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Exposition

exposition

Exposition

Exposition is critical as it provides background which the reader needs to appreciate the plot and/or characters. An example:

It was understandable that George would act like that. Dad was army and retired as a general. Not the top—which I think made him bitter. He got to Brigadier General which is a one star general. The top guy is four stars. I think Dad thought he should have risen higher and took it out on us.

He ran our home like boot camp. My mother tried to protect us but Dad really had it out for George—maybe because he was the oldest. George got slapped down for every little thing. One time, it was for breaking a glass. Even though Mom kept saying it was an accident, Dad gave George a clip on the ear that swelled it up for days. So, when George got away from home, he was pretty mad.

Not a horrible paragraph and for exposition of the type I’m talking about, not even all that long.

What’s wrong with exposition?

Absolutely nothing. It is completely necessary but exposition, almost by its nature, slows down the forward action. It is a pause while you tell the reader something she needs to know. But if it goes on too long, readers get restless and/or bored. And they start skipping to more interesting bits which defeats your purpose.

Multiple extensive expositions in your story will make the reader more likely to say something like, “I put it down and just couldn’t get back into it.” Not the only reason for a reader to abandon a book but too many blocks of exposition can be a contributing factor.

Writing exposition without slowing the action

Cut it down to the pertinent facts.

It was understandable that George would act like that. Dad was army and ran our home like boot camp. Dad really had it out for him—maybe because he was the oldest. So, when George got away from home, he was pretty mad.

You might not agree with my particular cuts but the point is to keep the exposition to a minimum. If George’s relationship with his father is really important, you might dramatize the glass-breaking incident in a flashback.

This is not the time to show off all the research you have done into the armed forces. When you use research in a story, keep it to the facts the reader needs to know at that moment in order to understand the situation.

Weave it into the story

Think about showing the effect his father had on George either through flashback or the way he acts in the present. If you do that, the reader will get the relationship without having to spend a lot of time in explaining and/or slowing the action. Breaking up a long explanation into a back-and-forth conversation, especially if it reveals something about the speakers (“But a lot of military families…”), avoids a feeling of stopping the action.

A protest?

I realize that there may be some hackles raised as you protest, “But the reader needs to know this.” I am not doubting that; I am just encouraging you to both keep it to what she needs right at that moment and consider actually expanding some of the exposition (e.g. Dad was bitter that he didn’t rise higher in the forces) to give a fuller picture rather than cramming it in as an aside on the way to the main point about George.

 

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When Fiction Should Not Reflect Reality

reality

When Fiction Should Not Reflect Reality

With really good novels, you know when the story feels like reality and perhaps even how much you identify with it. Just as great novels should.

However, this can lead to the erroneous assumption that your writing should be as real as possible. I’ve already addressed the differences between fiction and life, but I want to focus this post on how this distinction shows up in your choice of scenes for your narrative.

Two characters/people meeting

Here is the introduction of the two main characters:

I opened the door. Elisa was already there.

“Hi, Elisa,” I said.

“Hi,” she said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” I sat down at one of the tables.

Okay, I’m bored already. In fiction, the ‘hi’ stuff is almost never needed. Yes, in reality, this is how two people start an interaction. But unless the dialog moves the plot forward, the fictional convention is to leave out these types of exchanges.

Getting characters out of the room

When I first started writing, I couldn’t figure out how to get my characters out of one scene and into the next. So I looked at every novel I had to figure out how to do it. The trick: Just end the scene.

I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing. (end of one scene)

The next morning, I walked to the store. (beginning of new scene)

No need for extended good-byes or showing the character moving from one location to another (unless of course it is integral to your plot). Easy peasy but different from real life.

Having a sidekick

There are of course tortured novels where the protagonist spends all his time second guessing himself and inquiring into the whichness of what. If you are writing this type of story, by all means carry on.

But for other types of novels, the protagonist often needs to be able to reveal to the reader, a clue, an insight, even a fact she has learned. This can all happen in her head and the reader would have access to her internal dialogue in third person limited narratives, but it tends to be boring over the longer term. Feels very me, me.

However, if the protagonist tells another character what the reader needs to know, it’ll be much more interesting. For one thing, and immediately, you can present a different interpretation of the clue/insight/fact from the protagonist’s. It is also an opportunity to develop a character which can be a foil for the protagonist and interesting in its own right.  

Repetitive actions

In Grantchester, a British TV drama set in the 1950s, an Anglican vicar falls in love with a divorcee and struggles whether to stay in the Church or leave it to marry her. What follows is a series of on-again, off-again affairs.

I have no doubt that this back and forthing is exactly what would happen in real life. But in fiction, more than a couple of iterations lead the reader/viewer to wish they would ___ or get off the pot. Another example where what would actually happen will bore your reader.

So, there are times when, to make your fiction or memoir feel real, you need to make it unreal. And they wonder why writers go slightly crazy.

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Creating a Good Happy Ending

happy

Creating a Good Happy Ending

In the last post, I discussed how happy endings have fallen out of favor. But I understand that you still might want write one. So let’s talk about that.

Pitfalls to look for

There are some cues to when you might be heading down the feel-goodism path. Here’s what to look for in your story.

Things come together too easily. Brenda gets into the college of her choice. At the freshman meet and greet, she is introduced to this great guy. She marries him, they live happily ever after. Exactly what want for our own lives; boring fiction. A happy ending isn’t credible unless there are some roadblocks on the way to it.

Characters have to be bent out of shape to make the ending work. To this point in the novel, Jordie has been a lovely guy—considerate, generous, open-hearted (by the by, probably not a very interesting character). Suddenly, he deceives his girlfriend by convincing her that her BFF is coming onto him. I mean, he has to do that as you are planning a great knock-down, drag-out fight between him and the girlfriend. Although I suppose this betrayal immediately makes him more interesting, a happy ending in this case will be unsatisfying to the reader because it sort of comes out of the blue.

Deus ex machina. Or ‘God in the machine.’  Any time you have written yourself into a corner in the plot and you get out of it by introducing a never-before-seen character to save the day, a trapdoor in a bungalow—you get the picture. Major coincidence (protagonist happens to run into the one person who can save him), while not exactly the same, are nevertheless also taboo.

How to create a credible happy ending

So, to sort of turn around the pitfalls above, here are some of questions you need to ask yourself about your piece if you are heading to a happy ending.

How does your protagonist struggle to achieve the happy ending? In the example above, Brenda might like the guy but he’s already going out with someone else. She has to get his attention. The guy’s girlfriend is actually really sweet and Brenda feels guilty about her plan. You see, complications. A happy ending has to be earned.

Does he achieve it through his own efforts? Today, readers might be a little skeptical if, as in  It’s a Wonderful Life, a friend in Europe agrees to advance $25,000 to cover the debt the hero owes. Usually, the protagonist needs to achieve the happy ending because of his own strivings. i.e. No deus ex machina.

Are his actions consistent? If you need Jordie to lie to his girlfriend as in the example above, then adjust your portrayal of him so that readers have a few doubts about him. If they get to the lying scene without them, both that scene and the happy ending are going to be incredible (but not in a good way).

Have seeds of happy ending been planted? Don’t have to be and in fact, shouldn’t be obvious. But little throwaway moments that the reader can take in, perhaps without even noticing them, that make a happy ending realistic. Great surprise that Roger isn’t the last one to leave the bar; he is losing weight without working out; he doesn’t fly off the handle as much. Spread over the course of the novel, these casual comments can make the happy ending of Roger going to A.A. believable.

So, you can still do a happy ending—you just need to build up to it.

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It’s a Wonderful Life: Feel-Good Movies

Feel-good

It’s a Wonderful Life: Feel-Good Movies

Christmas is the time for feel-good movies like The Miracle on 34th Street, How the Grinch Stole Christmas (okay, TV movie) and It’s a Wonderful Life. We bask in stories which not only end happily but we know they’re going to. We can sit through the trials of the hero/heroine quite contentedly, knowing Things Will Work Out.

A great example of this genre is Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life. In it, George Bailey (played by Jimmy Stewart) maintains a Savings and Loan company. He wants fair mortgages  for the townspeople rather than them being forced to deal with the town’s greedy banker. However, money inadvertently goes astray and George realizes he will be charged with fraud. Projecting how this shame will reflect on his loved ones, he decides he is better off dead. An angel prevents his suicide and shows him how things would have been if he had never been born. George realizes how many people his life has benefitted and decides not to jump off the bridge. When he returns home, he finds that town folk and distant friends have donated money to replace the missing amount.

The feel-good part of the movie happens when George’s friends contribute to make up the shortfall. If the movie had ended with George’s decision to live, it might still have been a good movie, but it probably would not have had the feel-good touch we all love.

The problem with feel-good stories

It was remarkably hard to get Google to say anything negative about feel-good movies. No matter what I input along with the term—criticism of, problem with, etc.—all I got were lists of the best of them. Only dictionaries  would admit that the term feel-good relates to or promotes “an often specious sense of satisfaction or well-being.” Example: “a feel-good reform program that makes no changes.”

Because, let’s face it, calling a movie or novel ‘feel-good’, is often a dismissive way to denigrate a story. What in other times would have been thought of as just a ‘good’ movie, might now be flipped off with the addition of ‘feel.’ Why does a happy ending in modern works now run the risk of being disparaged in this way?

Frankly, who knows. It might be because we have been more suspicious of others’ motives than in earlier days. Or perhaps we are less willing to accept that good outcomes are as frequent and/or uncomplicated. Or maybe the literary fashion has just changed. But as a writer, you ignore this zeitgeist at your peril.

How does it affect your writing?

Interestingly enough, it might be easier to see the effects of feel-goodism in memoirs. How would you feel if you read a memoir where everything turned out beautifully for the protagonist, that she was never guilty of a value-challenging act, and everyone was lovely to everyone else?

In addition to being bored to death, I’d probably think, “She’s lying through her teeth.”

In fiction, it is more difficult to pick up when this phenomenon is operating. But you need to step back from your story to ensure that the happy ending is deserved, if you know what I mean. So how do you write a happy ending which doesn’t get the finger for feel-goodism? Next post.

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Creating the Fictional World

creating

Creating the Fictional World

In the last post, we discussed how to do a backstory but there is another technique which can help expand the realism and fascination of the continuous dream you’re crafting.  I call it creating the fictional world (CFW).

What is creating the fictional world?

With every story, you place your characters not only in a plot but also a setting (or world).  The world may be another planet, another time period, or the house down the street. Doesn’t matter.  Just as you do backstory to develop your characters, you can do CFW to leverage your setting/world to deepen the impact of your story.

Backstory and CFW have many similarities but CFW is different enough to warrant separate treatment. Most importantly, CFW is not description. Description of your world has its place, of course, but CFW is more focused on how your fictional world influences your characters’ thoughts and actions.

How to do it

As with backstory, this technique works best somewhere in the middle of writing your story or, at very least, when you have a good sense of your plot and characters. Doing it beforehand can lead to a stilted feel as you try to shoehorn them into your world.

To consciously explore the world you’re creating, you can ask yourself:

What is distinctive about my fictional world? An answer of ‘nothing’ is not the right one. A completely generic setting means you’re losing an opportunity to enrich your narrative. If you’re having trouble with this, think back to when you first conceived the story. Why did you pick the setting to begin with?

What aspects of your world might intrigue the reader? Pick two or three of the most prominent.

How does my distinctive world affect the characters’ thoughts and actions? Are there morals, customs, values, unspoken expectations and even external events of your setting which can and should influence your protagonist?

An example

Let’s use my novel, Kimono Spring, to work through the technique.

What is distinctive about my fictional world? It happens in the 50s and is seen through the eyes of a child.

What aspects of your world might intrigue the reader? 1950s, Japanese-Canadian, seven year old girl.

How does my distinctive world affect the characters’ thoughts and actions?

  • My protagonist (the little girl) observes but doesn’t comprehend what is going on in the adult world. The reader understands more than the little girl. Possible scene: parents fight over discipline. Reader realizes the marriage is in trouble but little girl is just relieved that she won’t be punished.
  • Caught between two cultures when post-war hate of Japanese still strong. Possible scenes: the family experiences prejudice at work, shopping, etc.
  • The 50s’ pressure to present a perfect picture to the world. Possible scene: Mother trying to deny Japanese heritage to conform to 50s’ ideal.

Don’t go crazy about this

You can easily see that this could get out of hand. Don’t work this exercise with every item of your world.  But try it for a few distinctive aspects. The huge upside in this approach is that it often gives you ideas of scenes to write.

A fully realized world will help you create a fully realized novel.