Fiction Vortex - September 2013 Page 12
“I say any damn thing I want; I got paperwork here that allows me and my company to tap any of the trees right up to the property line right over there, and this officer is here to see that you abide by the law.”
“I’ll thank you not to put any words in my mouth and to keep a civil tongue in your head,“ Stuckie said. “I’m sorry, Miss Cloud, but there is some concern about Mister Collins’ workers. Seems they all called in sick yesterday with some sort of rash and were sick to their stomachs.”
“Oh, how very unfortunate; they all seemed just fine when they came to visit me day before yesterday. They had a cool drink with me,” the old woman said. She puffed out a cloud of smoke and then studied it as it blew away. “Maybe I got me some ointment that can help them.”
“I don’t need no hick quack messin’ with my guys,” Collins yelled, “I want to know where Duck is, and I want what’s comin’ to me.”
The old woman laughed softly. “Oh I’m sure that will happen, Mister Collins. Things have a way of working themselves around to the just solution here in the mountains.”
At that moment a breeze came up from the hollow, blowing off the last of the fog and rustling the leaves of the foliage. The wind made a sound like the low moan of a tormented soul.
That was when the trooper made an observation.
“Excuse me, Miss Cloud,” the officer said. “But when did you get a second statue?”
Standing next to the carved wooden statue of Granny Liz’s ancestor was a second figure, a crude almost natural wooden form that had the rough appearance of a modern working man dressed in a jacket and fedora with his hand raised above his head.
Collins shivered when he noticed the features on the new statue; they were in the exact image of Henry Duck. The most remarkable thing about the figure was the life-like features; the statue looked so life-like, in fact, that you could almost see the fear in the eyes.
“I’m always acquirin’ things,” the old woman said. She fixed the turpentiner’s eyes with hers. “You never know, I might just want to add to my collection again.”
As a writer, Teel James Glenn, has over two score novels currently on the market. He was named best author for 2012 by the Pulp Ark Awards. His short stories have appeared in Weird Tales, Mad, Black Belt, Fantasy Tales, Pulp Empire, Sixgun Western, Fantasy World Geographic, Silver Blade Quarterly, Another Realm, AfterburnSF, Blazing Adventures and scores of other publications. His website is theurbanswashbuckler.com.
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Articles
What Does Your Character Want? — by T. Eric Bakutis (guest author)
Stick the Landing, Pt. 1: The Importance of Great Endings — by Daniel Hope
Stick the Landing, Pt. 2: A Taxonomy of Story Endings — by Daniel Hope
Stick the Landing, Pt. 3: Common Mistakes in Story Endings — by Daniel Hope
Book Review: Glyphbinder — by T. Eric Bakutis (review by Mike Cluff)
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The Best Question to Drive Your Story: What Does Your Character Want?
by guest author T. Eric Bakutis; published September 18, 2013
When I sat down to write a few thoughts about what I learned while writing Glyphbinder, the first thing that came to mind was how much my book has changed over the years and why. I believe the more an author writes and workshops, the more they learn about what makes good characters and a good book. This is why writing groups are so important--the minds and insights of others fill in the cracks authors don't notice, teaching simple lessons that influence everything that person writes or has written.
Regarding Glyphbinder, I must have rewritten the book from scratch at least eight times over the past 15 years, so it may be disingenuous to say what was published in August is the same book I started writing so long ago. Only a few characters from those earlier drafts and the bare bones of the plot remain. The final book came together in the last few years, built on the bones of what came before.
Thanks to excellent critiques from editors, friends, and others, I greatly simplified Glyphbinder's plot and better defined its characters. My world building is stronger and my villains have far better reasons for doing what they do. Despite all these changes, if I had to point to the most important thing that changed between the first draft and the eighth draft, 15 years later, it would be answering the question writing coaches have been asking their students forever: "What does your character want?"
I always thought I knew the answer to this question. It was only when Bill Benners, one of my longtime mentors (and an editor for this book) asked me to answer it in a clear, concise manner that I realized I could not do so. I had written dozens of short stories and even a few novels in the interim, and it was in trying to answer Bill's question that I finally realized why those newer short stories and novels felt much more compelling than the book I had been working on for so long: urgency, and simplicity.
In short stories, authors have a limited number of words to make their protagonists understandable and interesting. The question "What does your character want?" becomes far more urgent in such an abbreviated space. Does your character want to save a family member? Avoid a seemingly inevitable death? Defeat a bitter rival? Whatever their goal, it should be easily understood from the first few pages and immediate to the circumstances of the plot. When readers aren't told what drives a character until late in the story, that character is not as compelling and the plot does not make as much sense.
In the published book, of course, the answer is clear. Kara's mother is dying, and Kara desperately wants to save her life. This is a simple, straightforward goal that anyone can immediately understand. It drives Kara in every situation she encounters, even from the first page, and shapes her thought processes and actions no matter what might be happening. The strangest thing about this clear goal is that, as integral as Kara's quest to save her mother now seems to the book, it did not exist until the final draft!
Before I added that element (saving her mother) Kara had many clear goals. She wanted to become the royal apprentice. She wanted to protect her friends from the evils hunting them all, and even wanted to save her world. These were clear goals, certainly, but they were also scattered and vague. Sometimes, Kara was driven by her desire to protect her friends—other times, she was driven by her desire to become the royal apprentice. Often, she was driven simply by her desire to survive whatever horrible thing had befallen her next. The story was driven by the action, not Kara's goals—not Kara herself.
When I tried to give Bill a simple, clear answer to his question, I realized I didn't have it. What was Kara's true goal, the one thing she would die to accomplish? It was missing, and there was nothing I could point to that drove Kara from one near death scrape to the next (this is adventure fantasy, after all). The story was driving her, rather than her driving the story, all because she lacked a clear goal.
Layering in her mother's illness and Kara's single-minded determination to save her finally provided the urgency her story needed. Almost every decision Kara made now occurred because of her desperate desire to save her mother, a desire that's present from the first time readers meet her. Once I gave her this one clear, understandable goal, Kara began to drive her own story rather than being driven by it.
As a bonus, working Kara's mother into the story made her driving goal less abstract and more "real". Kara's brief scenes with her mother are some of my favorite scenes in the book. What was once an intangible, long-term goal (becoming the royal apprentice or surviving an attack) is now personified. There's this nice, funny woman Kara loves, and she's going to die in horrible pain if Kara can't stop it.
When I look back at all the books I've really enjoyed over the years, the protagonist in all of them has always had a clear, immediate goal I understood from the first chapter. This doesn't just improve the main character--it improves all characters in a book, especially the antagonists. Once an author understands what their characters want and how those wants conflic
t, the book often writes itself. Grand decisions and conflicts simply make more sense when people have strong reasons to want things.
If I could offer any advice to budding authors, it would be to approach the question "What does your character want?" with an eye to creating strong, simple, and immediate goals for your characters. Don't answer this question in an abstract way, or give your characters goals that won't present themselves for five chapters. Make their goals simple, tangible, and urgent--things they simply cannot live without.
Do this and you may find, as I did, that you have a much more compelling story in your hands.
T. Eric Bakutis is an author and game designer living in Maryland and a lead content developer on The Elder Scrolls Online. His short fiction has appeared in Fiction Vortex and will next appear in the Fairly Wicked Tales anthology from Angelic Knight Press. His debut fantasy novel, Glyphbinder, is now available from McBryde Publishing. His professional website is www.tebakutis.com.
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Stick the Landing, Pt. 1: The Importance of Great Endings
by Daniel Hope; published September 23, 2013
Writing a story, particularly a short story, is like making a great vault in gymnastics. Not sure what I mean? Watch this video of a fantastic example from the 2012 Olympics.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNG0QJw7-4A
That's McKayla Maroney giving a masterclass on vaulting. So, how is this like a good short story? A great story accelerates quickly from the beginning, springs into the conflict, reaches incredible heights during the climax, and nails the conclusion with confidence and class.
Now here's an example of a bad story:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f1DT0E4KqyQ
It starts off slow, has an underpowered and unconvincing conflict to escalate action, barely skids through the climax, and flops into a conclusion looking disheveled and disoriented.
But as an editor, I'm here to tell you that this is not the worst kind of story. The worst look something like this:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uie8z5wghHw
That's right, the most frustrating and disappointing stories are the ones that look like this:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UEQYHzsYlQo
The start is quick, launching smoothly into the conflict, reaches a good climax, and then completely flubs the conclusion. In gymnastics and writing alike, you have to nail the landing, or it will make everything that came before seem like a waste.
If there's something we hate even more than a terrible story, it's wasting great potential. The stories that make us excited, expectant, and even giddy, only to nosedive into confusing, or anemic, or unfulfilling (or all three) endings are what make us punch holes in our office wall. We don’t like being giddy for nothing.
And as much as we (writers, editors, instructors) talk about great beginnings, strong style, interesting voice, compelling characters, and solid plot, we don’t often talk about how to make a satisfying conclusion.
So let's talk about it.
This is the first in a three-part series about story conclusions. There's no magic trick or surefire tool, but there are a few things to look for, and a few more things to avoid.
In Part 2, we explore the major kinds of endings, to help you identify what you wrote or what you need to aim for. Part 3 covers the common mistakes writers make when writing a conclusion. This includes all the terrible kinds of endings we see in short stories, so you know what to avoid.
Daniel Hope is the Managing Editor of Fiction Vortex, where he's also known as the Voice of Reason. He recently published a science fiction novel, called The Inevitable. He can be found on Twitter @Endovert, or at his author site SpeculativeIntent.com.
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Stick the Landing, Pt. 2: A Taxonomy of Story Endings
by Daniel Hope; published September 26, 2013
Ending a story isn’t the hard part. Making the ending satisfying to the reader is the truly difficult task. Sometimes, you don’t need to tie all plot strings into the prettiest of bows at the end. Sometimes the answer is actually a question. But the point is that the reader needs to see that plot bow or run smack into that question and feel fulfilled, like the story was enlightening. They have to feel that it was worth their time.
It’s surprisingly hard to do. And while there are so many different ways to end a story, they usually have common elements, types of resolution that are independent of plot, setting, or genre. So here is a shortlist of important things to include in your conclusion.
Do not, I repeat, DO NOT treat this as a checklist because a conclusion doesn’t need all these parts to feel satisfying. Maybe the status quo stays the same, but the protagonist is changed. Maybe the protagonist stays his fearless, debonair self, but the major plot point is resolved clearly. Regardless, you need to have at least one of these elements. As a general rule, the shorter the story, the fewer elements you need in the ending, but you’ll find that the most satisfying endings weave more than one together.
A Character Is Changed
This is the staple of good fiction, alternatively known as a character arc. The reader wants to know how the character (usually, but not always the protagonist) is changed by events and interactions. This kind of conclusion shows a character acting, speaking, or thinking differently than they did previously (even if the character doesn’t notice the change). It shows the reader that what happened in the story, whether it was low-key or action-packed, had a lasting impact.
A Battle Is Won
Luke Skywalker blows up the Death Star. Batman catches the Joker. Good guy saves the day. You get it. While there are many kinds of conflicts in stories, we’re talking about the concrete ones here. In other words, the protagonist must beat the clock, beat the villain, or escape the trap (sometimes all three). This is the classic action movie conclusion. While you can end with a simple shot of the moment of victory, usually the stronger conclusions will show the after-effects of the victory. Is it a celebration? Is it a bittersweet mourning of those who have fallen? Is it a morose realization that the ends don't justify the means? What does life look like the day after? Give the reader some context so that the conflict and its resolution feel even more impactful.
A Problem Is Solved
While this category overlaps significantly with “A Battle Is Won,” it specifically covers the kind of conflicts where there isn’t a clear villain to cheer against — the woman vs. environment or man vs. himself kind of conflicts. We still need to see the ramifications of solving (or sometimes not solving) the problem, but the conclusion needs to be even more personal, especially if the conflict is primarily emotional.
A Truth Is Revealed
Be very careful with this one because it can mean a twist ending, and twist endings are seldom good (We’ll talk more about this in Part 3). The biggest thing to remember here is to foreshadow very carefully, and don’t run away after the reveal. In other words, give the characters and the reader time to deal with the new information. There are two subcategories here: either a truth is revealed to the characters (dramatic irony), or a truth is revealed to the reader (a pure twist). If the characters uncover a truth, they need to react believably. The writer has to give the reader enough space to see how the characters respond and how this new information changes their worldview. A good resolution will make it apparent why this truth was unknown in the first place (And it needs to be a darn good reason!). If the truth is revealed to the reader, the writer must give the reader time to assimilate the new information and see how it fits back in to what they previously knew about the characters, plot, or setting. The mystery doesn’t end when the protagonist says, “It was the butler!” The author helps the reader understand what the big reveal means in context.
Remember: Throwing a twist at the very end is never satisfying unless you lay the groundwork throughout the entire story, and even then readers don’t necessarily like to have the rug pulled out from underneath them.
Endings can be satisfying without being happy. Sometimes nothing turns out right. The heroine gets to the end only to realize she’s too late, or that her lover is already dead, or that all the french fries are gone (my personal nightmare). The key here is to make the reader feel the emotion of the moment, make them feel like the misfortune has impact. Sometimes this means showing the aftermath, but sometimes it just means showing the despair or frustration that the characters are feeling in that moment when everything goes wrong. You’ll notice that this ending is often paired with “A Character Is Changed” endings. That’s the key to having impact. Whatever you do, don’t abandon characters. Let them dictate how the story plays out after the big turn for the worse.
A Cycle Resets or Someone Dies
At first, this sounds like two completely different categories, but they actually have much in common. Sometimes the protagonist or a supporting character dies (frequently a part of the “A Battle Is Won” or “A Tragedy Occurs” conclusions) or we find that despite all the efforts of the characters, things end up back to the way they used to be. Sometimes the hero becomes the villain. Despite the circumstances being bleak, these types of conclusions deal with acceptance and hope. There is much for readers to learn by reading about how characters deal with events beyond their control. When this happens, be careful to navigate the transition carefully, and give the reader something to hold on to. It’s very important that the reader learns something from the conclusion, but you can’t be too didactic. Being flippant here will make the reader think the entire story was a waste of time.
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There are a few more sub-categories and ways to mix and match the types of conclusions, but these are the basic elements that will get you through the end of any story. Take your favorite book and see which of these apply. You’ll probably find more than one.