Sometimes Having Superpowers Sucks (And That Makes Characters More Relatable)

If you crack open a comic book, or switch on a superhero film, one of the first things you notice is that having superpowers looks awesome. Whether it's Superman's fight for truth and justice, Spider-Man desperately battling to save his city, or Captain America's ability to go all day and all night without so much as slowing down, the power fantasies on display are engaging, thrilling, and just downright fun.

Well, most of the time, anyway.

While there are some heroes whose powers create complications in their lives (the Hulk is the perfect example, but characters like the Thing, Dr. Manhattan, Deadpool, or the very obscure Mr. Bones are also on the list), those tend to be the exceptions rather than the rule. More often than not heroes (and even a lot of villains) tend to have powers that improve their lives... often in meaningful ways.

One thing you can do, though, is to introduce complications. A drawback or two to go with that power. So step back and ask how, exactly, your character's powers affect their personal lives? What potential issues and sensitivities do they create? How do they manage them? And how involved is that management?

And for those who are curious, I've been dwelling on this idea thanks to the short story "Hero's Wake" in my recently released book The Rejects. Also, if you'd like more examples of superheroes caught between a rock and a hard place with their powers, take a look at KM Herkes and her novel Rough Passages, where powers tend to manifest along with mid-life crises rather than puberty for once!

Wetting The Bed, and Power Drawbacks

The basic plot of "Hero's Wake" is that one of this world's best-known metahumans has passed away, and his friends and family are coming together at his funeral. No masks, no costumes, no code names, just people who knew him, and who are going to miss him. One of the younger members of the team he helped establish loses control of her emotions, and the grass all around her starts blooming as she cries, flowers and greenery rising up at an unnatural rate.

When our protagonist comforts her, she says not to worry about it. They've all had their share of bed-wetting incidents, especially at times like this.

Seriously, go get your copy already!

As we see the other guests, we start to notice they've all taken little precautions to help stay on the level throughout the evening. One speedster wears these high, chunky heels because it stops her from accidentally moving too fast. A pyrokinetic stays away from the alcohol table, because it interacts strangely with the mutations that give him his gift. A super soldier is constantly eating, because if he doesn't then his metabolism will have him starving in a few hours. And though our protagonist has lost her father, she's very careful about who she embraces. All it takes is a moment of lost control, and she could crush someone to death in her arms because she was seeking comfort.

On the one hand, that's a bit of a look behind the curtain when it comes to metahumans. It gives you a glimpse into their lives, and makes them seem more human, and less like an archetype in a set of spangly tights. On the other hand it can be a lot of work, and it establishes a very particular tone. Weighing those things is important, as this advice needs to be evaluated on a project-by-project basis.

This concept can extend out past comic books and their associated sci-fi settings into other genres, as well. For fantasy stories, do your elite warriors develop a dependence on their performance-enhancing mutagens, needing to keep a steady stream of them in their systems in order to fight at full strength? Does being a sorcerer mean you have to wear particular kinds of clothing to avoid setting your robes on fire because your body produces so much heat? Does too much use of your magic make you feverish, risking death? Are those with orc heritage prone to skin conditions, or scars that overcompensate, making them stronger but also unsightly?

Whenever you've got characters with unusual abilities, powers, or attributes, it's worth taking a moment and asking what the drawbacks of those things might be. Sometimes they'll be small, like how elves speak softly because their ears make them sensitive to noise. Other times they'll be large, such as how a psychic might get overwhelmed by the noise of too many thoughts in a crowd if they don't take careful precautions. But whatever the situation, you can learn a lot about your characters (as well as making both them and their setting that much more interesting) if power has a bit of a price to it.

Even if it just means the guy who shoots lasers out of his face is colorblind, and didn't realized his girlfriend was a redhead until their second anniversary.

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 short story collection The Rejects!

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!

Chance Can Always Make Things Worse, But Never Better

Boiled down to the finest possible description, a novel is nothing more than a series of actions characters take, which we follow. In this way, a book is really just watching cause and effect play out. However, like a set of dominoes that have been laid out in an intricate pattern, these simple physics can be breathtaking when we see the sheer scale it's operating on.

Whoa! I did not see that coming.

Some actions and reactions in books are much more complicated than dominoes, of course, and there are always going to be elements that are outside of the protagonist's knowledge or scope. For instance, Indiana Jones didn't know Elsa was a Nazi in The Last Crusade, so when she was held at gunpoint he thought she was really in danger.

That element was planned as part of the story, and it was always going to come up. However, there are some incidents in a plot that act as pure chance. In Star Wars Han and Chewie run down the wrong corridor, and find themselves in the barracks instead of locating an escape hatch. Our protagonist in Drag Me To Hell doesn't check the envelope she picked up after it got jumbled with a bunch of other junk, and thus tries to break a curse with a coin instead of with the actual item she needed. The protagonists in The Strangers just happened to be home on the night a roving gang of psychopaths were looking for a home to invade. And so on, and so forth.

Big or small, these things all happened due to random chance, and they all put the protagonists in more danger than they were already in. That's just dandy! If you try to do it the other way around, though, then you run into problems.

Good Luck, Deus Ex Machina, and Cheapening Stakes

When bad luck makes things worse for our protagonist (the car won't start, their phone rings while the killer is looking for them, etc.), that raises the stakes and increases the tension. However, if random chance can make problems go away, or it eases the protagonist's path to victory, then that becomes a serious problem.

Well we weren't going to promote you, but since Larry randomly moved to Singapore, the job's yours.

The issue you run the risk of hitting is the much-maligned Deus Ex Machina. If you're not a fan of ancient Greek theater, it was when the gods would come down from Olympus, wave their hands, and fix the situation that had developed. Translating roughly to, "Machine of the Gods," or, "The Gods in the Machine," this trope refers to any seemingly random bit of chance getting a character out of an otherwise impossible situation. As TV Tropes puts it, they fall off a cliff, and a flying robot catches them. Or they get shot, and an innocent bystander with no experience miraculously gets the bullet out and stitches them closed.

To steal a phrase from Emma Coates, "Coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating." Why is that? Well, in short, it has to do with the threat we've been presented with, how truthful the stakes are, and a reasonable expectation of danger.

Think of your traditional James Bond death trap scene. The hero is strapped into a machine that's going to kill him very shortly if he doesn't do something to get out of it. And how is that scene played out, nine times out of ten? With Bond doing something to enact his escape. Maybe he manages to strain, and with a colossal effort he gets a hand free, and picks the lock just before the buzzsaw hits him. Maybe he manages to pull one of Q's gadgets out of his breast pocket with his teeth, aiming the laser and disabling the device. Maybe he just punches the shark, swims down to the grate, and escapes before the great white can eat him.

Now ask yourself how you'd feel if James was saved not by his own efforts, skills, or decisive action, but because of random happenstance. What if a cup of coffee fell on the control panel, shorting out the mechanism because a nameless tech bumped his latte? Or a squirrel bit through a cable, and tripped a breaker? Chances are you'd feel cheated. Because rather than having to do something, or overcome some obstacle, the threat was just hand-waved away by an outside force, allowing our protagonist to continue on his merry way. That can make it feel like the threat was never really valid in the first place, since our hero had to do nothing to circumvent or overcome it, which meant it may as well have never been there at all.

Make Your Characters Sweat For It

If you put obstacles in your character's way, people want to see them knock it down. So give the people what they want, and make your characters sweat to earn their goals. The struggle validates the threat, and it provides the appropriate catharsis for the audience as they watch the character's actions.

Having chance remove the obstacle, though, pretty much just creates literary blue balls; all the build-up and none of the release, if you will.

And nobody wants to pay you money for that kind of treatment.

So, because you declare your story done, go back and ask where fortune might have been a little too generous to your protagonists. Because if you take Lady Luck out of the equation, you'll likely have a much more satisfying tale to tell.

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!

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!

Avoid Back-Handed Inclusion in Your Book

Inclusion is one of those things that is becoming something of a buzzword in today's author circles. Everyone seems to be falling over each other to add it into their work, and to use it as an additional point in their favor when it comes time to move copies. The idea is pretty sound. If you have a more diverse cast, and you include elements like underrepresented ethnicities, cultures, sexualities, then you are both going to stand out from your competitors, and make your book more appealing to people who want to see that sort of thing.

In addition to, you know, trying to provide visibility for groups, communities, etc. who have traditionally been ignored/underserved in the past. If that sort of thing matters to you.

However, there is a trap that a lot of authors fall into when it comes to attempts to be inclusive. It's something that, after giving it a bit of thought, I'm calling back-handed inclusion.

Yes, Sharon, you have non-white characters. But they all appear to be drug-dealers and spousal abusers.

Think of your inclusion like lemons. The goal is to present them in an appealing, well-thought-out way that enhances your dish's overall flavor while giving it a broader appeal. However, back-handed inclusion is when you take the lemons, carefully cut them, then squirt them into the eyes of your target audience before acting mystified that they aren't impressed with your presentation.

A More Concrete Example

A back-handed compliment is when you say something that sounds nice on the surface, but which is rotten once you get under the skin. The traditional, "That dress doesn't make you look nearly so fat!" being one of the more common, barbed examples.

For something that applies to writing, I'll give you an example that concretely illustrates what I'm talking about.

Several years back I met the very talented Lauren Jankowski (author of several books you can find on her Amazon Author Page, and the muscle behind Asexual Artists). I was on a panel with her, and several of the points she made regarding asexuality and how it's treated in fiction got the wheels in my brain turning. A bit of free advice for all the folks out there; when you first start learning about a community you aren't part of and aren't familiar with, take your time. I guarantee the first idea out of your mouth is going to be stupid.

Mine sure as shit was.

Story time!

For those of you who haven't read The Big Bad II, or my story Little Gods, it follows an adventure starring Richard Blackheart, warlock-for-hire. Richard is a bad man, hands-down. He's violent, vindictive, brutish, and fairly amoral. However, I enjoyed writing stories about him, and I wanted to  add something to his concept in the event I published more stories about him.

My thought was to make him an asexual character.

Now, that thought was not a problem in-and-of-itself. As a part of his makeup, it could be a neutral characteristic. One might even argue that, from a marketing perspective, it makes the character more unique in comparison to similar villainous protagonists where toxic and aggressive sexuality is more the norm. However, the issue was that his sexuality was being used as a way to make him more alien to the audience, and to show him as lacking something fundamental that "normal" people would be able to identify with.

If you've ever sat and listened to someone who identifies as asexual, you'd know this attitude of, "there's something wrong with you/you haven't met the right one yet/all people want to do this," is one of the most common (and insulting) refrains they hear.

That is what back-handed inclusion is. It's when your gay male characters become flamboyant jokes, but you still want credit for being more diverse in your casting. It's when your villain is a scheming, long-nosed, greedy parody of Jewish bankers, and you can't figure out why people are mad at you for trying to be more inclusive. Or it's when you tout your strong female lead, but it seems like the book is really about the guy constantly standing next to her that makes all the important decisions, and saves the day in the end.

It is not that you tried to include these characters. It is that you included them poorly, carelessly, or without putting a lot of thought into them that makes an example back-handed inclusion. Which is, in reality, not really inclusion at all.

Better To Be Embarrassed During Editing Than After Publishing

Don't let the potential of screwing up put you off trying to be more inclusive in your work. We all make mistakes, and that goes double for when we're trying to do something we don't have a lot of practice with, or knowledge about. So while your heart might be in the right place, it's still possible that your execution leaves a lot to be desired.

But if you catch those mistakes during your plotting/planning phase, then you can refine them into genuine inclusion and diversity. And if you catch them during editing, you'll save yourself a lot of frustration once your audience gets a look at what you've made.

Hot tip: Exotic is a word used for spices, foods, and fabric... not people.

Do your research. Reach out to people from the communities you're writing about. Do your best to get everything right, and to keep an eye out for when you're saying, "Wow, you don't look nearly so fat in that dress." Because that slap in the face you're going to get won't hurt any less just because you didn't mean to be insulting.

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing installment. Hopefully it got some wheels turning! For more of my work, check out my Vocal archive, or head over to My Amazon Author Page where you can check out my books... like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife!

To stay on top of all my latest releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. And if you'd like to support my work you can Buy Me A Ko-Fi, or go to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a regular, monthly patron.

Understanding The Flat Arc (Because Sometimes Your Characters Don't HAVE To Change)

I'd like to start this entry off with a bit of good news. I recently put out my first novel! Crier's Knife is a sword and sorcery tale, with all the flashing blades and fell magic you'd expect from something in the genre. Our protagonist is Dirk Crier, a mountain boy from a witchbred clan, and one day his grandmother sets him the task of fetching his cousin Teller. Teller has a knack for getting into trouble, but this time he's up to his neck in real darkness; the kind you don't walk out of without leaving a little blood behind you. So Dirk rides out to either bring Teller home, or to make sure his kin has plenty of company on the long road to hell.

Seriously, the first few chapters are free, go read them!

One of the questions people keep asking me about this book is who is my protagonist, and what's his arc? Well, Dirk is a member of the Crier clan who, left to his own devices, would be happy building himself a cabin on the slopes of Ben Morgh to live a fairly quiet life. But when trouble rears its head, it's his job to put it back down again. In short, he's the family's enforcer, and the nasty work tends to end up in his lap.

As to his arc, that got me wondering. Because, you see, most folks only know about the two major types of character arcs; positive character arcs (where a character confronts and overcomes a flaw or fear to succeed and become better) and negative arcs (where a character fails to overcome a flaw or fear, and hurts themselves or others in the process).

There is a third kind of character arc, though, according to Well-Storied; the flat arc. In a flat arc a character's morals and beliefs are challenged, but they hold true to who they are and overcome.

That is a perfect description of Dirk, and the arc he has in Crier's Knife.

"Flat" Is Not Synonymous With "Bad"

Now, there's a big difference between a character being flat, and that character having a flat arc. Because flat characters are dull, boring, and one-dimensional. Characters with flat arcs, on the other hand, are some of the most famous and lauded personas in literature.

Like this guy, for example.

At his core, Batman is a character with hundreds (if not thousands) of flat arc stories. Sherlock Holmes is another character with a lot of flat arcs (this condition is particularly common among detectives and serialized characters, if you keep track). The same can be said of characters like Conan, or Solomon Kane. Sam Spade, Hawk, and even Captain America find themselves with a lot of flat arcs, as well.

Because, you see, these characters already have The Truth figured out, when it comes to their worlds and stories. They don't need to climb a mountain to talk to a sensei, to uncover their inner strength, or to learn lessons to overcome a challenge. They know what to do, and they do it. So, as readers, we get the satisfaction of fast-forwarding to what many consider the "good part" of a positive story arc. The part when the protagonist has learned their lesson, overcome their flaw, and is ready to rock and roll.

(Also, to head off any quibbles here, characters who are serialized will have different arcs in different stories. It's true that character like Batman have had positive arcs and negative arcs throughout their runs, and those story lines tend to be the memorable ones. By and large, though, the bulk of their story lines are flat arcs, with the exceptions sort of proving the rule.)

There's Nothing Wrong With Holding Steady

I will admit that flat arcs tend to be some of my favorite stories. While I understand the appeal of a positive arc (because personal growth and change to overcome obstacles is motivating and engaging) as well as a negative arc (because, as I've stated in the past, I'm a great lover of the "fuck you" ending), I find that a flat arc is often the most useful for when you already want your character to know who they are, and to have their world figured out. And since flat arc stories tend to create conflicts that fall into the No, You Move category, they can be fun and compelling without the need to do a lot of navel gazing that may not be necessary for your story.

This quote is basically a summation of the flat arc conflict.

So the next time you're writing, remember that it isn't either self-discovery and success, or crashing and burning because you didn't overcome. Sometimes your character just looks at the world, plants their feet, and says, "Bring it on."

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing post! Hopefully it engaged some folks out there, and if you're curious what an engaging flat arc would look like stop on in and read the first few chapters of Crier's Knife for free!

If you want to stay on top of all my releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. If you'd like to see more of my work, check out my Vocal archive, as well as my Amazon Author Page. Lastly, if you'd like to help support me and my work, consider Buying Me A Ko-Fi as a tip, or going to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a regular, monthly patron!

Try The Hemingway App To Clean Up Your Writing

First things first, I wanted to share a spooky little side project I've been working on for a bit. I've recently put together 50 Two-Sentence Horror Stories over on Horror.Media, and I wanted to make that my Halloween season gift to all my regular readers.

Now, for your regularly-schedule post!

An Editor That Works For You

As technology grows more sophisticated, it becomes an ever-more-useful tool in allowing artists to do more with less. While it's still a good idea to employ an editor with experience, a keen eye, and a pulse, you may not have the need or budget for that every time you write a blog post, or turn in a paper for your psychology class.

However, what you can do is get your hands on Hemingway, and let it show you some of your problem areas.

Take this out. And this. That's fine, lovely actually. This, though, this is garbage...

What Is The Hemingway App?

Short version, Hemingway is an app that lets you check and modify your work. A digital editor, it can point out not just where you have misspelled words and grammar errors, but also show where you've slipped into the passive voice, and bring your attention to words and phrases that have simpler, more straightforward alternatives. In short, it reads between the lines about as much as a computer can... for now at least.

It can't read your thoughts, but baby steps, folks!

You can get the app for free, and it can be used either as a writing platform to check your work as you write it, or you can paste an already complete project into the app to give it a solid going over. You can even list certain goals, like a maximum number of adverbs (since they're a danger in large numbers, as I said back in Blithely Digging Your Grave With Adverbs), or a maximum number of passages in the passive voice.

In short, it's an editor that gives you some creative freedom on what rules you want to break, while still drawing your attention to things that might be problematic if you just let them all slide. A solid investment for writing in the digital age, and a big help for people who know that a man who is his own doctor has a fool for a patient.

There is one thing that Hemingway doesn't do, though, and that's light the fire under you to actually get to work. If you find that your problem is less about getting a finished product you like, and more about not staring at a blank page for hours on end, then you might want to take a look at Fighter's Block instead. I covered it a while back in Trouble Reaching Word Count? Try Fighter's Block! earlier this summer.

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing post. Hopefully some folks out there find that a new editing app is just what the doctor ordered! For more of my work, check out my Vocal archive, and to stay on top of all my new releases follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. If you'd like to support me, you could Buy Me A Ko-Fi or go to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to give me a tip. Alternatively, check out my Amazon author page to Buy My Books!

The Inherent Weakness of "The Chosen One" Trope

Harry Potter. Neo. Aladdin. Anakin Skywalker. All of these characters, and a thousand others besides, have the dubious honor of being the chosen one. No I'm not capitalizing it. Because, despite how common this trope is in our stories and myths, the idea of a chosen one has a serious flaw in it. A flaw that tends to make it ring a little hollow, and which has to be ignored like a sour note at a piano recital.

In short, of all the tropes out there, this one is perhaps the most passive way to fold your protagonist into the story.

Don't worry guys, I've got this... for reasons!

Characters Need To Act, Not Be Acted Upon

The trope of being the one, special person decreed to be the protagonist is functional, and it's been around since the days of ancient Greece. We wouldn't have been using it for so long if it didn't get the job done. However, the idea of being the one means that at best your protagonists are the ones being acted upon, instead of acting. At worst, you end up stripping them of their agency, and making them feel like all their actions are pre-ordained. That can be a rough story to keep interesting if you aren't Sophocles.

The guy who wrote Oedipus Rex, for those who were wondering.

The issue you run into is character investment, and development. If you've been bumbling along in your life as a med student/farmer/pot boy, and suddenly someone comes along to inform you that you have been chosen (named by a seer, described in a prophecy, etc., etc.) you aren't actually invested in the thing you were supposedly chosen to do. You literally just found out about this honor you were named to, and now you have to scramble to gear up for the challenge. In a lot of cases, you weren't even aware of the world that you now have to save (again, Harry Potter, The Matrix, etc.).

What you should do, instead, is to make characters who are invested in the tasks they're set, and the story they're a part of. Characters who want to defend their homeland, avenge fallen friends, score that big pay day, or just do the right thing want to achieve their goals for reasons we can sympathize with (or at least understand). We never question their motivations, or wonder why they don't just pack it in and walk away (a problem we often have with chosen ones who have nothing aside from their chosen status actually driving them toward the end game). And it saves a lot of time.

More on this at "The Chosen One" Vs. The One Who Chooses for those who are interested.

But If You're Going To Do It Anyway...

If you really like the idea of this trope, though, I can only recommend that you bend, twist, or outright invert it in some way.

As a for-instance, you have a protagonist that's mentioned in prophecy. Their status gets them access to resources, trainers, and confidence no one else would have had. Then, once they've done the thing they were supposed to do (even if it resulted in their glorious death), you reveal that the prophecy was hogwash. It was created, spread, and spoken of specifically to become self-fulfilling. It was all a cynical way to motivate someone to step up, and be the hero.

You don't have to go full inversion, though. For example, you could make it so that those who are chosen are not chosen for the purpose they think. Perhaps they're a sacrifice to sate an ancient god, their entire destiny of saving the world being true... from a certain perspective. You could even actively attempt to undermine the prophecy, with the character doing everything in their power to fight against their role, but their actions only bring them to the end that was pre-determined (Oedipus, if you're feeling tragic, or Inspector Clouseau if you want it to be amusing). Or you could make it so that the protagonist we have is a fake-out, and it's actually someone else who is the chosen one who steps up in the ultimate moment.

Again, I would recommend steering clear of this trope whenever you can. But if you feel it's integral to making your story work, at least do your best to make sure it doesn't rob your protagonists of their agency, or your tale of its tension. Otherwise readers are very likely to put it down, and walk away.

For more on character agency, check out What Is Character Agency (And Why Do You Need It)?

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing update. For those who'd like to check out more of my work, take a look at my Vocal archive. Follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter to stay on top of all my latest releases. If you'd like to help support me, head over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page or consider Buying Me A Ko-Fi. Either way, there's a free book in it for you!

Terrible Histories Don't Make Your Characters Inherently More Interesting

In case you've never been to The Literary Mercenary's sister blog Improved Initiative, I'm a big fan of roleplaying games. The big reason I enjoy them so much is it's a cooperative storytelling experience, so I get to share a passion with a group of friends that's usually something I have to do in a room by myself. It's also an interesting experience seeing people who are not storytellers by profession flex their creative muscles to create characters, histories, and quirks for who they're putting into the game world.

However, there is a particular trend I've noticed with both writers and RPG enthusiasts. Whenever they're asked to present an interesting protagonist, the first thing they want to do is beat the shit out of them, murder their family, and set their house on fire.

Because... happy people are boring, I guess?

There is this odd desire in a lot of writers, both new and experienced, to immediately try to make characters more interesting by doing terrible things to them. Their whole family was murdered in front of their face, or they were raised in an abusive home, or they experienced the horrors of war and now find themselves unable to turn off the reflexes they once had.

Now, that isn't to say that including tragic events in a character's backstory makes them a bad character. However, the correlation between overcoming terrible events and peaking the audience's interest is not a causation. And if you need more proof than that, all you need to do is look at Batman.

The Dark Knight's Appeal Isn't The "Dark" Part

When you think of Batman, you probably think of the most popular story of tragic loss and revenge-fueled heroism there is. Bruce Wayne's parents were cut down in front of him as a child, and instead of dealing with that loss in an understandable or mature way, he grew up to become one of the world's foremost martial artists/detectives/inventors/psychologists/criminologists/vigilantes. However, as I said back in Are "Tortured Souls" Really Just Stunted Characters?, that origin was tacked on after the character's initial success. So the writers could have skipped it entirely, or given him an entirely different motivation, and people still would have been intrigued by the character. Especially since the whole, "my parents are dead!" thing wasn't really emphasized until the Frank Miller era of Batman.

More commonly referred to as the characters "brick shithouse" era of design.

I bring this up to make a point. Namely, that the tragic backstory fit well enough that it flowed with the story, but readers were already intrigued by the costume, the gadgets, the imagery, and the presentation. You could have made Batman anything, from a member of a secret crime fighting league of costumed avengers, to a literal dark knight trained by descendants of Camelot, and it would have been just as good as what we got. Because while the audience was interested, the backstory wasn't what made the character interesting. It was his look, his style, his powers (or lack thereof), and the adventures he went on.

The Superman Example

Let's go to the other end of the DC spectrum for this; Superman. Superman has often been accused of being the most boring, over-powered Mary Sue in comics, but it's important to note that he also represents things so many storytellers these days think of as childish, or unrealistic. Clark Kent, Kal El, whatever you want to call him, is a good person. He's noble, he's hopeful, and he does what he does because he believes it's the right thing to do.

I know, right? Where does this guy get off?

However, if you strip away the super powers, the born of another world backstory, etc., what you wind up with is a character archetype we've seen forever. He's a knight of the round table, pushing forth on the strength of his purpose and his oath. We don't ask Percival why he does what he does, because we already know. Ditto Clark's motivations. And every time we've tried to slather on some grit, moral gray areas, or terrible past, you know what's happened? It's flopped. Every. Single. Time.

Because having his adoptive parents killed, or being forced to snap someone's neck to defend innocent bystanders, are not the sorts of things that make Superman compelling as a character. Sure, they can act as temporary filler, but once you take away the hopeful knight errant chassis, he's a lot less compelling.

Yes, you can take a story about someone who is similar in power to Superman, but who has very human flaws. That's where you get your Hercules, your Samson, etc. But even then, what makes those characters compelling isn't a tragic backstory. It's what they do with the powers they were given.

Is It A Necessity For Your Story?

If you find yourself either rejecting or defending the long and rocky road filled with blood and tears that led your character to where they are now, ask yourself one question. Are these events necessary in order for my story to work, and to provide the proper motivation for my character?

Because sometimes it is kind of necessary.

The Phantom is, perhaps, one of the best examples of when terrible circumstances are necessary to make a character work. Because, let's face it, a man of Erik's genius and talents could have become a celebrity in the art world. An exemplary musician, magician, playwright, and composer, Erik would have been the toast of Paris. Could the story of a reclusive genius training a beautiful young ingenue still work, as Christine is torn between the mysterious figure behind her art and the handsome viscount she knew in her youth? Yes, but the horror movie aspect would be gone. Erik would be a very different character than the cellar-dwelling, horrifically-visaged phantom we're all used to. And his mystery would be so much less if the face behind the mask was not a terror to behold.

The same holds true for characters like the Frankenstein monster, Jason Voorhees, and others. The tragic events that shaped them, and made them what they are, has lent them a compelling narrative. But before you start your next project, ask if the awful events in your own story are likewise necessary to make the characters what you need them to be. Especially if those events are to provide motivation, since a murdered spouse or dead family isn't really a necessity if you have a character concerned with justice, or who is simply opposed to the doings of the antagonist on some other grounds.

You don't have to jab your hero in the eye with a stick to make them confront the villains. Sometimes duty, faith, adherence to a code, or just the need to seek a worthy cause are enough to get them moving.

For additional reading, check out Why So Many Sad Backstories? over on Improved Initiative.

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing installment. Hopefully it got some folks out there to reflect on their stories, and what is and isn't a necessity. If you'd like to stay on top of all my updates, then follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. If you want to help support me and my work, then head over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a patron today! As little as $1 a month gets you a free book as a thank you.

Don't Be Afraid To Change The Rules When You Write Your Story

How many times have you sat down to write a story about something really popular, but you can't think of a way to make your story different from any of the others already out on the market? You want to write a zombie apocalypse, but you don't want to just fade into the horde of other cannibal outbreak books. Maybe you really like this idea for a modern fantasy story about a witch investigator, but sexy witches who use occult rituals are a dime a dozen. Or you've got a really cool concept for a vampire novel, but you're worried it will just get swallowed up by all the Anne Rice imitators out there.

If you find yourself in this situation, get out your pickax, and dig a little deeper. Upset the foundation stones of the story you think you're writing, and question the rules you accept without thinking. You might find a whole, unplumbed subbasement waiting for your creative touch.

Careful, some of these holes go down pretty far.

A lot of the time when we want to write within certain genre lines, we restrict ourselves without even thinking about it. So, before you get discouraged that your book sounds like everyone else's, take a moment to question the pillars holding up those other stories, and ask if they're supporting anything in your book... or if they're just big, ugly impediments.

Change Is Different

To help you get an idea of what I'm talking about, let's return to those previous examples I used. Let's start with the zombie apocalypse.

So, you've got the dead returning to walk the earth. They destroyed society, and their virus is transmitted by a bite. Maybe, if you're hip, everyone on the planet already has the virus, so they rise when they die even if they weren't bitten as long as there's a lot of the body left intact. In the face of such a well-trodden setup, you feel like the drama of your story is going to get swallowed up in the indifference to zombies. So, change that up.

Well, I guess I don't really NEED the pseudo-scientific angle...

Change it how, though? Well, let's start with the "plague" part of the zombies. Toss that out entirely. There is no scientific reason for the dead to walk, so break with tradition there. Maybe, instead, it's a curse. Maybe demons have possessed the corpses, and are wreaking havoc. Maybe no one knows why they come back at all... they just do! Perhaps that means society has broken down into pragmatists, religious fanatics, and post-modern shamans, putting their faith out there along with their guns to stay one step ahead of the slavering hoard. While not a gigantic change, it's enough of a change that it might get people who are all zombied-out to read your back cover, and give you a chance to make your pitch.

You can do this with pretty much any cornerstone of a genre. Take the witchy investigator. You don't want your story to be just another hard-edged-Wicca story where witches are misunderstood, and she has to use her powers for good. So, question why you'd use that setup. Make your protagonist a traditional, Halloween-style, sold-her-soul-to-Satan-for-power witch. Give her a canary that is actually a horrible demon in disguise, and make the struggle for her soul a genuine point of contention. She has to deal with what she gave up for power, and her only solace might be to use those infernal gifts to do some kind of good. By changing that single pillar of the genre, you've made something that's pretty damn different.

Or take the vampire example. Vampires are a mythology that's existed in practically every civilization across the world. The sort of Anne Rice/Vampire The Masquerade setup is relatively recent. If you want to avoid falling into those tropes, then ask why you're using that kind of vampire at all? Why not use old English folklore, and make them the risen dead who were werewolves in life? Or people who were cursed at the time of death, and so may not rest? Is it a strain on the psyche not to devolve into a ravenous monster, thus adding the element of loss of humanity that drives many horror stories? Or is being a vampire something that only a select few can become? Whether by birth, genetic activation, or some other sort of sorting principal? Bonus points if you don't actually call your character a vampire, and you step away from the powers/weaknesses we've associated with the monster archetype since Bela Lugosi did his thing.

You Might Need The Pillar, But If You Don't, Knock It Down!

There are no rules to good writing that anyone can agree upon, but a lot of us will use existing shorthand to bring across big aspects of our stories. However, if those boundaries are getting in the way, toss them out! Your private detective doesn't have to be a former cop with a busted nose and a drinking problem. Hell, make him a guy with a bad heart who was way too smart for the written exam, but who couldn't pass the physical. Don't want your fantasy wizards to feel like every other spellslinger out there? Change up your magic system, and do away with the fireballs and lightning bolts that have dominated our covers ever since Dungeons and Dragons got popular.

Be different. It's your story, so before you conform to any guidelines or preconceptions, ask if those things are genuinely supporting the story you're telling. If they're not, then toss them out!

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing. Hopefully it got some wheels turning in my audience's minds. If you like what I have to say here, and you want to keep up on all my releases, then follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. Lastly, if you want to help support me here, then consider contributing to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page. Or, if you'd rather, you could Buy Me A Coffee, instead! Either way, I'll be happy to send you a free book as thanks for the support.

Give Your Fantasy Nations A Personality

France. Germany. The United States. North Korea. Iraq. Chances are good that, as soon as you read the names of these countries, an image sprang to your mind. Not only that, but the image probably turned the country into a kind of anthropomorphized version of itself. You know, America is a big, aggressive guy with heavy boots, and is probably packing an oversized pistol on one hip. France is an elegant woman with dark hair sitting as a sidewalk cafe sipping coffee. North Korea is a plain-looking, humorless man in a white button-down shirt with straight, dark bangs. Etc., etc.

Now, these images are stereotypes of the nations in question. However, the fact that you can immediately create that image shows you have some working knowledge of the country in question, and there are several touchstones you have with them. If you're creating fantasy nations, then you need your readers to be able to do the same thing with the information you give them. Otherwise you risk seriously losing your audience's attention.

"And so the Ephrendior-" Wait, are they the traders or the river pirates? I don't remember.

Provide A Handhold For Your Readers

The nation of Herrantia was formed in 300 PrA., after the fall of the Korruscanti Empire. Found west of the Shirrai Mountains, the League of Doggal banded together in order to form a single, cohesive nation after the Grassland Wars left the populace decimated. In the time since then, Herrantia has risen to become a member of the Dragossi Compact, and has signed the Black Sea treaties in order to remain at peace with its neighbors.

You see that paragraph? It's bad fantasy writing. The problem is that a lot of authors think this kind of entirely made-up encyclopedia entry about their countries makes them feel more realistic. They have dates, map coordinates, and a snapshot of all the political alliances this nation currently holds... but it doesn't actually tell us anything about the nation itself. What is it known for? Who are its people? How would we recognize someone from that place? Are they feared? Reviled? Well-loved? Are they peaceful or violent? These are things we should know.

Herrantia was birthed from the blood of a fallen empire, and it came into the world with a sword in its hand, bellowing a bone-chilling war cry. Little more than herdsman and raiders, surrounding peoples soon learned Herrantian cavalry were a devastating force on the battlefield. Mercenaries and war lords, it wasn't until the tribes were pitted against each other by foreign masters that they said enough, and forged their own nation from the spoils of war. Though Herrantia is wealthy now, in both coin and land, its people have not lost the sharp edge that got them where they are today. But, as the old proverb says, war feeds a glutton for a day, where peace will satisfy a man for a lifetime.

While a little longer, the evocative language here immediately gives us an image of a young nation that isn't very far removed from the battlefield it was forged on. While peaceful and respected now, Herrantia is definitely nouveau riche in terms of a world power. Add in the fact that they were known for their cavalry, and readers can immediately form an image of this nation. A sort of Mongolia under the khans, after the empire was forged and prosperity was widespread for those beneath their rule.

Use Your Ciphers With Care

One of the most basic ways we illustrate our nations is by giving them a representative character in our stories. For an example of this, you need look no further than the Belgariad. Practically every member of the main cast is from a different country, and every one of them is the Ur-example of their nation. While this is technically functional as a storytelling tool, it can also be problematic. Especially if you want to present the characters in your worlds as varied, and to avoid stereotypes.

Those Argonians... kinslayers, the lot of them. Wonder how there are any of them left, really.

A good way to get around the whole "person as representation of entire country/culture" trope is to use the items, religion, and other associated parts and pieces of a nation's makeup and history rather than making the entirety of a character into the cipher. It's also helpful to focus on things that are truly universal (or nearly so) in a culture.

As an example, say it is tradition in Herrantia for every adult to be armed. Whether it's a dress scimitar worn at court, or a work knife stuck through the sash, bearing a weapon is a mark of adulthood and respect in their culture. As such, Herrantian steel is held in high regard by warriors, and it might be a symbol of deep apology, or of great trust, for a Herrantian to offer you their weapon. It symbolically means they are willing to place themselves in your power while being unarmed, and at your mercy.

That's one, little part of Herrantian culture, but it could easily be one of the things they are most known for. And since it is a cultural quirk of the nation, it is less problematic than focusing on behaviors that might vary from person to person. Because while not every Herrantian may be a skilled rider, knowledgeable in the ways of horses and livestock, or particularly resentful of being at peace instead of at war, that quirk identifies someone as part of that culture, and gives readers an easy-to-remember thing about Herrantians.

Be Memorable, But In A Good Way

If you want people to remember your made-up nations, then you need to make them distinct, immediately recognizable, and your readers will need a touchstone to let them know who you're talking about. Avoid boring, overly-detailed descriptions with a lot of dates and meaningless names in them, because without context you're just going to frustrate your readers. Lastly, think carefully about who or what you're using as a cipher to explain this nation to your readers. Because while giving your countries personality is a necessity, you don't want to go too far and spill over into crass stereotyping, or making a nation of hats.

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing. If you would like to check out some of my other work, then head over to my Vocal archive. If you want to help support me, stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page and consider becoming a patron. As little as $1 a month makes a big difference, and it will get you some sweet swag as a thank you. Lastly, if you want to keep up-to-date on all my latest releases, then follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter.

What Is Your Book's One-Sentence Summary?

Brevity is the soul of wit, as someone far more famous than me once said. Unfortunately, a lot of us seem to believe that our books are so special, and our ideas so unique, that in order to fully appreciate them someone needs to have the entire context of the world history, the verbatim prophecy given to the protagonist at the start of the journey, and a crash course in the current political climate.

Everything can be boiled down to its simplest, core elements, though. That includes your book. If you think you can't simplify it, then you may not know your own book as well as you think you do.

If it's more than one sentence, keep working on it.

Why Simpler Is Better

Every story has a simple through-line that anyone can follow. From complicated spy thrillers, to trilogy-spanning epic fantasy, there is an A to Z line you need to know. As a quick for-instance, take the First Law Trilogy by Joe Abercrombie. While it might be a little spoilery, a simple explanation is, "Duplicitous wizard recruits a team to help him defeat an ancient foe, and to prevent a cataclysmic shift in the world's power balance." Now, the series is obviously more convoluted than that, with a dozen different characters whose perspectives we follow, curses, redemption, damnation, and a thousand shades of gray. However, that basic explanation provides a toe-hold for any potential reader to quickly get a grip on what's going on.

So what is your book about?

For example, Blood and Rubies might follow Captain Shellain "Red Mane" Waters as she takes leadership of the Brothers of the Red Sails, tracks down and recruits Bertrand "The Black" Henderthrane, formerly the captain of the royal guard and the deadliest swordsman in a generation, and wins the allegiance of the mad sorcerer Hethrader. She might slay sea serpents, lead royal shipments of supplies into ambushes, and execute the governors of towns who don't swear loyalty to her and her cause. The story might have dozens of betrayals, spies whose allegiance we're never sure of, and at least one bittersweet romantic subplot, but the core of the story is still, "Outcast pirate princess finds allies, and fights to take back the throne of her nation from those who usurped it."

The simplification serves a few functions. The first is that it keeps clear in your own mind what your book is actually about. That way no matter how many kidnappings, new characters, explosive gun fights, and back-alley knife duels you have, you never lose sight of where your story is supposed to be going. The second is that when it comes time to pitch your book to someone, whether it's a publisher or a potential reader, reviewer, etc., you can sum up what they're in for in a single breath before giving their attention time to wander.

Because it's hard enough to capture someone's attention, and if you are fortunate to have it for a moment, don't squander it with an aside to explain the history of Choana's elected monarchy or by waxing about the magic system used by your wizarding spies. Hook the reader hard, and make them want to know about all that other stuff. In short, get to the point, and see if they bite.

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing. Hopefully some folks find it helpful for putting their big ideas into a small, easily digestible hook. If you want to keep up on all my latest posts, then follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. If you're like to help me keep doing what I do, then stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to leave a little love in my tip jar. And if you pledge at least $1 per month, I'll even send you a free book as a thank you!

Never Explain The Impossible (If Doing So Serves No Purpose)

How many times have you been reading a fantasy or sci-fi novel, and found your interest ebbing away as the author goes on for page after page describing the mechanism by which their magic works? You know, like when Michael Chrichton dedicated page space to explaining the particular mechanism of time travel in Timeline, not in dialogue or as part of showing off how smart a character was, but as an aside to the audience told by the narrator?

Well, if you haven't read the book, I'd hold up that decision as the exact wrong way to make the impossible aspect of a story feel real. Unfortunately, there are a lot of folks who feel that by laying out an entire schematic, and proving they've thought through exactly how everything from summoning spells to warp drives could work, that it will win them points with the audience.

The Dungeon Master has spoken.

You won't get brownie points. Because no one is here to look at the pretty scenery.

Acceptance Justifies The Impossible

First, let's talk about how the author needs to justify the impossible in their story. Whether it's aliens, ancient sorcerers, fire-breathing dragons, time travel, or anything else, there's a knee-jerk need in some authors to lecture about all the details so the audience can cram every bit of knowledge about these things into their heads. That doesn't make the impossible elements more interesting, though. If anything, treating them like the subject of an academic lecture can make them seem boring.

Because no one wants to be force fed information.

Instead, treat these impossible elements as matter-of-fact. If you state that something is real, then the audience has to accept that reality. That's the contract you've made with them. So be confident in your assertions about what elements do exist. If your protagonists sees a spell being cast, describe the ritual, and its effects. If they see a ship winking out into hyper space, or someone firing a laser rifle, don't pause the story to explain the mechanics of these occurrences. You're pile-driving your own pacing, and worse, taking something exciting and fun, and boring your readers with it.

So then the ion streams are fed into the polarizing chamber, which reverses their flow, leading to...

There is one exception to this advice; when you are using this explanation to make a point, or to show us something about a character.

As an example, take your sci-fi space marine. He's gruff, unpersonable, and extremely dangerous. He also fights in a suit of powered armor, naturally. If you have a scene where he's stripping, cleaning, and re-assembling his gear with a secondary character, it's all right to have him narrate the function of the tech he's inspecting. Not because you're trying to convince the audience that you consulted an engineer, and these combat suits are plausible. Rather, it's because you're showing us that the marine not only knows how to care for the gear, but has the technical understanding to explain it to someone else. Additionally, this scene could act as a way for the second character to get some insight below his gruff exterior. Whether it's a bonding moment with a younger character (sort of like a dad showing their kid how to do car maintenance), or finding common ground with a technician or engineer who isn't a fighter, the explanation is not the point of the scene; it's the story and character development it facilitates.

As an alternative example, take the character who has to walk us through a scenario in order to explain an important plot point. For example, a wizard is found dead inside a magic circle. The runes should have prevented any outside force from entering, so the assumption is he killed himself. However, careful examination of the circle reveals the materials it's made of wouldn't achieve that result. By dropping the little bit of knowledge that silver is meant to keep things in, not to keep them out, what was a suicide has suddenly become an imprisonment, and potentially murder. In this scenario the explanation of the intricacies of summoning and protective magics is not meant to intrigue your audience all by itself; it's meant to show that your protagonist is learned in the ways of magic, and to point out that the plot is deeper than we thought it was a moment ago.

If You Don't Need The Explanation, Don't Give It

Everything in your book is meant to serve a purpose. If you're cramming in extraneous detail that does no one any good, you're wasting both time and reader attention. So, unless it serves a greater purpose, we don't need to understand how your faster-than-light travel works, what altered physics allows the sorcerer to breathe fire, or how dragons fly. Simply tell us that these things happen, and get on with the story.

Remember, I said in Your Fantasy Novel Probably Sucks, And Professor Awesome's University Explains Why, no one falls in love with the set dressing. We're here to see the play.

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing entry. If you liked it, consider following me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter to get all my regular updates. Lastly, if you want to help me keep this blog going, consider stopping by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a patron! As little as $1 a month goes a long way, and it gets you a free book or two as a thank you.

Just Change One Thing (A Simple Formula For Modern Fantasy)

If you're trying to write a modern fantasy story, you might feel a bit overwhelmed. After all, what do you let in, and what do you keep out? Does your world have vampires? And if you do, are there werewolves as well? What about angels and demons? And if you allow them in, do you keep things old testament, or do you let in all the pagan gods along with their hosts of spirits? Does your world have magic, and if so, what kind? Or do you have several different kinds, each with their own history, philosophy, and requirements?

Take a deep breath... You don't have to make this so complicated.

Stop. If you find yourself in this situation, just stop.

Now, put your gears in reverse, and go back to the beginning. Make one change, and see where that gets you.

Avoiding Kitchen Sink Settings

Let's be real, some authors are perfectly comfortable with a kitchen sink setting. They've got everything in their world, and they can explain it effortlessly to the audience in a way that is easy to digest, and which makes everything seem wondrous and vibrant. However, something a lot of us seem to forget is that not all of us can pull that off. So, if you find yourself getting overwhelmed trying to make your modern fantasy setting vibrant and unique, do yourself a favor and keep the floodgates closed.

Instead, change one thing. Flick one element, and see what sort of ricochets it makes throughout the world.

One change is usually enough for most settings.

Take the standard zombie apocalypse scenario. Whether it's what we see in Night of The Living Dead, or the near-future setting of The Newsflesh Trilogy, there was one change made to the world we know and love; the dead get up, and hunger for the living. Everything else in this setting revolves around that singular difference, and the world's response to it.

If you want to make a setting where you can focus on your story, while also making everything feel unique and surreal without feeling crammed, follow that same logic. Change one thing, and then follow the ripples to see where they go.

As a for-instance, let's say there are people who have learned the secrets of ancient magics, and can wield them from the shadows. Their doings are kept private, and secret, known only to a few, and believed by even fewer. So you have a world where strange, inexplicable instances suddenly take on sinister meanings, and where agents of those learned in the secret ways go forth to do their master's bidding. What you have here is Harry Potter, if it had a baby with Jason Bourne. The intrigue and escape of a secret world where magic is real, but where only a privileged few know about it. Thus you can reveal, or not reveal, as much as you want through those who are in-the-know. Same way spy novels work, giving you access to the world beneath the world where only spies and operatives tend to lurk.

You don't have to throw ancient gods, fairy tale monsters, demons, or vampires into that mix... magic and skullduggery creates a unique enough setting on its own that you don't have to hang twelve lampshades on it to stand out. More importantly, though, there's less stuff for you to keep track of, and for your audience to have to learn. Because you're essentially giving your readers a crash course in your world, its language, and the rules it runs on. The fewer things they have to keep track of, the less chance there is they'll get confused, overwhelmed, or find cracks in the foundation.

It's Not For Everyone

To reiterate, this is just one way of doing things. It isn't inherently better, or worse, than any others. But if you keep finding the disparate elements of your world rising up to overwhelm you, then maybe you should remove some of those elements entirely. After all, if you've got your audience hooked with, "Club DJ necromancer has to survive death threats from fireball gang to uncover what really happened that night in a Brooks Street alley," then adding in vampires or werewolves won't, necessarily, make that better.

It will, though, make it more complicated. That might not be what your story, or your audience, needs.

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing post. It's a day late, for which I apologize, but I'm getting prepped for Windy Con. So, if you find yourself attending, feel free to track me down to say hello! Also, if you want to stay up-to-date on my latest releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. Lastly, if you want to help support me and my work, head over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to toss a little love in my cup. For as little as $1 a month, I'll even send you some free books as a thank you.