey uses this arc in her Diana Tregarde books. Diana, a paranormal investigator with some magical abilities, suffers from nightmares and panic attacks related to her earlier cases. As the novels progress, she slowly gains more and more control over herself (victory), though she backslides from time to time (setback).

  Another story arc can involve stopping a hugely powerful antagonist. The hero starts off far too weak to confront the Big Bad Guy directly, but fortunately, said BBG either doesn't know the hero exists or doesn't view the hero as much of a threat, and the hero ends up fighting someone who works for the BBG instead. (In some arcs, the hero thinks he is fighting the BBG, then learns the guy he barely managed to defeat is a mere minion, and the real fight is just getting started.) As the protagonist works his way up the badguy ladder to the BBG one book at a time, he slowly gains power and overcomes flaws — part of that “going from weakness to strength” thing — until we get the final showdown. Harry Potter follows this sort of arc, with Harry battling the minions of Lord Voldemort until the seventh novel, when the two of them finally square off for a wizardly smackdown.

  A different arc uses a long-term goal. The character needs to accomplish something that can't be done in a single book. Like most long-term goals, it's broken up into several short-term goals that are handled over multiple books. The smaller stories along the way may veer off in some interesting directions, but the character is always working toward this goal. Naomi Novik's Temeraire series runs this way. Temeraire wants to change the way the English treat dragons, while Will Laurence wants to win the war against Napoleon. The search for ways to accomplish these goals takes them to Europe, China, Africa, and Australia. They resolve several shortterm goals along the way — bringing more dragons into England to fight Napoleon, finding the cure for a plague that threatens the English dragon population, forcing the English army to grant the dragons certain rights and privileges, rousting Napoleon from England, and others. All of these short-term goals feed into the long-term ones, allowing Novik to continue her story lines over multiple books.

  ARCS AND LADDERS

  One problem of the arc was mentioned back in chapter six: how to challenge the hero. Conflicts are supposed to escalate, in theory. If you threaten to destroy the world in Book I, you naturally have to go further and threaten the entire universe in Book II. So what's left for Book III?

  The ever-escalating arc is actually a trap, and you don't have to fall into it. True, you can try to increase the stakes every time, but this tires the readers after a while — and takes on an air of ridiculousness. The solution is actually to scale back. After your hero has saved the world, tone things down and threaten just the main character. It won't matter to the readers that the threat is smaller. By now the readers are vested in the fate of
the protagonist, and they'll be on the edges of their chairs if you go after this beloved hero — or someone close to him.

  Naomi Novik, to return to her again, uses this technique to great effect. (I'll be revealing the outcome of some of her novels here, so if you haven't read them and don't want them spoiled, you might want to jump down to the next section.) In Empire of Ivory, a plague is decimating the English dragon population. Temeraire and Laurence barely manage to uncover a cure in Africa, only to discover that the English government intends to use it on their own dragons and then infect Napoleon's dragons with the original disease. Temeraire is horrified — all European dragons, including those allied with the English — will eventually die. More dragons fall ill, and Napoleon's superior forces amass across the English Channel. The stakes are enormous — thousands of dragons' lives. Eventually, Temeraire and Laurence commit treason by sneaking into an enemy camp and giving Napoleon's army the English cure. A terrible fight follows, and Temeraire is led to believe Laurence is killed. The book ends.

  Novik raises the stakes in the next book, Victory of Eagles. Napoleon conquers England and occupies it. We've gone from threatening the dragon population to threatening all of England. Temeraire, newly reunited with Laurence, leads the fight to throw Napoleon out. In the end, they succeed. After nearly destroying England, where can Novik go for another novel?

  She scales back. In Tongues of Serpents, the next book, Temeraire and Laurence have been charged with treason and transported to Australia, even though they saved England. The new conflict initially surrounds the characters we've come to love. We share their outrage at the injustice, and Novik doesn't need a worldwide disaster to get us interested. Threatening characters themselves is quite enough.