Writing tip #20 - Descriptions are good, kinda

 I’ve ranted against the whole culture of show don’t tell, and I’m going to do it again, but particularly against a strange fascination that writers feel with description. Yes, there can be too little description; but too much is also not a great idea.

So. Here we go.

Every time I get another aspiring writer to read and comment on my book (kinda a cross between a beta read and an edit) there is always some sort of comment about description, describing things and show don’t tell. But sometimes, you can have too much description.

For example, I recently had someone edit the second book of my series, and one of the comments was that I didn’t describe a particular building that was part of the first book and the second one. I took issue with that, mostly because they edited the book as though it was a standalone, which it is not. I’d already described the building in the first book, when the characters first encountered it. Because it is a series, I don’t feel that the second description is necessary, unless something significantly changed. Try not to describe the same things over and over, because you will bore your readers, and that is never a good thing.

Another good thing to remember is that not only is the description significant, but so is when you choose to describe something. 

People are fascinated with knowing what colour eyes their characters have, and often want the reader to know as well. However, in real life, how often do you notice a person's eye colour when you walk past them on the street. Very rarely. I’m with some of my coworkers for eight hours a day and I still can’t tell you what colour eyes they have. It’s really just not something people tend to notice.

Characters. Every writer wants their readers to picture what their people look like, so description is rather important there. However, you don’t need all that much. If I told you someone was slimy, you probably have at least some idea of what this guy looks like. 

If I tell you that an old witch had scraggly gray hair, wrinkled skin and knuckles bent and twisted with age, you probably have some sort of idea what this woman looks like. I don’t have to say that her eyes were a clouded blue, sunken beneath eyebrows that were whisky as clouds on a summer morning. I don’t have to say that she has a wart, with two little hairs sticking out of it, close enough to her snaggle-toothed mouth that food would sometimes catch in the hairs, like the beard of a young boy who has no business growing a beard.

Details are good, don’t get me wrong. But too much detail, all at the same time, is too much. You can sneak it in. Have a child stare at the witch in fear and then ask his mother why the woman had no eyes. Besides, how often do you stare at the mirror in the morning and evaluate each part of your face like you were monologuing for someone?

So. Be sneaky. Pepper in details about physical appearance through dialogue and surrounding events. Just don’t do it all at the same time. Remember that the reader is quite good at filling in holes in description. Often what they create will be clearer than anything that you come up with. They are an asset for you, and you need to use them. Let the reader do some of the work.

Writing is telling stories that other people will read. Not everyone gets the same mental picture from a description. It’s ok if the reader doesn’t see exactly what you do, and they like to create their own images for the stories.

What’s the first thing you think when you see a movie based on a book (after you read the book first)? Personally, I think that the character doesn’t look anything like the representation of them on screen, because I had my own picture. And that, quite frankly, is ok.

The Goose

 So. A lot of the stories have been rather dark lately. Let’s try for something a little lighter.

The old wizard chuckled to himself as he mixed and poured. Usually, he didn’t like to make his enchantments by hand, but this one was different. Special. It had to last.

Beside him, Esmerelda chattered to herself, preoccupied with whatever geese think about.

As his familiar, she’d been with him from the beginning, ever since he was just starting out as a wizard. That’s how it was. After the magic came the familiar, the keeper of both ideas and memories. And the old man had plenty of both.

“But they won’t get them, will they, Esmerelda?” His voice was raspy after years of the harsh language of magic. That was a price most were willing to pay.

The goose honked.

Over the years, she’d never aged. No familiar did. They got crankier, and reflected their companion’s temperament. She would die the day he did. And that meant that his memories, his spells, the horrible things he’d done, would all be laid out for anyone to find. That couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it.

The cauldron before him let out a sweet smelling bubble. The brew was ready. He dunked a slice of bread in the liquid, liberally coating it. “Here, Esmerelda,” he said, offering the food to his goose.

She gobbled it, never one for self control. And then burped, an odd sound coming from her. Esmerelda was usually so polite.

“Good?” he asked, grinning at his friend. She burped again, and then disappeared.

Sighing, the wizard slumped into his chair. He’d done it. Years of research and planning was finally coming to fruition. Esmerelda would be safe from his enemies, his friends and his enemies disguised as friends. No one who had any idea what she was capable of would be able to hold her for long enough to glean the secrets she held. Not unless she chose to give up those secrets. “She’s stubborn,” he said to himself. “She’ll keep immortality safe, probably forever.” But there was a hint of sadness in his voice. He knew that he would never see his friend again, not before he died.

They came for him the next day. His enemies, though there were a few faces that he was surprised to see. Saddened to see.

Those he’d once trusted too much dragged him out, making his old bones creak and moan. Once, the immortality spell had been for him, to help him never see the day when his eyes faded, when his hands shook too much for any spell work. But he’d seen the folly of it. Esmerelda would benefit, even as she kept the knowledge.

“Where is it?”

“What?” The old man couldn’t remember. Once he left the last place he’d seen Esmerelda, the memories he’d passed to her faded like a winter snow. Many of those who surrounded him were now familiar strangers.

“You know what, old man. Where is it?”

Smiling, the wizard closed his eyes, ready for the pain that would end with his life. He didn’t know what he’d hidden, but it was obviously important. Otherwise he wouldn’t have hidden it.

*****

“It’s got to be here,” Daner muttered, frantically turning pages. Beside him, Maleia searched as well, her hair skimming the pages as she turned them.

Suddenly she stopped and began to chuckle, just a little. 

“How do you find this funny?” Daner snapped, closing the tome and throwing it to the floor.

“It was here,” Maleia said, flipping back to the first page of her own book. “See?” She pointed to a chapter title that made Daner’s heart race.

“It has a chapter on Rosen’s Immortality?”

“Flip to it.” Maleia passed her brother the book. He tore some of the fragile pages in his haste, but barely noticed.

On the page, the one that could’ve ended his search, he found nothing of use. The ink had been completely removed, so completely it could only have been done by magic. In its place was a large, very detailed sketch of a goose. “Whoever this guy is, he’s getting better at drawing,” Meleia said. 

The goose looked familiar, somehow. Danerq had seen it, and not just on every other document that used to hold the clue to immortality.

Under this drawing was a word. A name, really. Esmerelda. Daner tapped the word, thoughtful.

“What was that hedge witch named, the one that said my hair would look better on a pig?”

Meleia’s face brightened as she remembered. “Esmerelda! Of course. As a hedge witch, she had all sorts of animals.”

“We’d better go take a look at those geese.”

As the pair ran from the library, hearts pounding with excitement at their discovery, they didn’t notice a goose watching them. A goose that burped, honked a little and then wandered off to study the rubble near the table, searching for edible goodies that could have been dropped. After all, the two had summoned her from her nap. The least they could do was leave her some food.

Writing Tip # 19 - Actual Motivation

Hi! So, last week I posted about character motivation. Today, this post is about tricks to help you concentrate as a writer.

So. There are a LOT of posts on Pinterest and Tumblr and Instagram and Reddit about how hard it is to actually write. (Seriously. Look up ‘writer struggles’ on any one of these and you should get something.) I’ve got a few tricks to help myself get past the old Procrastination Monkey.

First of all, make sure that your idea will carry you through. Yes, any idea can become a novel, but that doesn’t mean every idea should. I could make a lot of my short stories that I’ve posted into novels, but short stories are just as good. Sometimes it’s better to make a story a short story.

Change it up. Write outside, write with a pen and paper, a quill, blood on a mirror, whatever. Just close the laptop and write. Doesn’t even necessarily have to be the story you’re working on. Writer's block is just that. A block. Too much going on, so nothing is moving. Write whatever nonsense comes to your head, and just get it out.

Listen to a specific song when you write, or a specific sound or something. Basically you’re doing what Pavlov did with his dogs when he rang a bell every time he fed them. You know what happened? The dogs ate one of his neighbours who just wanted to borrow a cup of sugar. 

No. The dogs learned that the bell meant food and they started drooling. After long enough, your brain will know that that specific music means that it’s time to write and you’ll have less distractions.

Also, take breaks. If you plan to write for an hour, break that up into two twenty-minute writing stints and two ten-minute breaks. Those breaks are when you’d check your phone or pretend to do research. Actually set a timer, so you can see how long is left.

Here’s a weird one, but write in a messier font. For example, I write and edit in Comic Sans MS, because my brain likes it. Ideas come easier when your work in progress looks unfinished. Fonts like Times New Roman and Calibri just look professional and fancy, so you don’t really want to change them.

Another idea is to write in the morning. Here’s why. Your nasty inside editor is still fast asleep and won’t interfere with the shy writer you by telling them that anything they write is trash. Because the shy writer you gets hurt easily and the editor you is a bully. But, because the editor you is lazy and wants everything to be perfect, they tend to sleep late, meaning that the shy writer can come out and play.

That’s all for now. Have a good week.

Monsters of War

Rain dripped from the trees around me. The cobblestones that were left from the tower that used to stand there were cold under my bare feet. I shivered. 

He emerged from the darkness ahead of me, his cloak clutched tight around his side. Without even seeing the wound, I knew what I would find. I also knew what had given him the wound that caused him to stumble, the same wound that made him fall to his knees, blood dripping from his hands, mixing with the water pooled underfoot.

It was all so surreal. After a few more heartbeats, I ran forward, kneeling next to my friend. "James," I whispered, pulling at his cloak.

"Don't." He pushed my hands away. "It's too deep, Ilana. There's nothing you can do."

Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. "No. There's always something. Always."

"Not this time. I'm sorry." He closed his eyes, blood mixing with the water. Leaving the last bit of himself he ever would.

I fought back the tears. The person who'd done this to my brother would pay.

*****

"Ilana, what are you doing here?" Nicholas turned to me, the sword that killed James in his hand.

"How could you?" I whispered, hiding in the shadows.

"What? Ilana, why are you dressed like that?"

"I think you know."

"Wait, was it you? Were you the one who's been hunting my team?"

"Don't move, Nick. This ends here." I pressed my knife to his side.

"What do you mean? What ends?"

"I asked them, every single one of them."

"When, before you cut them open and left them to die?"

"Like you did to my brother?"

"Who?"

I twisted the knife, just a little. "You know who. Walk."

He walked forward, slowly. "Please, Ilana. You don't need to do this."

"Keep your hands where I can see them. We're going for a little walk. See if we can dredge up some memories."

"Ilana."

"You killed my brother, Nick. He went to make peace, and you killed him."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"He died in front of me. Bled out in the rain. Maybe it's time you learned how it feels."

"And killing my team doesn't cover that?"

"Keep moving."

"When did you become a monster?"

"Oh, I became the monster, Nick?"

"You did kill six of your former friends."

"James was your best friend. And he went to make peace, and you murdered him. Cut him open."

Nick turned to gape at me. "That's what this is about?"

"What did you think?"

"Ilana, please. James came to kill me. He wanted to take me and trade my life for the lives of a group of children that were kidnapped."

"No. That's not true. James would never hurt a fly."

"That's what I thought about you, Ilana. But now look at you. What happened?" He stepped closer to me, bringing back memories of a happier time. A better time.

"You killed my brother." 

He moved closer again. "Ilana, don't throw your life away. Let me help you."

"No, it's too late. Turn around, keep walking."

"Ilana. I thought we had something. I thought we could've been more than just friends."

"It would never have worked, Nick. Especially since you killed my brother. Keep moving." I dug the knife into his side again, 

"I can't do that, Ilana. You know that. You killed six people."

He gripped my wrist, twisting my arm behind my back. A blow made me drop the knife, and then I was on my knees. "Besides," he whispered, "I know you would never have been able to kill me. We both do."

Tears began to stream down my cheeks as Nick pressed the knife to my exposed neck. "We're at war, Ilana. We don't have time for sentiment."

Writing tip #18 - Motivation

 No, this is not about the motivation to write. If you're here, it's rather likely that you've already found that motivation in your own life. This refers to your characters. 

In every scene, every character should want something, even if it's just a glass of water. That is what will help keep your story moving, rather than getting mired in the murk and muck of small talk. Characters could make small talk, but have them genuinely want to know something. For example, to actually know how the other character is doing, or have them start the conversation as a discussion. 

The idea of opposing wants can also help to act as a catalyst for conflict. If two characters want things that can be considered opposite (person A wants to prove that person C is guilty and person B wants to prove them innocent) the clashing of these wants will make the conversation interesting and can help to move the story along, revealing things about the characters.

Of course, you shouldn't reveal these motives right out. That's too easy. Make your readers work for it, but not too hard. 

Body language is a really useful tool for this. For example, if a person wants to leave a conversation, or just doesn't want to be there, they will be more closed off. Arms folded, squared shoulders, clipped replies. And whoever they're speaking to will be the opposite. with more of an open posture. They'll be relaxed, friendly, almost bubbly.

Also, certain wants will be easy, at first glance. Another example would be a character who wants a drink of water. Make it hard. Make them fight for it. You could have them struggle with anxiety, waiting until someone else asked for a drink. Have your character be the kind of person who waits until someone else hands in a test before they do. Have them be too proud to ask for it, Drop them in the middle of the desert and have them literally die for it. 

Wants can help to make your characters human. Even someone who claims to not want anything will want something, deep inside. They'll help to take a flat character and make them rounded. And whenever your character is 3D, that's a good thing.

A character that would especially benefit from well-thought out motivations would be your villain. True, they could be the kind of person who just wants to watch the world burn for the sake of the fire, but that's rather cliché. Give them a failed character arc, some kind of tragedy in the past. Better, make them believe that they are doing the right thing. Make them stop at nothing to save someone's life. They can be the kind of person who cares so much about their own that they'll kill anyone who messes with them. Your villain's motivations can almost be more interesting than the hero's, because the villain can do anything to get what they want.

Yeah. Motivations. Make them dark, make them edgy, make them epic. But actually give your characters something to fight for, beyond just 'good' and just 'evil'. A good motivation can be the difference between a hero and an anti-hero. Or the difference between a villain and a father who will stop at nothing to keep his son out of prison.