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Author Choices

author

Author Choices

Readers don’t necessarily realize that all along, an author is making choices. The story seems immutable and inevitable and actually speaks well of the writer’s ability to keep the reader in the continuous dream.

But I find that writers can unknowingly believe the same thing. When you’re in the throes of creation or know your characters so well that they take on a life of their own, there can be a sense of the foreordained.

But your choices have an impact that may not be immediately obvious. I want to use the British and Belgian Professor Ts, discussed in the last post, as an example.

Author, actor, director choices

First off, I know that the writer does not reign supreme in TV or films, wrong though that is. The final performance is shaped by the actor, director, etc. But for our purposes, let’s pretend that the writer is in complete control.

The Belgian Professor T has almost no facial expressions, except for a fixed slight grimace/grin like a clown before make-up. His movements are rigid and intonation flat. He makes no eye contact. He seems to have quite a severe case of OCD and/or Asperger’s syndrome.

I think that the British series decided to portray Professor T as less impaired. He has a wider, although still limited, range of emotion. He makes eye contact. His movements, while not fluid, are more a man with extremely controlled feelings rather than one unaware he has a body.

Why this makes a difference

These seem like relatively minor differences but they impact the show and, in my opinion, may even contribute to why the British series is not as fascinating as the Belgian one.

Because Brit Professor T is more connected to his colleagues (eye contact and more emotion), the supporting characters seem to have greater expectations of him for change. They pull him aside to urge him to be less awkward and more tactful.

But in the Belgian version, his coworkers have pretty much accepted him as is. He is so far out of the norm that they make little or no effort to ‘reform’ him. He is the outside observer.

I think the Belgian professor is therefore a more cohesive, if odd, character than the Brit who has one foot in the normal world and one in his own.  The Brit’s duality causes uneasiness in the viewer as you’re not quite sure what or who he is.

So, even a fairly benign choice in a character can affect its effectiveness.

An easier example

The example I just used is so subtle I’m afraid I haven’t been able to make the point. So for my sake, let’s have a more obvious one. The hero betrays his best friend on ethical grounds. The author can go any number of ways from here. The friend can see the error of his ways. Or try to get revenge. The hero might realize he’s been too judgmental. The friend might have a fatal accident as a result of the hero’s decision. Any of these choices take the novel down a unique and mutually exclusive path.

So, sometimes it can produce a better novel if you play with the idea of taking a pivotal moment in the plot and considering a different track. A huge pain in the neck but you may be surprised at how often this results in a better story.

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Professor T

Professor

Professor T

Professor T is a 2015-2018 Belgian TV drama series set in Antwerp about an eccentric professor of criminology at Antwerp University. The professor, played by Koen De Bouw, is called in by the Federal Judicial Police on particularly difficult cases. This, despite having no, or offensive, people skills and a serious case of OCD which manifests itself in a need for routine and cleanliness. But it may be these very attributes which make him so valuable. Social convention doesn’t prevent him from speaking aloud truths others are afraid to voice and his obsessive focus on detail allows him to observe patterns missed by less single-minded colleagues.

Sounds like it might be a bit of a bore, no? An often silent and always awkward main character who has a tight lid on his emotions. An engaging protagonist is usually articulate and willing to share his inner most thoughts. These mechanisms connect us with the fictional character.

But this is a case of the exception proving the rule. Though often silent, when he does speak, Professor T has insights which pull together disparate events into a cohesive whole. And just as importantly, makes observations on the human condition which are both deep and impactful. The latter often through quotes from his wide knowledge of literature and philosophy.

Professor T also has extravagant hallucinations/dreams/imaginings. Students as clucking chickens, the Dean as a Roman senator, detectives as barking dogs. An intense tango with a woman he gives little overt indication of caring for.

In this clever way, the writers imply an active and interesting inner life even though none of the usual literary devices are employed. The viewer likes, sympathizes, and cares about him. And is hooked.

I was sorry there were only four seasons of the show.

Professor T, the British version

I thought, however, that all would be right with the world when a British version of Professor T was announced. Starring Ben Miller, an actor who had played a socially awkward detective in a television series called Death in Paradise. Again, a difficult role as not only can he not express his emotions (such as loving one of the other detectives) but it’s possible that he himself doesn’t know or understand how he is feeling.

A perfect actor for the role, I thought.

So, I was looking forward to the first season.

It was okay.

Not awful but not great.

Even with an excellent lead actor, similar supporting characters, some of the same plots and even the hallucinations thrown in (although not so extravagant as the Belgian production but I think that was more probably the British series wanting to do them on the cheap than the English Professor T’s imaginings being less vivid). Just okay.

Why is that? The quality of the actors? Maybe but not the lead for sure. The subtitles? But usually a program without subtitles, i.e. the Brit one, is easier to watch. Cultural differences? I didn’t notice any big ones.

But I do have a theory and it has to do with the choices the writers made in both the British and Belgium series which made quite large differences in the quality despite the similarities in other ways. In the next post, I’ll discuss the impact of author choices.

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Putting The Past in Context

.context

Putting The Past in Context

Say you’re writing a historical drama where two noblemen of Henry VIII’s court. They engage in all kinds of nefarious plots to prevent the other from being appointed the Gentleman of the Stool. They scheme, poison, scandal-monger, and lie.

You may write a very convincing and even riveting tale of intrigue but it’s not going to catch the reader if he is puzzled as to why the two men want the position. Especially as the main duty seems to be wiping the King’s bottom on the toilet.

You need to contextualize the rivalry. Show the Gentleman of the Stool as the only courtier assured individual and private access to the King. To ask for favors, or turn the King against a rival. Then the rest of the story falls into place.

You may also need to contextualize the past even with more recent events. For example, the novel The Reader by Bernhard Schlink was first published in 1995 in German. A pivot point of the plot, set in World War II, is that the heroine goes to great lengths to conceal that she is illiterate. A literate 1995 audience may not understand why the shame was so great. The reader needs to understand how or why or if the context affects how open the secret is.

Putting context into the past

So, how do you do this?

Not, of course, by hitting the reader over the head by using a long passage of tell to provide the context.

But you might have one of the noblemen musing what he could do if he got the preferment he desired. Or show a boy being made fun of because he can’t read.

So take a look at the story you’re writing. On the one hand, being specific and tangible is a strength of any tale. On the other, it can be so unique that it is puzzling to the reader who has not been in that situation. Identify any things which might impede understanding of the story.

But also remember that readers can often pick up the meaning or context as they go along and take some pleasure in being able to figure it out. So, don’t go crazy with this context business. Only the really important bits.

Not just the past

Actually, contextualizing is appropriate in any situation where you think that your desired audience is not of the culture you are writing about.  An LGBTQ  story aimed at those outside the community may need to explain aspects of the context which might be unfamiliar to an outsider.

For example, in the translation of a Swedish (I think it was Swedish) novel, the hero says hello to a man on a ladder, painting a house. The painter almost loses his balance in surprise. The author kindly provided a footnote to explain that speaking to strangers was unusual in Sweden (Sweden?).

So, don’t go crazy but also don’t lessen the power of your saga by forgetting to provide the appropriate context.

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Open Secrets

openOpen Secrets

In the last post, we discussed plots with secrets which you want the reader to enjoy unravelling. In this post, I want to talk about open secrets.

What’s an open secret? The family knows Mom is slowly descending into madness but nobody talks about it. The brother in jail doesn’t exist to all intents and purposes. Secrets are not just found in families. The boss who drinks heavily in his office. The parish accounts known to be inaccurate. The office lovers who think they are keeping things clandestine.

I think these are way more fun to write about. Well, ‘fun’ may be, actually undoubtedly is, the wrong word as these secrets often spring from painful personal experiences. Their expression frequently requires bravery to reach emotional truth. But also produces the best writing.

How to convey an open secret

Open secrets are usually grounded in and influenced by their setting and the characters involved. So, if you are writing such a novel, you need to rely primarily on your sense of how to develop the story. But you might want to check the following questions just to ensure that you’ve answered them in your text.

Why is it secret?

Shame or some variant of it is often the reason for secrecy. For this or any other fundamental emotion to be credible to the reader, you need to establish why the characters are keeping silent.  Even before the reader knows of a secret, she needs to see the characters act in odd but not necessarily mysterious ways. The mother gets hysterical if the father is fifteen minutes late. The assistant refuses to book any of the big boss’ appointments after lunch.  The characters’ actions may be just quirky. Or even better, barely noticed by the reader. But they set the stage for their later involvement in the open secret.

Why is it nevertheless open?

There’s something big and covert but nevertheless known to a defined group of people. Some questions your story should answer:

Why do they know it and others don’t? Why can’t others know? Shame? Legal problems? Spy ring?

What are the machinations to protect the secret from outsiders? What actions or non-actions does this group take? How do these cause problems or awkwardness when interacting with outsiders?

And the machinations to protect themselves from knowing the secret? Often, and especially within families, those in the know ignore, downplay or lie about events even among themselves. The woman says she tripped. The repair to the wall is made without comment. Parents deny the event to children who witnessed it.

How does the reader know that there’s a skeleton?

Generally speaking, you want to slowly reveal that there is a secret. First stages can be sudden stops and/or starts of conversation or action which cue something is going on. Farther on, something might be said the reader knows to be untrue but nobody contradicts. Until finally, the secret is revealed.

In all of this, it’s important to keep up the mystery without confusing. If you throw out so many unanswered cues that Something is Wrong, the reader will feel lost. And eventually impatient. Give the reader enough along the way so that she feels as if she’s making some headway in understanding. Reveal the secret at a pace that fits the story but keep building tension.

Otherwise, she won’t care enough to stick with you until the secret is revealed.

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Keeping Secrets

secretsKeeping Secrets

I’m not talking about your personal secrets, the ones you agonize whether or not to reveal by being naked on the page. I’m talking about the more technical issue of how/when you disclose secrets as part of your plot.

Secrets are a lovely playground for writers—so many ways to misinterpret, add mystery, and/or keep the story moving forward. But not without its pitfalls for the writer.

Too many secrets

You’ve come up with a great mystery novel idea. The FBI, CIA, NSA and Department of Justice are all trying to kill a woman with an earth-shattering secret. Throw in a rogue NSA agent and your detective and you have a dog’s breakfast of underground motives and activities. It’ll be great fun throwing in red herrings and false trails. You barrel towards your surprise ending.

Okay, so this is where you want to give a thought to your reader. You know where you’re taking this. But the reader doesn’t. All he experiences is five or six shadowy characters doing enigmatic things, all of which seem unrelated. If you’re lucky, he’ll stick with you. But more likely, he’ll be confused, can’t keep the story lines straight, and will give up on the novel as a boring tangle.

Some fixes

  • Cut down the number of suspects. I know—strikes a blow to your heart. But think about it. Why are many villains better than one really well-written one whom the detective doesn’t recognize until almost too late?
  • Make each suspect/secret really intriguing. The previous suggestion may be a bridge too far. An alternative is to spend more time with each suspect so the reader has an interest in finding out what happens to the particular characters.

Too obvious

The opposite end of the spectrum is making the villain too obvious. The character that always seems to be on the scene. The nosy parker. The excessively helpful bystander. Since your reader is often smarter than you, revealing any one of them as the murderer/villain will seem flat and been-there-done-that. And your novel will end deflated rather than with a big pop.

Some fixes

  • Give credible reasons for being there. Presumably, your bad guy has to be present or at least connected to the events experienced by your detective. Spend some energy coming up with a credible backstory for your villain. The attending doctor, the protagonist’s kid’s teacher, the physio working out the detective’s muscle cramps.
  • Let the reveal be satisfying. Okay, this isn’t really a fix. It’s more how the end product will feel to your reader. You want a I-didn’t-see-that-coming-but-it-makes-sense, rather than an Oh-okay-that’s-what-happened. If you get the first reaction, you’re likely to have built a story which kept your reader involved while planting clues he won’t recognize until after he knows the solution.

A Goldilocks moment

Yes, it is a matter of the porridge being neither too hot nor cold. Give a thought to how the story will strike the reader. Keep giving the reader a reason to turn the page. The promise of a great ending doesn’t cut it. Instead, litter the path with crumbs which allow the reader the pleasure of trying to figure things out as the novel progresses.

He’ll love you for it.