The Magna Cartas
(Note: This is the second in a series of excerpts from "No Plot? No Problem!" that I'll be posting here over the course of the next month and a half. The few excerpts I'll be publishing here are no substitute for getting an actual copy of the book, which I continue to strongly recommend.)
What, to you, makes a good novel?
It's an excruciatingly broad question, but give it a shot. And feel free to be as vague or as nerdily-detailed as you like; this list can include anything from ultra-short chapters to ribald sex scenes to massive infusions of ill-tempered elves. Anything that floats your fictional boat should go on the list.
My list, to help give you some idea, looks like this:
Okay, now make your list. Go crazy, and take as long as you want.
Once you've finished, frame it. This document will be your Magna Carta for the next month, helping you channel your awesome writing powers for the good of the people.
Why is this list so frame-worthy?
Because the things you appreciate as a reader are the things you'll likely excel at as a writer. These bits of language, color, and technique, for whatever reason, make sense to your creative brain. These are the Things You Understand. And as you draw the basic outlines of your novel over the next week, you should try to fill that outline in with as many of the juicy elements of the Magna Carta as possible.
If you like it when authors start chapters with quotations, for instance, start gathering some pithy zingers for your story. Are coming-of-age tales your guilty pleasure? Consider setting your story at a summer camp. The chances are good that if a mood, motif, or plot device resonates with you as a reader, you'll be able to adeptly wield it when you're in the writer's seat as well.
Okay, that's the first list. Now on to its equally important sibling...
For the second list, write down things that bore or depress you in novels. Again, feel free to be as specific or wide-ranging as you like. And be honest. If you don't like books where the words-to-picture ratio favours the text too heavily, write that down. We're not here to judge. We just want to understand you better.
My list would include the following:
Now it's your turn. Write down anything and everything that bores you or brings you down in a book. Go.
When you're finished, frame this list as well. We'll call it Magna Carta II, the evil twin of Magna Carta I.
As you spend the next week thinking about what you want in a novel, keep MCII close at hand, so you'll remind yourself what not to put in your story.
I know it seems silly to have to remind you to keep things you dislike out of your novel, but be warned: The stealthy entries on your MCII list are vicious, cunning little buggers, and given the slightest opening, they will find their way into your book.
The reason they'll make their way on to your pages is related to the same scientific principle of self-betterment that causes us to bring high-brow tomes home from the bookstore knowing full well they'll go straight onto the bookshelf and never be touched again until our kids move us and our possessions into that miserable senior home down the road.
We buy these difficult books because we feel that, while not very exciting, they are in some way good for us. It's sort of a literature-as-bran-flake philosophy: If something is dry and unpalatable, it must be doing something for our constitutions. This kind of thinking also carries over to the writing realm. If we're worried that our story is lacking in substance, the first thing most of us automatically reach for to fix it are the bran morsels from the MCII.
Still not convinced? Let me offer a real-world example.
When sitting down to craft my second month-long novel, I decided that my previous work - a story about an American music nerd secretly in love with his Scottish green-card wife - had been high on fluff and low on substance.
I was right. So, on my second work, I committed myself to writing a Serious Book. Lacking any appropriately substantial ideas, I simply saddled an otherwise enjoyable main character with an ever-lengthening roster of mental illnesses, suicidal relatives, and ghosts, handily crushing the protagonsist's spirit under the pressure of weighty moral themes.
In my quest for writing that would last for generations, I managed to write a book that wore out its welcome in less than three days. Having packed almost every single item on my MCII list into one overwrought package, I lost interest in the main character and her morose life after about 5,000 words, and it was just out of sheer stubbornness, force of will, and a terrifying dearth of any other plausible novel ideas that I was able to see the book through to its predictably depressing finale.
The lesson here is this: if you won't enjoy reading it, you won't enjoy writing it. If you truly are fascinated by the plight of the nation's mentally ill, the ongoing politicization of religious sects in Saudi Arabia, or inner city high-rise housing projects as metaphors for racial injustice and miscarried modernization, then by all means put them in your book.
But if, in your heart of hearts, you really want to write a book about a pair of super-powered, kung-fu koalas who wear pink capes and race through the city streets on miniature go-karts, know that this is also a wonderful and completely valid subject for a novel.
(Note: This is the second in a series of excerpts from "No Plot? No Problem!" that I'll be posting here over the course of the next month and a half. The few excerpts I'll be publishing here are no substitute for getting an actual copy of the book, which I continue to strongly recommend.)
What, to you, makes a good novel?
It's an excruciatingly broad question, but give it a shot. And feel free to be as vague or as nerdily-detailed as you like; this list can include anything from ultra-short chapters to ribald sex scenes to massive infusions of ill-tempered elves. Anything that floats your fictional boat should go on the list.
My list, to help give you some idea, looks like this:
first person narration
quirky characters
true love
found objects
disappointment
music
catharsis
feisty old people
strong, charismatic protagonists
improbable romances
smart but unpretentious writing
urban settings
cliffhanger chapter endings
characters who are at turning points in their lives
books set in the workplace
happy endings
Okay, now make your list. Go crazy, and take as long as you want.
Once you've finished, frame it. This document will be your Magna Carta for the next month, helping you channel your awesome writing powers for the good of the people.
Why is this list so frame-worthy?
Because the things you appreciate as a reader are the things you'll likely excel at as a writer. These bits of language, color, and technique, for whatever reason, make sense to your creative brain. These are the Things You Understand. And as you draw the basic outlines of your novel over the next week, you should try to fill that outline in with as many of the juicy elements of the Magna Carta as possible.
If you like it when authors start chapters with quotations, for instance, start gathering some pithy zingers for your story. Are coming-of-age tales your guilty pleasure? Consider setting your story at a summer camp. The chances are good that if a mood, motif, or plot device resonates with you as a reader, you'll be able to adeptly wield it when you're in the writer's seat as well.
Okay, that's the first list. Now on to its equally important sibling...
For the second list, write down things that bore or depress you in novels. Again, feel free to be as specific or wide-ranging as you like. And be honest. If you don't like books where the words-to-picture ratio favours the text too heavily, write that down. We're not here to judge. We just want to understand you better.
My list would include the following:
irredeemably malicious main characters
books set on farms
mentally ill main characters
food or eating as a central theme
ghosts, monsters, or demons
dysfunctional sibling dramas
books consisting largely of a character's thoughts
weighty moral themes
books set in the nineteenth century
unhappy endings
Now it's your turn. Write down anything and everything that bores you or brings you down in a book. Go.
When you're finished, frame this list as well. We'll call it Magna Carta II, the evil twin of Magna Carta I.
As you spend the next week thinking about what you want in a novel, keep MCII close at hand, so you'll remind yourself what not to put in your story.
I know it seems silly to have to remind you to keep things you dislike out of your novel, but be warned: The stealthy entries on your MCII list are vicious, cunning little buggers, and given the slightest opening, they will find their way into your book.
The reason they'll make their way on to your pages is related to the same scientific principle of self-betterment that causes us to bring high-brow tomes home from the bookstore knowing full well they'll go straight onto the bookshelf and never be touched again until our kids move us and our possessions into that miserable senior home down the road.
We buy these difficult books because we feel that, while not very exciting, they are in some way good for us. It's sort of a literature-as-bran-flake philosophy: If something is dry and unpalatable, it must be doing something for our constitutions. This kind of thinking also carries over to the writing realm. If we're worried that our story is lacking in substance, the first thing most of us automatically reach for to fix it are the bran morsels from the MCII.
Still not convinced? Let me offer a real-world example.
When sitting down to craft my second month-long novel, I decided that my previous work - a story about an American music nerd secretly in love with his Scottish green-card wife - had been high on fluff and low on substance.
I was right. So, on my second work, I committed myself to writing a Serious Book. Lacking any appropriately substantial ideas, I simply saddled an otherwise enjoyable main character with an ever-lengthening roster of mental illnesses, suicidal relatives, and ghosts, handily crushing the protagonsist's spirit under the pressure of weighty moral themes.
In my quest for writing that would last for generations, I managed to write a book that wore out its welcome in less than three days. Having packed almost every single item on my MCII list into one overwrought package, I lost interest in the main character and her morose life after about 5,000 words, and it was just out of sheer stubbornness, force of will, and a terrifying dearth of any other plausible novel ideas that I was able to see the book through to its predictably depressing finale.
The lesson here is this: if you won't enjoy reading it, you won't enjoy writing it. If you truly are fascinated by the plight of the nation's mentally ill, the ongoing politicization of religious sects in Saudi Arabia, or inner city high-rise housing projects as metaphors for racial injustice and miscarried modernization, then by all means put them in your book.
But if, in your heart of hearts, you really want to write a book about a pair of super-powered, kung-fu koalas who wear pink capes and race through the city streets on miniature go-karts, know that this is also a wonderful and completely valid subject for a novel.
posted by "Steve Smith" at 1:48 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home