Does this title make me sound like a dick? Well, like most women in this country, I’m pissed off. I mean, I could have titled this post Fuck the Patriarchy, but, screaming into Neverland Canyon seems futile.
I’m dusting off my marching shoes for the long battle, but meanwhile, let me channel my rage into something useful. I want to be useful.
I’ve been a writing coach in one form or another for more than twenty-five years. I have a hard drive full of my own novels—both aborted (yes, I used that word) and ones that made it through to publication. I have worked on client manuscripts and stories that have sold/been acquired/done well in the marketplace as well as ones that ended up in drawers. In all those years, I’ve learned a thing. Maybe two things. Maybe five things.
After considering the roster of likely candidates, I present to you my top picks for craft decisions that undermine a successful story:
Choosing an obtuse voice to tell your story. Sometimes called imitative fallacy, this tendency to manufacture a specific tone or personality via a voice that copies the intended effect often falls flat. Particularly when you have, say, a disaffected character droning on and on, demonstrating emotional disconnection (He’s a bore! That’s the point, you might argue. Don’t you get it?) Don’t do this. Don’t be that writer. In other words, a boring man telling a boring story will bore the reader.
Info-dumping. You’ve heard this a million times, right? Show, don’t tell. Trust the reader. But writers are compulsive, and storytelling uses that compulsion to translate what’s in the writer’s head and render it consumable for an audience. You don’t want to leave anything out, right? You want the image in your brain to be magically absorbed into a stranger’s gray matter. So you throw everything into the pot. Everything. *Insert thankyouforplaying buzzer*
Taking side trips to nowhere in the name of character development. My husband has this anecdote about me. When we first started dating, he claims I told him that my characters write the story and I go along for the ride. If I actually did say that to him, I’m an asshole. Because characters are slippery devils, and if you let them run the show, you’ll end up in some cul de sac or a dug up cobblestone road (like we recently did in Portugal when our Google maps led us astray).
Losing your way half-way through and winging it. Ah, the muddled middle. I don’t have the stats, but I’ll bet that most aborted (there’s that word again) novels peter out in the second act. All the bright, shiny idea bubbles have burst, leaving you chasing the initial high, and never finding it.
Fucking with time in a way that undermines the forward momentum of the narrative. I’m not a backstory hater, and I don’t ascribe to all the craft gurus who forbid backstory in the opening chapter. That said, a story needs fuel, and contextualizing early scenes with background information can feel like dribbling water in the gas tank. Can. Not will.
So, what’s the fix for these troublesome peccadillos? Well, stay tuned for tomorrow’s post, and find out! (There will be a bonus on tomorrow’s post for my paid subscribers, too.)
I always love your wise words about writing, Suzy! (And everything else too!)
Hey everybody, hello Suzy,
I am a bit late to the party, however is there a single blog post to mistake 5, I did not find it.