How To

How To Write an Artist Statement

by Ramona DeFelice Long

What is an Artist Statement?

 An Artist Statement is a group of “I sentences” that explain your artistic hopes, dreams, ambitions, philosophy, direction, growth, and evolution. If part of an application for a fellowship or grant, the Artist Statement will demonstrate how the award would patently help you reach your artistic goals.

Artist Statements are meant to inform grant administrators and fellowship jurors what your hope is for this project, how you will be affected by working on the project, and how the support of the grant will help you toward those ends.

What is an Artist Statement not?

~ It is not a resume or CV

~ It is not a list of published words

~ It is not a list of awards, honors, or degrees

~ It is not your personal background

~ It is not a project description.

If it is not all of those things and can’t include those things, what does go into an Artist Statement?

First, understand the purpose. While not all grants are administered in the same way, in general, the granting agency (state division of the arts or arts council, or private foundation/organization) will employ a judge or judging panel to read and score the work samples. The Artist Statement is a document the granting agency uses to allow the artist to give voice to how the grant will help their career or work. It is also often used as a PR tool. This means, what goes into your Artist Statement is your vision of yourself as an artist—how you came to create art, what is means to your life, what you try to express via your work, how (if applicable) you see yourself as a member of the artistic community.

How do you put together an Artist Statement?

An Artist Statement for a specific purpose will probably have a limit. In the space/word count allotted, include some/all of the following:

….What is your philosophy as an artist, in relation to this particular project? For instance, if this is a family memoir, do you believe that art is a means of examining and exploring your personal history? Is it a way to heal, or celebrate? Is this work meant to be a tribute, to set the record straight, to capture for posterity events that have impacted you and yours?

….How will you grow as an artist through this project? Are you trying a new medium? A new voice? Fictionalizing reality? Creating an entirely new world? How is this project different from your prior work?

….What message are you trying to convey?

….How is your work, and this project in particular, a reflection of you? If you are writing about a culture, are you tied to it? Is the project trying to satisfy a curiosity? Trying to recapture or examine something you have lost?

….What is your goal, specifically, for this work? Do you plan to complete a novel? Write X number of short stories?

….Stylistically, what is special about this project? Is this a departure for you? A new venture into an entirely new genre?

That’s a lot to cram into the small box on the grant app. What is comes down to is explaining what you want from this particular project, and how it fits into your goals as an artist. The Artist Statement is your way to make the grant people understand you. It gives you a chance to express your heart.

A perk to writing the Artist Statement is how it makes you think about the questions above. In your daily life as a writer, how often do you think, concretely, about your goals as an artist? Do you ever stop to recall just how you chose this medium, and how it has impacted your life?

The Artist Statement makes you examine yourself as an artist. Who are you? What do you want? What are you trying to say through your art?

It’s that simple.

How To Foreshadow

by Ramona DeFelice Long

What is foreshadowing?

Linguistically, fore + shadow means a shadow is thrown in front of what it is meant to cover. In fiction, foreshadowing is a device used to hint at what’s ahead in the story.

Foreshadowing may appear through setting; through characters’ thoughts or actions; through objects; or through symbolism.

Here are a few classic examples:

In Hamlet, the appearance of the ghost is not only a visitation from a murdered king seeking vengeance, the ghost foreshadows Hamlet’s own death.

In A Tale of Two Cities, Dickens announces a foreshadow: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” The line illustrates some characters are enjoying an easy life while others are struggling. It also foreshadows that circumstances will be switched by the end of the story.

In Of Mice and Men, the title itself is a hint that Lennie’s  accidental killings of innocent animals early in the story precursor the inevitable death of a person at his hands.

What are some ways to inject foreshadowing into a story? What are some hints given by foreshadowing?

1. How setting can be used to foreshadow:

~ Woods or forests can hint that a character will face a battle with nature in the story;or a character will seek refuge from another man by hiding in the woods; or an unnatural danger lurks there but is hidden by natural growth.

~ A lake, pond or any body of water can mean someone will or has drowned; water can also be cleansing; a setting surrounded by water (island) can portray isolation, both physical and mental.

~ Cemeteries hint at death; cemeteries also hint at rebirth. In Michele Magorian’s Good Night, Mr. Tom, a refugee child is sent to the country during the London Blitz. Willie is terrified when he’s placed near a cemetery, but it foreshadows his future. His old life is about to die, and  a new–better–one begins.

~ On the flip side, a move from one type of place (a city) to another (the country) can hint the expectations of the move will not be met. A family who announces in chapter one they’re leaving the big city for the peace and safety of a bucolic small town is pretty well guaranteed to move next door to a serial killer.

~ Weather can be an indicator of the ominous: Storm clouds equal trouble brewing; a strong wind brings change; rain is a sign of slowly rising tension. And does anything good ever happen on a dark and stormy night?

2. How objects can be used to foreshadow:

~ The gun in the drawer, the sword on the wall, the knife on the counter predict a violent conflict. Whoever is near a weapon on the page, is probably going to need to pick it up and use it at some point in the story.

~ A valuable object such as a family heirloom appears in a story for a reason: it will be stolen; it will be lost; it will be eaten by the family dog; it will give a character strength during a climactic moment.

~ The appearance of a sick or dying animal hints at violence, illness or madness up ahead. In To Kill A Mockingbird, Atticus Finch’s shooting of the mad dog in the street was both symbolic and a foreshadow of what was ahead for Macon: it will be visited by madness and it will take a courageous man to end it.

~ The appearance of a traditional symbol–a crow for death, a snake for danger, a mockingbird for innocence–are omens. Omens foreshadow.

3. How interactions can be used to foreshadow:

~ A story that opens with a person being threatened or bullied foreshadows more of the same for that person; a person portrayed as a coward will have to show bravery at some point. Think Neville Longbottom.

~  If a stranger is walking along a road and a truck pulls up slowly and the two guys give the stranger the stink eye, guess who will be at the bar/diner/gas station up ahead, waiting to give the stranger an unwelcoming welcome to town?

~ In a mystery novel, if one character says to another, “I bought my plane ticket this morning, so I only have to survive three more days in this stinking town” he might have just sealed his fate of dying before those three days are up.

Foreshadowing is meant to subtly ramp up the dramatic tension in the story. It’s different from a red herring, which is meant to mislead a reader. Foreshadowing is truthful, but since it is subtle (we hope!)  it’s up to the careful reader to interpret the author’s clever inclusion of foreshadowing elements.

Do you use foreshadowing in your writing?

Ramona

Tomorrow’s topic: How to Write an Artist Statement

How To Avoid Talking Heads

by Ramona DeFelice Long

RamonaGravitarWhat are Talking Heads?

There are three definitions for the term Talking Heads.

First, there’s the cool indie band whose music is edgy and avant-garde.

Second are the commentators on 24 hour news/current events shows who blather on and on about…stuff.

The third type of Talking Heads are characters who converse without any accompanying action, setting, gestures, reactions, sensory details or interior thoughts.

What’s the problem with that? Aren’t lively conversations a plus in a work of fiction?

Yes. And no.

One effective way to engage a reader is to serve up interaction via conversation. Lively dialogue quickens the  pace. An authentic verbal exchange exposes information important to the story. Well-written dialogue is  entertaining while it moves the plot forward.

After all, who doesn’t enjoy a good dose of banter or a knock-down drag out argument?

In real life, conversations don’t happen in thin air. They shouldn’t exist so in fiction, either. Have you ever come across page after page of dialogue that looks like this?

~ “We’re talking, so this must be interesting to the reader, right, Angus?”

~ “Right, Sue Ellen. Dialogue is engaging. All my writing teachers say so.”

~ “But do you think it’s a little confusing there are no dialogue tags?”

~ “Dialogue tags? We don’t need no stinking dialogue tags.”

~ “Ha ha!”

~ “There you go, Sue Ellen, I made you laugh. All my writing teachers say humor is important.”

~ “True, but where are we? I can’t find a setting.”

~ “Setting?”

~ “I’m having trouble concentrating, too. Where are my interior thoughts?”

~ “Interior thoughts?”

~ “You’re being obtuse. I’d slap you or make a face, but I don’t seem to have a body. How is it we’re speaking but we don’t have  bodies?”

~ “Bodies?”

~ “Are you just going to repeat everything I say, just for the sake of banter?”

~ “Are you just going to repeat everything I say, just for the sake of banter?”

This an extreme, of course, but look at this conversation. We learn in lines one and two that the speakers are Angus and Sue Ellen. We learn that Angus has perhaps taken too many writing classes. But if you look outside the dialogue, what else can you learn about these two characters?

Nothing. Because nothing is there. Apparently, Sue Ellen and Angus are body-less beings who live in the aether.

As is, I’m listening to two beings who are floating around, speaking, but groundless. Unless a dialogue exchange is grounded in a physical place, and I can see the physical bodies doing the speaking, what we have on the page are two talking heads.

Now for a caveat:

Sometimes writers create conversation-driven stories. Hemingway’s “Hills Like  White Elephants” is an example. The bulk of the story is a verbal exchange between lovers.  However, the scene is set up in a place–a bar–before the dialogue begins. The two characters note the surroundings–the hills like white elephants–both directly and metaphorically. These two characters speak, but they  don’t indulge in blathering. The conversation is punctuated by what they do not say.

Additionally, Talking Heads are not to be confused with a story written entirely in dialogue, such as a monologue. For example, the narrator in Dorothy Parker’s “A Telephone Call” is a woman. That’s all we know. The only prop is a clock. The story is her dialogue of waiting for a man to call. While her desperation grows, she checks the ticks on the clock and bargains with God.

These examples fall under the first definition of Talking Heads. They’re indie band short stories. They’re edgy and take chances.

The example above is more like the second definition– commentators who exist in their own little worlds and blab on and on about…stuff.

How do you prevent a case of Talking Heads from taking over a scene in your story?

  1. Place the characters on a set—a city, a café, a mobile home, a field of daisies.
  2. Give them bodies and move those bodies around.
  3. Show reactions, physically and emotionally.
  4. Get inside the characters’ heads and hearts and share what’s inside.

Are your dialogue exchanges fully drawn with setting and senses, and bodies in motion?

Ramona

Tomorrow’s Topic: How to Foreshadow

How To Show, Not Tell

by Ramona DeFelice Long

What isRamonaGravitar Show, Not Tell?

Arguably the most common piece of writing advice offered, Show, Not Tell means an author writes action in live scenes rather than in summary or exposition.

What is a live scene?

A live scene depicts blow-by-blow action that happens on the page. The scene can take place in the present or in the past, but the representation of it–the writing–employs the movements, feelings, thoughts, senses and dialogue of and between characters.

In short, a live scene shows what happens, as it happens, rather than telling us what’s going on.

Is it ever okay to tell, not show? Yes!

For instance, if a live scene has been shown on the page, but one character needs to inform another about it, it’s okay to summarize or go to, “He told her what happened by the lake” rather than relay the entire conversation. We’ve seen the scene, so we don’ t need to read a recap.

Let’s look at some illustrative examples, from my pretend novel Bad Sale. Here’s the set-up:

Richard (the farmer who was tricked by a childhood friend into buying bomb making supplies at the hardware store) gets pulled over by police while driving home. The deputy says Richard failed to come to a complete stop at a stop sign.  Richard waits by the road while the deputy takes an inordinately long time to run his license. The deputy also asks Richard where he’s going, what’s in the box in the back of his truck, and if he has a permit for the shotgun in his gun rack. Richard is finally allowed to go with no citation issued, only a warning to drive more carefully.

(^This was all telling, by the way. On the page, it would be written dramatically.)

This is what happens next, in telling:

Richard walked into the kitchen. His wife Jillian was rolling meatballs for dinner. Richard was still unnerved by the long traffic stop. He started to tell Jillian what happened. At first she joked about him speeding, but when she saw his white face, she got upset and asked why the police would be bothering him. He said it had to be about the hardware store. After he said it, he stalked to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. That shocked Jillian, too. Richard never drank in the middle of the day. She kept rolling meatballs, but she watched him drink and wondered if he was telling her the whole truth.

The above is a new development to the story: it advances the plot and presents a potential new conflict in tension between Richard and Jillian. But it is still telling. Do you see the kitchen? Do you see if Jillian shows her surprise? Do you know if Richard can tell she’s suspicious of his story? Do you feel what they feel, see what they see, hear what they hear?

Now let’s try showing:

Richard walked into the kitchen and threw his keys on the table. “You won’t believe what just happened,” he said. “I got pulled over by police.”

 “Why, were you speeding again?” Jillian asked. She glanced up from rolling meatballs and did a double take. “Good god, Richard, you’re white as a sheet. What happened?”

 “I wasn’t speeding. The deputy said I rolled through the stop sign on Green Street,” he said.

“Did you?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe,” he admitted. He told her about it taking forever to run his license and the questions the deputy asked about the shotgun and the box of baling twine. “Even if I did roll through the damn sign, that was way over the top. He kept me on the side of the road for half an hour.”

He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. He yanked off the top and threw it into the sink.

“I know it was about the hardware store,” he said. “Again.”

He stood at the window, his back to her. Jillian watched from behind as he chug-a-lugged the beer. She squeezed the meatball in her hand until it began to ooze between her fingers.

Richard never drank during the day. He’d had a couple of speeding tickets, true,  but the county deputies didn’t go around harassing citizens–not that she’d ever heard of before.

“Richard,” she said. Paused. “Maybe you should tell me, again, about the hardware store.”

In the show sample, we see Richard is angry because of what he does: throws his keys on the table. Jillian notes his white face, but she also asks if he was speeding again. This reveals a little something about Richard’s driving habits. We see him use a mild expletive, drink a beer in the middle of the day, and turn his back on his wife. Each of these is evidence of his upset.

Likewise, Jillian reveals she knows her husband well enough that he might have rolled through the stop sign, but his white face is unusual, so we know he’s not usually rattled by a traffic stop.  She’s surprised the police give him a hard time because that’s not normal for the town–something else we learn. By watching her watch him, we also get to witness her come to the conclusion that maybe Richard’s not telling her everything about the hardware store.

Not only is showing more interesting than telling, it is also more revealing.

Now, remember the question if it’s ever okay to tell? Within the showing example, there are two spots of telling:

~ “Richard never drank during the day….”

This tells us information Jillian knows about Richard. It reveals her thoughts, but if she said, “Richard, you never drink during the day,” that would be awkward, as Jillian would be a Talking Head.

~“He told her about it taking forever to run his license….”

We just saw the scene. We don’t need an account of it from Richard’s mouth, unless he’d change the facts of the traffic stop when he tells his wife about it. That would not be showing, or telling. That would be lying.

Do you know how to recognize when you fall into telling?

Ramona

Tomorrow’s topic: How to Avoid Talking Heads

How To Write an Author Bio (short)

by Ramona DeFelice Long

What is an author bio?

Author bios tell about a writer, his work, his professional experience and/or personal background. Author bios can be short or long. One of the shortest is the author blurb, the two or three descriptive lines at the end of a published work. Blurbs run from twenty-five to fifty words. Writing a short blurb can be challenging. Authors create characters who are fascinating but find themselves dull in comparison.

How do you do describe yourself in fifty or so words? Start with some dry info:

~ what genre/s you write

~ where you’ve been published

~ your expertise in a professional area

~ your educational experience

~ your personal or professional connection to the piece

~ your motivation for writing this piece

~ your awards, honors, grants

~ your ethnic background

~ your home area, now and in the past

~  anything unusual about you or where you live

~ the number of cats you own

Some of those are more important than others. If you have no publishing credits, say nothing or announce it’s your first piece in print. If you have an impressive honor or award in your resume, that’s smart to include. If you write in different genres, that’s noteworthy, too.

Let’s say I’ve written a short story set in south Louisiana. Let’s say it’s an historical story. I’ve sold it to a magazine. Yay me! But how do I know what to include in my blurb?

1. For an historical magazine, I’d focus on my connection to the history included in the piece:

Ramona Long’s Acadian ancestors were expelled from Canada in the 1600s but went on to thrive in south Louisiana, where she grew up. Today, she lives in Delaware, but much of her fiction is rooted in the oral tradition of her Cajun upbringing.

2. For a literary journal, where I’d want to show evolution as a writer:

Ramona Long’s fiction has appeared in national and regional magazines. A native of south Louisiana, she earned an MFA at the University of Her Choosing, but her exploration of her ancestry through story has been supported by grants from the (names of agencies).

3. For a juvenile or general interest magazine, where I’d want to look unique:

Ramona Long grew up on a Louisiana cattle ranch surrounded by sugar cane fields and rumors of voodoo, so naturally she grew up to write spooky stories set in the past.

Each of the above examples had a particular tone and purpose.  To decide on the best approach for a blurb for a particular publication, first play copycat: How did other authors handle their blurbs? The publisher may prefer a particular style.

Next, decide what it is you’d like your audience to know about you, in terms of this piece of writing.  Do you want to impress or amuse? Tease, or touch on a serious topic?

Third, what do you do if you don’t have a connection to the story, an interesting cultural background, a list of awards, or any prior publications? Talk about yourself.

~ Susan Myers-Magee’s first story was published in her middle school newsletter and she’s been hooked on writing ever since.

~ Susan Myers-Magee’s second career as an author did not begin until she retired from the San Antonio school district after thirty years as a second grade teacher. Now instead of chasing children at recess, she chases fictional bad guys.

~ Susan Myers-Magee has been fascinated with space exploration since she and her brother climbed to the roof of their house in Florida to watch rockets launch. Now she lives in New England but still looks to the night sky for inspiration.

~ Susan Myers-Magee writes fiction and non-fiction for children and adults. This is her first story for XYZ magazine. She and her husband live on three acres of land in southern Maryland, in a log cabin they built from scratch.

~ Susan Myers-Magee served two tours in Afghanistan (or two terms in the Montana State Senate, or two years on the local school board, or two decades as a Texas Ranger) before turning to fiction for fun.

~Susan Myers-Magee holds advanced degrees in psychology and has worked as a dog therapist. She is a popular speaker and lecturer.

Here’s an exercise. Pretend you’ve written a short story or article. Pretend it holds a connection to your personal background. Now, try writing different blurbs for it. Make one humorous. Make one scholarly. Make one all-purpose. Keep practicing until it no longer feels like each one requires drawing blood. It gets easier with practice, I promise!

By the way, there is no Susan Myers-Magee. It’s a shame. She certainly has a lot of fodder for a bio.

How To Lower Your Word Count

by Ramona DeFelice Long

RamonaGravitarToday’s How To post is short and sweet, intended to shorten a manuscript and sweeten it for publication.

Writing economically makes a story more engaging and readable. These tips are not about massive revision or changing scenes. They explain ways to trim the unnecessary from what’s already written.

  1. Write in the active voice rather than the passive voice.  “Was” phrases and gerunds (-ing words) add one word with each use.

~  He was standing becomes He  stood.

~  She was beating the dog becomes She beat the dog.

~ He was thinking about becomes He thought.

  1. Remove words that don’t add value to the story.

~  Superfluous words like really, just, even, sort of, kind of, basically, actually, that, very add to word count, but little to content.

  1. Remove sentences that must be explained.

~ Something was wrong – Instead of making this announcement, tell what’s wrong.

~ She could see something was out of place – We don’t need this preamble, which is also telling. Show us what’s out of place.

  1. Search out meaningless gestures. Characters who look around, breathe deeply, or close their eyes over and over in a manuscript may seem busy, but they also may be performed busywork. Is every action necessary, interesting and adds to the story? Will the moment be significantly changed without it? If no, cut it out.

~ Everyone sleeps, gets dressed in the morning, and goes to the bathroom, but that doesn’t mean I want to read about it. – One of my favorite writing axioms.

  1. Search and destroy adverbs. If it ends in -ly, it should have an excellent reason for being in the sentence. If the sentence can survive without it, cut it.

~ Said loudly can be shouted; walked quickly can be jogged; spoke softly can be whispered; put down angrily can be slammed

5 – Trim dialogue tags. “He said” and “She said” are necessary to identify speakers, but attributes are not needed after every spoken line. Dialogue tags can be staggered, or an action which identifies the speaker can replace it–but only if the action tells something of its own.

~ “Lies, all you tell me are lies,” John said. He slapped his hand on the table in frustration.

becomes

~“Lies, all you tell me are lies.” John slapped his hand on the table in frustration.

Chipping away at a manuscript can be tedious, but if a lower word count is your goal, one word is better than two. Clean, tight writing is more enjoyable to read, and easier to sell.

Do you have habit words you often cut?

Ramona

How To Lead a Reader

by Ramona DeFelice Long

RamonaGravitarWhat is Leading a Reader?

Leading a reader is a term I use to describe habits that alert a reader about what’s ahead but doing so undermines tension.

Leading the reader can happen in two ways. One employs melodramatic statements that are intended as lures. The other states a fact and piles on unnecessary proof.

Have you ever read something like these?

~ Eileen opened the door to the ballroom. There before her was the surprise of her life! Never again would she take Boyd’s love for granted.

~ Jonathon read the report. With each paragraph, the words killed off a bit of his soul. By the time he was finished, his heart felt like an empty pouch.

These examples lead the reader because they tell of a grandiose or terrible something, but after the description is over, the reader is no more enlightened than before. What did Boyd do for Eileen that removed all doubts? What did the report reveal that was so soul-destroying for Jonathon? What comes next is an explanation, but the momentum of the story goes in reverse while the writer expounds on what just happened.

Some writers place a leading statement at the end of a chapter hoping it will fuel an irresistible urge to turn the page. While getting the reader to turn the page is a good thing, using a cheap trick to do so is not so good. A statement such as “What she saw before her changed everything she thought was true” is not only melodramatic, it’s a tease. Nobody likes a tease.

A second type of leading the reader is when a character express a conclusion as a fact, and then follows up the statement with unnecessary proof.

For example:

~ Eileen ran down the rain-slicked road toward where Boyd lay next to the fallen tree. Ten feet away she stopped. She was too late. He was dead. A sob caught her throat as she threw herself at his body. She checked his pulse. She tore open his shirt and started CPR.

Now wait a minute. Boyd is dead. She just told us so. She didn’t say he looked dead or seemed dead. She said she was too late. She said he was dead.

So if he’s dead, why’s she wasting her time–and mine–to check his pulse and start CPR?

A second way of looking at this is:

~ Jonathon walked in and instantly knew his wife was gone. After all the threats, Marsha had left him. “Marsha?” he called. He went into the kitchen. No Marsha. He ran upstairs to their bedroom. No Marsha. He yanked open the closet door. Marsha’s clothes were gone.

My reaction to reading this is, Dude, give it up, Marsha is gone. I don’t need to see the empty kitchen or bedroom or closet. I know she’s gone because Jonathon instantly KNEW his wife was gone. He didn’t guess, think, wonder or hope. He said he knew it, and I believed him, so his running around to make sure were just histrionics. No wonder Marsha left him.

Expressing a conclusion as a fact before it’s proven or discovered kills the tension of the moment. Once I know Boyd is dead, so is the scene. There can’t be a faint pulse or a dying moment promise or a stranger who happens to be a handsome neurosurgeon screeching to a halt and popping out of his Jaguar to revive Boyd and, by doing so, steals Eileen from him.

Likewise, if Jonathon tells me Marsha is finally gone, he destroys my hope that maybe she’s hiding in the closet with a shotgun to put the lying, cheating jerk out of her misery once and for all.

A simple way of solving this problem is to turn the statement into a question.

~ Instead of “He was dead” change to “Was Boyd dead?”

~ Rather than “…instantly knew his wife had left him…” change to “Had Marsha finally left him?”

A question makes the following actions more plausible.

By telling  a fact too soon, the writer kills the drama. By making a melodramatic statement, the writer has to go backwards to back it up. This leads the reader by telling, not by showing the action as it happens.

Ramona

 

How To Write a Reaction

by Ramona DeFelice Long

What is a Reaction?

A reaction is a response to an occurrence.

A reaction happens in three steps: Action, Instinct, Response. An event occurs. Instinct kicks in first. A reasoned response follows.

Let’s use an illustrative example, from my pretend novel Bad Sale:

Richard walks through his corn field, checking the crop. Nearby, a gunshot cracks off. Richard jumps at the sound. He crouches down and stares at the treeline, wondering who is shooting at his corn field?

Now let’s deconstruct:

Line 1 sets the scene (Richard walking)

Line 2 is the action (gunshot)

Line 3 is instinct (jumping in surprise)

Line 4 is Richard’s reasoned response (crouching for protection then wonder what’s happening)

In fiction, there are two reasons for this lesson in physiology.

First, how a character responds to the unexpected shows something about him. Richard, for instance, is a private citizen. He’s surprised by the gunshot and crouches, for his own safety. He wonders why there is gunfire because, apparently, it’s not a common occurrence.

If Richard lived in a crime-ridden city, his instinct would not change–he’d still be startled. His response would depend on his life experience. That’s what puts the reason in his reasoned response. He might hit the deck; he might jump into a doorway; he might reach for his own weapon. Instead of wondering why there is gunfire, he might wonder if it hit someone he knows.

If Richard is a police officer or soldier, his physical response would be the result of training: instead of cowering, he might seek cover or charge toward the gunfire; or he might command people around him to get down or hide.

How a character reacts to a surprise or event is full of clues about the character.

The second reason a fiction writer should understand the order of reaction is to understand what happens when the order is disrupted.

For instance, I often see a paragraph like this:

~ Jessica jogs through her quiet, tree-lined neighborhood. Suddenly, a neighbor’s dog charges toward the street. How did it get loose? It’s always chained. Jessica stumbles at its ferocious bark. She rights herself and sprints away.

See the problem?

Line 1 sets the scene (Jessica jogging)

Line 2 is the action (dog charging)

Line 3 is part of the reasoned response (asking why question)

Line 3 is instinct (Jessica stumbles)

Line 4 is part 2 of her reasoned response (recover and run away)

By asking questions before she responds, Jessica pauses the flow of action. When a dog charges, do you run first or wonder first? On the page, she delays her immediate, instinctive physical response. The first question gives the dog time to catch her. A second question means the dog has latched onto her ankle. If she asked another one, the dog would be gnawing on her leg.

As a reader, I’m wondering why Jessica is asking questions when there’s a dog charging at her. I’m shaking the book, saying, “Run, Jessica, run!”

Think about it. When you are surprised, what do you do?

First, you react instinctively (jerk, jump, stumble, yell.)

Then you respond to protect yourself (duck, cower, raise your hands, cover your ears.)

Then you ask questions (Who let the dog out? Who’s shooting in my corn field?)

This is how it happens in real life. This is how it should happen in fiction. If you allow your characters to ask questions first and respond second, they’ll get dog bit.

Have you written a character whose life experience or training has altered their response to danger?

Ramona

 

How To Write a Thematic Statement

by Ramona DeFelice Long

What is a Thematic Statement?

Robert McKee (STORY) calls it the Controlling Idea.  John Truby (THE ANATOMY OF STORY) calls it the Theme Line.  I call it a Thematic Statement. It is a sentence that takes a broad theme and condenses it to give a particular story a particular meaning.

Theme is the big concept of your story: love, honor, justice, betrayal, loyalty, family, courage, duty.  A Thematic Statement refines the broad idea to address   your Story Question. In doing so,  the Thematic Statement guides your characters in every choice they make and helps you, the writer, by providing a moral framework.

A Thematic Statement explains WHY characters act as they do.

Examples:

~In the Harry Potter series, a theme is destiny. Harry is given two gifts: the gift of great talent and the gift of life. He’s the boy who lived. But these gifts are also burdens because he is destined to use his talents to save the lives of other people. So a thematic statement might be, “When your life and talents are a gift, it’s both a burden and a duty to use your life and talents for the good of others .”

~John Grisham’s THE CLIENT examines people in positions of trust, some by choice and some not. A thematic statement for THE CLIENT might be, “A person unfairly put in a position of trust might have to discard that position for his own survival.”

~For my pretend story BAD SALE, the thematic statement is, “An honorable person acts within his definition of honor.” The farmer’s sense of honor will be tested when  his desire to help his friend clashes with his desire to be a good citizen.

A Thematic Statement is the writer’s compass to what the characters consider right or wrong, good or bad, just or unjust. Once this is established, the characters act accordingly.

In other words, a Thematic Statement is the conceptual soul of your story.

What thematic statement can be applied to your work in progress?

Ramona

Tomorrow’s topic: How To Not Get Published

How To Write a Story Question

by Ramona DeFelice Long

What is a Story Question?

The Story Question—sometimes called the Story Problem—is the core question to be answered in the story.

Answering the Story Question is the goal of the primary plot line. It’s what drives the characters to act as they do. It’s the story’s catalyst–essentially, why the story exists.

The Story Question itself may never appear in the story as an actual question, so why is it important to identify it? Because it provides a goal, and a goal offers the characters a path for action. Without a goal, characters will wander willy-nilly. No one wants to read willy-nilly.

Once the Story Question lays out the path ahead, the writing should follow it. Use the Story Question as an aid to stay on track. If any portion of your work in progress is not directly or indirectly tied to the Story Question–through the plot,  a character’s background, or a situation in the setting–it probably does not belong in the story.

Writing out your Story Question, and maybe putting it a prominent place as a reminder, can keep you from meandering.

Here’s a sampling of Story Questions, by genre:

For a mystery, a Story Question might be: “Who killed JR?”

For a thriller, a Story Question might be: “Who is trying to kill JR?” or “Why is Whoever trying to kill JR?”

For a romance, a Story Question might be: “Can JR overcome his emotional baggage and find love?”

For a romantic suspense, a Story Question might be: “How will JR survive this conflict while falling/staying in love?”

For an quest, a Story Question might be: “Can JR locate the last two legendary googoomama birds and save the species from extinction?”

For an adventure story, a Story Question might be: “Will JR and his young son survive a plane crash in the Sierra Nevada Mountains?”

For a women’s fiction novel, a Story Question might be: “Can JR save her drug-addicted sister without ruining her own life?”

For a middle grade novel, a Story Question might be: “Can JR befriend the mean girls without becoming one?”

For a YA novel, a Story Question might be: “Can JR pursue his musical talents despite his family’s disapproval?”

For a young reader novel, a Story Question might be: “Can JR outsmart the bully on the bus?”

For a non-fiction, a Story Question might be: “How can JR’s personal journey in this subject help others?”

{JR is unisex, by the way.  Always up to something.}

By the end of the story, the Story Question should be answered fully, logically, and hopefully in a way that allowed the characters to grow and the reader to be entertained and emotionally satisfied.

Have you identified a Story Problem that lays out the path for your work in progress?

Ramona

Tomorrow’s topic – How To Write a Thematic Statement