Conscious Writing

I’ve written before about my difficulty breaking out of my shell and getting to know other writers, especially in a workshop setting. I have lots of excuses, but the fact is, I feel intimidated. I worry that other people won’t like me or my writing. I made some progress this year, and I’ll keep trying. It probably doesn’t help that I work from home and live alone. I have no other forced human interaction, so it’s hard to get motivated to commit.

It’s hard for writers, since by nature our work is solitary. Even writers who collaborate on a project cannot literally write in the same document at the same time. We must be alone with our thoughts.

Are you out of practice? Do you hesitate to make personal connections with other creative people?

If so, here’s a trick. Imagine I’m the one of those other people, who is as reticent as you. The truth is, we’re surrounded by people who want to make authentic connections but who are woefully out of practice making introductions, small talk, conversations, and dates.

If we all muster a little courage and cut ourselves some slack, we might find an appreciative audience.

Human minds are prone to seeking out what’s wrong. It’s the primary way early humanity kept itself safe. It’s why we take care around outsiders and notice when something in our territory is missing or out of place.

However, in the modern world of relative safety and abundance, it’s may also be a reason why we fixate on what we lack or what goes wrong. When I compare my health and living situation to an 18^th century settler, I’m doing great. When I compare myself to the Kennedys or Kardashians, I may feel I come up short.

Creative people do this as well. On one hand, it’s part of the learning process. We have to stay mindful of what we don’t know or which skills we haven’t yet mastered. Otherwise, we’ll never grow creatively and we risk crafting stories that are beyond our means to write well.

On the other hand, we have a bad habit of beating ourselves up. Our language is not as lyrical or heartfelt as we’d like. We don’t handle multiple POV as well as George R.R. Martin. We don’t sell as well as the next writer. We’re not as funny as Carl Hiaasen.

Today, take a moment to focus on what you bring to the creative table. What do I have?

• Skill with scene setting, characterization, and description
• A strong personal voice and intuitive sense of sentence flow
• Perseverance
• Lots of ideas
• Curiosity and willingness to learn
• Love of writing

Many successful writers started with less. What do you have?

Despite our best plans, we may find we have very little control over our creative lives. We schedule writing time every day, but then we get sick or duty of some kind calls us away. We have word count goals, but some days it’s a struggle to reach half that. We have a novel mapped out, but when we reach the halfway point, that cool revelation we planned falls flat.

Of course, if you’re like me, some of your plans weren’t realistic to begin with. If they were, I’d have finished 2 novels and a few short stories this year, started my podcast, learned video editing software, started a writers’ group, and taken some art classes. Honestly, I could be retired and wouldn’t have time for all that.

I’ve learned I’m much happier and more creative when I allow myself to let go of my plans. I need goals and weekly schedules to keep myself on track, but when life strikes – as COVID did this past week – I also have to let go and let life happen.

I don’t think life was trying to “tell me something” when I got sick. There’s no “reason” for it. I haven’t been reckless avoid contagious viruses or overworking to the point I make myself ill. It’s just a thing that happened. And when things happen, it’s ok to admit you can’t control your schedule or your attention span, and instead pay attention to what needs doing.

Yesterday, I wrote about creating imaginary troubles for your protagonist. Even the strongest-willed among us engages in unfounded worry and irrational fear, despite knowing better. While we’re accustomed to crafting Rube Goldberg-Level plot complications for our heroes, sometimes the strongest obstacles arise from our own thoughts.

Today, let’s look at another counter-intuitive concept – loving the unlovable.

In fiction, we are more accustomed to having our characters reject what is unlovable about themselves. The classic redemption arc portrays a character negating their past to become a better person or perform one significant heroic deed.

However, in these scenarios, we rarely see the after-effect. The redeemed character often is used a sacrifice so that the true protagonist can win the day. Even when an unlikeable character survives the story, we see only the pivot, not the longer journey.

We see this other side more often in non-fiction. We love stories about people who hit rock bottom in some way, who crawl back to become a better, stronger individual. An addict may recover, a criminal may pay his dues, a bad parent repairs their relationship with their kids. Often, such people will describe rock bottom as the best thing that ever happened to them. They absorb the lessons they learned down there and appreciate the second chances they discover.

When we see this journey in fiction, it’s with characters who face dramatic physical defeat, the hero left for dead, the champion brought low by a hungrier opponent, occasionally the drunk who wipes out. In those cases, we see that the worst blow was exactly what the hero needed. He comes back stronger, having learned physical and emotional lessons from his defeat.

Your protagonist or other character doesn’t need to spend time in prison or on skid row to hit rock bottom, and probably doesn’t need to have the stuffing knocked out of him. But consider, as you put your hero through his paces, that he can love as well as learn from his worst moments.

How many of your protagonist’s troubles are all in their head?

From one angle of storytelling, all the important troubles reside internally. Your hero has a negative self-image, skewed world view, fear, or poorly learned lesson that creates habits of living that hold them back from achieving their true greatness. This forms the basis of your character arc.

Of course, from the other angle – plot – your character’s struggles are external. Whether your antagonist is a former lover or bad weather, a flat tire or the Evil Empire, your protagonist has to overcome external physical challenges before he can achieve his objective.

There’s another layer of antagonism we can add to our stories, one with which many of us may be familiar: Shit we make up.

Like our hero’s emotional tribulations, his imaginary troubles may be linked to what’s happened in the backstory, the bad experiences or failed learning that created a limited world view. Unlike those troubles, imaginary fears and provocations may have some basis in truth. It is normal to be afraid of snakes, even if your fear of encountering a snake in certain situation is unrealistic.

As you’re building your hero’s journey, consider what imaginary threats they may have to face. A character being chased into the woods may fear the crack of every twig. Another overcoming illness may tense up at every minor ache or pimple, certain that this is proof of a worse condition. A character whose boss comes to work in a bad mood may fear being fired, despite lack of reason or evidence.

Add up the things that scare, upset, or anger your protagonist, and consider how many of them exist only between their ears.

Do you visualize your success? People swear by vision boards. I have a friend who maintains and updates hers with visual imagery of what she wants to accomplish, where she’d like to travel, and how she’d like to live. You may try meditation, using your mind’s eye to picture yourself in a calm environment or engaging in some healthy activity.

Every few months, I revise my writing goals and while numbers aren’t as appealing as photos, having a goal written down in black and white helps me focus on what I want to achieve over the next six or twelve months. I’ve certainly daydreamed about seeing my books in print or on the shelf at a bookstore.

I don’t truck with people who say we can literally manifest our desires by visualizing them. Visualizing is part of the process, because you can’t achieve a goal unless it’s clear in your mind, unless you have a vision of what you want. Deep visualization also stirs your creative mindset, encouraging you to take action to realize your dreams and providing the energy and optimism needed to meet the call.

But visualization amounts to little without action. Whether you use a dream board or meditation or a spreadsheet, make a commitment to breaking down your vision into achievable components. Have you visualized starting your own podcast? What does that look like to you? Likely, you pictured some combination of these elements – a workspace, a microphone, headset, recording device or software, a list of topics, a logo, maybe a friend to co-host. Pick one that lends itself to immediate action. Research audio software or talk to a potential co-host. Price microphones and headsets. Think of a name that reflects what you want to do and choose some images that go along with your idea. You don’t need to do it all today, but the path from visualizing to achieving is laid with these small stepping stones.

Here’s an interesting tidbit from my reading.

Our brains are trained to seek out and identify differences, and do so millions of times per day. When we wake in the morning, we may grab our phone, the alarm clock, or a light switch. We have to choose among work shoes, sneakers, and slippers. We identify spatial differences, so that we can descend stairs properly and avoid bumping into walls. Walking or driving, we identify obstacles, as well as hundreds of small things in our path that don’t affect us. Evolutionarily speaking, our brains developed to identify edible foods, predators, optimal mates, tribal outsiders, and safe environmental conditions. Throughout any given day, our brains process millions of differences that influence our actions and choices. Without this ability, it would be impossible to navigate life.

And yet, all our brains developed uniquely. While most of us can easily choose between dress shoes and slippers, we differ in the exact nature and detail of what we notice. A car’s driver will recognize traffic conditions (we hope), a passenger may take in scenery or be concerned with their comfort, and a child in the back seat may have their head buried in a book or a game, or may watch out the window for animals. Multiply that by billions of people and multi-billions of interactions every day. People in the same geographic vicinity will have significant overlap in what they identify in any given moment, but what comes to the front of one’s mind will vary.

What does your character notice? If shoes are important – due to employment, social rules, or scarcity – your protagonist may be hyper-aware of their foot covering. On the other hand, a shoe may have very little emotional resonance, and will attract no more attention that what’s needed for utility. The former requires some space in your narrative, and the latter very little, if any. It’s easy to go overboard with “noticing” but with patience and practice, you can begin to view the world through your characters’ eyes, which will help you know what to describe and in what detail, as well as build character, your story world, and your voice.

In addition, what your character identifies will change as their needs, emotions, and desires change. A character who wants to impress someone will notice their shoes are scuffed, while another who wearies of keeping up appearances will take less care about clothing in favor of their inner life. A character anticipating a big event will notice – and feel – one way about their appearance, while another who has suffered a humiliation or a loss may have a hard time looking at an outfit the same way. Contrast how a bride may feel about her dress before the wedding and how she’ll feel after she’s left waiting at the altar.

For mystery writers, this is a great way to drop clues and red herrings. What your sleuth notices is vitally important to your mystery, whether that element leads to a solution or a dead end. Here’s a great example from Agatha Christie’s The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Spoilers follow.

Early in the novel, Poirot straightens a small box placed on the mantelpiece in the murder victim’s bedroom. The sleuth is known as a fussy, fastidious man, so this is a brief yet telling moment for his character. He cannot help adjusting something that’s out of order. Because no crime has been committed, there’s no reason for the characters or readers to take note of this action. It’s a simple, yet incredibly effective, moment of characterization.

Later, however, after the murder, while Poirot is musing about the crime, he notices that the same small box is out of place and adjusts it without thinking or pausing in his monologue. None of the characters – including Poirot – recall that he had already straightened the same object on mantelpiece before the murder. Presumably, most readers had forgotten as well, and interpreted this moment as another character bit. Humorously, Poirot cannot stop himself from fussing with untidy mantels, even in the aftermath of a murder. Only later does the detective recall the first instance, leading him to an important clue involving the small box. Who had the opportunity to move the box between these two scenes and why had they done so?

In each scene, the movement of the mantel box occupies no more than a sentence or two in the narrative, yet what Poirot notices in the room – a small object in disarray – and what he fails to notice later – that the object had recently been moved – are key to the solution to the crime.

Be careful with what your characters notice. What they see may help you build their character or it could give you the solution to a story problem.

Yesterday, I mentioned the volley of actions and consequences between your protagonist and other characters in your story. Today, we’ll take that a step further and look at the next logical step: Confrontation.

Step five: Discuss your (your character’s) intentions as a result of the behavior.

Dramatic fiction relies on poor communication, avoidance, and misinterpretation. However, direct, in-your-face confrontation and demands are another tool in your kit: the stakes. Your protagonist has acted, which caused a reaction in another character. The other character’s action are the consequence of your protagonist’s action. Now, you need to show why this matters.

• He slammed the car door and she assumed he was angry. She was concerned, because they had been arguing a lot lately. She didn’t know if he was still mad at her. She avoided talking to him when he was angry, and would give him the silent treatment until he calmed down. She wanted to resolve his anger, because the constant arguing was detrimental to their marriage.
• Her brow was furrowed and he assumed she was concerned about something. He felt inadequate because she hadn’t asked for his help and worried that she had someone else to turn to. He would try harder to get her to notice him. He wouldn’t be ignored.
• He glanced behind himself repeatedly and she assumed he was worried about being followed. She felt afraid, because he’d been secretive about some trouble he’d been having. This made her feel protective, so she trailed him. His habit of keeping secrets had put his friends and family in danger before.
• Her fingers tapped non-stop on the tabletop and he assumed she was impatient. He felt angry, because he wanted to enjoy the moment without rushing. He had started to avoid her and preferred going out alone. If she kept this up, she’d lose him.

Practice observing, reporting, interpreting, deciding consequences, and setting stakes. You may have some false starts and most of your exercises won’t turn into stories. Practice for the sake of practice is a worthy use of your time. However, I would bet that after some practice runs, you’ll find a few intriguing combinations that spark your writer’s imagination.

You’ve observed and reported. You’ve interpreted. You’ve brought another character’s reactions into the story. With step four, we dive into plot.

Step four: Discuss the consequences of the behavior.

As I mentioned yesterday, characters and their behaviors don’t exist in a vacuum. As in the real world, their actions have consequences, and those become part of your plot. Based on the people who have observed and your assumptions about their state of mind and other people, what consequences might they expect?

• He slammed the car door and she assumed he was angry. She was concerned, because they had been arguing a lot lately. She didn’t know if he was still mad at her. She avoided talking to him when he was angry, and would give him the silent treatment until he calmed down.
• Her brow was furrowed and he assumed she was concerned about something. He felt inadequate because she hadn’t asked for his help and worried that she had someone else to turn to. He would try harder to get her to notice him.
• He glanced behind himself repeatedly and she assumed he was worried about being followed. She felt afraid, because he’d been secretive about some trouble he’d been having. This made her feel protective, so she trailed him.
• Her fingers tapped non-stop on the tabletop and he assumed she was impatient. He felt angry, because he wanted to enjoy the moment without rushing. He had started to avoid her and preferred going out alone.

As you see in these (hastily and not well thought-out) examples, consequences can be emotions or action. A character may feel protective or annoyed, or may decide to pursue or withdraw. And these actions too should draw reactions from the protagonist. Like a high stakes tennis game, your characters should volley actions and consequences at each other, until one drops.

After observing, describing, and interpreting, it’s time to consider how another person feels about this behavior. In interpersonal communications, this would be your opportunity to describe a behavior, make an assumption about what the other person was feeling, and then make an observation about how you feel in return. How does that work for characters in fiction? We’ve gone through who, what, when, and why. Now let’s look at how.

Step three: Share how you (or a character) feels as a result of this behavior.

You’ve observed someone’s behavior in real life. You’ve made an assumption about how their physical movement reflects their state of mind. Now your powers of imagination come into play. How does this display of emotion affect another character?

• He slammed the car door and she assumed he was angry. She was concerned, because they had been arguing a lot lately and didn’t know if he was still mad at her.
• Her brow was furrowed and he assumed she was concerned about something. He felt inadequate because she hadn’t asked for his help and worried that she had someone else to turn to.
• He glanced behind himself repeatedly and she assumed he was worried about being followed. She felt afraid, because he’d been secretive about some trouble he’d been having.
• Her fingers tapped non-stop on the tabletop and he assumed she was impatient. He felt angry, because he wanted to enjoy the moment without rushing.

With this level of the exercise, you practice going deeper into your character relationships. Your characters don’t exist in a vacuum. What they say and do should affect your other characters. If you find a character doesn’t have that kind of impact, it’s a good clue they need a stronger role or don’t belong in your story at all.

This is also a good chance to go deeper into your characters’ emotional states. For practice, ask why at least three times after you’ve identified your character’s emotion. Bob is angry – why? Because his wife is late. Why is Bob angry his wife is late? Because he feels insecure. Why does Bob feel insecure? Because his first wife behaved the same way towards him as their marriage started to turn sour.

If you’re working on a story now, try this with your characters’ interactions. Highlight sections where your narrator or protagonist is displaying a clear emotion and ask why at least three times. You may find some surprising answers.