Pull one of these cards to discover a character’s fatal flaw. Or your hero could represent the positive side of the card, while your monster or villain who menaces your hero could be the extreme embodiment of the negative quality of the card.
5. In the traditional minor arcana are the royalty cards—Prince, Princess, King, Queen. I’m not into monarchy stuff so I created an alternative: Child, Man, Woman, Sage. Each has their own characteristics, and remember, each suit represents an aspect of being. So you could use these cards to create characters and put them in conflict with each other. How does a Crystal card (mental) man interact with his Wand card (spiritual) daughter, materialistic (World card) wife, or Grandfather who’s really more of an emotional (Cup card) child?
I could go on, but now I will leave it to you to explore the tarot for yourself and discover what a wonderful tool it can be for personal development and creative writing.
MICHAEL REAVES
Freelancing Sci-Fi TV
MICHAEL REAVES has been a freelance writer for more than thirty years. He’s written and produced nearly 400 episodes of TV, as well as books, movies, graphic novels, and short stories. He’s won an Emmy, and a Howie Award for Lifetime Achievement at the 2012 H. P. Lovecraft Film Festival. Also, having turned sixty, he’s now an official curmudgeon—so stay out of his yard.
In the last twenty years or so, things have changed dramatically in virtually every aspect of TV production. (Dude: I spent the first five years of my career on a typewriter. That’s all you need to know.) When I was coming up, there were three networks. That was it: ABC, NBC, CBS. Those were the markets. If you couldn’t sell to a show on one of those three, you were pretty much reduced to puppet theater in your garage.
It started to change in the seventies with first-run syndication shows like Star Trek: The Next Generation. The numbers people began paying a lot more attention to demographics. They still made their choices by the Neilsen families, but the Neilsens weren’t Ozzie and Harriet anymore.
Then along came cable, and things really got confused. What with Nickelodeon, the Disney Channel, TBS, AMC, BET, and plenty more diving into programming every day, it really was starting to look like hog heaven for couch potatoes.
The merciless proliferation continued. The Learning Channel, the Discovery Channel, the History Channel, Animal Planet, the Oprah Winfrey Network, for God’s sake. We were dazed and buffeted, certain that if we had to endure one more Gilligan’s Island marathon on Boomerang, our brains would pop like an octogenarian’s kidneys.
And, eventually, along came the miscegenation of the Web and TV. Web TV is definitely not your father’s TV. This is more like your crazy old uncle’s (the one with the spiked puce hair and the ermine neck collar). However, even though much has changed over the decades, there’s also much that hasn’t, and never will. Storytelling is storytelling, and hasn’t changed since the days when the venue was shadow play on cave walls.
With this in mind, herewith some nuts and bolts advice:
Lots of aspiring writers ask me what qualities I look for in a freelancer when I’m wearing my producer or editor hat. The answer is very simple: I look for someone I can use more than once. By that I mean someone who’s reliable, who’ll turn in something producible, and turn it in on time. In short, someone who’ll make me look good. That’s it. That’s all there is. There’s no handshake or code word, no Illuminati-style secret club. I just want someone who’ll make my job easier. I made a living for more than thirty years by being very good at my craft, but that was only half of it: I also had several go-to writers I knew I could count on. You’d be surprised how rare such a person is. When someone comes along who can write good comedy and good horror in the same script, grab him! ‘Cause there’re maybe five writers that good on the planet at any one time.
Unfortunately, you can’t count on being discovered without making some effort. So go thou and mingle; attend Writers Guild events, sci-fi conventions, parties, etc. Meet people. Talk to them; you’ll be surprised at how much most folks love to give advice. And, if there’s a specific show that you love and want to write for above all others, watch that show until you know it by heart, liver, and spleen. Then sit down and write a script that hasn’t been seen before, that feels fresh and new while staying true to whatever tropes it conjures. This is as true for sci-fi and fantasy as it is for straight drama or comedy; no matter the genre, if it’s an episode of series TV, it’s about one thing: family.
With that in mind, write something that has a sense of inevitability in the way it unfolds, yet still manages to surprise and thrill while unfolding. You want to bring people to your story’s end with them feeling that it couldn’t have been resolved any other way, an ending the inevitability of which is supremely satisfying, and yet staged so elegantly that they don’t see it coming. If you can do that, you’ve created gold.
Want an example? How about the ending of ROBOCOP, in which corporate yuppie bad guy Dick Jones is fired by the director of OCP, thus negating the protection guaranteed by Directive 4 and leaving Robo free to shoot him a whole lot. An ending that’s inevitable in hindsight, yet leaves the audience laughing in delighted surprise every time. I remember complimenting one of the two screenwriters on its ease of execution; its simplicity and inevitability. He replied, “Yeah—it was so simple it only took me three weeks to think of it.” I’m not surprised. That’s another truism about inevitable endings: The more effortless they seem, the harder they are to dream up.
It may sound overwhelming; in which case, consider another line of work. But remember: I did it, which means just about anyone can. It isn’t easy, and it takes knowing the series inside out. And don’t just research the series; learn as much as you can about the show runners as well. Why? Pop quiz: Let’s say I’m a producer on a weekly series. I’ve got one slot open and two scripts from two different writers. Everything about them is pretty much equal: They’re both producible, well written, and original in ways that illuminate the characters without costing half the season’s budget. The only difference between the two writers is that one of them is someone I don’t know, while the other is someone I met at a convention, at the gym, in rehab, or whatever. Which one will I buy? (The answer counts for half your grade.)
That’s the way it’s done. If you can do it, you’ll never do anything else remotely as satisfying. Making stuff up and getting paid for it is the big time, no question. It’s also the most fun you can have with your pants on. Trust me; I’ve been doing it for more than thirty years, and it still beats working for a living.
EXERCISE
1. So, keeping in mind that TV is family, let’s say you’ve decided to set your show on an interstellar spaceship. Work out the interrelationships between your characters. Exploit such concepts as the generation gap, always seeking a new twist.
2. Remember that aliens are successful only if their reactions are human. Theodore Sturgeon, one of the greatest science fiction writers, wrote one of the best episodes of Star Trek ever by asking, “What if Spock were compelled to return to his home world every few years to mate—or die?” (It’s called “Amok Time,” and if you haven’t seen it, rent it or stream it right now before proceeding further. Go ahead; I’ll wait.)
3. Come up with several storylines featuring each character. Now pick the last person you would think could carry one of the stories, and try it from his/her/its POV.
4. Depending on the parameters of your scenario, use the tropes of sci-fi to examine the characters’ humanity in ways straight drama won’t allow. These can be biological differences, cultural differences . . . whatever. Remember the three basic conflicts: Man Against Man, Man Against Nature, and Man Against Himself. Using those I co-wrote an episode of the web series Star Trek: New Voyages, which made the final nominations for the Hugo and Nebula Awards.
5. Don’t be afraid to draw from archetypes, as long as they aren’t stereotypes. (The difference? Well, a l
azy way to write sci-fi was to take a Western plot and set it on Mars, for example. Guns became blasters, Indians became Martians, etc. It was looked upon with contempt because it dealt only in stereotypes. Then Joss Whedon came along with Firefly. And if you don’t get the difference, there’s nothing more I can tell you.)
RAYMOND OBSTFELD
When the World Turns to Shit, Why Should I Care? Character Arc in Dystopian Stories
RAYMOND OBSTFELD is the author of more than forty books of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry as well as more than a dozen screenplays, most of which have been optioned. He recently collaborated with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar on a New York Times best-selling children’s book What Color Is My World? (Candlewick) and a middle-school novel Sasquatch in the Paint (Hyperion-Disney). He recently completed a YA novel “The Time-Reaper’s Tattoo,” and Hallmark has bought his script A Little Christmas Con.
Dystopian fiction is all the rage. The Hunger Games, Battle Royale (wait, are they the same story?), The Walking Dead, WORLD WAR Z, The Stand, and all the others that seem to tap into our giddy fear about (and secret desire for) the End of the World. These works are especially popular in the young adult market because tweens and teens don’t have an emotional stake in the world as it is. After all, this is the world that tells them what to do, what to think, and who to be. Why would they champion a society that “oppresses” them? No wonder they crave a world gone topsy-turvy in which one will be judged not by the color of one’s letterman jacket but by the quality of one’s crossbow skills.
I created such a world in my Warlord novel series (written as Jason Frost, the hunkiest name I could come up with). In the series, an earthquake separates California from the mainland, a radioactive dome from the destroyed nuclear plants keeps people from escaping or entering the island of California, and all civilization has broken down to the point of people just scrambling for survival any way they can. Plus, the protagonist carries a cool crossbow.
Better writers than I will tell you how to create those worlds. What I’m going to deal with is how to make us care about the people in those worlds. I’m going to do this by providing a worksheet that will help you understand how the dystopian world and the adventures they face affect them. Knowing this keeps a novel from just becoming a series of familiar action scenes that are ripped off from other similar stories. When that happens, the story becomes tepid, a pale photocopy of a photocopy of a photocopy.
The danger of dystopian stories is that the writer becomes so enamored with the details of creating this world that she ignores the characters that inhabit it. Remember that the world is only the setting to highlight the protagonist’s arc, not the purpose of the novel.
Most stories are about the protagonist changing as a result of the plot of the story (also known as the Character Arc). What elevates a pure action story into a more memorable story is our emotional commitment to the protagonist. This commitment is increased by making the protagonist’s goal more than just survival, but about becoming a better, happier person.
EXERCISE
BUILDING THE CHARACTER ARC
First, we have to figure out what kind of protagonist we’re dealing with. Is she likeable or unlikeable? Is he skilled and knowledgeable, and will he use those skills immediately to distinguish himself as a leader? Or is he weak and unknowledgeable and therefore the story is about him learning how to become stronger and smarter? The Character Arc depends on answering the following questions:
1. Who is the protagonist outside the circumstances of the dystopian world? The big mistake that many beginning writers make is defining a protagonist’s emotional state by a major flaw. That means that they select one characteristic and beat us over the head with it in every scene. Maybe she’s sad because her father died or abandoned the family. Maybe she’s painfully shy because of some childhood trauma. Whatever this characteristic is, it is used to elicit sympathy (making her likeable) and to give her an obstacle to overcome. So far so good.
But characters are more complex than that. If you’re writing a YA novel, you can usually get away with more superficial characterization. If you’re writing for sophisticated teens and for adult readers, you will need to create more nuanced characters. How? By imagining who the character was before the dystopia. What did she do in her daily life? What did she read, eat, listen to, watch on TV? What did she do right before going to bed? Eat ice cream, read poetry, text her friends? By telling us some of this, you will be creating a contrast between what she had and what she now has. This loss creates stakes and makes us care more about her.
If the dystopian event (the disaster that caused society to go bad) has already happened, you can suggest the way the world used to be through objects, memories, flashbacks, etc. If it hasn’t happened yet, and is a part of your novel, the scenes that come before the event will show us who she was and what she will need to become.
2. What is the protagonist’s main character strength?
Character strength is about character qualities they possess (not physical attributes). In this case, pick the main one: compassion, intellect, leadership, etc. This strength will be the key to making plot choices because you will need to construct scenes in which the character strength is challenged and the character will have to dig deep to use it to overcome obstacles.
3. What is the protagonist’s main character weakness?
Select the main weakness of character. This does not mean superficial things such as he talks too much or his jokes aren’t funny. This is about a character flaw that prevents him from achieving fulfillment and happiness: lack of discipline, inability to judge people for who they really are, a need to be liked by everyone, etc. This weakness will also guide plot choices because you will need dynamic scenes in which this weakness causes the protagonist to occasionally fail. These failures increase suspense because the reader then isn’t sure whether the protagonist’s strength or weakness will triumph in the climax.
4. What is the protagonist’s main practical skill?
Usually, the protagonist should have something he is good at. There are several reasons for this:
a. It shows he has a passion for something. Characters that are passionate about something are more likeable.
b. It adds depth to the character because it allows you to provide a back story about how he got caught up in this passion. This story is an excuse to tell us about other relationships, traumas, struggles, and so forth in an interesting way. This provides a more active scene to give us information and therefore avoids the ominous “info dump” (in which the writer stops the momentum of the novel to dump background information).
c. It creates suspense because we know that whatever this passion is, it will play a key role later in the novel. The more seemingly useless the object of the passion, the more interesting and clever its use can be.
It doesn’t really matter what it is, as long as you make it seem interesting. Comic book collecting? Guitar playing? Toad racing? They’re all equal in this world. The first TV Movie of the Week was called How I Spent My Summer Vacation, starring a young Robert Wagner. In this story, Wagner played a spoiled, talentless, jobless playboy who had one skill: He could hold his breath for a long time. It’s a joke in the film because it’s used to amuse his partying friends around the swimming pool. But later, when his life is threatened and he’s being gassed in an elevator, this ability saves his life.
5. What is the protagonist’s main practical weakness?
Sometimes a major physical weakness hampers the protagonist’s ability to successfully complete the adventure: out of shape, bad knee, weak eyesight, etc. This physical weakness sometimes reflects the character’s psychological weaknesses. For example, does he use the physical weakness as an excuse not to try harder? In the film Young Adult, Charlize Theron plays a once-popular girl who’s grown up to have a terribly depressing life. When she goes back to her small hometown, she encounters a dumpy guy she ignored in school.
He’d been beaten by a group of kids that thought he was gay (though he wasn’t) and the beating had left him with permanent leg injuries. Since high school, he’s worked crappy jobs, brews whiskey in a still in his garage, and glues different parts of action figures together to make hybrid figures. He’s used this injury—and the injustice of it—as an excuse to turn his back on such an unjust universe and justify his alienation.
6. Is the protagonist likeable? If not, what is her “redemptive quality”?
Sometimes a Character Arc starts with a character who is demonstrably unlikeable. The suspense then is whether or not the character will ever change to become a likeable character. The problem the writer faces is making readers care enough about an unlikeable character that they want to stick around to find out what happens.
This dilemma is resolved by giving the unlikeable protagonist a redemptive quality. The quality implies that there is something good inside the person that, given the right circumstances, can emerge to save the protagonist from a life of being a jerk.
In the novel and film A Clockwork Orange, protagonist Alex is a violent, remorseless thief, rapist, and murderer. Why should any of us want to stay in this character’s company? First, because he’s a compelling and unpredictable character with a strong narrative voice. Second, because he has a redemptive quality: his love of Beethoven’s music. The reader believes that this quality reveals a spark of human goodness that if fanned into flame, will consume the deplorable Alex to leave the good Alex to rise up out of the ashes.
Now Write! Page 9