GENREALITY

If I’m lying, I’m dying: I actually Googled “Blog writing prompts” to get the subject for today’s post.  And I’m, you know, supposed to be a professional. A professional writer. People ask me all the time, where do you get your ideas? Now I’m going to have to answer them: Google.  How lame is that?

But wait. It gets lamer. Because the topic, “My dream job…” was the first one to pop up. So not only do I have to admit that I can’t even come up with my own ideas, I have to tell you that this IS my dream job.

Really. Writing is something that I did for fun long before I seriously thought I could do it for profit. “Sell a book” was as far out of my mind as “Go to the moon.” But since that’s true, there were other things I considered doing.  Here are some things that made the list, however briefly:

Lawyer: This was my mother’s suggestion, based mostly on the fact that I love to debate and argue. That’s about all I would like about being a lawyer.

Archeologist: This had nothing to do with Indiana Jones. Okay, maybe a little bit to do with Indiana Jones. But I am fascinated with ancient (and not so ancient) history, and even as a kid, the idea of the real life treasure hunt that archeology would be was a huge draw. Then my mom (who wanted me to be a lawyer) pointed out that I would have to go places that had snakes, bugs, and an no running water. The lack of modern plumbing was a deal-breaker for me.

Anthropologist: See above.

Paleontologist: See above.

Speech Therapist: I actually have a degree in this. Mostly because I had to pick something when my parents wouldn’t let me get a degree in acting.

Audiologist: I have a degree in this, too, because I found out I hated speech therapy. I really like working with deaf and hearing impaired children, but most jobs for audiologists involve fitting hearing aids on older people. And it turns out, ear wax is my kryptonite. And do you know who makes a lot of ear wax? Old people with hearing aids.

Actor:  Ironically (see above) I got a job in a community theater teaching acting to kids and teens, and did that longer than any other job. I love everything about acting–creating a character, becoming a different person, living a different life/adventure/tragedy. Terrible wonderful exciting funny things happen, and I can live them without consequences, and even better, take an audience along with me.

But wait… those are the very same things I love about writing!  And I don’t have to stay on a diet or wear makeup!  I can work in my pajamas!

I guess writing really is my dream job. Plus, I can dig up all the artifacts/bones/dinosaurs that I want, with my bathroom right down the hall.

So, what (other than best-selling and world renown novelist) is your dream job?

This post started as one of my (semi) weekly movie posts on my own blog, and it sort of evolved into (a bit of) a rant about how Hollywood can concoct a mind-bender like Inception, but can’t seem to figure out  how to get two flawed but likable characters into genuinely amusing situations and let them fall in love in a way that doesn’t make me want to hurl the remote at the screen.

What does this have to do with writing?  Everything. Yes, sometimes the direction is crap, or the leads don’t have any chemistry. But it really comes down to two of my favorite hobby-horses: Motivation and Characterization.

So I’m turning my Rom-Com Rant into a Teaching Moment, because seriously? Everything I’m griping about helpfully illustrating can be applied to any genre.

We’ll call this:

Write a Better Novel by Not Including These Things in Your Book.

Unbelievable Plot Contrivances. Now…  the Rom-Com has always relied heavily on plot twists that require a some suspension of disbelief. Even Shakespeare is full of of fate, fairies, and friends that throw lovers together and tear them apart again. Some of this comes down to how well you sell your premise by making it SEEM plausible within the story, even if we acknowledge it’s unlikely in the real world.

How likely is it that Viola could so easily masquerade as a man, let alone be indistinguishable from her brother?  (Twelfth Night) We go along with it because everything else makes logical sense. Once establishing that one unlikely thing, the characters all behave with an internal logic and consistency.

I fully admit I’m willing to go on a ridiculous ride if the story has other things going for it. Bringing Up Baby is full of ridiculousness. Leopards on the loose, stolen dinosaur bones, rich aunties, running around the woods…. But it works because Katherine Hepburn totally sells her screwball character and we’re given reasons (even thin ones) for every wacky turn of events.  Hepburn’s antics are logical to HER, and everyone else behaves in ways that are logical to the rest of us.

Unlikable characters. Lately all the romantic comedy movies seem full of one dimensional stereotypes. The Man-Child, the Slob, the Misogynist… Those are all real attractive qualities, let me tell you. Then on the distaff side we have The Successful Career Woman who Can’t Find Love and the… um… the uh…

Nope, that’s about it.

Novels are a little less prone to stereotypes, since there’s more room on the page to flesh out the characters. But does the extra time spent in your character’s head make me wish her well, or to throttle her? Maybe the problem is that, when going for comedy, we paint with broader strokes, and our characters need to act a certain way to get into the wacky situation (see point #1) or the personal conflict (see point #3) that you need to get them out of. Look at Mr. Darcy. He has to act like a prideful jerk at first so that Elizabeth Bennet can establish her prejudice against him. Yet he has this really nice friend, and if nice Mr. Bingley likes Darcy, then maybe there’s something else there.

Even anti-heros need to have facets and a redeeming quality (see: Save The Cat). And when painting with broad strokes, remember that you still need some shading to keep it from getting garish. “Strong and sassy” too often translates into “bitchy” without some nuances of niceness. Also, quirky is not a synonym for “idiot.”

With brings me to…

Unmotivated bitchery: I adore banter between the hero and heroine, but “banter” isn’t the same as “shrewish sniping.” Cutting comments have to be well motivated, or they’re simply cruel. I am 100% in favor of the conflict/unresolved sexual tension merry go round… when it’s well motivated.  Back to Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy: When she needles him early on, and later cuts his character to shreds, she’s completely justified based on what she knows at the time.

The other thing about the sparring between romantic interests–however much they pick on each other, they have to show a basic decency. In You’ve Got Mail, the script establishes that the hero and heroine are both decent people before it lets them get ugly to each other, for well motivated reasons.

In my upcoming book (Texas Gothic), my protagonist and her romantic interest don’t get along at all. I worked hard to set this up so that he would have a reason to be a jerk, which would set up the conflict between them. Even so, when they fight, they fight fair. When Amy goes over the line it’s by accident, and while it heightens the conflict, she also later respects that boundary.

Whether I’ve managed to pull that off, or will be consigned to the waste bin with such gems as Leap Year and The Bounty Hunter… well, we’ll have to wait until July to see.

In conclusion (finally) the dearth of good Rom-Com movies may have spurred this topic, but writing a good romantic comedy relies on the exact same things that go into writing anything else:  well rounded characters that give us a reason to care if they success, and actions (even wacky ones) that are well motivated and logical within the framework of the story.

So, I get this question a lot: What’s your daily page goal?

The short answer is: Depends on when the book is due.

I have a wacky process that I don’t recommend to anyone. But I’ll share it with you, because I always hear people post their disciplined, 5, 10, 20 pages a day routine, or their 8 hours of writing, or whatever, and sometimes, if I’m not doing that, I feel like a sloth, or an undisciplined hack, or both.

Usually when I start a book, I’ll write some chapters (which may or may not be the actual beginning of the book) do some research, write my outline. And then I’ll go into this phase where it doesn’t look like I’m working but I’m thinking about the book all the time. This is my germination period. For instance, before I wrote The Splendor Falls, I watched every ballerina movie I could get my hands on, and re-read my favorite gothic novels, and went and drove around Alabama (not something I always have the luxury of doing.)

This may go on for a couple of weeks, then I’ll usually start back in slowly and, to be honest, go in some wrong directions while I convert the internal process to an external one. Then things will get rolling. (knock on wood.)

During my active phase, my goal is usually “write every day.” Sometimes I go on a research tangent, and end up writing one page. Sometimes I do a lot of thinking, running a scene different ways in my head, write barely anything, and then turn around the next day and write 20 pages. (That’s what happened yesterday.)

When I do set myself a page/word count goal (which I always eventually do), it’s usually because I’m letting myself get distracted when I really need to buckle down and get the story out of my head and on the page. In other words, I don’t really NEED more research, but I’m using it as a procrastination tool. Or I’m second guessing myself, and I need to force myself to more forward.

So the moral of this story is… find what works for you, what motivates you, and what keeps you moving forward. For most people, it’s a combination of things. Give yourself germination time, but know when it’s time to turn incubation into perspiration.

I’d love to hear your creative process in the comments.

Last week, I compared different types of writing to different types of cars. I really appreciate those of you who entered into the spirit of things in the comments, and on Twitter.

Now, I can stretch a metaphor until it begs for mercy, and I don’t the I could write a book without the words “like” and “as if.” Metaphor, simile… which is which isn’t important.* We use them all the time to get your meaning across by comparing an unknown thing to a familiar one.  In fiction (and some non-fiction), they serve the same purpose: to paint a vibrant picture for the reader.

Ah, yes. Comparisons are like a rainforest–lush, colorful, and full of danger… To your writing, that is.

Like-itis. I am addicted to the world “like” when I write. Replacing every other one with “as if” only helps so much.  Similes are often the ‘go to’ format because we used them more in our everyday conversation. But vary them with metaphor (and here I guess it IS helpful to know the difference, so see the footnote) to keep your prose from getting repetitive. (i.e, instead of “He moved slow as molasses.” try “He moved molasses-slow across the room.” (We’ll get to cliches in a minute.)

Metaphors are often less obtrusive than a simile. “Green-clad hills” for example, slips in a sentence seamlessly, where “hills wearing grass like a green velvet coat” trips you up. (Even if it were better written, it would still slow you down.) So change it up, and save your bigger comparisons for moments where you want the reader to stop to contemplate the picture you’re painting. (Hint: read it aloud to see how it flows.)

Don’t over explain… Some things it’s okay to let the reader infer what you mean. If you’re writing a period piece and you say, “smooth as Bing Crosby’s croon” they can still get the message.

…But if it doesn’t make sense without an explanation, maybe it’s not the right metaphor.

Labored and overwrought. I can’t think of a better example of ‘trying too hard’ than those quoted here.

Consider the voice, character and setting. “Slow as molasses” might seem weird coming from a hard-boiled NYC detective. So would “Polished as lovingly as Bubba’s gun rack.”  A teen character probably wouldn’t say that something (other than hair) “Stuck straight up like Cindi Lauper’s bangs.” (Is 80’s retro yet?) But “Stuck straight up like the bangs in this picture she’d seen once of her mom’s favorite singer in the 80’s,” is worse. It’s awkward on three levels: grammatically, metaphorically, and age…ally.** You’ve just outed yourself as their mom’s age and unable to make a more contemporary comparison. (If it’s actually hair, it’s not a metaphor. It’s just a bad hairstyle.)

And most damning of all…

Cliche. This is the biggest potential pitfall of a metaphor or simile. We use certain comparisons all the time. Sly as a fox, pretty as a picture. And these are only the glaringly obvious ones.  Racing hearts, jaws hitting the floor (maybe that’s hyperbole, but, whatever), eyes like saucers… these are all overused and tired.  (I know, because I’ve used them all.)

Two was to get around this? Go for the unexpected from the outset. Put a twist on a cliche.

If you think with all five senses, and don’t pigeonhole your descriptions with the expected, then vibrant metaphors will come naturally. And even when they don’t, they should sound like they do.

So here’s your assignment. Take a cliched metaphor/simile and change it up. Pretty as a… pig?

*But for the sake of my OCD, let’s just clarify: A simile is when you compare something to something else with the words “like” or “as if.” A metaphor is when you treat a word or phrase in a way that wouldn’t be literally possible. Like putting a metaphor on the rack. Or “Her condescension was bottomless; of course I knew the difference between a metaphor or a simile.”

** When I judge/critique unpublished contemporary YA, you’d be surprised how many teen character compare or refer to things that “my Mom” liked/owed/knew/danced to/wore/swooned over.  If you don’t know what’s hot now, that’s okay, just use generalities, not specifics. In Sync are OLD now, but floppy haired boy bands never go out of style.

I read a great book this past weekend.  Of course this is not big news. As writers, we should be reading a lot, and we should read stuff from a wide range of genres, voices and literary styles.

But I was trying to think of how I would describe this book I read. Because plot-wise, it was fairly simple, kind of streamlined. It certainly didn’t rocket along. But the writing was so beautiful, and the emotions of the character were describe with turns of phrase that–as one of my friends puts it–stop you cold so you can read the words again and appreciate them twice.

This writing was like a luxury touring car. A Bentley or a Rolls Royce. It was crafted with a luxurious attention to detail, to smoothly carry you to your destination. You’ll feel the climb of the hills, the peaks and valleys of the drive, but you won’t get knocked about by a lot of zigs and zags.

But not all cars are Bentleys. Nor should they be. The world would be a boring place (and no one could afford to drive, but there’s where the metaphor breaks down).

Some cars are roadsters. They zip along, hugging the road at thrilling speeds. You’re meant to feel every bump and turn, and if your teeth rattle a bit, it’s all part of the experience.

Even roadsters have variety. Some are pared down to the essentials, all about the engine and the drive. Some are full of luxury details that don’t add anything to the ride, which some people will notice, and others don’t care about.

Some books are VW Bugs. You won’t get a performance ride out of one, and they’re not big on luxurious detail. They’re all about the style and the fun. It’s impossibly not to SMILE when you drive a Bug.

Genre writers, in particular, sometimes get looked down on because we’re not Bentleys. Sometimes we’re BMWs. Sometimes we’re Mazdas. But a lot of times we’re Ford Escorts–all about getting you reliably and economically to South Padre Island for the Spring Break blowout. Sometimes it’s less about the drive, and more about the company during your road trip, the snacks, the tunes, and the satisfaction when you get to your destination.

Books and writing style spans a glorious spectrum of awesome. There are times when you want to luxuriate on the trip… and there are times when a smooth ride is going to slow down your story. And sometimes you don’t want to notice the car at all–just the road.

It’s helpful, I think, to know what you’re aiming at with your own writing. If nothing else, it keeps your spirits up when you get a bad review for not being a Delorean if you know that you’re the best Mini Cooper you can be.

Because that’s the real point of this exercise in metaphor–you should develop your own style, your own make and model. You’ll tend towards a type–form does follow function, even in writing–but you’ll develop a unique blend of details and performance all your own. The goal here is not to compete with other cars, but to craft the best vehicle for the journey you want to take.

So, let me know it the comments. What kind of car would you like your writing to be compared to? Where do you fall in the spectrum of awesome?