On Writing

Taking a creative leap of faith and showing up for yourself and your work are much easier if you love what you do.

It seems that for every writer who loves writing – the process of writing, not simply holding a book in their hands – there is another who does it only begrudgingly. They gripe about the time commitment or proofreading or having to work through a scene when they’re not sure what should happen next. Like Barbie working out an algebra problem, they think writing is haaaaaarrrrd.

This is not unlike how many people feel about relationships. All that communicating and compromise and feelings? Yuck! Sure, Valentine’s Day is great – photo ops! – but then you have to slog through the next 364 days til it comes round again.

Are you a writer who believes writing is a grind? Do you often paraphrase Hemingway’s quote about opening a vein and bleeding onto the paper? Do you relate to Dorothy Parker’s lament that she hated writing, but loved having written?

Maybe – just maybe – you should take an opposite approach to your writing for a bit. Remind yourself that you don’t have to write today; you get to write today. Enjoy the challenge of figuring out what happens next. Marvel at the cornucopia choices you get to make – from subject to theme to character to setting – to make this quilt. Get excited about entertaining someone or sharing what you know. Embrace your creativity as joyous, fulfilling, and fun.

Don’t pour out blood onto the paper, pour out love.

Now, it’s axiomatic that love hurts. Opening yourself to the possibility of loving anything comes with the very real likelihood that your love will be rejected or will someday end. It might feel easier to shut yourself off from the possibility, but on the other hands, the rewards are unimaginable.

Love is liberating. Love creates joyous experiences and creates wonderful memories. And what is writing but an expression of love?

You must love other people enough to listen to, observe, and learn about the human condition, and the world enough to notice its beauty and the emotional resonance that differs from place to place. You must love your characters enough to portray them vividly, in all their complexity. You must love your stories enough to want to share them. You must love yourself enough to commit to your creative practice, set aside the time, and continue even when the work is hard.

Of course, we won’t love everything, every day. But without love of some kind, your writing will feel flat, unalive.

Today, take a few minutes to fall in love. If you need a prompt, pick something you already love and commit it to memory. Choose anything – a person, a piece of art, a kind of food or material, a place, a plant or animal, or a sensory experience. Describe your choice in detail. Examine why you love it. Consider what memories and emotions it evokes.

Love something and remember this feeling the next time you sit down to write.

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As a highly-motivated goal setter and a usually reliable goal achiever, I’m always curious about whether and how other creative people set goals. I wish I could be one of those laissez-faire writers who wanders through their day being as creative as they feel like, for a few hours or not. Unfortunately, I have to work for my supper, so my opportunity time is reduced by half. If I allow a few hours to pass without being creative, the day is lost.

That’s not to say I don’t have bad days or skip days. Some days I feel burned out from work or don’t feel well, common afflictions I feel are beneath me, but alas. Occasional travel days and holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving are also usually a wash. But on average, I spend a good amount of time writing every week; the exact number of hours per day may vary.

What other people say

In a post on Writers in the Storm, Jenny Hansen talked about her goals for 2026. Every year, the WITS bloggers choose a single word of intention for the year –such as Renew, Reset, or Joy – to act as their guiding star. I’ve tried that, but I never remember the word, so apparently this does not work for everyone. I suppose writing it down would help.

You’ve probably heard of SMART (Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant, and Time-bound) goals. That approach can steer you in the right direction, but may be too structured for creative work. Writing a novel takes as long as it takes. However, it’s also good to be specific about your intentions and to ensure they are reasonably achievable.

I like setting enough goals that I have a roadmap for my year, with some wriggle room if I want to make a detour or if life gets in the way. This doesn’t work for everyone, but I need some structure or I find it difficult to decide what to do next. Worse, if I’m working only from a vague list, I will veer into busy work or research, or work on easy tasks rather than tackling something more meaningful, but difficult.

However, I add the wriggle room because I also need the space to play and the occasional time off. Also, when my deadlines are too strict, missing them feels like a bigger problem than it really is. There have been a few Januarys when I’ve missed some self-imposed deadlines and felt like I’d blown the whole year, when in reality A – I had 11 months to catch up and B – nobody cares.

In her post, Hansen also notes that most New Year’s resolutions fail for these same reasons. Goals are too vague, there’s no plan of action, and we have an all-or-nothing mindset that keeps us from continuing when we fall short.

In Atomic Habits, James Clear recommends starting small by picking one tiny, easily achievable goal – on par with making your bed every morning or drinking a glass of water at noon – and building forward. In his habit tracker app Atoms, Clear suggests defining the mindset you want to develop or end state you want to achieve, and view your actions as strategy. For example, you goal may be “Be more creative” and your strategy is “Write for one hour every morning before work.”

In her post, Hansen shares some insights she learned from a life coaching seminar: Our brains like solving problems as much or more than they like to-do lists. This is another way of saying it’s easy to get lost in the forest when we are looking at trees.  A long list of tasks may be more daunting than helpful, but remembering why you’re doing them may help keep you motivated.

As with Clear’s advice above, it’s helpful to define the end state you wish to achieve as you create your lists. “Post to Substack on Sunday night” is a useful task, but it you attach it to the end state of “Be more connected to my community”, the task may feel more meaningful and less like drudgery.

How I track goals

My two big picture goals for the year are finishing the next draft of my novel and keeping up with my blog. To keep track, I have a daily word count goal and I have a schedule of what I’m supposed to write and when. The word count is simply an estimate of how many words I think I need to finish the book and write 60-70 blog posts, divided by 365. The schedule reminds me that I can’t just tap out words, I have to actually finish chapters and posts. I also can’t jump to a new project when I feel stuck. I could, of course, but then I risk ending the year with a lot of words written, but nothing substantial to show for it.

The dual goals have other benefits. Hitting my word count goal gives me a pleasurable dopamine spike at the end of each writing session, even better if I exceed it. Checking off chapters and posts – usually on Saturday or Sunday – gives me a sense of accomplishment and forward motion at the end of the week, adding motivation and momentum for the start of the next week, which can be dreary.

It also helps to break down big goals into component pieces. The novel is easy, of course – chapters are excellent sub-goals. When I open a new chapter, I start by breaking down the scenes and beats, including any new character or setting descriptions. I like being able to jump around. If I don’t have any particular inspiration for an opening sentence or paragraph, I skip to set building or conversation, whatever gets me into my writing head space.

My blog goal is posting every Monday, so that breaks down easily as well. I also work better when I have an idea of what I’m going to write before I start, so I keep lists of topic ideas or series to run through. Sometimes topics get moved from one week to another, or bumped altogether if I’m not feeling it.

I don’t know how your brain works, but my brain loves checking items off a list. Seeing the word count roll and the check marks accumulate motivates me to jump onto the next piece of writing. And if I finish my novel or work ahead on my blog, I get to – not have to – start writing something new.

Your turn

Do you set goals this way? How do you keep track of your progress?

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A few weeks ago, I gave myself a report card for my 2025 writing year, which means it’s time for new goals for 2026. I don’t always hit every goal, but posting them publicly keeps me accountable. Saying it out loud ensures that I do something to move the ball forward, even if I don’t reach the pitcher’s mound. Did I say that right?

Goals

Finish my WIP. This is a spillover goal from last year. As I wrote in my performance eval a few weeks ago, I was on track to finish a ready-to-share draft of the novel until I got bogged down in the muddy middle. I cut, consolidated, replaced, and reshuffled, and now feel optimistic that my plot can carry me through the most difficult part. If not, I have a year to fix it, plus I already fixed it once, so I have a decent grasp on what it might take to pull the wagon out of the ditch, should we run off the road again. I have a daily word count goal, but the important task is finishing, not merely adding up words.

Maintain my blog and newsletter. I closed out 2025 with about 70 blog posts and that sounds about right for this year. I’ve already drafted out topics for a good portion of them, which is half the battle. I may mix in some creative nonfiction along with the craft and creativity posts, but don’t hold me to that. We’ll file that under stretch goals.

Networking and social. I will continue my weekly writing meetups and see about adding an in-person social time, if I have any takers. My monthly networking meetup is going great and I fully expect us to continue meeting. I would like have more social time but here is where time starts to crunch. In a perfect world, I would like to have a small dedicated critique group and I should (I hate that word) spend more time interacting on my social accounts. Let’s call the first 2 solid and achievable goals and the latter 2 optimistic stretch goals.

Reading. Reading isn’t exactly a writing goal, but as the man says – if you don’t have time to read, you don’t have time to write. I have 80 books on the TBR list for next year, ranging from the highbrow – Sartre’s Being and Nothingness, a collection of seven of Joan Didion’s books, the complete poems of Robert Lowell, and a translation of the Nag Hammadi (Gnostic) scriptures – to the slightly breezier Complete Stories of Kurt Vonnegut and Patricia Highsmith’s Diaries, with some murder mysteries, graphic novels, and craft books to break up the heavy lifting. I’m very much looking forward to re-reading Ethan Mordden’s Buddies series and John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. I could probably guess which books on the list won’t get read in 2026, but since I choose the books, that would be cheating. I should get through most of them.

Stretch goals

As the name implies, these are projects I’d like to work on, but won’t prioritize unless I blast through the more achievable goals. Ideally, these will be at the top to the list next year.

Draft book 2. I have a good outline for my next book, a follow-on novel to the WIP, set in the same world but with an entirely different cast. I don’t anticipate writing both books this year, but if I finish the first by the end of summer – eminently doable – then I could finish an ugly NANO-ish draft by the end of the year.

Stage book 3. I know what my next-next book will be, an expansion of a novella that I wrote a few years ago that needs more room to breath. If I need a break from – or between – book 1 and 2, I can work on what I call my Rationale document – a big picture review of the protagonist and the antagonism, what I’m writing and why, what I want to say, and what I want my readers to feel while and after reading the novel. It’s not quite an outline, though much of the document will find its way into an outline. Think of it as a vision board in a Word doc.

Art time. Every year I write down art time and every year I don’t set aside time to do any art. However, as you may recall, I spent a good chunk of September painting and setting up my craft room, so I have a drafting table, an easel, a kitchen table, and a writing desk glaring at me every time I pass by. I have paper. I have pencils. I’ve had some of my inks and paints so long they’ve probably gone crusty, but that’s ok. I like doodling and maybe I’ll get some time this year.

That’s a lot

And that’s ok. I know my priorities: the Top 3 are the WIP, my blog, and the networking group. The stretch goals are just that – fun things to pick at if I need a break or win the lottery. Compared to the Top 3, they aren’t vital to a successful year. I’ll report back next December.

What are your creative goals for 2025?

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Over the summer, I wrote about the new Superman movie and wondered whether we were shifting into a cultural phase wherein audiences would crave the concept of heroism – actual heart-on-the-sleeve, morally upright, sacrificing for the greater good heroism – rather than the cynical, manipulative, trust no one, ends-justify-the-means type of protagonist that has been much more prevalent these past years.

Interestingly, I’ve noticed an uptick in craft bloggers addressing anti-heroism. Topics tend to cycle – and occasionally bunch up together so tightly one might assume the writers are following each other and swiping ideas – so we were probably due for another round of articles on the antihero.

If only so many bloggers didn’t get it completely wrong.

Over and over, I see craft writers conflate anti-heroism with character flaws and likeability, which are irrelevant to the question. Yes, an antihero may, in fact, be quite unlikeable, but he may also be charming, and neither is germane to the role. Rather, other elements govern the antihero. Let’s explore.

What is likeable anyway?

The first problem with using likeability as your threshold for anti-heroism is that everyone has their own definition. The traits you admire may grate on someone else’s nerves, and vice versa. I love Gwenyth Paltrow and Hilary Clinton. I think Prince Harry and Meghan are the only two sane, relatable members of the Royal Family. I am probably very lonely in these assessments. The list of people I find insufferable is lengthy, but I won’t name names. Two in particular would get me run out of Substack on a rail.

Likeability also changes with the times. Katherine Hepburn was box office poison for years, and Bette Davis a demanding bitch. Now you will more commonly hear them described as self-assured, iconoclastic, and feminist icons. Was Jay Gatsby a romantic dreamer or a deluded social climber with a toxic obsession for Daisy? Was Don Draper stylishly cool or an emotionally repressed misogynist? Is Scarlett O’Hara a strong-willed survivor or a spoiled shrew complicit with slave culture? It depends on who you ask, but also when.

Flawed protagonists are not antiheroes

I have also read articles aligning the flawed protagonist into the antihero camp. If having flaws is the sign of an antihero, then no one is heroic. In more censorious times, a flawed character would be considered less than ideal, because heroes were not allowed to have weaknesses, other than the “cares too much, works too hard” variety of non-flaws. However, these days we are more enlightened and understand the value of well-rounded characters. Nobody likes a Pollyanna.

A character can be cowardly and still make sacrifices for others. Another might be crude but always willing to stand up for what’s right. A character can be pompous or self-centered, but have a strict code of honesty. We might not like these characters, but we cannot call them antiheroes.

Confusing this characterization can also lead to some amusing declarations, such as one by a recent blogger who described Holden Caulfield as both unlikeable and an antihero, because…he smokes cigarettes. And uses bad language.

No, seriously. That actually happened, in a magazine I assume pays good money for articles. In fact, that writer used “flawed protagonists” and “antihero” nearly synonymously, which should have warned me off, but it gave me a great example of “what not to do” so no harm done. Unless swearing does make a person unlikeable, in which case I’m in serious danger.

Likeability is not a sign of heroism or anti-heroism, and even if it were, your audience’s opinion of your protagonist is out of your control (see above re: Hilary Clinton). You can make an educated guess, but in the end, you have no idea what anyone considers positive.

A hero may be someone you’d want to know or not. A character may be well-liked but not a hero. Personality has little to do with behavior. Remember, people described Ted Bundy as charming and former co-worker Ann Rule found him “kind, solicitous, and empathetic.” Yet, his victims would not consider him the hero of the story.

Protagonists aren’t necessarily heroes

This is a good point to note the difference between protagonist and hero. While we can generally use these terms interchangeably, there are important distinctions. Your protagonist is simply the character who drives your story. Most often, we consider the protagonist a hero, but you may write from the POV of a villain, or your character might not be any kind of hero or villain at all.

As with Holden Caulfield or Leopold Bloom in James Joyce’s Ulysses, your protagonist – literally “the one who plays the first part” – may simply embark on a journey with no special moral conflict. Like Gregor Samsa, your central character may be a passive victim of misfortune, embodying no virtue or moral ideal. With such characters, there is no context against which to frame them as heroes or antiheroes, even if one is a filthy smoker.

Morality has entered the chat.

In order for there to be an antihero, we must first define the hero. As noted, a hero is more than simply the protagonist. The hero as archetype embodies an ideal, and so, rather than personality, the heart of any heroic character or journey is a deep moral belief, question, or dilemma. Naturally then, the role of the antihero also centers on morality, but in a different orbit.

As always, your mileage may vary, but my definition of an antihero is someone who:

• Does good things for a morally bad reason
• Does morally repellant things for a good reason

Good acts, bad reasons

In the first category, we might start with Han Solo, who begins Star Wars as simply a hired pilot but later agrees to continue the journey to the rebel base – something good – but only because there may be a reward attached. He becomes a hero only later, when he risks personal sacrifice to join the attack on the Deathstar. In later seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Spike fights vampires and demons not because he’s made a moral choice, but because a science experiment has rendered him unable to harm humans, and he likes fighting too much to quit. Later, his motivation evolves – he wants to help Buffy because he’s fallen in love with her – but his cause remains selfish. If the Slayer quit her mission, so would he.

In the real world, Jordan Belfort (the title character in The Wolf of Wall Street) began giving motivational speeches on corporate ethics after a stint in jail for financial fraud schemes. Similarly, Frank Abagnale (the central figure of Catch Me If You Can) became a security consultant, also after doing time for forgery and theft. Were their post-pokey efforts meant to compensate society for years of wrong-doing, or were they motivated by financial and reputational gain? I know what I’d guess.

Bad acts, good reasons

An easy example is Dexter Morgan, the killer of serial killers, meting out justice via morally repugnant deeds. Like Dexter, the protagonists of the Dirty Harry and Death Wish film series pursue a harsh form of justice, but use vigilante tactics and brutality.

In How to Get Away With Murder, Viola Davis’ Annalise Keating lies, covers up murder, frames innocent people, and twists the justice system, mostly in service of the moral goal of protecting her students and loved ones from harm (Let’s set aside the fact that the potential harm is due to their own actions and that the truth would have served them far better). Though Annalise is one of the few cast members who doesn’t kill anyone, she remains the most morally conflicted character, engaging in antiheroic behavior to serve her personal moral code.

Ambiguous choices

Sometimes, a clever writer can play the greyest of morality cards and leave the audience guessing as to motivation. In Game of Thrones, Jamie Lannister breaks his vow (a bad thing) and slays King Aeris II (also bad) but does so in order to prevent the Mad King from burning King’s Landing to the ground at the end of Robert’s Rebellion (positive motivation). Or…maybe he slayed the Mad King (a positive act long overdue) in order to save his own skin (enlightened self-interest) and further his family’s trek to the throne (cold ambition). Margaery Tyrell manipulates Joffrey’s emotions, taming his violent and capricious moods (a good thing) but does she act on behalf of the people, who need a kind, attentive king after Robert and Aerys II (positive motivation) or to seal their marriage and bring her family into the royal line (selfish motivation). Possibly both were in play, along with some please-don’t-shoot-me-with-the-crossbow self-preservation.

The show allows the audience to speculate, and perhaps even the characters themselves aren’t sure of what drives them from one moment to the next.

Likeability is irrelevant

Whether you strive to portray a character as likeable or not is a matter of personal preference, dependent on the story at hand and the mood you wish to evoke. However, personal charm is irrelevant to the creation of an antihero, who operates under his own code of moral conduct, outside the bounds of conventional behavior. Mix a few immoral acts, dedicated self-interest, and a hefty dose of one or several of the Seven Deadly Sins, and you’ll be well on your way to creating one of your own.

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“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”   ― Carl Gustav Jung

As promised, after a couple of weeks of mental vacation, I’m back with some lengthy blather on a writing topic. I’m going to talk about character relationships, plot, and conflict, so you can bail out now if that’s not your thing.

If you’re still here…deep breath and –

I follow a good number of bloggers who offer advice on writing craft and I love sharing advice I find interesting or helpful, especially when it feels like a gamechanger. A lot of craft talk focuses on nuts-and-bolts level tools, the kind of shoulder to the wheel advice that will help you get from Point A to Point B without embarrassing yourself. But occasionally, I come across someone that takes it to the next level.

September Fawkes

One such blogger is September Fawkes. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and blogger. Her blog, SeptemberCFawkes.com, has been recognized as a Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers. Fawkes takes an holistic, almost meta approach to story, identifying and discussing what she notices from the subconscious experience of reading and writing, so that writers can examine it consciously, learn how it works, and gain mastery of it (freely yoinked from her bio). As a vibe, imagine learning about story from Yung and Campbell, rather than the English teacher who taught you about the inverted triangle and Freitag’s pyramid.

Fawkes’ posts aren’t a breezy read with a few key takeaways, but deep dives into hidden, foundational layers of story that most craft writers either don’t discuss or don’t recognize as distinct tools we can use to strengthen our work.

Recently, she has written a few posts about the various layers of plot. But – again – while other writers discuss plot as the mechanics of getting a character from Point A to Point B, Fawkes goes deeper to find the elements that most of the audience – and most writers – will never see, even if they grasp the concepts subconsciously.

I don’t know if she originated the particular concept I want to share, but she’s the first writing blogger I’ve come across who has analyzed it, and she has returned to it a few times, so I give her credit for putting it out there. Her approach was eye-opening and I’ve already applied it to both the novel I’m writing and the next one I’m outlining. Doing so has helped me add emotional layers to various characters, rely on subtext and nuance in their interactions, and strengthen both my vision and grasp on the story that I’m trying to tell.

The Relationship Plot

The concept is the relationship plot, a third layer of story that resides in between the traditional strata of plot and character arc.

Let’s define terms:

• The external plot is what happens. Ideally, you have a strong cause-and-effect chain so that events feel organic and character-driven, but essentially the external plot is physical, the actions that could be observed by other characters in your story world.
• The character arc is internal. This arc provides the reasons your character takes the actions that drive the external, physical plot. It drives your hero’s goal and determines what he needs. As the term implies, arc involves movement. At the beginning of the novel, the protagonist has a baseline emotional state, and arrives at the end in a different state, changed for the better, but sometimes for worse.

Most writing advice involves layering those two plots – internal and external – to create a cohesive whole. Generally, the internal character arc is why the character engages in the external plot. In turn, the events of the external plot require the character to move along the emotional arc, to learn and grow so that the goal can be obtained.

Now let’s go back to the relationship plot.

Despite what it sounds like, the relationship plot is not limited to the romance story. It can involve romance, but this layer encompasses any relationship your character engages in: parent/child, sibling, friend, mentor/mentee, co-worker or peer, or even hero/villain. Depending on the nature of your story, the this level plot might involve your character’s relationship with their vocation or a hobby, their social environment, with themselves, or the story world itself.

Simply put, this level of story focuses on how your character moves in relation to the other people, the environment, and societal forces in your story. It exists between the internal character arc and the external plot, as it involves both the physical interaction of the protagonist with others, and emotional growth and conflict. It is not as cleanly visible as the external plot, but not as opaque to an outside observer as the character arc. We can view these relationships in action, but we must intuit feeling and thoughts.

I’m going to emphasize this again, because I think it’s important. Fawkes posits the relationship plot as a third layer, not simply an element that is tangential to or affected by the others. While the protagonist’s relationships will be affected by the external and character plots, the relationship plot pushes back and should affect how the protagonist moves through the story physically and emotionally. Like the external plot and the character arc, the relationship plot can have its own normal world, inciting incident, journey, obstacles, and resolution that align (or should align) with the other layers.

Depending on your story, any of these layers can be the primary focus. A spy thriller will be heavy on external plot, and may have character and relationship plots of varying depths. Fantasy novels tend to feature strong character arcs – the quintessential hero’s journey – though external plot is usually primary and relationships are important. In romance fiction, the relationship plot is at the forefront, supported by external action and characterization.

The Relationship Plot in action

In this recent post, Fawkes examines some examples of relationship-focused stories, including most Hallmark movies (duh), Wicked, and, interestingly, The Prestige. I found that intriguing and she’s absolutely correct. Her analysis opened up an entirely different angle on viewing and appreciating the novel and film version, both of which I loved.

In a follow-on post, Fawkes continued her examination of the relationship plot in a way that got me thinking more seriously about the nature of relationships in my work in progress. In this later post, Fawkes examines how the relationship plot can create conflict, particularly in quieter scenes that are focused on aspects of the relationship.

If you’re writing a scene that involves quieter moments – family dinner, a work meeting – you might find it difficult to add tension or conflict, even if the scene is necessary for the external or internal plots. While these scenes can be useful for giving the protagonist a point to rest and reorient – and the reader time to digest pivotal plot moments – they can feel lifeless or inconsequential. Even if the scene ends with an important turning point, the lead-in might feel dull.

This is where viewing the protagonist’s relationships as a distinct level of plot can help.

Closeness and distance

Fawkes notes that the various layers of plot come with their own objectives. The external, physical plot can be described in terms of success v. failure. In each scene, does the hero succeed or fail? We can consider the character arc in terms of growth v. stagnation. Does the hero learn from mistakes or repeat them? Is the hero open to new ideas or stubbornly resisting them?

For scenes in the relationship plot, the equation is emotional closeness v. emotional distance. How does this create conflict? In each scene, your protagonist may desire more emotional closeness with the other element of the relationship – another person, an ideal, or society. Or he may desire distance. Or the hero may be satisfied with the status quo and seek to maintain things as they are. But how does the other side feel? In this case, the force of antagonism – and source of conflict – is the other person in the equation, who wants the opposite of the protagonist’s goal.

What does this look like? A teenage child wants to establish boundaries and independence from a parent, i.e.: distance. The parent, sensing this and perhaps feeling threatened, looks for opportunities to connect, to create emotional closeness. One spouse in a troubled marriage may want to reignite a spark, while the other may be satisfied with the status quo or even looking for a way out. An employee hoping for a promotion may seek an intellectual connection with the boss, but the boss may prefer some distance, because she’s trying to remain objective or has already selected someone else for the job. Character influences the interactions, but the relationship is driving.

Need higher stakes? Consider how Game of Thrones handled a pivotal scene that greatly impacted the plot, but was essentially relationship driven, and packed with tension and high stakes.

You think your family is difficult

Prior to what would become the Red Wedding, the romantic relationship between Robb Stark and Talisa had caused tension between Robb and his mother, who fears the repercussions of Robb’s decision to back out of his promise to marry a daughter of Walder Frey. Robb is frustrated by Catelyn’s warnings – as well as her other actions – and desires emotional distance. Catelyn seeks closeness, so that she can convince Robb of the danger he’s created.

The Starks’ nominal allies, the Freys, welcome them to their castle for a wedding feast, but the tension between the families is palpable, with subtle and not-so-subtle references to the diplomatic offense Robb has caused. Will the Freys accept that the far more powerful Starks broke their promise? Or will the alliance dissolve to the advantage of the Lannisters? The Starks are seeking closeness, to repair the damage done to their relationship with the Freys. The Freys pretend they want the same, but they actually want distance. The permanent kind.

Even before the violent plot twist, the scene is steaming with high stakes. The audience cares about the relationship between Robb and Cat, and about the outcome of the war. We want the Starks to be united and to win the war. If they quarrel, everything is at risk. The war – the external plot – is driving the characters’ arcs and the characters’ choices are affecting the war. And both influence and are affected by the relationship plots.

As we know, the external plot intrudes violently on the scene, as the war comes for the Starks, but Walder Frey’s relationships drove the action. He resented the powerful Starks and felt used. He desired a connection with the Lannisters. He craved the respect of the Seven Kingdoms – a form of emotional closeness – and the place his family name would have. The families were brought to this scene by Robb’s character arc – heir to warrior to arrogant young king. But the relationship plot – characters seeking closeness and distance – provides an electrifying layer of tension and conflict.

How did this help me?

Most scenes in your story will fall somewhere in the middle – higher stakes than everyday relationship conflict, but lower than the possibility of wholesale slaughter – and this is where I found Fawkes’ analysis and advice most helpful.

As I began experimenting with the idea of a relationship plot, I saw how my two current novels in progress relied on the protagonists’ relationships for both plot movement and emotional change. Though I was fairly deep into Novel 1, I went back to the outlining stage, and added a tower for the relationship plot. For each chapter, I identified the protagonist’s relationships with various story elements – other characters, himself, and the story world. Then I examined how each person or element approached the scene with the relationship in mind, and whether they desired more closeness, distance, or the status quo.

That simple exercise revealed multiple opportunities for subtext in the character dynamics, as well as ways each relationship could reinforce the theme of the protagonist’s search for his rightful place in the world.

WIP

In my novel in progress, my protagonist faces multiple opponents, but his chief antagonist is his story world, as he struggles to adapt to his proper place in society. While there are physical manifestations of his struggle – the external plot – a number of scenes find him engaged in varying levels of conflict with his friends, colleagues, romantic interest, and societal betters.

At first glance, the relationship plot isn’t the focal point of the novel, but the protagonist’s failure to find his place is what aligns the forces of antagonism against him, though they come from different angles, depending on whether his opponent is trying to help, use, or squash him. Without realizing it, I’d created a story where everything pivots on the protagonist’s relationships.

While the characters joust over personal matters, beneath the surface each is trying to tug the protagonist towards or away from societal roles he may or may not wish to play.

WIP 2

In the novel I’m outlining, relationships in fact are the central point. The protagonist’s relationships – good, bad, and too-soon-to-tell – and his desire to improve or sever them are what drive his choices, which moves the external plot forward. The relationships also drive his character arc, as he moves from emotional Point A to Point Z through the story.

As I added the relationship dynamics and conflict, it became clear that scene after scene was driven by the protagonist’s desire for closeness or distance, and his subsequent choices were heavily dependent on whether he succeeded or failed. Consciously recognizing and understanding that layer of plot helped me define the protagonist’s motivation and goals for each scene, and set up the forces of antagonism for some juicy interactions that intrude upon both the character arc and the external plot.

When I started each of these stories, the concept of a relationship plot wasn’t on my radar, though the elements were there. Properly assessing, applying, and strengthening this element of story has enriched both novels in progress, adding layers of meaning and increasing the depth of the work.

In theory. The proof will be in the telling. But I do feel good about them. Plot is not my strong suit, so I’m always on the lookout for interesting structural or character tips that contribute to organic plotting.

As always, I hope you find this helpful.

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In a recent edition of his 3-2-1 newsletter, James Clear asks a question that speaks to much of what I write for this blog.

What aspect of your work is hardest to copy? How can you amplify it?

This is you. This is your voice. This is where you find your authentic self.

What can you do – what and how do you write – that would be hard to copy?

Do more of that.

Then do more. Do it louder. With more color. With enthusiasm.

Then do it again. Do it until it becomes second nature. Do it until you can’t remember why did weren’t doing it before.

What do I have?

A dark sense of humor, great comic timing, brutal and occasionally off-putting honesty, cinematic scene-setting, ease with complex and ugly emotions, made-up words that sound right, cynicism sweetened by optimism, rhythm that ebbs and flows, the kind of anti-authoritarian rage you can only gain by surviving a religious cult, the US military, and the public school system, a deep need for community and connection, a near religious belief in redemption, and a dearth of fucks to give.

I’m not the only writer with those qualities, and I’m not the best at any of them, but there’s still only one person who can do it my way.

Go forth and amplify.

___

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You may be familiar with the But/Therefore technique popularized by South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone.  When the pair generate scripts for the show, they maintain an organic structure and ever-escalating nonsense by linking each scene the story with the phrase but/therefore. A character wants something but an obstacle appears, and therefore a new action must be taken. While simple, this technique ensures that their stories have constant forward movement that arises from character choices and actions (no matter how ridiculous). Other than in the openings (ie: before the inciting incident), you’ll rarely encounter a scene in which a character takes an action because the next scene requires that action to be taken. Every action is driven by what has already occurred – a desire, an obstacle, a new choice – and the next scene builds upon that.

In a recent post on Writers Helping Writers, Lisa Poisso suggests a few other angles on this technique for creating a strong cause and effect chain in your story.

• Fortunately/Unfortunately. In this technique, a positive development is followed immediately by a negative event. “Fortunately/unfortunately generates a constant stream of opportunities for your characters to make decisions and take actions that move the story along,” Poisso writes. “They’re never stuck waiting for the next thing to happen. Every scene hands them a new snag to deal with.” This technique keeps your hero on her toes, because there is always something to react to.
• Choosing Consequences Over Continuations. This is essentially the but-therefore technique. When your hero takes an action or makes a choice, a consequence is triggered. The action/choice requires your hero to take a logical next step or it may prompt another character to react or create an obstacle. In the next scene, your hero takes action in response to the consequence, creating a strong link between here and there, and avoiding scenes where your protagonist just happens to show up somewhere.
• The “Yes/But” and “No/So” Dynamic. With this technique, your hero’s wins are followed by a caveat: a negative consequence or complication. Their defeats are followed by a new choice and new action. The yes/but scenario attaches strings to the success. The no/so adds reactions or complications to a failure. Whatever happens, your characters can’t sit still and wait for the next scene. They must act.

Writers love lists and we really love making lists of other writers. I have plenty:

• My favorite writers
• Writers I’ve read the most works by
• Writers who’ve influenced me
• Writers who’ve influenced my writing

While there is overlap, those lists are quite distinct. Very few appear on all four.

Here’s another: What writers would I like to meet?

All of them!

Ok…some of them. But still, that would be a lengthy list.

Which deceased writers do I wish I could have met, given the opportunity when they were alive? That’s an interesting one…

Patricia Highsmith
Caustic, cynical, racist, angry, and misanthropic only scratch the surface of Patricia Highsmith’s reputation. She has a bad rep, especially these days, when even the slightest slip of the tongue or insufficiently rapturous allyship can bring out the internet scolds. One can only imagine their response to someone as single-mindedly vitriolic as Highsmith.

Even her fans don’t like her. In the introduction to her recent graphic novel biography of Highsmith, Grace Ellis describes the writer as “appalling,” “destructive”, “a terrible person,” “nothing short of evil,” and someone who should be condemned “as vehemently as possible.” A blurb on the back cover calls her “vile and miserable.”

Thirty years dead and still so problematic a biographer is terrified of being judged guilty by association. Not sufficiently problematic to preclude Ellis from authoring the biography, but yucky enough to denounce after the fact. Ellis added that she “took no pleasure in writing about her prejudices,” but presumably her anhedonia did not extend to cashing the check.

You can search Google for some choice Highsmith quotes and in fact, they are quite awful. Some are anecdotal, though well-sourced, and some come straight from her diaries. It’s tempting to hope her quotes were taken out of context, but it’s hard to identify exactly what context would have rendered them appropriate. I talk shit with friends and have a dark sense of humor, but even I have been taken aback at some of what’s been attributed to her. The key point is there’s no indication her comments were made in jest or in an environment where they were welcome.

It’s likely Highsmith would have hated me, and I would have hated her back, the little shit. But I also hate mobs and I’m loathe to bandwagon the dead. And fuck it, she was a brilliant writer of some of my favorite books.

So, regardless of her crust, I’d love to spend an evening with her, not for the bonhomie but to try to understand where she came from. I want the context not of her words, but of her anger. Because that was one angry woman, and anger does not arrive unbidden. It rises up from wounds and serves as armor. It is a gift from the world. And as an independent woman, a lesbian, in the 1940s and 50s, trying to assert her talent in a male-dominated occupation, I’m certain the world bestowed many gifts on Patricia Highsmith. Having written for comic books – including for Stan Lee – and for trashy paperback hacks and for traditional publishers, I bet she had some great stories about the men of letters. As a lesbian who came of age during the Great Depression and World War II, I bet she had some devastating ones as well.

James Baldwin
I can’t guarantee James Baldwin would desire my company, but I imagine after a few cocktails, with some soulful dance music on the turntable, he and I would hit it off quite finely. And what a spectacular playlist that would be:

A brilliant mind and writer, gay and black in an era where neither was much fun and a life as both must have seemed nigh impossible to navigate. I’d ask a lot of insipid fan questions, certainly. Who was his inspiration for Giovanni’s Room? Did he sleep with Marlon Brando?

I wouldn’t even need to say much. Who wouldn’t want to simply sit and hear the man speak? A voice like liquid mercury dipped in butter. I’d gladly listen to him weigh in on the white devil, if that’s all he wished to discuss.

Joan Didion
Happy, keenly observant, California tan, 1970s orange and avocado Joan, not the grieving Joan of her later years. This is my fantasy, so why be sad?

Joan Didion reminds me of my late friend Sharan, who friends affectionately called Mama. I imagine Highsmith drinking dinner and Baldwin holding court at a restaurant, but I picture Joan putting together a simple but solid, literati dinner party meal, waving me through the kitchen and onto the back deck, offering cocktails and nibbly things as the entree simmered. While my interest is literary, I see her as both teacher and mother, raconteur and listener, giver of advice and drier of tears. Didion was an eyewitness to societal upheavals, the death of her family, and finally the Last View. She’d seen some shit, and she’d have many observations to share.

Harlan Ellison
Like Patricia Highsmith, but shorter and with less charm, Ellison would be a smashing dinner companion, provided he didn’t start a fist fight. Goad him into talking shit about people who wronged him, in real life or only in his imagination. Start with Republicans and work your way up to Star Trek.

Kurt Vonnegut
The funny uncle you always wanted, gentle, wise, the perfect combination of wicked smart and world weary. I wish I’d had someone around to tell my younger self to spend more time doing what I love and to not care whether I did things perfectly, but only that I did them with gusto. I wish someone had explained “learn by doing” better. If he could have read my stories and given me practical advice, recommended better books to read, explained the importance of having creative friends, that would have been even better. A little older, I wouldn’t mind asking Vonnegut what the hell do I do now?

Jenny Terrell
You’ve never heard of Jenny Terrell, but if Kurt Vonnegut is the writing uncle you always wanted, Jenny was the mom or aunt or teacher who treated you like a real person made of gold, and encouraged your interests and idiosyncrasies exactly when you needed it most.

I published a few of Jenny’s short stories in my small press. You can find one of them here. She wrote a very cute novel about nuns on the run, which you can find here. She was funny and talented, and with a few words could make you believe you were the brightest and most talented boy in the room. I never met Jenny in real life, but we emailed a number of times. She was one of a handful of writers I’d published who I friended on my personal Facebook page, and we shared greetings here and there. Jenny passed away a few years ago, having reached her early 90s. A good run by any stretch, but it’s never enough. She was a real doll, in the old, best sense of the word. I wish I could have met her, to tell her in person how much her encouragement meant to me, but I’m sure she got plenty of that without me. She was that kind of person.

Runners-up:

Ray Bradbury – I don’t want to have dinner with Bradbury as much as I’d like to have writing classes with him throughout eternity.

Octavia Butler – A brilliant talent, gone too soon. While I’d love to share a post-mortem meal, I suspect I’d find myself tongue-tied, a neanderthal in the presence of a divine intelligence.

Joe Orton – A writer I admire from a distance, but would probably loathe close up. Wicked intelligence, insouciance, and a puckish sense of adventure are attractive qualities, until you come home to find a strange man in your bed and all your library books defaced. He’s exactly the kind of guy I would have dated when I was younger, but only because I thought I could change him. I still spit when I hear Kenneth Halliwell’s name, though. We were robbed of a brilliant writing career.

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My readers know I’m always on the hunt for alternative ways to structure stories.

Over the past 12 – 20 months, I’ve gotten much better at plotting out a novel that doesn’t drop to sleep at the midpoint. I won’t say I’ve mastered it, because every story has its own needs. You may master what this novel requires, but what you’ve learned may or may not apply to the next, or in the same way. That’s why finding joy in learning and in the actual writing are both so important, and I think it’s why a lot of writers crap out after two or three books. They hit a wall somewhere and instead of figuring out what new skill to learn, they decide they don’t have what it takes.

But I’ve improved. When I look over the outlines of my two works in progress, the middle parts appear to have forward movement and character agency. I’m not struggling to contrive a situation that helps my protagonist get from Point C to Point M. Plotting has always been my weak suit, which is why short fiction was my preferred poison. I don’t know if something clicked for me with this particular protagonist or if I simply read the right bit of advice for my brain, but it’s working for me. For now.

But, as I said, not every trick works for every book, so I’m continually on the lookout for fresh advice, told in a clever way or approached from a different angle. This week, I came across a new kind of story structure, which is the kind of writing tidbit I hoard. It also has a cool name.

Chiastic structure.

Credit where credit is due: Kay DiBianca shared this story structure in a post on Killzone, a site created by a group of suspense writers and publishing professionals.

In the chiastic structure, the second half of a story parallels the first half, but in reverse. An interesting alternative to the traditional pyramid of rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution. DiBianca illustrates the concept with this image from Wikipedia depicting the biblical story of the flood.

This is similar to the five-act structural pyramid – Introduction, Rising Action, Climax, Falling Action, Denouement – but in a chiastic structure, the falling action closely mirrors the steps in the rising action, and the denouement mirrors the introduction. Rather than an A-B-C-D-E sequence, the story follows an A-B-C-B-A structure.

Journey stories are common examples of chiastic structure. A character leaves for adventure and returns home again. Classic murder mysteries are another good example:

A – The status quo
B – An unknown killer disrupts the story world
C – The investigation
B – The unknown killer is revealed
A – The return to normality

In addition to the story of the flood, a number of other biblical tales come to mind, as the parables frequently relate a character’s journey towards knowledge. The Prodigal Son leaves home with a head full of steam and returns chagrined.

A – The family is together
B – The prodigal leaves
C – The family abides
B – The prodigal returns
A – The family is reunited, but the prodigal is displaced from his role

In the Parable of the Talents, the servants are given money to invest and then return to their master to report their success or failure, and are rewarded accordingly. Even the story of Christ could be viewed as having a chiastic structure: a divine being comes to Earth in human form, he studies with scholars, he becomes a teacher, and finally reattains godhood by suffering a human death. He arrives in blood and leaves in blood, transmogrifying at his entrance and exit.

In other literature, we have The Hobbit. It’s right there in the title of the book. In fact, any story in which a journey is a central element – The Odyssey, Heart of Darkness. From a certain angle, The Handmaid’s Tale fits the structure:

A – Offred is captured and brought to Gilead
B – Offred loses her freedom, independence, and self
C – Offred sees cracks in the Gilead fortress
B – Offred regains her sense of self, plots her escape
A – Offred flees Gilead, regaining her freedom

Contrast this will Emma Donohue’s Room, which I’d describe as an A:A structure. In the (approximately) first half of the book, Ma struggles to create a life for six-year old Jack and maintain her mental freedom, despite being imprisoned in a cramped room for seven years. Once rescued, Ma has physical freedom, but remains mentally shackled, and risks losing her sense of self and will to live. While not following the A-B-C-B-A structure, Room uses thematic mirroring to create dual prisons from which Ma must escape. Physical restraint/mental freedom: Physical freedom/mental constraint.

That’s a great addition to my cache of story structures. I don’t have a story that could use it right now, but maybe you do!

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In a recent post on the Writers in the Storm blog – another highly recommended site for writing advice – Janice Hardy identified five red flags that might indicate your novel is going to be too much work for your reader.

Ever the optimist, my first thought was “I bet I do all of them.” However, rather than hitting morally questionable protagonists, transactional sex, and ambiguous endings, Hardy highlighted more foundational aspects of story.

How did I do? Let’s take a look.

The story requires the reader to do “research”.

Hardy defines this as the author inserting newspaper articles, poems, songs, or other elements that aren’t strictly part of the narrative, but which need to be understood to help the reader fully understand the characters or plot. Lots of writers use tidbits like these as color, either providing a small bit of new information or reiterating something the reader already knows. However, if your reader has to read your articles and poems like tea leaves in order to figure out what’s going on, they might not bother.

Hardy doesn’t mention it, but I’d also include writers who use ten dollar words or reference historical figures or events without any context that would allow the reader to intuit their meaning or importance. I’m a reasonably intelligent fellow, so if I hit an esoteric word or have no clue about the context of some historical event , I have to wonder who the writer’s intended audience is. If I have to go to Wikipedia, there’s a good chance I’m going to get stuck in a research hole, rather than come back to your novel.

Verdict: Not guilty.

The story has too many characters.  

I love big casts and sweeping stories. My weakness is trying to introduce every character early in the story, regardless of whether they all need to arrive yet, which of course is the problem that will cause your readers to give up. I’ve set aside the two or three really ambitious projects to focus on work with a single protagonist and a small group of major supporting players, and this is working out for me.

Verdict: Guilty but on probation.

The narrative has too many points of view.

That said, POV was one of my strong suits. The beta readers of my Big Epic Novel specifically mentioned that each character had a distinctive voice and each chapter had its own tone and atmosphere. The story was a mess, but the characters were strong, even if there were a few too many.

Verdict: Guilty, but when I do it, it’s stylish.

The names are all too similar, or too hard to pronounce.

In my back burner project, I introduced a Ted, Tommy, and Tim without realizing it until the third or fourth draft. I kept Ted and Tommy since they are minor characters and are often mentioned as bookends, so it’s ok if the reader thinks of them as a matched set. Tim had to go, but a year later, I still find myself writing Tim instead of Chip in my notes. I’m certain I’ll find a few dozen Tims when I run a find and replace at the end. Chip suits the vibe of the character, but I like the name Tim better, but I liked Ted and Tommy for the bookends even more. It’s a crap shoot.

It’s also a good idea to vary name length, for visual interest if nothing else. It can also help with the lyricism and variety in your narrative, if you construct your sentences around sounds and rhythms, in addition to meaning.

Hardy also mentions one of my biggest pet peeves: science fiction and fantasy writers who give multiple characters, objects, and locations unpronounceable names. If the back cover blurb introduces characters with multiple apostrophes or six syllables in their names, it goes back on the shelf. When various names are incomprehensible, chances are good they’ll start to blur together in the reader’s mind. Is the Mighty Gorlock a person, a city, a river, a sword? Who knows!

My current WIP stars Jack, Calvin, Pris, Flower, and Young Tom, as well as a few characters with unique, but pronounceable names. Minor characters are generally referred to by their title or role in the story, and the fancy fantasy names are reserved for gods and locations.

Verdict: Not guilty.

There’s not enough backstory or reminders of key details in the later books in a series.

I don’t write series fiction, so this is a moot point, but this does come up often in series I enjoy. Jo Nesbø’s Harry Hole series has swapped out detectives and forensics specialists so often I have a hard time keeping track of who’s who in the later books. Is that blood spatter expert the woman Harry slept with or is she the one who had the baby with the detective who was killed by…

And that’s in a series that is fairly static, compared to fantasy and science fiction series.

Verdict: Not guilty.

One and a half guilty verdicts out of five. Not bad. How did you rate?

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