Why?

We're in the middle of another round of winnowing at Flash Fiction Online. As it often does, winnowing makes me think about what goes into a good story. One of the things I noticed with this round of stories is that the ones I rejected as "NAS" (not a story) had something in common. They all failed to answer my "why" questions.

"Why is the main character acting like this?"
"Why is the world like this?"
"Why do I care?"

Okay, that last one grows out of the first two.

The best stories answer questions. I'm going to use an imperfect analogy for a moment. If you equate a novel with a movie, then a flash fiction piece is a short discrete section with its own beginning, middle and end. A short story or flash story doesn't work when it's only a scene. So, let's take Dangerous Liaisons (1988). If you were to write the sword fight scene toward the end of the movie as a flash piece you're going to have a problem. Valmont makes two decisions based on what's come before in the movie. We know why he makes the choices he does because the groundwork was laid. Without the groundwork, the fight scene and its conclusion are unfulfilling.

But wait, why did the Sixth Sense (1999) work? Wasn't the biggest why hidden throughout the story and only revealed at the twist ending? Not really. When you go back and watch the movie again (and again), you start noticing that the writer and director, M. Night  Shyamalan, littered the story with clues, some subtle, some less so. In fact, one of the characters tells you flat out the why and why it's "hidden" early in the story. We just don't notice. But our subconscious picked up on them in the first viewing which is why we don't feel cheated at the final reveal.

I believe that the reader needs to know or, at least, be given the clues to put the why together through the story.

Let's take another example.

The first few minutes of Disney's Up (2009), show the main character, Carl, as a young boy meeting the girl he'll eventually marry. We see the heart break of their learning they can never have children and the life they make for themselves. We see Carl's losing Ellie.

Why is showing Carl as a young boy, and then through his marriage, important? Because those minutes, a story story, tell you why Carl won't sell the house, why he's shut himself away from the world, and why he reacts the way he does when the mailbox is damaged. So, when Carl then makes the decision that changes his life, we understand it. Heck, we want him to succeed.

If you strip those moments off, and just start with present day Carl and his house surrounded by construction, the story no longer works. After all, it's just an old house. Why doesn't he get with the program and move? Carl goes from being a sympathetic character to just a grumpy old man standing in the way of progress. He hasn't been shown to have capacity to be more. It's a different movie all together.

If the why is only revealed in your "twist" ending, you might want to reconsider your story structure. Either show me, or give me hints to let me figure out the  big "why" of your story, let me know why your main character acts or is the way she is, and I'll keep reading. Let me wonder about her motivation, and it's easy for me to put the story down.

The Difference Beween The Kindness of Strangers and Deus Ex Machina.

"Whoever you are - I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." - Blanche speaking to the Doctor, A Streetcar Named Desire, Scene 11, Tennessee Williams.

While Blanche's statement to the doctor as she's being taken to the insane asylum is tragic in Streetcar, at some point we all find ourselves relying on the kindness of strangers. For me, the most recent occurrence happened one morning while I was rushing to court. Instead of going out the front door of my house like I'd planned, I left through the garage. This meant I missed seeing my suit jacket, which was hanging on the banister by . . . you guessed it, the front door. Halfway to court I realized my error. And just how screwed I was.

Now, I live at least an hour from most of the courts I appear before, and generally this means I plan for just these emergencies. I usually have a spare set of heels and a blazer in my car. Unfortunately, for this time when those items could have come in handy, I'd left the back-up blazer at the office, and hadn't put a new blazer (you know, that one on the banister) in the car.

My Cousin Vinny taught us the importance of being properly dressed for court.  How big the transgretion is depends on your judge. The reaction can run from mild disapproval and a related ding on your reputation for being disorganized to a contempt citation and a fine. I wouldn't know my judge until I showed up. Too late. So, in true Vinny style, I called every clothing store I could think of between where I'd realized my gaff and the courthouse.

Consignment Boutique? Opens on noon on Mondays. Did I mention this was a Monday?
Leesburg Outlet Mall? Opens at 10. Court starts at 10 - no good.
Lou Lou, a small boutique in historic Leesburg? Also opens at 10,
It's now 9:15 am. ACK!

Worse, I still needed to get my attorney's fee affidavit notarized by the Clerk of the Court. Without the affidavit, my client doesn't get an attorney's fee award. Expecting at least a tongue-lashing from the Court for being so casual, I scurried into the courthouse.

Here's where we pause from some back story. By and large, the court clerks in Virginia (and, in fact, in most courts I've appeared over the last 18 years) are fabulous and helpful people. If you aren't a jerk to them, the clerks will often go far above the call of duty to help you.  That Monday was no exception.

Repeating to myself, "being needy doesn't make me special" and "my emergency isn't theirs," I tried not vibrating to pieces while I was in three different lines to get to the notary.

The clerk sensed my anxiety - probably because I was shifting from foot to foot - and asked if there was anything else she could do.

I said, "No thank you, I'm just going to be yelled at by the judge for forgetting my blazer, and not looking forward to it."

Without missing a beat, she asked, "Do you want to borrow my sweater?"

The sweater was black and cut a lot like a blazer. I may have hugged her. After assuring her I'd bring it back after court, I rushed to my courtroom (2B - no kidding).

I sat in the courtroom, still under-dressed and surrounded by a cloud of another woman's perfume.  Anxiety chewed on me The butterflies in my stomach and light-headedness rivaled those from my very first court appearance 18 years earlier. I debated apologizing for not having a blazer and the benefits of keeping my big mouth shut.

Court does not work like it does on television. Most days, there are a number of cases for the court to deal with, and she calls them one at a time. This means a lot of waiting. My case was, of course, called last.

After forty minutes of agony, I was the only attorney left in the galley. The judge finally called my case. I didn't get yelled at. Giddy, I practically skipped back to the Clerk's Office to return the sweater. After thanking the clerk, humbly, profusely and without reservation, I left the courthouse.

So, why do I mention my personal crisis on this writing blog other than as a "thank you" to the clerk in question? Because random acts of kindness happen. When we use those moments well in our writing, the reader believe that events could happen in just that way. If done poorly, the reader rejects them (and our story).

Did you believe my story about the missing blazer? Hopefully, that answer is yes, since it actually happened about a month ago. Would you have believed it if I hadn't stopped to tell you how amazingly helpful the Clerks are? Also, true by the way. But without that detail, the back story to set up why that particular clerk might have helped me,  you probably wouldn't have believed me.

There's a reason why common writing wisdom says if you need a gun on the mantelpiece in last scene, you better show it being  placed there in the first few scenes. The reader needs to believe the coincidence is plausible. If you don't properly establish the possibility or motivation or predisposition, your reader will cry "deus ex machina" and  reject the "twist."

When writing make sure you take the time to set up the random act of kindness. The ground work could be as little as adding a line or two, or you might need a scene. In a fictional version of the blazer incident, the character, while waiting in line, would think about all the times a clerk had saved her from making a mistake, and lament that this wasn't a mistake a clerk could fix. That little bit of back story makes the loan of the sweater credible. (In my fictionalized story, by the way, it would have been a blazer that the clerk loaned the MC.)

If your story has a random act of kindness, you should ask yourself if you've told the reader everything she needs to believe in it. 

Braiding Stories

One of this Friday's releases from Musa Publishing, Jack Gorman Got Cut By A Girl, is a "braided" anthology. Writing one poses its own special challenges and benefits. Before we go too far, let's pause for my definition: a "braided" antholofy is a group of interlocking stories with either a common event or character. Rashomon is a braided story. In Rashomon, four characters tell their version of a rape and murder. The stories are knit together by this common event.

In this case, the anthology title, Jack Gorman Got Cut By A Girl, tells you the common threads: Jack, and he's cut by a female in every story. With those very loose guidelines, and two additonal ones (Jack could not get laid, or be killed), the six writers went to work. Months later, Celina Summers, our editor and head Muse, sent us the first draft of the anthology. Celina had the unenvyable task of taking six very different visions (three contemporary stories with various levels of magic, a steam punk story, am alternate world fantasy story and a science fiction story), and come up with a plausable storyline. She is so amazing that she made this daunting task seem easy.

The next hurdle was making the "Jack" character consistent across six stories. This took several Skype chats.

But what did we do?

First, there were the small tweaks. Variations in Jack's physical description were voted on and standardized (subject to point of view issues)- an easy fix.  We also needed to make location or event references consistent. As an example, Heidi Berthiaume's story (Kzrma Coyotes), the second in the anthology, had Jack staggering out of a bar. In this round of edits, we substituted the name of the bar she'd used for the one in Goldeen Ogawa's story. We decided the type of beer Jack would buy. Several of the stories were adjusted for this. If Jack carried an item out of a story, that item had to be dealt with in the next or, if an item was needed in a story, we had to show the reader how Jack acquired the item in a previous story. Some of these tweaks were minor, some required new sections to ensure internal consistancy.

We also had to have the same method of moving Jack in to and out of the stories. This discussion required some help from Celina. Once we understood her rational for the story progression and vision of what was happening, this detail fell into place. Again, we all needed to add to our stories to incorporate this common element.

What I had the most fun doing, however, was standardizing Jack's many idiosyncrasies. We created a list of Jackisms (some of the sayings I've been Tweeting for the last week), and then needed to decide if our Jack would really say that. There was a lively discussion about whether Jack would say "piss" or "whiz." (FYI - We went with "piss.")  The merits of "silly boy" versus "sissy boy," and keeping the "g" in words ending with '-ing" were discussed.

In three stories, Jack quoted from movies or television shows. This quirk we wanted to keep, but there was a hitch. Sometimes Jack quoted the movie correctly, or mostly so - "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore" - and sometimes he butchered the quote - “Ooh, watch out, Toto. I think we’re in Narnia.” We decided that having Jack  misquote was funnier. So now, Jack references the "Ruby City" instead of the "Emerald City." Of course, once we made these decisions, some more rewriting was in order.

Small details like which profanity Jack would use bring the stories to life, but they also make the six very different tales a complete whole. This braided anthology borders on collaboration. The interweaving of the story elements made Jack Gorman a lot more work, but a lot stronger. And from a personal prospective more fun.  

I would definately participate in another braided anthology. If I could convince Celina to edit it, or any of my co-authors on Jack Gorman to write again, I'd be there before the sign-up sheet was posted.  I hope you enjoy reading about Jack's exploits as much as we did writing about them.

Blurb:

Jack Gorman would rather spend his time swilling brewskies, scoring with the babes, and watching football. Instead, he's been cursed by sword-bearing girl he harassed while on a bender.

Now, karma is dragging Jack's sorry ass across time, space, and alternate histories. The curse can be broken if Jack manages to learn his lesson, but Jack is nothing if not consistent. From small California towns to a steampunk past, a magical future, and a space odyssey of narcissistic proportions, Jack flirts and drinks his way across reality only to discover that girls with blades are everywhere.

Will Jack ever break the curse? Or is he doomed to an eternity of getting cut by girls? Regardless, Jack still can't get a break. As he learns the hard way, karma kicks ass in all timelines.

Jack Gorman Got Cut By A Girl

Tales of Caution - Second Person Narrative

A writer has three choices for grammatical person in telling a story: first, second or third person. Which “person” you choose determines which pronouns you use. In general terms a first person narrative is told to the reader by a narrator and uses “I”, “me” or “mine”. Second person uses “you” or “your.” Third person, the most common form for contemporary fiction, uses “he”, “she” or “it” and all the related permutations. For a detailed review of these narrative styles, see Grammar Girl’s excellent podcast on them.

When writing in second person. the writer often breaks the fourth wall, and talks directly to the reader. It works well for blog posts since I am talking directly to you. Writing second person fiction, on the other hand, is a risk. Modern readers aren’t use to it. When done well
in fiction – like in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off - it’s a powerful tool, and forges an instant connection between the reader and the main character. Done poorly, this technique is a disaster.

Recently, we had a few second person stories come through the submitted to Flash Fiction Online. Second person narrative fiction stories are hard to sell. I don’t reject them just for being second person. I want to see another Ferris Bueller's Day Off. But I don’t want to filter the thoughts of a serial killer as if they were my own, which is what second person does. I don’t want to be told “you draw the knife over the milky white throat. Warm blood spurts from the severed vein and coats you.” Yuck.

If your main character is vile or does vile things, you might not want to tell his story in the second person. I read and loved Dan Wells’ I Am Not A Serial Killer series about a teenage boy, John Cleaver, who is trying not to become a serial killer. John does some bad things, and some very bad things for good reasons. I worried about him. I wanted John not to slide down that very slippery slope. Dan told John’s story in the third person. Similarly, the main character in the Dexter series by Jeff Lindsay is a serial killer. The series is very popular, has a strong cult following, and has spawned a related television series. Dexter is written in first person.

But please don’t tell me a pedophile’s, murderer’s or rapist’s story in second person. I WILL reject it. But I might not reject the same work of fiction if the same story is told with some distance between me and the main character – in other words, third person or, even, first person. Good writing means knowing the “rules” and deciding whether the price you’ll pay for breaking them is worth the cost. Before you write fiction in second person, think about who your main character is and whether your reader wants to identify that closely with him. If not, you might better serve your story (and reader) by using a different voice.

Framing Stories - Do They Work?

SPOILER ALERT for Diane Gabaldon's Outlander series.

According to Dictionary.com a "frame story" is "a secondary story or stories embedded in the main story." It's a literary device that has fallen somewhat out of favor, but you can still find examples. Marion Zimmer Bradley's 1987 novel The Firebrand has traditional framing story. A bard arrives to tell the tale of Troy. Sadly, he has it wrong, and an old woman, who happens to be Kassandra, sets him straight. The bard's visit is the frame.

The second book in Diane Gabaldon's Outlander series, A Dragonfly in Amber, uses a modified frame story. A brief word about Outlander to put the next novel in context. Claire passes through a stone circle and finds herself a bit over two hundred years in the past - in 1743.

THIS IS WHERE THE SPOILERS START . . . read on at your own risk.

Claire finds love in 1743, in the form of Jamie Frazier. Together they try to stop a war, and fail. At the end of Outlander, Claire returns to 1946 (her own time), and Jamie is off to battle at Culloden, where most of the Scottish army will die.

A Dragonfly in Amber starts in 1968. Claire has returned to Scotland to tell her daughter about her true father, Jamie, and learn what happened to Jamie after she left him in 1746. She learns that Jamie didn't die at Culloden as they both presumed he would. As Claire uncovers the historical records that allow her to piece together Jamie's life, the reader travels back in time to live those events with Jamie.

Could the story have been told without a frame? Of course. Ms. Gabaldon could have followed Jamie through the twenty years of separation and then surprised him (and the reader) when Claire returned. She could have told Jamie's story through the historical records Claire unearthed without taking us back to that timeline. She chose to show us both time lines through to the point where they intersected. In doing so, a framing story was probably her best literary device.

Before I get flamed for criticizing the story, I think Ms. Gabaldon's series, including Dragonfly in Amber, is excellent. She writes about characters you can love, and a few you can really hate. I recommend that you read them, if you haven't already. But, the reason the framing story in Dragonfly didn't work for me was because it resolved the major question from Outlander (whether Jamie survived Culloden) far too early. The driving question for the first half of the book then became "would Claire go back to him?" It too had an obvious answer. So, for me, the frame became a distraction to the main story - what happens when they get back together.

Framing stories can work, but you always give away some of the tension by using one. In The Firebrand the reader doesn't worry about whether Kassandra survives returning home with Agamemnon. We know she does at the outset of the story because she's telling it. In Dragonfly in Amber, the reader knows Jamie survived Culloden because Claire finds the record showing he did.

Before you decide to use one, ask yourself what you are giving up. If the price is too high, you might want to reconsider your approach.