We've all been there: reading a great piece of fiction, cruising through it happily, only to find ourselves tripped up and taken out of the scene by something that just doesn't strike us as "realistic."
And wait.
We've all been there: reading a great piece of fiction, cruising through it happily, only to find ourselves tripped up and taken out of the scene by something that just doesn't strike us as "realistic."
For the last few days the Miner has been screaming in my ear. I'm not sure what he wants but it does not pay to ignore him. (He gets lazy if he thinks you are ungrateful.) So I am going to use this space to talk about the subject that seems to be fascinating him at the moment.
It began when I had the privilege of speaking to Malice in Memphis, a writer's group in New Hampshire. (Okay, it's in Tennessee.) You can watch it on Facebook. The subject was short stories.
Our own Michael Bracken was kind enough to attend and during the Q&A he mentioned Blake Snyder's Save the Cat Beat Sheet, a template for plot structure. I had never heard of it but I have since looked it up and it is quite interesting. I recommend it.Not surprisingly, Snyder's template reminded me of another plot outline with which I am more familiar: the Hero's Journey, as explained in Joseph Campbell's The Hero With A Thousand Faces, which I also recommend. (And when you finish it you will want to buy The Hero With an African Face, by my friend Clyde Ford. It fills in a part of the canvas Campbell left mostly blank.)
Campbell uses mythology from around the world to synthesize the key elements of the hero myth. It is important to realize that virtually no story will have all the elements; the variations are part of what makes them so interesting. All the stations of the journey are worth pondering, especially for a writer, but the part that the Miner has been obsessing over since Saturday is the Threshold Guardian.
So what the hell is that, you may ask.
Well, it's like this. The hero (and it could be male or female. I'm going to go male throughout because most of the examples that popped into my head are boys) is summoned to adventure (by a client knocking on the office door, scavengers selling droids, a white rabbit with a pocket watch...). But in some stories before his journey can truly begin there is an obstacle in his way, guarding the threshold he must pass. This may be a person, an object, or even an emotion (like self-doubt) but until he defeats it, the hero is stuck.
To get metaphysical, the threshold guardian is the champion of the unchanging world which the hero is destined to change. The guardian's mission is to stop the quest before it even begins.
In Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone, think of Vernon Dursley trying to keep Harry from reading an invitation to attend Hogwart's School of Magic (what Campbell would label the Call to Adventure).
I
am currently working on a short story which begins with my hero
(literally) stumbling over a corpse. I think the threshold guardians
are the police detectives who don't want him screwing up their
investigation. But maybe things will turn out differently.
Is that story what the Miner is trying to talk to me about? Dunno. Sometimes he provides the answers years before I find the question. But the important thing is to keep listening.
Here's the wonderful drawing created by Jason C. Eckhardt that accompanies my story in the magazine and in the preview on the EQMM website. |
WALKS -in the Goddess series |
My last piece on SleuthSayers talked about nailing a story, getting goosebumps when you reread a story you've written before you send it out, a story which ended up better than you thought it would, a story you nailed.
Today, I'll talk about stories which nail you – hardheaded stories who fight you from the first paragraph.
In my 34-years as a pro writer, I've learned to never give up on a story, even the ones that don't work, even the story where you end up in a corner you can't get out of and you look around for Rod Serling because you're in the Twilight Zone.
I've worked hard on a number of stories which didn't come together. So what to do? First, I let it sit and move on to something else. When I go back and re-work it and it still doesn't work, I let it sit some more. I go back again and after a third strike, I study the piece and see if I can slip it into a novel. Most of the stories which nailed me are more scenes than stories and novels are made from scenes.
To my delight, I've been able to slide stories that nailed me into novels in progress, sometimes taking the novel in a different direction or relieving pressure in a story line or bringing a new twist to the novel.
It's all part of the creative process, a giant pot of gumbo stirred into something which works. I've seen it and when it's unplanned, it's extra cool.
If I write it, it's part of me and may sit a while but I'll find a home for it.
MacKenzie sculpture by Vincent De Noux from pieces of junk
That's all for now.
From March through August is a long time to have a void in your
socializing. It's enough to make you start talking to strangers in a
park, regardless of what your mother told you about not doing that sort
of thing.
WALKS -in the Goddess series |
My virtual acceptance speech for Ellery Queen Readers Award |
E-flyer from Sisters in Crime/Los Angeles first House Arrest virtual reading |
The "good old days". |
“Open the pod door, Hal.”
“I’m sorry, Leigh. I can’t do that.”
“Hal, open the door.”
“Nope, sorry, no can do.”
“Hal, open the ¡@#$%£¢†€‡ door!”
“D’accord, Dave. It’s open.”
“Name’s Leigh, and no, it isn’t.”
“Is.”
“Isn’t.”
“Is.”
“Hal!”
“You can’t make me. Nyaa-nya-na-na-nah-nahhh.”