Writing Close to the Bone

I know, I know. I’ve already lectured you about emotional truth, being naked on the page, and going for broke. You might understandably be saying, “Yeah, yeah. Got it.”

But like all hard and important things, ‘getting it’ is an iterative process. You read about it once and think, “Yes, I must keep that in mind.” You read it a second time: “Right, I meant to do that.” And a third: “How come I can’t remember?”

It’s hard to recall it because it’s hard to do and outside almost everyone’ comfort zone. It takes a concerted effort. Which sometimes works and the result is a joy. And sometimes doesn’t.

So, because I think this issue is so critical to truly bringing yourself to the page, I’m going to give it another kick at the cat. But this time from when I have yearned to be able to do it.

Yearning to be close to the bone

In my journal or other times when I ‘should’ be writing, I have often whined about how hard it is to reach that spot all writers covet.

I keep watching Inside The Actors’ Studio to get another jolt like Meryl Streep’s one true thing. That she can play any character if she can find in her the one thing that is true for her and true for the character. That I can create any character if I can find that one thing that is true for her and true for me.

But it’s been dry pickings lately.

Although Dustin Hoffman. He cried. He cried almost as soon as he sat down. About his father, I think. But no matter. How close to the surface the passion. How easily it slipped out. How much I envy that—the pick ax and drill nature of my passion. So carefully concealed, so appropriately expressed. White gloves for shopping still on.

I let myself wander away from that which would be fearless. Like the nakedness would be as unattractive as my body without clothes. Like it would confirm what we all suspected—she has an overweight soul. That passion is a garment held together by safety pins of technique. That the clever turn of phrase can be the sleight of hand, to dazzle, to distract, to confuse and ultimately, to change the subject.

Writing as a chronic condition

I know that every writer despairs sometimes of sinking deep down into who they are. I guess there might be some who don’t but I’m not sure that I’d want to hang out with them. It is unfortunately, the natural state of writers. To doubt, to fail in courage, to have moments when they know that the world would continue to spin happily on its axis if they never wrote again.

But writing is a chronic condition. It will not be denied. You write because you must.

And it will work

As my final word on this from my journal.

Not quite drivel, not quite story. But from that place that has been absent for a while, missed and yet proceeding forward, like the impolite guest for whom you no longer hold dinner. Even though he provides the light and the laughter and the meaning.

Finales that Aren’t

Recently, I did a post on knowing when you’re finished your novel and I know that this post sounds like it might be a repeat but it isn’t. There is a difference between finished and finales.

There seems to be a fashion now for trilogies and other multi-book sagas. Whether this urge is driven by readers who want more or authors who have more to say, I don’t know. Personally, I shudder at the idea. If I go for broke in writing a novel, it doesn’t feel as if there is much left for a sequel. Much as I am sorry to say good-bye to my characters when I finish, I don’t usually have any urge to delve back into their lives.

But for those who feel that generational sagas are for them, one word (or more) of advice.

Finales have to be satisfying

You are nearing the end of the first volume of your trilogy and have a good idea of where the next one is going. And you want the end of the first novel on a real cliff-hanger to encourage readers to rush to read the next.

All well and good. However, it’s important to remember that the ending of the novel has to be more than an advert for the next. It needs to be a satisfying ending in and of itself.

What does satisfying mean? Relax, doesn’t have to be a happy ending, nor do all the strands need to be tied up neatly. Your main character may not even triumph. His failure might be a very satisfying ending. The right one, not the happy one.

But it does need to at least provide a resolution—perhaps not the final—but an answer to the goal your protagonist set out to achieve and has motivated him to action.

If you don’t, the end of the novel will feel as if you’ve kind of stopped in mid-sentence. It will annoy the reader who will feel, perhaps rightly, that she’s been vaguely cheated. And will not encourage the purchase of the next book of the trilogy.

The Hunger Games

The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins is a good example of getting this right. The first volume, The Hunger Games, ends (spoiler alert) with the two main characters Katniss and Peeta, deciding to die together rather than give the authoritarian regime what it wants—a clear victor to the Games. The two are both declared victors and so the novel reaches a satisfying conclusion.

However, the kernels of the next novel are sewn in that Katniss is seen as a dangerous enemy because she engineered this perceived defeat of the government. How she becomes a symbol of the resistance is depicted in the second book of the series, Catching Fire.

Here is an example of planting the seeds of the next book while effectively providing a fulfilling finish to this story.

So, make sure that the reader is happy because there is plot closure even if with a continuing story. It’s one way to up the chances that your next novel will be eagerly anticipated.