Dashiell Hammett's Advice

Even though this week has been a busy one, and I've had a ton on my mind, I don't have a whole lot to say.  I'm still processing a lot of it.  There was a lot of good and a lot of bad.  Thoughts which make we want to give up writing (perminantly) roll though my head even as I write this.  Maybe the darkness will win out, maybe not.  I have no way to read the future.

Instead, I want to give you this.  I've written in a lot of genres since I started putting pen to paper, but my first novel is solidly detective/noir.  What I found one day was a list of rules written by one of detective fiction's great authors, Dashiell Hammett.  I wanted to share that list with you.

LINK

If you write mysteries, it should have several nuggets for you to look at and consider.  But if you don't, take a look anyway.  It has tidbits which can help all of us, Most of it is still valid.  Give it a lookie-loo and tell me what you think.

Full credit goes to the website and its writers.

How I Write a Blog Post

After the serious tone of my last post, I felt it was perhaps best I take a lighter turn this week.  So, today I present to you how I write a blog post.

Step 1:  What day is it?

Monday:  Don’t think about it.

Tuesday:  Don’t think about it.

Wednesday:  Don’t think about it.

Thursday:  “Oh, I need to write a blog post to upload on Monday.”

Friday:  “What should I write about?”

Saturday:   Mad dash to throw down 1000 or so words and send it off to my editor.

Sunday:  Imagine my editor grumbling about my timing and pulling her hair out because of me.

Monday:  Fix and polish edited blog post before uploading it the same day.

Spend the next seven days not thinking about the new blog post due in two weeks.

Step 2:  Pick a topic.

I have to admit it.  Rarely do I have any clue about what my blog posts are going to be about until I start working on them.  Perhaps that’s because I’m lazy.  That’s what K would say.  My personal point of view on it relates back to the type of writer I am.

We all know and recognize the two main writing schools: outliners and discovery.  Outliners plot out the book, the characters, the action, whatever, in greater or lesser detail so they know in advance what will happen.  Discovery writers do just the opposite. They take the stories and run with whatever feels right.  Some writers combine the two schools.  Brandon Sanderson is one such person.  He outlines the novel, but writes the characters using the discovery method.  There is no right or wrong way to do this, no matter what Mrs. Harris, your 3^rd grade teacher, said.

I am firmly in the camp of discovery writing.  If I plot out a single thing, my mind shuts down.  For example, in my current project, you get to meet Stephanie Hawthorne’s mother.  I only know a few things about her at this point:

1) You shall never hear me refer to her as Mom.  Too familiar.

2) She did a number on Stephanie and James when they were growing up.

and

3) You thought Stephanie could be a bitch?  Just wait. 

This will be fun.  I only just met the woman, and then only through a four-line letter, and I already dislike her as a person.  But she’ll be a blast to write. 

With that in mind, why should my blog posts be any different?  Most of the posts I’ve tried to plan out in advance have never been published, mainly because I never finished them.  And those that have been published aren’t my best work. 

Have I ever told you about Monty Python and how they did their scripts?  No?  Let me illuminate.  They, like so many shows, performed before test audiences.  The bad stuff?  It was pitched.  The good stuff?  That was where they differed from others.  If the skit performed too well, they threw it away as well.  So think about it like this: all the classic Monty Python we know and love—“Dead Parrot,” “The Spanish Inquisition,” “How Not to be Seen”—was actually mediocre Monty Python.  We’ve been laughing at their mediocre stuff.

Mind Blown.

Step 3: Writing

Self-explanatory.  Get computer.  Sit down.  Put fingers on keys and write.  Let the words flow, and don’t worry about where they’re leading.  The hardest thing you’ll ever do, but you wanna be a writer?  Just do it.

Step 4: Editing

Again, self-explanatory.  When writing, we don’t see the errors, but if we go back?  Like a baseball bat to the face. We’ve all been there.  Someday, I should post for you the first draft of some of the stuff I’ve written.  The final work looks much different from what is originally placed on the paper.  That is, by necessity, a good thing. 

I’ve heard stories about people—Rex Stout, to be precise—who never edited a single thing they wrote.  Somehow, I don’t believe that, but even if it’s not true, I’m not of his caliber.  There are those you look up to for inspiration, for education, as role models.  He’s one of mine. 

So I edit.  Go through.  Reword and rework phrases, sentences, and paragraphs.  You know what I mean.  Make sure it comes through clearly.  As the writer, that’s your responsibility. 

Do your job.

But here’s one of my little tidbits for you when it comes to my editing and writing.  Unless I am trying to prove a particular point, the same word never begins any sentence within the same paragraph more than once.  Look at this one.  No word begins the same sentence twice.  It makes things “work” better.  Also, if you can arrange it in the same pattern for your paragraphs, you’ll be in great shape.  I haven’t perfected that one yet.  

Step 5: Post it

Ok, I skipped a few substeps there.  Send it off to the editor.  Follow her suggestions.  Add pictures.  Tried that a few times.  Not sold on the practice.  Whatever those substeps are, do them as needed.  Me?  I just listen to my editor. 98% to 100% of the time, I agree with what she suggests. Then post.

The big thing is to be aware of what you’re saying.  You are ultimately responsible for your content.  Stand by it or don’t post it.  If I have concerns about something I’ve written, it is removed during the editing process.  I stand by what I’ve written, even if it isn’t pretty.

So that’s about it.  Maybe you’d call this fluff, but, hey, it’s what I got.  Welcome to my little world. Till next time.

Characterization: Part Deux

Last post, I talked about characterization in a single, specific case and applied the generalization as a rule. Obviously, it's a generalization, and won't work for everyone or in every case. That's the nature of generalizations.  It's a lot like profiling and valid only as long as its guiding tenants hold true.

Which, as I figure it, is a 50/50 chance.

But there's one aspect of characterization that holds true most of the time. And I say most of the time, because I think there's only one rule in writing that's true 100% of the time: no verb, no sentence. Don't ask me to explain that one, though. I couldn't diagram a sentence if my dinner or my life depended on it. You'll just have to trust me.

No, the rule I'm referring to is that we, as writers, have to make our characters "real." I'm sure you’ve heard that one before. It seems to be a core tenet of creative writing. Think on it and consider how many times you've heard that one preached. Personally, more times than I can count.

Yet, I can't stand this rule. It just doesn't work for me. Hear me out, now. I can see you scoffing and questioning my credibility. Not that I haven't made some bold claims before now. Well, I don't think of them as bold, but rather as questioning what I see as the blindly accepted rules of basic writing. Or something like that. Take it for what you will.

I'll let my finished writing stand for itself.

Anyway, what I have issue with is the absoluteness of the rule, that we must follow this rule at all times when designing characters. It's unconditional. But I have a single question for you:

 What is the definition of real?

By that, I mean what is real and what is false? Is Clifford real? You know Clifford, The Big Red Dog. What about Elrond Half-Elven? Harry Potter? Marty McFly? Shawn Spencer? Bruce Wayne? The list goes on. Is Garfield any less real than the Corleone family or Jake Blues?

Hopefully, I've set up a rhetorical question. Perhaps not. But are any of these characters real or even realistic? The Corleones are realistic enough, in a literal sense, with Marty McFly and Jake Blues trailing just behind. But what about the others? Magical characters don’t exist; elves don't live among us. And a rich man pretending to be a bat? At least dogs are real, though not so large. And definitely not so red.

But each character is real enough. Important difference, that. I feel it's necessary to mention the difference between real, real enough, and, as I think of it, real within a form.

Real should be easy enough for us to understand. These characters are real in a very physical sense and fit the finite, specific definition of the rule. Their actions, responses, and options apply within the physics of this universe. There's no cure for death. A thrown ball has certain demands on it that must be met. Reactions are finite. It all has to make sense. This is what we all strive for. This is the world that Hemingway, Cather, and Woolf introduced to us. We understand it and grasp it inherently.

Real enough is what I consider all those people trying to sell us stuff on TV. The walk-off role. Do we care about their motivations or how they'll react to an alien invasion of lower Manhattan? No. What we want from them is the momentary interaction, and then they can disappear back into the mold that created them. And that's about all we care for them, too. As long as they react believably, we're good. They really don't even apply to the rule, but I mention them only for the sake of being thorough.

Then there's the final type: real within a form. Okay, I could use another term for them, too: stereotypes. This ran rampant in early cinema, but it predates that. Look back at Shakespeare. It's ALL stereotypical. Every play. Doesn't make it less fun, though.

The thing is, we still use stereotypes in our writing. Sherlock Holmes. John McClain. Every sitcom father ever. We're okay with that, too. Otherwise, explain the success of The Big Bang Theory. The characters are all stereotypes.

I recently asked my wife if my characters in The Red Dress were realistic. She said no and I felt horrible. Then she went on to say that they're not meant to be. Extremely realistic characters wouldn't work in that book. It's too stylized. Insert the characters from The Walking Dead into The Big Bang Theory.

Not working for you either?

Then I’ve made my point. As writers, we need to be aware of how well our characterization fits within both the world we create and the style we write. Real is relative. 

Characterization with a Bit of Music

I want to talk about two of my favorite subjects. (My freshman English teacher would be pulling her hair out if she heard me begin a paper like that.  Still, I’m going to use it.) 

I want to talk to you about two of my favorite subjects: music and . . . Wait, what?  My editor’s putting her two cents in.  Or at least she is in my head.  Great.  My old teacher and my editor.  All I need now is—

MOM!!!!

Fine, fine.  You win.  I’ll do this “write.”  Hehehehe . . . You see what I did there.  OUCH!  All right.  I’ll do this correctly. 

*************************************************************************************

I want you to do me a favor.  Listen to the song below.  It doesn’t matter if you’re a fan of Billy Joel or if you’ve never heard it before.  Take a moment.  Listen.  It’s important.

Ok.  Now that you’ve disregarded it, go back and listen.  I’ll wait.

“Piano Man” is a fantastic example of characterization and setting a scene.  Because—yes—this song tells a story.  And it could be argued that every story, this one included, needs some sort of action.  And it does.  So I ask you this: where’s the action? 

At first, it seems that it’s right there—the first verse:

“The usual crowd shuffles in.”

But as the song progresses, you find there’s no action there after all.  The action doesn’t actually appear until the end, when Joel talks about performing.  So what’s the beginning about then?  He’s setting the stage, explaining who’s part of the “usual crowd.”  Joel goes on to prove this when he talks about the old man:

“. . . making love to his tonic and gin.”

Joel then goes on to explain just who this guy is by giving you a few lines about lost memories.  The old gent is in a piano bar, asking about sad, sweet songs of his youth.  We all know that guy.  He’s our grandfathers or great-grandfathers.  He’s the old guy down at the VFW Hall who served in Korea.  He’s us, talking with old friends about days gone by.  We relate.  Boom!  Character defined just in time for Joel to move on to John at the bar:

“He gets me my drinks for free.”

Does Joel need to say that John’s his friend?  No.  But in this world Joel’s created, it means something to say that he’s a friend.  In fact, John’s the only one he refers to as a friend, even though he knows Davy and Paul and the waitress, plus the manager.  So why mention it?  Cause it means something.  Telling us about free drinks only goes to further show how good a guy John is.

“He’s quick with a joke or to light up your smoke, but there’s someplace that he’d rather be.”

And, again, we relate.  I’d be a writer if I only had the chance.  My wife would work with movie props.  One of my friends would be a voice actor.  If only, if only, if only.  We know that dream and that need.  You feel for him.  Then we move on and continue to meet the people who populate this bar.

Next up are Paul and Davy.  Only one line is needed about them, but why?  Two reasons.  One: Joel’s already established his credibility with us.  With everyone he’s mentioned previously, he has them fit to a T.  Now we feel we can trust his judgment and understanding of the regulars and just let his opinion lie.  B: That’s all there is to them: 

“Paul . . . never had time for a wife, and . . . Davy’s still in the navy and probably will be for life.”

Read between the lines.  Their careers are their lives.  From our perspective as multifaceted human beings, we may know there’s more to them than that, but it sure doesn’t seem that way.  We, Joel, and everyone else have pigeonholed them.  And right now, that’s all right.

“The waitress is practicing politics as the businessman slowly gets stoned.”

Do I really need to go into that?  No, you see it now.  How about the manager?  According to Joel’s point of view, he cares only about the bar.  Which fits, considering how large his role is in the song.  It’s not that unrealistic.  Drinks still need to get poured, whether Joel plays or not.  So why say more? 

Then there’s Joel himself.  And yes, this whole song talks about him.  Let’s rewind.

The old man:

“Can you play me a memory?”

John:

“Bill, I believe this is killing me.”

And then there’s the refrain:

“Sing us a song, you’re the Piano Man.”

and

“You’ve got us feeling all right.”

What does that say about Joel’s character’s mindset?  He reinforces it every refrain.  He keeps distracting you, but then at the end, the entire song centers on him.  His manager “knows that it’s me(Joel) they’ve been coming to see.” He describes his playing as a carnival—something which brings happiness and joy.  I’m not a fan of carnivals, but it’s hard to be depressed at one.  Of course, this impression is also deepened by the music itself, which sounds vaguely carnival-esque.  Everyone’s sober or depressed until Joel starts to play.  Then it’s better.  They love him, and he tells you by saying:

“. . . they put bread in my jar and say ‘Man, what are you doin’ here?’.”

You know exactly who Joel is.  He’s the narrator, but an unreliable one.  His views are tempered by the colored glasses he wears.  It’s about the music and always will be.  And again, we can relate through people we already know.

Now, if you haven’t done it, go back and listen to the song, keeping this all in mind.  A picture’s painted with depth and color using only the broadest strokes of the brush, but you know everything you need to know.  You have it all in your head.  You interpret the music, the characters, and the bar in your own way.  Though I’ve attached it, you don’t need the music video to show you any of these people.  Frankly, my opinions and impressions differ from those presented.  Especially about the “practicing politics.”

So why do I bring this up?  As writers, we look at characterization as some daunting task.  Every time we introduce a character, we feel the need to create everything about him or her.  Our thoughts become centered on the twitch of the hand, the color and brand of their clothes, how they speak.  What food they love.  The thing is, we don’t need to share all those characteristics.  95% of that information will never have any practical use.  So why worry about it?

I love Robert Jordan, and he will always be one of my favorite authors.  But one of his weaknesses is the amount of detail he expects you to remember each time he introduces a city, a character, or anything else.  Someday read The Wheel of Time.  It’s a fantastic story with a great narrative, but the characterization can get heavy-handed.  And I’ll admit it.  Sometimes I ignore his descriptions and move on, making it all up in my head. 

Now consider Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game.  Give me the description of Ender, Graff, or Peter.  It’s simple: Ender—shorter than average;  Graff—thin, then fat, then thin again;  Peter—taller than Ender, but otherwise an older version of his little brother. 

Simple.  Broad.  Strokes.

I realize this is mostly a stylistic thing, but it’s something you should think on.  Everyday people and places don’t need paragraphs of description.  Yet the more fantastical the concept, the more attention it deserves.  The one exception to this rule that I’ve made up in my head is if what you’re describing holds a special significance—a wedding chapel, the murder weapon, that hobo who saw everything.  But even still, you have to be careful to balance everything so that your description doesn’t stand out like a sore thumb.  It takes some doing.

Myself, I tend to walk the middle ground.  My main characters are hardly ever described.  Stephanie has red hair and Daniel finds her beautiful.  James has grey hair and a moustache.  Daniel?  Good luck figuring that one out, though he has a habit of comparing others to himself (i.e. thinner than him, taller than him, etc).  I spend paragraphs describing an apartment where a body’s found, but write almost nothing about Daniel and Stephanie’s office.  Mind you, this is also characterization of the speaker.  How often would you describe every detail of your home to a stranger, compared to someplace unusual?  It doesn’t happen.  Your house is every day, mundane, but that murder room?  Oh, that’s interesting.

I’ll leave you with this.  It’s an actual description for one of the characters in my book.  One of the whole two lines I spent on him.  And it’s about all you need to know about him:

“The mousy speech sounded from behind me, and I turned to see exactly the type of man you would expect to own such a voice.”