GUEST POST: Happy Little Trees by Michael Knost

by

Michael Knost



“How do you create such believable monsters?” A woman from the audience asked me this while I was on a panel at a convention last month. “And your characters…I feel as though I actually know them. They are real people!”

As a horror writer, I take great pride in creating lifelike monsters readers fret over. I also like to think my characters have tremendous depth and development.

My answer to the woman’s question was simple: “I’m not sure. I guess I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Well, I’ve given the question a lot of thought since, and I think the answer is in the trees.

          “When you write a book, you spend day after day scanning and identifying the trees. When you’re done, you have to step back and look at the forest.”—Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

When it comes to developing characters and set pieces, I can’t help but think of the late Bob Ross on his PBS television program, The Joy of Painting, as he painted what he called “happy little trees.” With a soft voice and relaxed pace, he offered viewers insights into execution and theory as he effortlessly produced breathtaking scenery. The more I learn about the craft of writing, the more I think I know why Ross’s little trees were so happy.

Ross used the wet-on-wet oil-painting technique. He would add fresh paint on top of still-wet paint rather than waiting for each layer to dry, which allowed him to paint trees, bodies of water, cloud formations, and mountains in a matter of minutes. And he didn’t simply paint each element in a single layer. Each began with simple strokes, little more than colorful smudges. Adding layer after layer, Ross transformed blotches of paint into intricate, lifelike formations; bit by bit, stroke by stroke, layer by layer, smudges of paint became trees, mountains, entire landscapes.

With the same patience, you must focus on every little detail for each individual tree (think, character or set piece) when writing your story, but your character is a collective entity—made up of hundreds (possibly thousands) of details. He or she is like an onion—shaped entirely from multiple layers. Individually, these layers are so thin you could literally read a newspaper through one. But with an adequate number of them, you have something powerful enough to not only spice up the mundane, but also bring tears to the eyes.

Let me introduce you to Billy Bob (layer). He lives in Harlan, Kentucky (layer). His favorite pastime is hunting and fishing (layer). He chews tobacco (layer) and loves flannel shirts with the sleeves ripped off (layer). Think you have this guy sized up? What if I told you Billy Bob is a neurosurgeon? The character you just had in your mind has changed completely. Adding a fresh layer of paint to another layer of fresh paint is important because the two elements mingle, adding realistic dimensions and depths. This is one type of what I call relational influence, which can be as simple as adding that one detail that turns a stereotype into a unique individual. Remember, every detail should contribute to the whole.

But even with complex, layered characters or set pieces, you can’t just focus on a single tree without considering its regional copse—just as you can’t focus solely on a single branch without imagining the entire tree. That doesn’t mean you can’t see the tree because you are focused on the forest, but that you need to notice, as you write, how each specific element blends with all the others.

Once each individual is fleshed out with appropriate layering, it is time to examine the forest. That’s when all your trees, clouds, and rivers work together to become the fascinating scenes you intended from the beginning. Relational influence also describes two (or more) individual entities sharing multiple layers.

Think of each scene as a single canvas in a series of paintings that, when placed next to one another, create a complete panoramic experience. It’s a good way to examine how the continuity of the forest depends on the intricate layering of the individual trees: wet paint on wet, in Bob Ross’s scenes; word on word and paragraph on paragraph in your writing. If you fail to properly flesh out characters and small details, you will more than likely fail to properly flesh out the story and its themes.

The last thing you want is a character standing out from the background like she’d obviously been Photoshopped into the scene. Good Photoshopping (as well as painting and writing) requires elements to reflect or affect one another.

When Bob Ross painted a mountain range behind a lake, you could be sure the mountain was mirrored in the water. And just as placement of the sun will affect shadows on everything else in the scene, each character (or story element) in your tale will affect all other characters and set pieces in some way.

Let’s take another look at Billy Bob. What if we learn his father took him hunting and fishing when he was younger? Gave him his first chaw of tobacco? And then we learn this was the only time he really connected with his dad. Billy Bob didn’t just develop a love for these things on his own; it is a direct result of specific influence from a relationship in his life.

What if we learn the death of his father (who passed away from complications of a neurological disorder) was the impetus for him going into the medical field? It’s easy to see that the shadow of his father’s death (and life) still influences him. We may not always recognize it, but the people in our lives can have great influence on us…why would we not show this in the characters and set pieces in our fiction?

This means relational influence ensures the writer is showing rather than just telling. To be honest, I think Bob Ross nailed it when he said, “If I paint something, I don’t want to have to explain what it is.”

Relational influence allows the reader to size up the characters and set pieces for herself, evaluate the clues (layers), and then form calculated perceptions. In other words, it allows her to appreciate the depth of the forest while examining every individual tree.



Bio:

Michael Knost is a Bram Stoker Award®-winning editor and author of science fiction, fantasy, horror, and supernatural thrillers. He has written in various genres and helmed several anthologies. His Writers Workshop of Horror won the 2009 Bram Stoker Award® in England for superior achievement in non-fiction. His critically acclaimed Writers Workshop of Science Fiction & Fantasy is an Amazon #1 bestseller. His novel, Return of the Mothman was a finalist for the Bram Stoker Award® for superior achievement in first novel. His Author’s Guide to Marketing with Teeth was a finalist for the Bram Stoker Award® for superior achievement in non-fiction. Michael has taught writing classes and workshops at several colleges, conventions, and online, and currently resides in Chapmanville, West Virginia with his wife, daughter, and a zombie goldfish. To find out more, visit www.MichaelKnost.com.

Blog Two: Dialogue Tags

by

Sandy Tritt



Last week, we discussed how to write effective dialogue. This week, we’ll discuss how to tag dialogue. A dialogue tag identifies who the speaker is and, sometimes, the manner in which he has spoken. “John said” is a dialogue tag. Let’s look at an example of how not to tag dialogue:

     “Just be like that,” she pouted.

     “Oh, come on,” he groaned. “Not this again.”

     “You don’t love me,” she replied.

     “Right,” he snarled. “That’s why I bought you an eight hundred dollar diamond."

     “Here,” she sobbed. “Just take it back. Take it.”

Okay, what’s wrong with our sample above—other than being melodramatic? It’s an ailment I like to call “Creative Dialogue Tag Syndrome”—the writer relies on creative tags such as pouted, groaned, replied, snarled, sobbed, and so forth so the reader will know how to interpret the dialogue. What’s wrong with this? Let me count the things:

• The reader must interpret the tag and evaluate if the dialogue agrees with the tag. At best, it disrupts the flow. At worst, the reader decides the two are contradictory and the writer loses credibility.
• It’s telling the reader how the words are said instead of showing by action.
• If the dialogue is well written and the accompanying action is well chosen, it’s redundant.
• It’s annoying.
• It is, in many cases, just downright wrong. If the verb used as part of the dialogue tag is not synonymous with “said,” “asked,” “whispered” or “exclaimed,” it should not be used as a tag. It’s physically impossible to “smile” a word. Therefore, “smile”—and other such verbs—should never be used as part of a dialogue tag. Instead, use it in a separate sentence: “I love Sundays.” She smiled.

 

Consider, instead:

 

      Shelly’s lower lip quivered. “Just be like that.”

 

     “Oh, come on.” Mike scowled. “Not this again.”

     “You don’t love me.”

 

     “Right,” he said. “That’s why I bought you an eight-hundred-dollar diamond.”

 

     “Here.” She jerked off the ring and shoved it under his nose. “Just take it back.” Her voice wavered. “Take it.”

 

Okay, so nothing’s going to help our melodrama, but let’s examine the techniques used. We scrapped every creative dialogue tag. Every one. We replaced each with one of four techniques:

• No tag at all. This allows the power of the words to stand alone. As long as we know who’s speaking, no law says we must use a tag. 
• Action. “Shelly’s lower lip quivered” replaces “she pouted.” It’s more specific, it allows us to visualize Shelly, and it’s showing, not telling. This is preferable to using a tag.
• Invisible tags. Use the prosaic “said.” Yes, “said” is boring. It’s overused. In fact, it’s so boring and overused that it’s invisible. Just like “the” and “a” and “his” and other parts of speech that are used several times on each page, “said” slides right past the reader and allows him to concentrate on what’s important—the action and the dialogue.
• A combination of “said” and action. This is particularly effective when interrupting dialogue, as in the last sentence of the “after” example above.

Dialogue Punctuation

 

Let’s also talk about correct punctuation. If a tag (“he said”) is used, a comma separates the dialogue from the tag. If action only (no tag at all, as in the first sentence in the example) is used, it’s considered a separate and complete sentence and should be punctuated as such.

 

Note: “I love you,” she smiled, is never correct. “Smiled” cannot be a tag; it’s an action. Therefore, it can be written one of two ways: “I love you,” she said and smiled. - or - “I love you.” She smiled.

 

Dialogue is one of the most important tools a writer has to convey character and to build plot. Learn to use it effectively, and it will become the best friend you ever had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© 2016 by Sandy Tritt. All rights reserved. This blog article is an excerpt from The PLAIN ENGLISH Writer’s Workbook (LINK)

Blog One: Dialogue

by

Sandy Tritt

Have you ever read a court transcript? It accurately gives a word-by-word report of exactly what is said. But is it interesting? No way. If we wrote dialogue the way people actually talk, our readers would execute us at dawn (or maybe earlier). So what do we do to create “natural” dialogue?

First, we must listen to the way people talk—both the choice of words and the rhythm of those words. People rarely speak in long sentences or without pausing (except for my mother), so we must write dialogue in fragmented sentences and in short bursts.

Second, we must decide which of these spoken words are worthy of writing. For example, in real life, when we greet someone we generally say, “Hello,” then ask how he is, maybe how his family is, and so forth. But this is boring stuff to a reader, who is smart enough to realize small talk occurs and impatient enough to want to get immediately to the meat of the conversation. Therefore, we need to eliminate the “niceties” and get on to what the reader wants to read.

And third, we need to add body language and action to dialogue to convey its true meaning. For example, a character says, “You jerk.” Without body language, we don’t know what the emotional value of this statement is. Consider the following statements:

• “You jerk.” His eyebrow cocked just enough so I’d know he was challenging me, that he was checking to see if I would back down.
• “You jerk.” The twinkle in his eye told me I’d finally earned his respect.
• “You jerk!” Carl slapped his knee and laughed from his belly until I feared he’d fall down.

As you can see, the action and body language allow us to interpret the meaning of the words. Since the reader cannot see the character talking, it’s our job to describe all the information the reader needs. Adding action and body language to our prose also accomplishes another task—it controls the pacing. Now, there are times when rapid-fire dialogue is necessary, such as at high drama points when things are moving quickly, or after a long descriptive section to pick up the pace. Monologues usually do not need interrupted by tags or action, as the story being told is the story holding (we hope!) the reader’s attention and to suspend it would be distracting.

There are no precise rules for writing dialogue, but an ear for it is developed by reading aloud. Do you start drifting? You need action. Do you forget who’s talking? You need a tag. Is the conversation moving too quickly? You need a break—narrative or action—to even out the pacing.

Here are some quick tips for writing dialogue:

• Read your scenes aloud, listening for the rhythm of your dialogue.
• Don’t use sound effects (called “onomatopoeia”). This is annoying. Simply state, “The gun shot echoed through the chapel,” instead of “Bang! Bang! Bang!” An exception to this, of course, is children’s literature, in which the sounding out of noises is part of the fun.
• Take it easy on dialect. Sounding out words becomes distracting and time-consuming, and most readers tire of it quickly. Instead, use the grammar, word choice, and rhythm of the character’s voice to insinuate the dialect or tag it with an explanation. Instead of writing: “I vill dough zit meself,” write: “I will do it myself,” she said, her Polish accent thick, the way it was when she was tired or sick. Likewise, instead of writing, “It doune make no differen’ ta me. I’m goin’ eenyway,” write: “It don’t make no difference to me. I’m going anyway.” 
• Don’t include “well,” “uh,” and other such nonsense unless it serves a purpose, such as a character whose only word is “uh,” or a character whose main distinction is prefacing every statement with “well.”
• Keep your tags either interspersed with action and description or at the end of the quote. A tag at the beginning (although occasionally okay) tends to make the writing more passive. Consider which of the following carries the most power: 
• He said, “Help me. I need help.”
• “Help me. I need help,” he said.
• “Help me,” he said. “I need help.”
• “Help me!” His arms flailed as his head disappeared under the water. He resurfaced again, fighting surf. “I need help.”

Next week, we’ll discuss how to use dialogue tags and how to avoid “Creative Dialogue Tag Syndrome.”









© 2016 by Sandy Tritt. All rights reserved. This blog article is an excerpt from The PLAIN ENGLISH Writer’s Workbook (LINK)

Keeping Characters in Line

by

Charlotte Firbank-King



I was asked to write about how characters in novels change as they face adversity—how some will rise to the occasion and others will crumble. Easy, right? I mean, it’s your novel. You call the shots and decide your character’s personality. You say who does what. You say when, you say how. Right?

Well, maybe not so much.

At least, not for me. Almost every character I’ve created refuses to behave the way I intended. Why?

BECAUSE THE CHARACTERS JUST WON’T LISTEN!

I like strong heroines. Ergo, my latest historical story has a woman who is a feisty and determined photographer. By the fourth chapter, she’s seriously irritating me. Determined is one thing, but downright daft is another. I go back and try to change the parts where she gets stupid and pig-headed. But does she listen? No! She gets worse. She hies off into Africa with a servant girl and no idea of how to do anything, let alone cook or fire a gun. The hero sort of toes the line, but he crumples when it comes to dealing with the heroine. I can’t believe this nice guy actually falls for, then marries, this harridan before she takes off in a huff to do what she wants, going against his experienced advice.

The bottom line is, characters take on a life of their own. So I can’t tell anyone how a character will behave in the face of adversity, because my characters constantly surprise me. I think they may behave one way, but when it gets right down to it, they may do the opposite. Or something else unexpected.

HOWEVER, it’s also important to make sure your character fits the role for the story you need to tell. Otherwise, you may need to “fire” that character and start over with another one. Or change the story to fit the character—it’s up to you. Writers often impose their personal reactions on their characters. Don’t do it! If you create a character who is, say, a warrior or seasoned cop, chances are he or she won’t cry easily, throw up at the sight of blood, or be fazed by the sight of a dead person. Even though we’re told it’s better to weave a novel around what we know, we often have other stories in our heads. So, go with it—just be prepared to put in a lot of research.

We no longer live in the Stone Age where every day was a fight for survival. Not many modern, normal folks have seen a dead body or a person bleeding to death, or have run into a burning building, so it’s hard to bring to life what you haven’t experienced. This is not to say you need to go out and off some poor sod or go to the morgue to see a dead person—although this last one would help. Nor do you need to cut your arm to shreds to see what blood feels or smells like. But you can interview people who’ve experienced things like this. You can read “true life” stories about such people. And you can think what they had to go through to become who they are—and then make sure your character fits that role. I’ve edited cop novels with not a single swear word—and I know from personal experience that cops can turn the air blue with foul language. You don’t have to make the character cuss every second word, but it does need to capture the essence of how they would speak. Get inventive—and not by having “#@&*** this.”

You could have a gentle character who has lived a soft life. Then he’s thrust into a traumatic situation. It is here that you can make or break the character. If the character wilts and does nothing, then you’ve just killed the story—unless you bring in another character willing to do what the wimp can’t do. But then the wimp isn’t the hero—which can cause serious problems in plotting. Remember, for a story to be satisfying, characters must rise up to the occasion. If you need examples of that, all you have to do is watch the news to see what ordinary people are capable of in dire situations.

About two years ago, I wrote a medieval story where the antagonist was a cruel woman with horrible sexual preferences. I found the character extremely difficult to write—mostly because I’d never experienced the things she did, although I had read and heard about it. In addition to a lot of research, writers need to be brave when writing about something they haven’t experienced. Characters, like real people, will expose themselves during traumatic situations. The important thing is to make sure the characters are true to who they are.

Which, unfortunately, means you have to let them take on a life of their own and tell YOU who they are—even if this means you must change the plot to accommodate them.