Your Setting Needs To Be a Character in Your Story

Too often when we write we focus exclusively on our cast of characters, and what they're doing. However, we sometimes forget that for the story to really stick in the minds of the audience, it needs to have a setting. And not just any setting, but a vibrant setting that feels like it's part of the unfolding drama the audience is watching. Because without a strong setting, a story is like a sandwich without bread; messy, and unappealing.

Where is this place? And why is our story unfolding here?

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Where The Hell is This Story Happening?

To illustrate this week's point, I want to tell a story about something I was asked to edit as a freelancer many years ago. I won't mention the title of the work, nor the name of the client (and it's entirely possible it was never even published), but I feel that one of the major mistakes this author made drives home this point.

The plot of this book was not at all uncommon. We had a kid from the suburbs who was on the cusp of turning 18, and hoping to flee an abusive situation. He ran away to the big city, and while he was there wound up on the streets. He met an older man with a penchant for taking care of strays, and the two of them formed a relationship.

We all know how this story goes.

There were a lot of things wrong with the nuts and bolts of this story when I got it, but one that I drew a big, red circle around was that it was never made clear what city our suburban teen was running away to, or what part of the country (there were enough earmarks to trig that this was America) he had grown up in. Even accounting for the fact that there was a truly cold winter in later chapters, that didn't narrow anything down. This still could have been New York, Chicago, Boston, Minneapolis, Seattle, or even L.A. if it was a particularly bad year for the weather.

But every, single one of the cities I mentioned (to say nothing of places like London, Paris, Belfast, etc.) would have their own personalities, history, architecture, and setup to inform the story. Everything from the layout of the city, to what kinds of public transportation exist, the sorts of social services one can find, neighborhood cultures, and just the way people talk will be radically different from one place to another. And, for this particular example, the suburbs of these cities also have their own histories, personalities, etc. that should be a part of the character's makeup, to say nothing of the story itself.

Now, including those elements would have fixed one problem with this project, but it would have been a sizable, and obvious one. Because it's not enough to just say there are cars on the street, or tall buildings around you... that's a light sketch. Your audience needs you to paint the picture for them so they can really get immersed in this tale you're trying to tell.

And this goes double if you're story is set in a fantastical realm, or in the sci-fi future... because in those situations you can't even draw on the assumption that your audience may have visited a place like where you're story is set, or at least seen one on TV.

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That's all for this week's Craft of Writing! For more of my work, check out my Vocal archive, or at My Amazon Author Page where you can find books like my sci-fi dystopian thriller Old Soldiers, the Hardboiled Cat series about a mystery solving Maine Coon in Marked Territory and Painted Cats, my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife, or my most recent short story collection The Rejects!

 

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Beware of Ambiguous Antecedents in Your Writing

While they appear to be a term a lot of folks are railing against these days, any writer can tell you that pronouns are one of the best pieces of language ever invented. After all, even if it would be an accurate recounting of a scene, nothing that feels more stilted or unnatural than saying a character's name over and over again. However, pronouns come with their own set of risks, one of which always seems to catch writers off-guard...

The ambiguous antecedent.

He squeezed blood from the stone! Wait... which he again?

Before we get into it this week, don't forget to sign up for my weekly newsletter to get all my updates right in your inbox. Also, if you've got a bit of spare cash that you'd like to use to help keep the wheels turning, consider becoming a Patreon patron! To be sure you're following all of my followables, check out my LinkTree!

Lastly, make sure you check out my Vocal archive for several hundred other articles about geek ephemera, weird history, writing, and more!

Nouns, Pronouns, and Antecedents

As Writers points out, there are some basic grammatical rules we're all aware of, even if we may not know the official terms for them. Generally speaking, when you're writing a story, you will have a noun, and then once that noun has been stated, you'll use a pronoun for it later. The original noun is the antecedent, meaning that the pronoun is connected to it.

Jeff stared at the read out on the monitor, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

The "his" in this case clearly refers to Jeff, making Jeff the antecedent. Pretty basic stuff, right?

The problem you'll run into when you're a writer is that you'll often have multiple characters with the same pronouns in a given scene. This means that, rather than having direct lines between the pronoun and its antecedent, you might have readers scratching their heads wondering which he, she, or they you're referring to, and that can quickly cause them to lose track of the narrative. Whether it's a rapid back-and-forth between a cop and a criminal in an interrogation room, or an action scene with a squad of black ops soldiers, too much confusion between the noun and the pronoun referring to it can end up with chaos on the page.

The Cimmerian slew them all.

A tip I would recommend is something that a lot of us do without even thinking about it, but I usually refer to it as the Conan solution to this issue of ambiguity. In short, whenever you run into a situation where there might be confusion as to who a pronoun is referring to, replace it with some defining description of the character in question so that the audience can follow a clear through line of what is happening in a scene. Whether it's referring to a specific aspect of a character like a notable physical feature, or even referring to them by their job, the idea is that whenever there could be confusion, you clear that up as quickly and efficiently as you can.

"Hey, come look at this," Jeff said to Crawford. The federal agent grunted, and walked over to the terminal. The computer tech pointed at the image on the screen, and grinned.

Here we have two characters interacting as part of the narrative. Rather than simply relying on readers to figure out a pronoun, though, we ensure that we use something descriptive to refer to each of the two men separately, making sure that the reader has a clear image of who is doing what in the situation.

It's a fairly simple thing, but it's an area I've seen my share of writers develop a confusion with. So I thought I'd do my part this week to offer a bit of my own technique, and hope that it helps!

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For folks who just want to do their part to help keep me making more content, please subscribe/follow me in these locations:

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Like, Follow, and Come Back Again!

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing! For more of my work, check out my Vocal archive, or at My Amazon Author Page where you can find books like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife, or my most recent short story collection The Rejects!

 

And to stay on top of all my latest news and releases, collected once a week, make sure you subscribe to The Literary Mercenary's mailing list. 

If you'd like to help support my work, then consider Buying Me A Ko-Fi, or heading over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page! Lastly, to keep up with my latest, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, and now on Pinterest as well!

Making Use of The Fantastical Mundane in Sci-Fi and Fantasy

When someone picks up a sci-fi or a fantasy novel, it's like they're getting off a plane in a foreign country. Some things feel the same, but others are decidedly different. Many times there are sights and happenings that, in the world they know, would be cause for great concern. Or for wonder. But in order for someone to figure out the context, they have to look at the locals. Are they running in a panic? Bowing in supplication? Or does an elephant walk down this street every day, its driver chowing down on what looks like a fast food hamburger?

Don't mind Johnny. He's tools through here every Thursday with that pack of gunships behind him.

The problem is that sometimes we get so wrapped up in our worlds that we forget to make clear what's an everyday piece of magic or technology, and instead geek out about everything. That can kind of de-value the excitement, which is why it's important to keep in mind what I call the Fantastical Mundane.

What Is The Fantastical Mundane?

In the old days of science fiction, every story was filled with rapture over the technological toys on display. Everything from gasping depictions of rockets, to amazement at the power of ray guns. That trend (along with a lot of others), changed when John W. Campbell took it upon himself to start re-shaping science fiction as people knew it.

More on who Campbell was, and how the editor of Astounding Stories could create such widespread changes, in the video below for those who want some context.

One of Campbell's many tenets was that if something is not unusual or impressive in the context of the world the story is taking place in, then it should be regarded as ordinary. A mundane part of the world to the characters we see, even if the thing in question would be a marvel to the reader. Whether it's seeing an elf when you pass through the forests, or having a replicator in your office that can make anything from coffee to a cheese burger at the touch of a button, those things should be treated appropriately in order to give the reader context.

As a for-instance, none of us can do real magic... but how impressive does the magic have to be in this setting for someone to be unnerved by it? Is someone snapping their fingers to produce a flame to light a cigarette just a handy parlor trick, or is that enough to make someone's hair stand on end? Is someone carrying an energy pistol a sign that they're a member of an elite unit tasked with handling the latest in technology, or is that just as common as seeing a police officer with a handgun in their duty belt? Is a troll coming into town cause for panic and terror, or just mild curiosity because you don't see them all that often this far to the south?

Set The Tone, And Conserve Your Wonder

You know how certain characters, such as Kratos in the God of War series, are always angry and screaming? And how this makes it impossible to tell the difference between their default emotion, and when they're being enraged and violent because they just learned their wife was dead, or they'd lost a child, or something else that should have had a big impact?

Same deal here. If everything is treated with awe and wonder, then it becomes impossible to figure out which things are really weird, unique, or unusual, and which ones are Tuesday.

But for every rule, there is an exception!

But what about when you want everything to seem weird and unusual to your reader? Well, that is where you need to introduce the Everyman to the situation. I talked about this a little back in How To Stop Your "Everyman" Character From Becoming a Clueless Dipshit, but the purpose of the Everyman is to provide the audience with a cipher. Someone who knows about as much as they do, and who gets walked through this strange and unexpected world. It's characters like Jake Sully in Avatar, Michael in Underworld, or Richard in Neverwhere; their purpose within the story is to be just as shocked and confused as we are by this strange world they're walking into.

Even in these situations, though, other members of the cast are the ones cluing them (and the reader) into the Fantastical Mundane. When Richard is freaked out at the market of unusual creatures from the new world he's fallen into in Neverwhere, for example, it's the Marquis de Carabas who reassures him that hulking troll is just selling kebabs, and who steers him around the counter crones who would eat him alive. He, like the audience, has no context for what's safe and what's dangerous. The cast around him does, though, and guides him through getting acclimated to his new surroundings.

Remember, you can be as weird and out-there as you want to be! But you need to make it clear what is a curiosity, and what is an amazement, or your audience might get overwhelmed by it all.

That's all for this Craft of Writing installment! If you'd like to see more of my work, check out my Vocal archive, or head over to My Amazon Author Page where you'll find books like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife!

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Why You Should Eliminate "Fashion Inventories" From Your Book

As I warned way back in my first post on this blog, some days I will pull up my soap box, climb up on that son of a bitch, and let fly. Today is going to be one of those days. So, if you're really attached to the fashion inventory as a tool of your writing, I'd suggest you keep on walking. I'm not going to say anything you're going to like today.

Are they gone? Good. Now then, let me explain why this particular quirk of style is a tumor we should all start cutting out of our work post haste.

Some of you may need bigger knives than others.

What Is A "Fashion Inventory"?

So, you're introducing a new character, and you want to do something that really cements them in your audience's mind. Not only that, but you want to be sure that the image you have in your mind is as close to the image in your reader's mind. If you're boring, what you do is give us a full description, complete with hair color, eye color, height, weight, age, build, and a full inventory of tattoos and scars. Unless you're writing a detective novel, in which case you can sometimes get a pass for using procedural-style character description, that's going to turn your audience off faster than cutting a power line with a machete.

When you apply that kind of exhaustive, and yet somehow soulless, detail to what someone is wearing, then you have created a fashion inventory.

"He wore a-" infuriated expression is the term you're looking for.

What I'm not saying here is that your character's clothes don't matter. Clothes make the man, or woman, in many cases. However, how you describe what your character is wearing needs to convey something about them to the reader. It isn't just what they're wearing, but how they're wearing it, and what it says about them.

As a for-instance, take the rather irate-looking fellow above. You could list what he's wearing, from the denim vest, to his pegged jeans, to the camouflage head wrap, but you wouldn't be capturing the essence of the man. You would be telling us the sea is wide, blue, and wet. Instead, you might want to say something like:

He looked like a blue-collar thunder god, the flash of his belt buckle followed by the heavy thump of his engineer boots as he crossed the boards. His thick, white mane, like the temper in his eyes, was barely restrained as he shifted his attention to the new fish.

A little flowery, sure, but it gives the audience more than just an itemized list of what they're looking at. It creates an impression of the character, and feeds the imagination. The description focuses on the important connections you want the audience to make (blue collar implies work wear like denim and Carhartt, along with heavy boots, while comparing him to the likes of Thor or Zeus brings across that he is physically powerful, and carries a lot of presence into the space he occupies), without getting bogged down in unnecessary details.

Only Mention Details Your Audience Needs To Know

Any time you focus on what your character is wearing, ask why it's necessary to your story. Especially if you're going to tell instead of show.

Don't give me dictation. Paint the picture.

For example, say you're going to tell your audience a particular character is wearing an Armani suit, or a Rolex watch. That's one, acceptable way to use what someone is wearing to tell us something about them (in this case that they are wealthy). However, rather than naming names, you could just as easily describe the character as wearing a tailored suit, and a time piece that cost more than most people's cars. The latter is more descriptive, and it doesn't depend on the audience being familiar with the brands you're talking about. Alternatively, you might have a character in a short skirt, or with rolled sleeves, which allows us to catch a glimpse of a prison tattoo. That is both descriptive when it comes to what we see, but it also creates a metaphor. This character carries a harsh past that, despite their current attire, still shines through from time to time.

In short, if a character's clothes don't express something we need to know, then don't distract us with them. And if you ever find yourself going on for more than a paragraph, re-evaluate why that's necessary.

You're an author, not a runway director.

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Show Don't Tell: The Case For Story-Showers Vs. Storytellers

I've seen some terrible shit as an editor. Stories with plot holes big enough to accommodate a longshoreman's forearms, characters so shallow they had "no diving" tattooed on their foreheads, and honest-to-gods villain monologues have all made their way across my desk. If I had to pick the one thing that keeps coming back like a monster movie slasher though, it's writers who didn't get the "show, don't tell" memo. Rather than just complain about a problem though, I want to try and help writers of all levels stop being storytellers, and start being story-showers.

So, let's begin at the beginning, shall we?

Yes my map is a circle. Yes it still has a beginning.

What Does "Show, Don't Tell" Even Mean?

I have no idea who first coined this phrase, and the Internet has let me down on discovering the origin. However, famous writers as venerable as Ernest Hemmingway and as recent as Chuck Palahniuk have endorsed the advice. One of Hemmingway's most famous quotes regarding the advice of "show, don't tell" uses an ice berg as a metaphor. It goes like this:

If a writer of prose knows enough of what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an ice-berg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water.

This confuses a lot of people, but what big-daddy H is laying down is pretty simple to pick up. He's saying that if a writer needs to tell the reader every little thing, then that often represents a failure of communication. Story-showing uses words to craft a scene which the reader can take in, and draw the proper conclusions from.

What Does That Look Like?

Well, a picture is worth a thousand words. I'm not going to write that many, but an example will probably help. So, here, take a look at this image.

A look. Singular.

If someone were to describe this in the storytelling method, it might look like this:

The dancer was sexy.

You can replace "sexy" with whatever subjective word you want, point is that you are telling the reader how to feel about her appearance. You are, in essence, deciding how the reader is supposed to react and dictating accordingly.

Now, a description written in the story-showing style might look more like this;

She was music made flesh. Every sensuous curve gyrated, striking the bells on her hips and ankles in time with the plucking strings. Her smile was slow and wicked, like the sickle-grin of a Cheshire Cat. She swayed, and all eyes followed her hypnotic grace.

All right, maybe the second passage is laying it on a little thick, but look at the differences in context and in what the reader sees. In the first example words like "sexy" and "dancer" aren't very helpful to conveying the image to the reader. One reader might find women with large breasts and broad hips sexy, while another prefers slender, more athletic women. Some readers won't find women sexually attractive at all. Some people will think of ballet dancers, others of strippers, and still others will think of flash mobs or club dancers. By showing the audience the scene, by spending the time to draw out the details without just telling the audience what to feel, a story is greatly improved.

The Difference Between the Two

Some writers might be tearing out their hair, and angrily demanding of the screen if they're just supposed to never make statements about what's happening in their stories. If, to be considered good story-showers, they have to work purely in innuendo and couched terms in order to try to get from A to B.

No. No you do not. That isn't what I'm saying at all.

Then what DO we do?!

What you do need to do is to ask whether you are showing the audience what's happening, or if you're simply making the decision for the reader. For instance, you could say "John's car was a beat-up old rust bucket with peeling paint, but it was all he could afford and it still ran," or you could say "John drove an old '69 Gremlin, with mismatched doors and more primer than paint." By naming the car, you didn't tell your audience how to feel about a situation. You simply provided a detail to help set the scene. That is a "good" use of telling.

A "bad" use of telling would be to say something like "Jim was a real asshole." How do we know that? Subjective descriptions, whether positive or negative, should not be used in description. Dialogue is fine, because dialogue is where characters express their opinions. However, if you want readers to figure out Jim's disposition then you need to show him in a negative light. Have him telling racist jokes, blowing cigar smoke in people's faces, making threats, shoulder-checking people in the hallway; whatever it is that Jim does to make him dislikable, show that. The audience will get the picture you want them to get quickly enough, and you won't have to actually tell them.

One Last Thing...

Every story is going to have a certain amount of telling in it. Sometimes there's really no efficient way to get important data to the reader except to just tell them about it. That said though, it is best to let the readers draw their own conclusions whenever possible.

Nowhere is this more true than with characters' thoughts and feelings.

Except in some, extreme circumstances.

Sometimes writers can get away with this. First person stories, particularly gritty, noir style stories, are renowned for feeding us exactly what a character is thinking and feeling. We let it pass because we are supposed to be riding around in that person's head. If we are not jacked into that person's inner Twitter though, then you should not be giving us the play-by-play of feelings and thoughts.

This mistake happens a lot. It's most common when writers want to convey important feelings to an audience. Love between two leads, hatred between rivals, etc. It's tempting to use words like "angrily" to modify speech, or to just say "hate was written all over her face." Your writing doesn't have a broken leg, and it doesn't need a crutch. Roll up your sleeves and shape the important stuff with the same dedication you do all your other writing. Give us facial expressions, body language, word choice, and all of the other nuance that you have at your disposal to make us hang on your description. Draw readers in, and they'll never want to leave. Tell them how to feel, and they'll slam your cover hard enough to billow your dust jacket.


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