I Can’t Write Until I Have Something Deep To Say

deep

 I Can’t Write Until I Have Something Deep To Say

I think people sometimes believe that writers must have deep and important thoughts before they start writing. Shakespeare had all the poetry in his head, just bursting to get out. Jane Austen already knew the intricacies of the social dramas she so brilliantly portrayed.

Okay, obviously I can’t check with these guys to be sure, but that’s not my experience nor that of any writer I know or have heard speak of the writing process.

Bad news: can’t do deep to order

Setting out to be ‘deep’ seems a dubious way to start.

First, and importantly, it may stop you from writing at all because you haven’t yet acquired the ‘depth’ that you think you need to write.

Secondly, and equally important, the final product is almost guaranteed to be pretty boring. Earnest and worthy, perhaps. But not good reading.

This approach ups the chances that your characters are representations of your ideas (sincerity, truthfulness, whatever) rather than living breathing entities who can be both inspiring and despicable. In short, human.

Also, novels with an a priori message are prone to long passages where they figuratively hit the reader over the head with “this is my message—get it?” Most readers don’t like being preached at from a fiction pulpit.

Good news: don’t need to

But the good news is that a message is not required before starting to write.

With my first book, I realized what the book was about only near the end of the writing that . But I didn’t have time to redo it as I was committed to a publisher’s deadline. With the second book, I built in enough time to do a redraft which allowed the threads to become clearer. I would have liked to have done another draft to refine it but again, I needed to respect the publisher’s deadline.

What I am trying to say is that whatever depth I was able to demonstrate on the page was as a result of refining, elaborating, streamlining, and sometimes chopping. It did not appear as whole cloth the first time through.

The act of writing prompts the thinking and reflection. One idea flows to another and another. The thinking and writing grows from what it feeds on. And then you rewrite and rewrite to get it right.

So when you consider a book you admire for its insights and depth, recognize that you are seeing the result of the unseen struggles of the author to make his message clearer, more nuanced, and insightful. Don’t compare what you turn out the first time with the author’s finished product. It really is apples and oranges.

You do have something worth saying but you have to work at bringing out. The depth will come with the writing, rethinking, and rewriting.

How do I do it?

Rather than starting out with the intention of writing something deep and important, start out with a situation, or a character, or a moment in time, which feels as if it has meaning for you. A terrible injustice, a generous person, the bravery of a group.

Whatever it is, write the scene which renders that feeling without using the terms I just used (i.e. terrible, generous, bravery). Show the actions of the characters which will prompt in the reader the same feeling that you had/have without naming it. Then rewrite until the message comes across in a satisfying way.

So you can do deep—you just have to work at it.

Writing Villains

villains

Writing Villains

Oh, for the good old days when villains wore black (Stetsons, if appropriate), twirled their handlebar mustaches, and revealed their evil ways in every word and deed. Think Uriah Heep from David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, Dr. Hyde from The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, by Robert Louis Stevenson, Professor Moriarty in the Sherlock Holmes novels by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Scoundrels we love to hate.

But while we can still appreciate the all-out, no-holds-barred malevolence of these anti-heroes, most modern readers expect a more nuanced approach to their (well, your) villains.

Villains are needed

You write the story from the protagonist’s point of view. It’s a challenge enough to show this character as real and sympathetic. The antagonist/villain is there but frequently only as foil to demonstrate the hero’s sterling qualities.

Now, you need this kind of a dynamic to make the novel work. For interesting reading, the leading character cannot sail smoothly to his promised land. Wants to be an Olympic athlete? Gets the gold. Wants to write a famous opera? The new Mozart. Not only is this progression boring but it doesn’t do anything for how we feel about the protagonist. You like people whose success comes easily? No, we like people who struggle and then conquer.

Enter, the villain. He can be the personification of the world blocking or thwarting the hero’s objectives. But if that is the only role he plays in the novel, the villain can also become boring or at least repetitive and unidimensional. And, not particularly believable. Or only in the style of the mustache-twirling from above.

So, you need the villain to be as believable as your hero. And if you can, you have a great opportunity to deepen the story.

How do I make my villain believable?

So, the big thing is to make your heavy as human as possible. What he needs is:

  • To be well-motivated. It is not enough for him to say, “I’ve always hated Harry [your main character] and I’m going to stop him.” Show, show, show. Why does he hate Harry? What did Harry do to him? Is he perhaps justified in his wish for revenge?
  • To care about something or someone. And getting Harry doesn’t count. It could be a dog. Or a place. Could be a lost love. Whatever. But he needs to have more in his life than retribution. (Unless of course you want to make him a psychopath but that has its own writing challenges.) Showing him with loving emotions both humanizes and makes the reader reassess him.
  • His own agenda. He cannot just act in reaction to the hero’s goals. He needs his own ends and desires. He has a plan. He will walk all over Harry to get them. But necessary in his mind to reach his destination.

Playing with antiheroes

In fact, if you make both the villain and the hero very human, and dare I say, sympathetic, you may be able to do the coolest thing: you may make it hard for the reader to decide which is which. Is the villain the tyrannical father who refuses to let his daughter take art lessons? Or is it the well-meaning teacher who tries to help a young girl be free? The ‘easy’ villain is the father. The ‘interesting’ villain is the schoolteacher who is imposing her morality on a situation she doesn’t understand.

This is one time when it’s okay to confuse the reader. She’ll love it.

Next post: the unreliable narrator. Also a winner with readers.

Why Now?

why

Why Now?

In a previous post, I discussed what you can do if the first draft of your novel is too short. This post covers another question you may need to ask yourself as you are strengthening the manuscript: Why now?

Obviously, your novel is set at a particular time, even if an indeterminate present, and at a particular point in your hero’s life. I suppose the exception might be a family saga which is going soup to nuts.

But generally, writers pick a period in the main character’s life to focus on. Might be middle age, might be just starting out, might be on the brink of death. Whenever it is, a good question to ask yourself is why you picked that age/state of life. Why does your hero do what he does at this moment in his life?

An example of why now?

For example, your hero (Todd) might be a downtrodden spouse who has been married for twenty years and then suddenly announces he wants a divorce. Why now?

Why didn’t he do it early in the marriage when it became clear that things weren’t going as envisioned? How come he didn’t see the signs before the wedding? Why wouldn’t he leave it until his dying day and make it his last words?

Asking yourself this question can prompt two possible lines of thought.

First, you might need to adjust or rewrite so that it makes sense to the reader why this is the right time in his life. Sure, he might have fallen in love and that would be the impetus. But isn’t there a compelling inner reason why Todd chooses this moment to allow the new love to be the dominant factor in his decision?

Second, although I know you’d have to be dragged to this option, is there a dramatically more interesting time in his life to leave the marriage than the one you have used? Is there a stronger reason to justify the act at some other point?

Why not earlier, later, or not at all?

So, let’s continue to play with the why now? issue.

What if it is earlier?

What if Todd makes the decision to leave early in the marriage? What prompts it? Could be another woman but then are you painting a picture of a man who can’t make a commitment? What about him allows him to break from the easier path of putting up and going along?

Or later?

What if he decides leave the marriage much later?  Does he struggle with abandoning what he might think of as his duty? Or does the angst come from how he has to change himself to make this move? Or does he revise his personal definition of duty?

Or not at all?

I know—this is the all-bets-off option. If he doesn’t do the central thing of the novel, it’s a whole new ball game. But if you have created a truly interesting character, might there be more scope to explore who he is in a different situation? Just asking.

Who cares?

I know that reading this may cause a certain level of discomfort, especially if you believe you have completed a first draft. But playing with the concept of why now? at very least encourages  you to make sure that what Todd is doing in the present tale is well grounded in an understanding of why he chooses to act at this moment in his life.

Playing with options may open up possibilities that hadn’t occurred to you. Might not mean a rewrite. Could just be a deepening and strengthening of your story.

Next: subplots.