No blogpost today, I’m afraid. I stumbled yesterday and am looking at a rather swollen right hand. More next week or the week after. In the mean time, have a very happy time with your writing – I’ll be sending you supportive thoughts.
John Mortimer said that translating opera libretti felt strange because they used subtext so little. Each aria is like a pop song where a character’s true feelings come pouring out, usually to let the audience know something important that can’t be said to the other characters.
- Write a scene where one character wants something but can’t say so, and the other is unaware of it. If you already have one in your draft, have another go at it from scratch, bringing in what you learned last week about writing dialogue.
- Write monologues for a scene where one character wants something but doesn’t say, and the other character is aware of it. They can be people who live together or work together, or would like to.
FIND OUT THE TRUTH
A way to find the truth of what your character is, or is not, saying is in writing practice monologues for them before you start your drafting. It can feel circuitous when you long to get stuck into the real writing but it’s actually a short cut that can bypass several drafts for you. (I learned this trick from studying drama writing.) Take a few minutes, before you start into your chapter, to spend time with each of your characters and ask how they’re feeling just before the action in your chapter begins. Write down everything they tell you – in the usual scribble-chat way – for at least ten minutes and let them surprise you. When the writing begins to take on a life of its own, keep going as long as you can.
Have you planned an ending for the chapter? Write a monologue like this for each character just after your ending too. It will deepen the emotional truth of your writing and turn up plot solutions you may not have dreamt of.
The thing about good writing is that it’s a bit like what Tim Minchin said about happiness: the more you examine it, try to hunt it down, the more elusive it will be. Try listening to your characters in this way and see what turns up.
Go through the monos you’ve written and highlight the best lines, the ones that stand out. Those can be valuable lines of dialogue right from the heart.
Some characters have more forthcoming personalities than others. And sometimes even the most open people want to keep certain things to themselves. Have a scribble-chat with each of your characters about where they are about all this. Let them tell you what they would never tell anyone else in the world. There is the heart of that character. Your reader will sense it and want to know, eventually, what it is. Even if you didn’t think it was important to your story, it probably is.
We all do it, of course we do, we adjust the truth now and again to make ourselves look and feel better, or get out of a tight spot. Some are more successful at it than others and it’s a rare few who resist lying at all.
HOW DO WE LIE?
- In what we say,
- and do not say. Silence can be a lie too.
- What we do. Body language is a very useful writer’s tool, often more truthful than words but it can lie too, Judas’ kiss being a perfect example.
- Like silence, absence can give a false impression.
- Expert liars often have badges of excellence to give them a look of reliability or worthiness. Sadly, their sheep’s clothing can include charity work, hospitality, offers of help and positions of social authority. It doesn’t stop them being liars.
Lies have their own story arc. They change the future as well as the past. So it’s a good idea to plot your characters’ significant whoppers to keep track:
- When is the reader first aware that a character is lying?
- When are the lies found out? What is the very best place for that discovery to happen, in the best interests of your story’s stakes?
- There are many plot devices for revealing truths, ranging from emails sent to the wrong person to phones falling into the wrong hands.
- What do other characters’ reactions to lies reveal, discovered and not?
Lies are at the heart of all our interactions. Sometimes ‘white lies’ gently smooth our interactions; other lies can be profound and disruptive betrayals.
- Who are your favourite liars in fiction and in reality?
- How do they get away with it, if they do?
- How do they pull off the trick of being known liars but still likable/lovable, if they do?
- How do you feel when you discover that someone you rely on has lied to you?
- Have you ever told a lie and not regretted it? How do you feel about that?
- Have you ever told an important lie and not been found out? How do you feel about it?
- Which of the characters you are currently writing tells most lies? Why? How do the other characters react?
Your scribbles about this should perhaps hit the shredder afterwards but it’s worth taking time to work out how you feel about such a big part of human life, and how it affects your characters.
What does dialogue do for your novel or story?
- It brings your reader right into the action in what feels like real time. It’s the powerful essence of ‘Show, not Tell’.
- It’s a direct route into character. The moment we begin to speak, we reveal who we are, where we come from, our age, viewpoint and a thousand other things.
- Readers love to work out for themselves if they trust characters or not – are they truthful? – and how deeply characters know themselves.
- You (as writer) can show how different your characters are in different contexts. The people we are at work are not the same as who we are with mum or an old friend. The play La Ronde by Arthur Schnitzler (David Hare’s stage version is The Blue Room) exposes how the way we all behave and speak depends on the company we are in: a Duke’s behaviour in bed with a servant girl is not the same as when he is with his wife, for example.
- Which means that dialogue is a quick route into showing your characters being as inconsistent as we all are. This is not the same as lying, it’s just that we are all multitudes inside. If stakes are rising and we are tested beyond our usual limits, our presentable mask slips. This is where you can bring out your character’s vulnerabilities and hook your readers emotionally more than ever.
- Dialogue makes your page more attractive to read. One of the first things we learn in journalism school is that the more ‘white space’ there is around your words, the more likely people (any people) are to stay and read it. Good dialogue has plenty of white space.
- Better than anything else, dialogue can raise questions as well as answer them. You can use it to expose longings and ambitions, hint at secrets.
- You can switch from comedy to tragedy relatively easily, as we do in real life.
- Dialogue breaks up passages of description, varies the texture.
How close is written dialogue to real conversation?
In some writing classes, you’ll be asked to eavesdrop on chatting strangers and record what you hear. That’s a time-consuming way of discovering that we all repeat ourselves a lot, have verbal habits like ‘You know’ or ‘Yeh yeh’, say the same thing several times in other ways, interrupt each other and do not always reply to what the other says as if it’s a game of ping pong. Eavesdropping is fun, and all writers do it. Be careful though: if strangers find out what you’re up to, they might not be best pleased.
The biggest lesson you will learn from your recording exercise is that dialogue needs editing. A lot of editing.
If you’re on a roll with a first draft, don’t let thoughts of editing get too much in your way. The only rule of first drafts is to keep writing and at all costs finish, so best of luck. We’ll leave you to it.
If you are ready to take things further, let’s look at how we make dialogue on the page feel real while doing the work we want it to do in terms of character and plot.
DIALOGUE & CHARACTER
What is revealed in the way we speak?
- Age, personality, birth place and origin, economic status, education, world view.
- Character traits you have been working on, such as the most important wound in your characters’ lives or what they passionately want and need above all else.
- Relationships in our lives come through how we speak. Whether people are happy at home or have established religious faith is usually obvious from their conversation.
- Fears, ambitions and dreams creep in too.
- Any verbal tics you have given them (like Gatsby being ‘an Oggsford man’).
Each character also arrives in every scene with:
- Context (has she slept badly, has he just been sacked, have they got money worries etc)
- Mood (happy/sad/angry/fed up etc).
- Agenda: what is each character looking for? We are all always looking for something from every encounter we have with others, whether we are aware of it or not. If a journalist is trying to persuade someone to be interviewed or to divulge a secret, that’s an obvious agenda. It can be more subtle: when you come home at the end of a day’s work and call ‘Hallo’, is there anything you want from that moment? Dramatic conflict (the essence of all stories) comes from the clash between our agendas and what actually happens. Don’t be too easy on your characters and give them what they want too soon.
Imagine you’re in a park and see two people with a baby buggy. You move so close, you can hear what they say …
For five minutes, write their dialogue, showing as much about each character and their relationship as you can. Don’t bother with too many attributions (he said, she said, he muttered, she explained) – let rip and enjoy it.
Psychologists have discovered that in ordinary conversation, we rarely say more than 7 to 10 words at a time. In plays and soap operas, it can be even less.
Re-write the first exercise, keeping each line to 7 words or less. Be strict with yourself about the word count.
Once your scene is flowing, try letting the reader know that there’s something that one is hiding from the other.
People move, think and feel while they speak too. Rewrite Exercise 2 with brief actions, thoughts and feelings between the lines of dialogue. Now you have prose fiction as opposed to a radio script!
Two main problems crop up when we write dialogue in first drafts.
First is writing a radio script by accident. You’re deep at your page or screen with the action around you, rolling nicely to the page. Your characters are so present with you that you’re soaked in what they’re saying and their words to take over. This is exciting and marvellous and is one of the great ways to produce a first draft. But if you look back later and find that for page after page, you have almost nothing but dialogue – it’s time to edit.
The second is allowing your characters to fall into lengthy speeches.
There are times when one person in a conversation gets to hold forth, when one is a teacher or in some other position of authority, for example, or one has a problem to unfold. But most conversation is an exchange of short lines.
The good news is that the short stuff engages readers more easily, feels more real and, in the right scene, can raise the stakes for you all by itself by bringing up the pace.
- Invent a scene or choose one from your work in progress.
- Sketch out the mood, context, agenda for each character before you start.
- Write your scene giving your characters no more than 7 words each for at least 100 words.
- Put a single line of action (she twisted her wedding ring, he held his breath) or thought or feeling between each line.
- Be amazed at how much has been revealed in those few words, and how actively it all reads.
- Notice what your characters have not said, and the power of that. Renoir, 1879
- Keep writing, and when the scene needs it, allow a longer speech to one of your characters.
See how the change of pace makes the whole scene work better for you? The seven-word exercise can feel really hard and unreasonable but it’s one of the most valuable fiction-writing skills there is. If you do it often, it will soon feel natural and your dialogue will improve no end.
The three biggest tools in a writer’s box of crafts are through-line, point of view, and training ourselves to show our story in action rather than telling it at a remove. One of the easiest ways to bring your reader up close to your story is to show your characters talking to each other. Readers feel as if they are right there in the conversation themselves.
Renoir’s Bal du Moulin de la Galette, 1876
So, how do we write dialogue, edit it, present it, use it best? Let’s start at the beginning, with how we lay it out.
Choose a couple of characters; they can be your own, from somebody else’s novel or just make them up for today, it doesn’t matter. Call them by the initials of their first names (such as A and B) and scribble lightly, fast an exchange they might have on a Sunday morning.
Don’t sweat too much about what they’re saying, though if you’re on a roll and produce something useful for your draft, that’s great. What we’re concerned with today is how we lay those words out.
Each publisher has its own house style and will expect you to have had a close look at theirs before you submit your draft to them. This will, I’m afraid, take time and care. Consistency and an eye for detail are everything.
Practices differ around the world but the same questions arise everywhere. Let’s start with the most usual UK practice (only because it’s where I live) and notice the sort of wrinkles and subtleties that come up.
In the UK, our characters’ spoken words are usually surrounded by single inverted commas or quotations marks:
‘How do I lay this table?’ he asked.
Elsewhere in the world it can be double quotation marks, or none at all, just a dash to lead in the spoken words.
If your character is quoting something within a spoken sentence, we in the UK use double quotes for that:
‘You’re useless. Your mother said the self-same thing on the phone yesterday. “He’s useless,” she said. Those were her very words.’
All punctuation belonging to the spoken words comes inside the quotation marks, nice and cosy.
‘When’s she coming? Did you say – I heard you say, didn’t I? – she’s coming at two?’
And try not to forget the closing quotation mark, it’s easily done.
If there’s an attribution like ‘he said’ or ‘she said’ after the spoken words, then a comma comes after the spoken words, inside the final inverted comma, and ‘he said’ comes in lower case as part of the same sentence:
‘I really wish we could just run away, now,’ he said.
Even if what he said was a full sentence, as above.
If you’ve got an attribution other than ‘he/she said’, it’s the same:
‘Well, I never invited her!’ she shouted.
If the attribution (‘he/she said’) starts with someone’s name, then the capital letter is used, as usual.
‘I know, darling. Calm down,’ Paul said.
And when the character keeps speaking after that attribution, you can keep going with a capital or lower case letter, depending on whether the speech is a new sentence or not:
‘You used to love me,’ Alison cried. ‘At least I thought so, until now …’
As above, if there is a new sentence to come, then the attribution ends with a full stop. We know that the new piece of speech (beginning ‘At least I thought so …) is Alison’s because it’s on the same line as her previous words.
(If Alison had run this into a single sentence, it would look like this:
‘You used to love me,’ Alison cried, ‘or I thought so, until now …’)
Paul took her hand in his and said, ‘Why do you doubt me, darling, when I’ve given you all this?’ Which could equally be written:
Paul took her hand in his and said:
‘Why do you doubt me, darling’ etc.
Again, if Alison continues her sentence after her attribution, the first comma is inside the quotation marks and her new speech starts lower case, as it would if the attribution wasn’t there.
‘You make me sick,’ she sobbed, drawing her hand away, ‘especially when you think you can get around me like this.’
If the attribution comes before the spoken words, then it ends with a comma and the spoken sentence starts with the capital it would have if it were standing on its own:
Paul shouted, ‘My mother’s due any minute and I don’t want to see her any more than you do but we’ve got no choice. Now clean yourself up and get into that kitchen!’
‘Don’t you yell at me like that!’
Yes, quite often you don’t have to tell the reader who is speaking. In fact, if your character’s voice is right, the reader will know just from verbal inflections, accent and personality who is saying what. You can also indicate who is speaking by putting a character’s actions in the same line:
‘I’m not yelling at you.’ Paul pulled his sweater down and looked out of the window. He saw two pigeons fussing together on the lower branches of his monkey puzzle tree. A stab of envy of their simple joy ate into his heart. ‘I would never yell at you, my sweet, I’ve loved you all my life.’
If you have a brief bit of description interrupting someone’s spoken words, you can put it inside dashes outside the quotation marks like this:
‘You haven’t known me all your life’ – a car horn blared outside on the gravel – ‘and you know precious little about me now. I do have a choice actually, and I’m making it. I’m off!’
Indents, or a new paragraph, make it clear that there’s a change of speaker:
‘Please don’t go, darling, not now.’
‘Not when I’m supposed to be cooking, you mean?’
‘I mean not when we’ve been happy for so long!’
‘You call this happy?’
‘But how could I cope without you?’
Whether you use indents or paragraphs for speech is a matter of house style and your publisher will tell you what they want.
If someone is indulging in a monologue that goes on for more than one paragraph, each subsequent paragraph of the speech opens with an inverted comma although the previous one remains open. This is where it can be especially easy to forget to close your final speech marks and the reader thinks that your next piece of description is being said:
Paul ignored a prolonged honk from the car on the gravel outside and took a bottle from the fridge. He filled two glasses with ice and covered the cubes with dark rum. ‘Well, my darling, I’ll miss you.’ He handed one glass to Alison. ‘I remember the first time I caught sight of you, during lectures in the first year, with your hair in plaits and those yellow cycle clips over your brown jeans, and I thought, that’s the prettiest girl I’ll ever see in my life.
‘I was right too. I’ve never wanted anybody else, Alison. Never even fancied anyone else. But if you want to go, I can’t stop you. I’ll always have Mother … and rum.’
He lifted his glass in salute as Alison downed hers and slammed the door behind her without another word.
Have a look at a wide selection of the books around you, comparing the different ways publishers do it. As always, have fun, and remember the times when conversation can be silent.
Klimt’s The Kiss, 1907/8
Happy writing. More about dialogue next week!
Getting it perfect
Book shelves are full of great novels that started off with disastrous working titles. Bernstein & Woodward’s All the President’s Men began as ‘At this Point in Time’ and Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men was first called ‘Something That Happened’. Why do you think the two working titles were replaced? Was it because All the President’s Men cleverly combines the all-important word President with an allusion to Humpty Dumpty? That Of Mice and Men is snappy and intriguing, with that bit of alliteration we humans can’t help but respond to? Were those first efforts just too vague?
Getting it perfect now
It is never too late or too early to think about your title and it can change any number of times before you send out your draft. In fact, you have probably discovered that the gist of your story develops as you write: for example, what you thought was clearly a love story may well have become a spy thriller with a love story at its heart. A change of title will feel right. All you need for now is something that gets you to your writing and excites you to write. That’s all.
Some titles are too complex or plain ridiculous. Would we have heard much about Scott Fitzgerald’s novel about that glamorous, self-made bootlegger if his title had been ‘Trimalchio in West Egg’? With The Great Gatsby, alliteration is working again – poets have known for centuries that alliteration hooks words into our minds – and it centres us on the shadowy character at the book’s heart.
Fitzgerald is not the only one to bite his lip while his publisher was talking. Pride and Prejudice began as ‘First Impressions’, Gone with the Wind as ‘Tomorrow Is Another Day’, Lord of the Flies as ‘Strangers from Within’ and Little Dorrit as ‘Nobody’s Fault’. To Kill A Mockingbird was first called ‘Atticus’, which might work nowadays because we know who it refers to, but then? Some replaced titles might have succeeded just as well: 1984’s working title was ‘The Last Man in Europe’. Alex Haley’s classic Roots: The Saga of an American Family is beautifully titled; its first title, ‘Before This Anger’, has power too.
Is a classic a great book whatever it’s called? Well, War and Peace started life as ‘All’s Well That Ends Well’ until presumably somebody mentioned that it was already taken, for a comedy, by someone rather well known in another country. Do you think Dracula might have worked just as well with its first title, ‘The Dead Un-Dead’?
What are we after?
So, if your publisher suggests a change of title, you are in excellent company. Our writing job is to find such a stunning title that agents and publishers cannot look away, however tired or saturated they are at the end of a hard week. Look for something that will sing out of the header in your email or letter. Ideally, it’s punchy, somehow sums up the essence of your main character’s story arc and catches the passing shopper’s eye on your book spine.
The shorter the better. A single word is fine: Jaws, Nutshell.
Two words work well too: The Slap, The Help, The Firm, The Inheritance. So do three: Eat Pray Love.
The prize for the most ridiculously long working title, though it gave clues to the toxic psychology of its author, goes to ‘Four and a Half Years of Struggle against Lies, Stupidity and Cowardice’, better known as Mein Kampf.
Quotations are very popular: Summer’s Lease, Far from the Madding Crowd, Mad about the Boy. Make sure any quote you use is out of copyright as a standard publishing contract will probably require the author to pay any charge for its use. Long-dead poets are very useful in this respect. Song lyrics by living or recently dead artists cost a lot more and it can take ages to nail down the copyright permission, holding up your publication date. Sometimes your publisher can help you out with getting permissions but it’s best not to rely on it. It is not unusual for authors to spend a wearying amount of time between approving their cover and publication date chasing up permissions for quotes they wish they’d never bothered to use but as everything is off to the printers, it is too late to change.
Your main character’s name can be a good choice: Emma, Jane Eyre, Tess of the D’Urbervilles, Bridget Jones, Tristram Shandy, Black Beauty, Harry Potter and the Next Instalment. These days readers probably want more of a clue to what they’re buying, hence titles like The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry .
Or you can look to your theme: Death in the Afternoon, Hard Times, Betrayal, Damage, and almost anything by Jane Austen.
How about a quotation from your own book? Sometimes those call out to the writer begging for attention, like Bird by Bird or Eats Shoots and Leaves.
Does your genre have a convention about titles – the word Girl in the title, for example? Following the crowd might get you noticed by the right agent; if you have reservations, you can discuss changes later.
Before your final decision, check on the internet to see if your title already belongs to another author. You might think calling your book The Hunger Games worked once, why not twice, but it’s not what agents and publishers are after. If your character’s name and surname are your title, check online that there isn’t someone living with that name, especially someone living in the same area or in the same line of work as your character. They may take exception to your giving them an exciting, fictional life involving crime or dodgy dealing.
London Book Fair
Here is what book shops will have on offer next year, following the London Book Fair. Have a look at the titles. Which title would you pick up to read first? Why?
- Brainstorm your own work in progress and come up with TEN titles now. Quickly, without thinking too much. Surprise yourself.
- Choose the best three and make each one shorter if you can. Have you got the right three? It’s not too late to rethink.
- Can you choose just one?
- Ask your writer friends for feedback and suggestions. Sometimes people are better at naming other people’s work than their own. A seeing the wood for the trees thing.
- Have a look at a hilarious site called betterbooktitles.com. What would they call yours?
Like your first pages and ending, your title needs your sharpest attention again, after everything else is in place. And once it’s done its job and caught you an agent or publisher, it’s OK to take the experts’ advice. They usually know what they’re doing.
Good luck and happy writing!
As my editor at London Grip has said, I’ve ‘entered into the spirit of an intoxicating anthology of pub poems mixed by Helen Mort and Stuart Maconie’. I’m not fond of all pubs actually but this anthology encapsulates in excellent poetry the ups and downs of pub life, and the best of them.
And by vital I mean life-giving as well as essential. Your through-line is the great big question you ask at the beginning of your story, the one that keeps your reader hooked through every page.
WHAT IS YOUR BOOK ABOUT?
You could answer ‘about 30,000 words so far’. Many people say their book is about one of the big abstract issues like war, heroism, exile, true love or that mixed blessing we call family. Those are themes. Most good books have at least one theme though they’re not essential. Themes are what you want your readers to think about, after they’ve closed your book and are going on with their lives.
Your through-line is the big plot question you ask at the beginning of your story, the one that keeps your reader hooked until it’s answered, one way or another, close to the last page. It is not about the meaning of heroism in general, it is about the heroic survival of a particular character your readers care about. Through-lines are about what you want your readers to feel.
Your theme is:
- an abstract question
- appealing to the intellect,
- affecting as many of your characters as you like,
- that you need not answer – let readers make up their own minds,
- is not necessarily something that will be attainable or resolved by the story’s end and
- more than one theme is fine though, if you have more, they should link in some way.
Your through-line is:
- a specific question about a particular need. Will Jill get a pony? Will Carrie marry Big? Will Sherlock find the killer? Will Black Beauty survive?
- It’s an emotional question of high stakes
- about a particular person, preferably your main character(s). A thousand pages of statistics teach us about rough-sleeping but in Stuart: A Life Backwards; it’s Stuart’s own life story that gives it emotional urgency.
- Your through-line question should be humanly attainable (achieving world peace goes in the ‘theme’ section) and
- it must be attained or answered in the story. The answer doesn’t have to be yes but there should be a sense of resolution at the end.
An example of a through-line
A fine example of a powerful through-line is in Stuart: A Life Backwards. This excellent book came about when its author Alexander Masters worked in a facility for homeless people in Cambridge and met a rough sleeper called Stuart. They became friends and decided to write Stuart’s life story. Alexander’s first draft was painstaking but, by his own admission, dull. Stuart didn’t like it either and came up with a stunning through-line and structure.
Write it backwards, Stuart said, starting in the present and going back in time to his childhood. Write it like a Tom Clancy thriller, he suggested too, and next is where his marvellous through-line comes in. Readers should ask, he said, who stole Stuart’s innocence. Who ‘killed’ the boy he was.
Who stole Stuart’s innocence? Who stole his life, in other words, and when the answer comes, everything hilariously aggravating about Stuart (and there’s plenty) is instantly understood and the reader’s heart is broken. Stuart died between the finishing of the book and its publication: he didn’t survive to see Alexander awarded the Guardian First Book prize for their work.
Who stole Stuart’s innocence? Will Joey the Warhorse survive the Western Front and come home to the boy who trained him? Will Anna Karenina live happily ever after? Will the community of Watership Down rabbits ever manage to settle safely again? Will the boys in Lord of the Flies ever be rescued?
EXERCISE – 10 MINUTES
Choose one of your favourite stories? Give yourself ten minutes to define and write about its through-line. This is not always as easy as it sounds. In the film Titanic, for example, we know that Rose survives for decades after the wreck. The film’s through-line is how she survives.
Your favourite story will have sub-plots – do they have through-lines too? Are they different from the main one? Are they linked to it and to each other? Do the characters have their own personal through-lines? How do they all connect?
EXERCISE – 10 MINUTES
Let’s think now about the story you are writing. Please don’t be discouraged if this exercise turns out to be tricky. At first draft stage, it’s not at all unusual to have through-lines that spread like deltas – in fact, that’s often why people lose heart and give up. Thinking about your through-line at any stage can help keep you on track.
See if you can sum up your through-line in 20 to 30 words. It may well feel impossible but keep trying. You might find yourself coming up with three or four through-lines. Don’t worry, your story is work in progress.
Exciting as your several through-lines might be, it’s important to keep scribbling around them until one edges forward as the most urgent. Some classic novels have more than one but if you’re working on your first novel, try to keep things simple and clear. The clearer your through-line, the stronger and more saleable your story will be.
Your through-line is precious. It’s your story’s backbone, its engine, the thread that holds your story’s beads together, and it should appear somehow in every chapter. Occasionally readers will forgive a little tangent but keep it brief. (By Book 4 of A Game of Thrones, George RR Martin had so many of us readers by the heart that we kept reading as if it was an endurance test, but our favourite characters and their through-lines were missing from that fourth book and, to be honest, he lost a lot of us.)
Once you’re confident of your through-line, congratulate yourself. You now have what is known as your ‘elevator pitch’ for those precious ten seconds when somebody introduces you to an agent or publisher and you’re asked what your novel in progress is about.
Crucially for your story, once you know your through-line, you are equipped to destabilise it in every stage of your story, nudging up your stakes as you go, until you reach your destination. As Wilkie Collins said, make them laugh, make them cry and, above all, make them wait.
A QUICK WORD ABOUT STAKES
What lowers your stakes? Anything that makes a reader put down the book and forget to pick it up again. This list comes from my writing groups – please feel free to add your own:
- Diverting the story into something else (away from your through-line),
- Too much leaden description,
- Telling us what we know already or can guess,
- Spelling out every damn thing,
- Being predictable, and too unpredictable,
- Unsympathetic or boring characters,
- Showing off research and
FINAL EXERCISE – 10 – 15 minutes to start with
For practice, let’s imagine a static scene where one of your characters is sitting in a traffic jam, pauses lost in thought while they’re up to their wrists in washing up water or takes time out to look at the sky.
First, let’s discover how your character (X) is feeling at the beginning of the scene. Start with a brief scribble-chat together:
- What can X see, hear, taste, smell and touch?
- Is X hot or cold, comfortable or not, in tight clothing or loose, in a familiar place or a strange one?
- What is X’s mood: stressed or calm, low or excited, fearful etc.?
- How does X feel about what’s just been happening ? For example, has X just left an exam or job interview early and is worried about the outcome?
You should have X’s voice flowing nicely in your imagination now as s/he leads you through her/his senses, surroundings, mood and context.
Now, find a way to bring X’s thoughts around to your through-line, if you haven’t already. As you keep writing, see if you can let your character raise your novel’s stakes to greater urgency with a lightning jolt.
Even a static scene can be full of activity. In fact, the contrast in pace can work to your advantage and produce an unforgettable chapter. As long as you bring your stakes and character together with your through-line, all will be well.