I attended a terrific workshop the other day, and I came home with a whole lot of thoughts. I’m not a workshop kind of person. I’m kind of an anti-meeting person altogether, so this was somewhat of an anomaly for me. I’ve always written on my own, albeit aided by invaluable words of wisdom from other authors on the internet and in books. I’m a bit of a hermit, and I’m also an insanely busy hermit. The idea of sitting stationary for a few hours, listening to other people talk, doesn’t always entice me. But I really wanted to meet these authors, since they’re all from my area. Plus, they’re all members of the RWA, and I’m not, so I wanted to get a feel for what I might be missing. I'm so glad I went.
What struck me the most was how different a lot of the perspectives were … and how different some were from mine. I had a couple of beefs, but I’m keeping those to myself, because really, everything in writing is subjective (except for grammar and spelling). Nothing I write is any more valid than something anyone else might write.
But I woke up this morning with a niggling thought—you know those? That little voice that won’t shut up long enough for you to convince it that you’re too busy to write a blog? Anyway, mine was insistent, and I did think it interesting, so today’s blog is about SEX.
Writing sex, anyway.
One of the questions put to the panel yesterday was by an author uncomfortable about writing graphic sex and/or violence. I can’t recall all the responses, but I got the general feel that the author should just do it, dare herself, be free! And yet … I’ve written a lot, and I still am uncomfortable writing either. In this day and age, where we’re relatively dulled to violence and hard to shock when it comes to sex, do we have to juice it up? Write such rip roaring scenes that you’ll get past the rest?
In my opinion, no.
I’ve written relatively sexy stuff (which I haven’t even considered publishing), and that includes a couple of wedding nights. And oh boy, I’ve written violence. My most controversial scene of “Under the Same Sky” was one of the first things I ever wrote, and it shocked me to the core. I had no idea I had that in me! I wrote absolutely everything my character saw, everything she heard, everything she felt. Through my words, the reader knew every little thing that was going on. Then I remembered that readers had brains and imaginations of their own. I cut, cut, cut, and in the end I came up with something a couple of people have called “Fade to Black” violence. I created the setting, built the tension, put up signposts and fences so the reader couldn’t avoid the scene, but I let the writing suffice. Did I have to indicate every kick, every punch, every thrust? Did I have to repeat the abusive language those creatures used? No. Absolutely not.
When I’m reading, two things will prompt me to set a book aside, unfinished. Predictability and Redundancy. Do I know just about everything about the characters and story within the first few pages? Yes? Not interested. Do I need to learn the details of how to tie a knot? The material on the chairs in a room? The weather? Unless these things are directly related to the storyline or are a central focus of the scene, I could care less. Touch on them, but let’s not dwell, people. I get bored.
The same goes—for me—with writing sex. I figure we all know how sex works, right? Insert Tab A into Slot B, create friction … Why do I have to include thrusting or sweating or groping or panting? And don’t get me going on descriptions of how she’s feeling during her orgasm. I can build to what’s going on through other actions, but once my characters are into it, they’re on their own.
On the other hand, I’m not going to just shut the door on what’s going on. Take this example from “Sound of the Heart.” It was actually pretty graphic for me.
He wanted her to love this, to feel the exhilaration he felt. He wanted her to want more. He certainly did not intend for this to be their one and only time. He tried varying his speed depending on the little purring noises she issued, then realised he couldn't stand thinking anymore. He closed his eyes as a familiar, delicious rumble began deep within him, taking ahold and growing, wave after wave, taking possession of his mind and body.
Not one thrust, not one unnecessary grab, though I’m sure there were plenty in his mind. I could have gone into the down and dirty descriptions, but in my heart, that was enough. I didn’t look away, but I didn’t take away from Dougal’s moment by over-narrating, either.
I think there are three distinct schools of thought on writing sex and violence. The first would be the hands-off, the author who wants nothing to do with writing more than a peck on the cheek. The second is the full frontal, go-for-it, no holds barred (or add in holds just for the thrill of it, if you’re into erotica). But the third is one that people often forget, and that’s Fade To Black.
What I want to say to readers is ... if you’re looking for more graphic stuff from me, it isn’t forthcoming. I am in my characters’ heads already. They deserve a little privacy now and then.
What I want to say to writers is ... if you are uncomfortable about writing sex or violence but it’s necessary for the story/scene, consider writing Fade To Black.
This article was originally written for my favourite online writing site, Scribophile.com
. I highly recommend you popping over there if you're serious about learning about the craft of writing well. Using First Person POV
I'm writing this article in the First Person Narrative (Point Of View). That means I am going to tell you how this device is used from my perspective.
In contrast, I could write it as a Third Person POV, meaning I'd say something like, “This article is written from the third person narrative to demonstrate how the author uses the device.”
One of the first lessons I learned about writing effectively was that in order to engage the reader, I had to put myself directly in the story. Well, what could make a story more inclusive than by writing in First Person POV? After all, it's all about me! The prevalent pronouns used in First Person POV are: I, me, my, mine (singular), and we, us, our, ours (plural). The narrative follows the line of “I did this,” or “he held my hand.” That's why this method is often a favourite device for debut authors.
But while First Person POV is “all about me,” that isn't exactly true. It is not all about the author (unless you are working with a memoire). It's all about the character. It's up to the author to become that character.
First Person POV emanates from the main character of a book, or from a close associate (think of dear Dr Watson in Sherlock Holmes). Often it is used in memoire writing, where the story must obviously be told from one central perspective. First Person POV allows the reader to get deeply rooted in the character's head and thereby achieve a tighter emotional connection. To make the connection even stronger, the character lets the reader in on secrets that no one else knows.
The trouble is that when you decide to go this route, you and your readers are limited to that one perspective. It can be done effectively, but it can also become very insular. Writing in this style can easily evolve into “stream of consciousness,” and that is a tricky business. When done well, there is really nothing that can compare to beautiful stream of consciousness writing. I'm thinking right now of Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt (because I just finished reading it), though there are many other examples. When done poorly, stream of consciousness can fall completely flat.
With this POV it's important that the author narrate the story through actions as well as dialogue. Your character not only must stay involved and engaged with what's going on around them, but they must also stay consistent in their reactions. The problem is that if the author is inexperienced and not well enough acquainted with the “Show vs Tell” concept, the opposite can happen: the reader can become bored and feel trapped within the narrative.
For this reason, try not to overuse the word “I” when you're writing First Person POV. Especially if you are prone to using “I” at the beginning of a sentence. There are ways around this kind of repetition.
I love that particular flavour of ice cream … could also be written as
That particular flavour of ice cream is a favourite of mine.
I know this room … could also be written in the passive voice as
This room is familiar to me.
Even though the author is writing from First Person POV, a story can't be solely about one person. It's about how that person reacts to who and what is around them. The difficulty many people face when using First Person POV is including the other characters' thoughts and reactions. When you write in first person, you have to remember you are writing in your character's voice, NOT your author's voice. Your character cannot possibly know for sure what is going on in the other characters' head.
Not: He walked away from me, his head tilted slightly as he thought about my question.
But: He walked away from me, his head tilted slightly as if he were considering my question.
How could your character possibly know what the other guy's thinking about? Maybe he's wondering what to have for supper or what time it is. While the author might know the answer, the main character cannot.
Some authors like to switch from First Person POV to Third Person POV, and doing that can open up an even wider scope for both the author and the reader. But if this is done too often, or too close together (as in every other paragraph), the technique can drive a reader nuts. How can the reader connect to any of the characters if they are repeatedly yanked out of their heads? If you are drawn to writing in this style, separate the sections and label them. That gives the reader the opportunity to change their headspace before diving in again.
The First Person POV technique demands that the author keep the main character's personality in mind at all times. Think background, culture, education, etc. If you're talking from the perspective of a lobster fisherman, he's probably not going to wax poetic about classical music. I mean … he might, but only if he's an exception to the rule. If your heroine is prim and proper, she's probably not going to revel in the sight of muddy boots treading across her clean floor, and she most likely won't talk with potty mouth.
- The author must become the narrative character.
- Connect on an intimate level with your reader—share secrets.
- Be aware that “stream of consciousness” writing can be beautiful—or the opposite, if not handled with extreme care.
- Limit the repetitious use of “I” whenever possible.
- When writing, always imagine you are the character. Reflect that in their actions and words. Be consistent
- Be particularly aware of using “Show” rather than “Tell” in order to avoid dull narrative.
- Don't let your main character guess at the other characters' thoughts or emotions.
- Don't change characters' perspectives within a chapter or paragraph.
When done right, First Person POV can create a compelling, emotional story—sometimes even stronger than a story written in Third Person POV—because the character and reader are connected through an intimate, one on one communication. The most important—and most difficult—part of writing in this style is creating a character who is deserving of the readers' attention. If you don't, it's easy for a reader to get bored and set your book aside. If you do, it can be magic.
You know me. The first thing I’m going to say about presenting your book to the public is to make sure it’s something they will want to read. That means you must make sure you hire an editor before you put it out there.
Now on to the subject of this blog. Appearance matters. What you see when you open a book makes a direct impact on your perceived enjoyment of the book. For example, if you open to the first page and discover it is made up of one long, long, long paragraph, well … I don’t know about you, but in most cases I close the book without even bothering to read, feeling suddenly exhausted.
The opposite is true as well. A page offering nothing but short points of dialogue or exclamation, like little bullets, seems flighty, unengaging.
So it is important the writer consider the appearance of the page, not just the words on it. Consider these points: Sentence Length
Vary the lengths of your sentences. While short bursts can be used effectively to make a point, they can also feel like you’re stuck in traffic. Hit the accelerator, then slam on the brakes. Too much stop-and-go traffic is annoying whether you’re in a vehicle or reading on your sofa. Longer descriptions are sometimes necessary; however, be careful of droning on ad nauseum. A good mix of sentence length helps the flow of the work. TOO SHORT
She walked in. He glared with contempt. The tension burned between them.
She stepped with caution into the darkened room, uncaring of the sound of her feet on the old floor. The wood-paneled walls provided no cushion for the fury she felt upon witnessing his unrelenting glare, directed like lasers in her direction, unwilling to look away. The burning tension between them, strung like a violin string across the silence of the room, twisted the air in the room into a place hot with fury, and though breathing was somewhat difficult in that kind of atmosphere, it was obvious neither of the two would consider taking the submissive step of moving away, giving way to the other.
A MIXTURE OF LENGTHS
When she stepped through the door, he was there, glaring with contempt. The air burned with tension.
A paragraph should contain subject matter which is related to itself. Don’t change direction mid-paragraph. Use a variety of sentence lengths to make up the paragraph, then make sure your paragraph lengths vary as well.
“Did you see him?” she asked.
“No, but I didn’t look.”
She glanced away.
He kept staring.
It was she who took the first step, it was always she who bent the invisible line between them, curving it with her soft, cold voice. “Did you see him?” He chewed furiously on his lower lip, a sign that a decision was being made in the back of his mind. It would take a minute for it to move forward, she knew, for it to reach his lips, then meet the air. When it finally did, he matched her tone. “No, but I didn’t look.”
Confusion washed over her. “Why?” she demanded. Wasn’t this what they’d talked about? Dreamed about? Wasn’t this the answer they’d agreed upon? And yet there he stood, consumed with his own egotistical righteousness, determined to be the one in charge, determined to play Alpha to her Beta. Enough was enough. When he replied, “Just didn’t,” she grabbed hold, determined to make him explain. “But—” And yet her questions, as always, were cut short, terminated before they had the opportunity to make any sense. That was his intent, of course. “Leave it.”
Frustrated beyond belief, she folded her arms and glanced away, always conscious of his stare.
A MIXTURE OF LENGTHS
It was she who took the first step, always she who bent the invisible line between them, curving it with her soft, cold voice. “Did you see him?”
He chewed furiously on his lower lip, a sign that a decision was being made in the back of his mind. It would take a minute for it to move forward, she knew, for it to reach his lips, then meet the air. When it finally did, he matched her tone.
“No, but I didn’t look.”
Confusion washed over her. “Why?” she demanded. Wasn’t this what they’d talked about? Dreamed about? Wasn’t this the answer they’d agreed upon? And yet there he stood, consumed with his own egotistical righteousness, determined to be the one in charge, determined to play Alpha to her Beta. Enough was enough.
When he replied, “Just didn’t,” she grabbed hold, determined to make him explain.
And yet her questions, as always, were cut short, terminated before they had the opportunity to make any sense. That was his intent, of course.
Frustrated beyond belief, she folded her arms and glanced away, always conscious of his stare.
That reminds me to remind you to separate pieces of dialogue. Don’t make a habit of sticking conversation pieces together. If he says something, separate it from what she says. If he makes a gesture, separate it from the comment she’s about to make. I illustrated that in the above example.
Not every piece of dialogue needs to have a tag, but I discourage writing more than four consecutive lines without at least interrupting or colouring it with something: a gesture, a sound, a smell … something. And when you start up again, make sure you make it clear who is speaking.
It's a word commonly tossed around between writers, editors, etc ... and we all nod like sages and say "Ah, yesssss. Flow."
What is flow? If you dissect "flow", what will you see?
Flow is exactly what it says it is. When you think of "flow", you think of water. And water runs smoothly, without interruption (unless, of course, there's a dam, and we're going to ignore that part for the sake of the metaphor).
How do you know if your writing flows?
First of all, follow the #1 Rule: READ YOUR WORK OUT LOUD.
Seriously. And I don't mean mutter it out loud. Read it like you mean it. And if you're reading along, thinking how beautiful the story is, what a great writer you are, how the world is going to love this ... then all of sudden a word sticks in your mouth, well, that is what I call (in the very technical Genevieve dictionary) non-flow. STOP. Now, what made you stop (aside from my commanding voice)? Was it a specific word? Was it the way the sentence was formed? Maybe switching a verb will help. Maybe moving the subject and object around will ease the roadblock. Maybe trashing the entire sentence will clear it up. It may seem rough, but really, do you need that sentence? Or is it just there to contribute to word count? Is it a need or a want?
Okay. You finished fixing that. Take a deep breath and read on. No cheating. READ IT OUT LOUD. This time you don't exactly trip on a word, but you kind of skip over something that makes you uncomfortable, or that you don't think matters. Well, it does matter. It matters that you get rid of it. Analyze that sentence and either remedy the situation or cut the whole thing.
The thing is, in writing, every sentence, every word counts. You can't write the most brilliant opening sentence ever written, then follow it with a dud. Take it seriously. Take the time to examine everything.
Does it make sense?
He closed the window and exhaled, watching the silver coils of his cigarette smoke drift into the trees.
Hands up everyone who sees the problem with that one. Fix.
Does it matter?
It was raining so hard she thought they might all wash away. It made her think of laundry. Crows struggled through the wind ...
Okay. So that's a lame example, but it's hard to come up with these. Anyway ... Laundry? Pretty sure that's unimportant. Delete.
Does one paragraph resemble another?
By this I mean ... let's say the opening paragraph is beautiful, brilliantly poetic, intelligent, soul searching stuff ... and the second is a clean description of a door. Make the door poetic, or make the other stuff cleaner. One or the other. Not both. Fix.
Does the destination justify the journey?
This is tough because you don't want to get too nit-picky. Here are a couple of examples, both of them wrong:
1) He was sitting in the love seat when the doorbell rang. "Hello, George."
2) When he heard the doorbell, Frank leaned forward, tightened his thigh muscles and unfolded his kness, rising to his feet and placing one foot in front of the other ...
Does paragraph 2 follow paragraph 3 or is it too much of a leap?
You don't have to stay on one subject throughout every single paragraph, but make your bridges smooth. Don't go from talking about Cindy's mother to the faulty carburater in Fred's Honda, unless you bridge them somehow. Maybe she drives the car to the shop?
Go with the flow, grasshopper. Relax, breathe and READ OUT LOUD.