Now Write!

by Laurie Lamson

  3. Now bring the two together and have them argue over something. Very soon you’ll have a story worth writing down. Once you get going, you won’t be able to stop them because they’ll be alive.

  4. Here’s a tip from a great master. The brilliant playwright Georges Feydeau once wrote that one of the most successful devices in farce is to create two characters who absolutely must not meet and then bring them together. It is a good formula for other forms of fiction too. I can vouch for that.

  JAMES G. ANDERSON

  More Than Words Can Say

  JAMES G. ANDERSON is a teacher, folk musician, poet, and co-author of the Legacy of the Stone Harp series of epic fantasy novels published by Baen Books with Mark Sebanc. Anderson and Sebanc are currently writing the third book of the four-part series. Anderson and his family live on the Canadian prairies, near Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, where they work with the St. Therese Institute of Faith and Mission.

  When one of my readers chats with me about a story, nine times out of ten the first thing I say is, “So, you’ve met Gelanor.” Or it might be Tromwyn or Gabaro or Bethsefra or any other of the people that populate the pages I have written. To me, the characters I write are real folk—walking, talking persons—and I derive a great joy from introducing each of them to a reader. Early in my writing career, a friend in the craft offered me the following sage advice: It is primarily the characters in a story that will capture and sustain the reader’s interest, so create characters that people will care about.

  Certainly, that has been my own experience as a reader: I am interested not so much in “What happens next?” as in “What happens next to Bob?” But how does one create credible characters that people will care about? I propose that the answer lies in the human ability to communicate with one another and elicit an emotional response, be it positive or negative.

  In studying human speech, psychologist Albert Mehrabian identified the relative importance of the three main aspects of spoken communication in conveying meaning. He concluded that:

  • 7 percent of meaning is expressed through the verbal aspect, that is the actual words spoken;

  • 38 percent is by means of the tonal or vocal aspect, which includes tone of voice, pacing, and accents of speech; and finally

  • 55 percent is the physiological or visual aspect, that is the facial gestures, eye movements, hand gestures, and body postures that accompany speech.

  Even if we accepted a far more liberal estimate of the relative importance of the verbal component in spoken communication, say 50 percent, this still means that at least half of the meaning of anything said is conveyed non-verbally. This presents a unique challenge to writers, whose stock-in-trade is words.

  Any piece of writing is, by its very nature, communication, and a form of communication that is 100 percent verbal. However, resident within a piece of writing there may be characters interacting, and when characters interact, there is another level of communication, that of dialogue. While arguably misinterpreted and misapplied in many instances of human interaction, Mehrabian’s 7-38-55 formula does apply to spoken communication involving the expression of feelings, emotions, and personal opinion—and the greater part of dialogue in any story is indeed an expression of emotion or opinion on the part of the characters. If this interaction is to be believable, well-developed, and real—keeping it real is the goal in writing fiction, and speculative fiction is no exception—then it is incumbent upon a writer to afford due respect to all modes of expressing meaning in spoken communication when crafting dialogue.

  The writer faces a further challenge. To the reader, a passage of dialogue should be an intimate eavesdropping, a close listening in on the characters. The task of a writer is to put the reader into direct contact with the characters. The voice of the narrator must fade into the background, allowing the voices of the characters themselves to be brought to the fore, voices that speak in words, in tones, and in gestures. This then must be of primary concern when writing dialogue, namely, paying attention to the three V’s of spoken communication as suggested by Mehrabian’s research: the verbal, vocal, and visual.

  In terms of the verbal, a writer must think not simply of the clarity of meaning carried by the actual words spoken by a character, but also of the character’s diction and any unique mannerisms of speech he might have. The character is a real person and has to speak like a real person, so the writer must be careful to put words in the character’s mouth that the character would naturally say, and in a way that he would naturally say them.

  Words are expressed in speech with intonation, pacing, and flow. Without tone of voice, much of the meaning of the words is lost. The vocal can be nuanced by use of the conventions of dialogue, particularly the use of the exclamation mark to express a raised voice, the ellipsis to indicate a speaker drifting off or not completing a thought, and the dash, which indicates an interruption of speech.

  The pacing of dialogue is also an important part of vocalization. Descriptive beats—that is, instances of action, gesture, or description—can be used to give dialogue some breathing space and slow a scene down. Conversely, short sentences, interrupted speech, and limited use of speaker attribution (the “so-and-so said” component) can pick up the pace of dialogue.

  An inherent danger in speaker attribution is the temptation for a writer to explain how a character has said something either through the choice of word used for speaker attribution or by using an adverb or adverbial phrase to modify the speaker attribution. Said is an invisible word and the reader’s eye will ignore it. So a writer should not be afraid to use said and indeed, use it consistently, even though there may be a strong temptation to use other speaker attribution words for variety’s sake.

  Speaker attribution is only necessary to keep the reader on track with who is saying what, not how who is saying what. Remember, show, don’t tell—it is the cardinal rule of fiction writing. To do otherwise is to impose the voice of the narrator on the scene, thus interrupting the direct contact of the reader with the character. This direct contact, this intimate eavesdropping, is vital in gaining a reader’s empathy with the characters. A writer needs to win over the reader, paving the way for the reader to make an emotional connection with, and commitment to, the characters in a story. The intrusion of the narrator’s voice will impede this process. Therefore, rather than saying how someone spoke, a writer should use the words themselves or, even better, the vocal and non-verbal attributes of a character’s speech to express meaning. Descriptive beats can often be used in place of speaker attribution and can very effectively express a character’s non-verbal or visual communication.

  The visual may in fact be the most important aspect of dialogue in bringing characters to life. A writer must discover what might be called the body-voice of a character. What mannerisms, habitual gestures, common postures, facial expressions, or physical quirks does a character have? How will a character behave when nervous, content, angry, excited, or depressed? Body language is also subject to cultural and environmental factors, however, so it is important to research the cultural and social mores and norms relevant to a character’s background. Of course, in the realm of speculative fiction, there is some latitude in this matter, the cultures and societies often being the product of the writer’s imagination. Even so, it is vital to be consistent in characterization—a character should not change voice except for some legitimate and credible reason.

  Discovering a character in the writing process and bringing that person to life is one of the greatest joys I have found as a writer, a joy that achieves its culmination whenever a reader connects at an emotional level with that character. The key to this, I have found, is to build credible characters through credible dialogue by careful attention to all the means of expression in human communication: verbal, vocal, and visual.

  EXERCISE

  Many people, particularly in the field of human relations and business, have invested a
mple resources in the research and study of body language. Spend some time online learning the basics of how to read body language.

  Now, equipped with this knowledge, head off to a coffee shop or some other public place and practice some creative eavesdropping, paying closer attention to the vocal and visual aspects of communication than the verbal. Perhaps even try eavesdropping out of earshot, “listening” only to body language. Jot down anything you notice that might be useful in writing dialogue.

  If you dare, ask a close friend to reflect back to you your own body-voice. What gestures, facial expressions, and physical habits are unique to you when you’re in conversation?

  GABRIELLE MOSS

  Creating Convincing Communication Between Humans and Supernatural Creatures

  GABRIELLE MOSS is a writer whose work has appeared on literary websites including GQ, New York Post, The Hairpin, Jezebel, and Nerve. She lives in Brooklyn, New York, where she’s never communicated with a real ghost (but not for lack of trying).

  What’s making your demonic possession narrative fall flat? Why is your ghost story boo-ring?

  It might come down to something as simple as the communications between your human and supernatural characters.

  Some supernatural characters can stay completely silent, or get away with just a well-timed growl, and still be completely terrifying.

  But if your plot hinges on a human character interacting with a supernatural creature—a vampire traveling across Europe, a possessed little girl, a ghost seeking vengeance for her untimely death—the choices you make regarding their style of communication can make or break the mood of your story.

  For instance, using no language-based communication at all can lower the stakes in a story about a ghost’s desire for revenge; conversely, a too-verbose ghost who chats away like he’s on line at the grocery store can dial down the tension in a tale of terror.

  But how do you find the right balance between too much and too little communication? And how do you develop a unique style of communication for your supernatural character, one that clearly conveys his aims to the reader, but also shows that he is most certainly not of this world?

  Some of the most terrifying conversations ever put down on paper are those that transpire between Pennywise the Clown and his human victims in Stephen King’s It. Pennywise often communicates directly with the book’s characters, but these conversations make him more threatening, not less.

  Why? Because Pennywise doesn’t speak like a normal human being. He uses metaphor, poetic imagery, and phrases that we half-remember from childhood. King mixes all these elements together to set Pennywise apart as a being that does not fit into our world. In one of the book’s most famous scenes, Pennywise tells a boy, “They float, Georgie, and when you’re down here with me, you’ll float, too.” The use of the word float draws the reader’s brain to a wide array of images and associations—a dead body floating in water, the floating balloons of childhood (which Pennywise also utilizes), a spirit floating to Heaven, a dandelion seed floating away on a breeze. This invokes a very different reaction in the reader than the phrase, ”. . . and when you get down here, you’ll be dead, too”—even though both convey the same general idea.

  By using this metaphorical language, Pennywise not only makes clear that he is far different from the humans around us, but he also brings the reader back to the terror of childhood, a time when the true meaning of a lot of words and phrases used by adults were unclear to us. Pennywise’s specific and unusual communication style is one of the key elements that makes him a great villain of modern horror.

  But I’m just a regular human being, you may be saying. I’ve been speaking regular human my whole life. How do I crack the code for creating a one-of-a-kind communication style for my supernatural characters?

  EXERCISE

  1. Take a mental inventory of what makes you feel scared. Dreams can be a very good resource for this information, and keeping a dream journal, in which you take specific notes on how information is communicated to you by other characters in your dreams, can be of great help when figuring out how your supernatural creature conveys information to your human characters. Since conscious logic flies out the window in dreams, they can also be a great place to draw inspiration from when developing supernatural scenarios overall.

  2. Freewrite longhand for ten minutes on what makes you afraid. No internal censorship, no judgments, no picking your pen up off the paper. Just write down everything that comes to you, and pay particular attention to the strange things that frightened you as a child—a commercial jingle, a certain room in your house. When the ten minutes are up, go back through—what words or phrases popped up that are more evocative than logical?

  3. Read poetry, and collect in a notebook metaphors that you enjoy or find particularly evocative. While your creature does not have to speak in flowery, poetic language by any means (in fact, it’s probably best if he doesn’t), poetry can contain strong, jarring imagery or syntax that can help inspire your creature’s unusual tone and point of view.

  4. Talk to some children. Yes, human children.* Kids who are just getting a handle on spoken language can be accidental masters of the unusual metaphor, and the world they weave with their words can be inspiring for a writer attempting to develop fresh and unusual ways to communicate information.

  Spend a week collecting odd phrases, lines of poetry, even single words. Don’t think about it too much—just trust your gut, and jot down any phrase or word that feels evocatively strange to you.

  Then, go back to your story. Think about the specific kind of emotions you want your supernatural character to inspire. Are your human characters scared of him because he is ancient, noble, and powerful? Are they wary of her because she knows something about a mystery that they don’t? Try to zero in on the exact state of mind your human characters will be in when they communicate with your supernatural creature.

  Then, using this information on their state of mind, go back to your list. Again, go with your gut, and select any words or phrases that feel in line with your human character’s emotional reaction to the creature.

  Now, write up two versions of a brief scene between your human and supernatural character(s). In the first, write a scene where your supernatural character speaks in clear, simple language (“I’m haunting you because you built a parking garage over my grave!”).

  In the second, have your supernatural character speak only in those evocative words and phrases you picked out from your list (“Plum-colored gargoyle taste of tears broken ocean!”). Comparing the two scenes side-by-side, you should begin to see a way for your supernatural character to communicate clearly, in a style all his own.

  VANESSA VAUGHN

  What’s Love Got to Do with It?

  VANESSA VAUGHN is the author of the popular werewolf novel Pack of Lies (Ravenous Romance) and has published numerous works of steampunk, vampire, and zombie fiction. Her edgy erotic stories have appeared in dozens of anthologies, including the award-winning Best Women’s Erotica and Best Lesbian Erotica series.

  Few things get to the core of a character the way sex can.

  In many ways, sex is an indispensable tool. It can describe characters’ insecurity or overconfidence, their deep-seated self-loathing, or their incredible vanity. It can help us learn about their bodies as we see their gruesome battle scars or their carefully applied lipstick, their fingers worn down by hard work or softened by years of pampering.

  By imagining two characters engaged in intimacy, we not only see their bodies for what they are, but witness them opening up to one another in the ultimate way. The encounter forces a private dialogue between protagonists, even if no words are exchanged. A night together can reveal what one character truly desires from the other in their heart of hearts . . . or what they most fear.

  Some writers go all the way, describing graphic encounters in their publications, wh
ile others merely hint at possible relationships. Both approaches can prove very effective. Yet whether you intend to include detailed sex in your final story or not, envisioning sex (or even just a date) between your characters is a valuable writing exercise as you plan out your characters, imagining their motivations, their dreams, their desires, and their fears.

  Take for example the famous literary duo of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. At 221B Baker Street, not a stitch of clothing was ever removed, not a single kiss ever exchanged between the crime-fighting pair during their years together. An explicit sexual relationship was not intended to exist between these characters and never did. Yet, if writing about them, imagining a deeper relationship between the two could be a useful tool for understanding them and fully fleshing out their characters in your mind.

  Would Holmes’s famous self-centeredness shine through, even in an intimate moment? Would Holmes be subtly jealous of Watson’s many female conquests? After years of living together, would the two bicker just like an old married couple?

  And what about the physical side of things? Would Watson have scars from his years in the army? Would Holmes have track marks from his recent experimentation with morphine? What about calluses on his fingers and dark circles under his eyes from playing his violin late into the night?

  As you attempt to understand your characters better by writing an intimate scene between them, you may even discover that they can’t possibly go through with it. Take, for example, the famous flirtation between James Bond and Moneypenny. Their interactions were nothing but sexual throughout the Bond books and films—an endless parade of double entendres, sly remarks, and innuendo. Yet if faced with the possibility of real sex, it’s quite possible these characters would never be able to go through with it. An author going through this exercise might realize that beneath the playful surface, the heart of their relationship was much more serious. Imagining a failed sex scene would teach the writer to view Bond’s connection with Moneypenny as more of a mother/son relationship instead of a light flirtation. The writer might come to the conclusion that Moneypenny is a friendly home for the protagonist to come back to time and time again, not another casual conquest to be had and discarded.