Seekerville: The Journey Continues

• Ask what would your character NEVER do and then put them in a position to have to do it. This one always confused me because there are lots of things my characters would never do – murder someone for instance.
• or
• Ask what is the worst that can happen. Again, this is way too broad for me.
• So instead I ask myself, based on the character arc I’ve set up for this character, what trial does he need to face to test his growth. This way I know exactly what kind of issue will trigger the black moment. Is his arc to go from craving isolation to wanting to become part of a community – have the black moment be triggered by a perceived betrayal by his community. Is her arc based on moving from refusing to trust anyone to opening herself up to trusting the hero? Then have her face some so-called evidence that he has betrayed her trust.


• Along those same lines, your black moment should always be individual to your protagonists. Generic just won’t cut it if you want this to have the impact all authors strive for. It should flow directly from your character arcs, from the very personal emotional wounds or lies they are living with, the internal conflict that is at the very heart of your story.
• Don’t skimp on this scene. Take the time to make sure your reader feels every bit of the agony and despair your character is enduring. Show both the outward and inward turmoil both the hero and heroine are experiencing.
• Don’t pull your punches. I know we love our characters, but the black moment is the time to put them under extreme pressure, to strip away the illusion that they’ve overcome their deep-seated issues, bring them to their knees and make them face the fact that they could lose any hope of an HEA. Think of it this way – the darker and more crippling the black moment, the sweeter the eventual payoff of the resolution and happy ending.

PS: When I penned this post I didn't think about it going up on Good Friday, but it does seem oddly appropriate, since this day represents the ultimate black moment and is the lead in to the ultimate happily forever after.

The literary world has changed in the last fifty years. In the past, authors like J.R.R. Tolkien could spend three pages introducing us to his main character in “The Hobbit” (Bilbo Baggins,) complete with a description of his home and family history – and he does this in the first three pages of the book. I happen to like that style, and when I read “The Hobbit,” I settle into my comfy chair ready to lose myself in the story.



But things have changed! In our time, authors need to get to the action as soon as possible and leave the backstory and descriptions for later.

How do you do this?

Layer by layer.


 

Onions or cake. Take your pick!

Either way, we peel our character’s layers back little by little, letting our readers learn to know our characters by their actions. Or a comment here. A thought there.

It’s tempting to tell the reader everything! We love our characters and we want our readers to love them, too!

But an information dump (where you give your reader way too much information at once) is like your co-worker setting you up for a blind date with her favorite cousin. She has been gushing over this guy for two weeks, telling you all about his job, family, house, dog, his appendicitis attack in 8th grade… But really, don’t you want to meet him first? Don’t you want to be the one to decide if you want to get to know him better?

Do your readers a favor and peel away those layers little by little.

Here’s an example from my work in progress, Softly Blows the Bugle. We’ve already met the hero, Aaron, in the first scene. There we found out that he was wounded and captured at Gettysburg. First layer.

In the second scene, we begin to see him through his own eyes as he’s talking to his friend Jonas:

“But the war changed you.” Aaron let his mind go back to the angry, fiery young man he had been, hot to kill any Yankee he could find after a scouting party shot Grandpop. “It changed both of us. War will do that.”

That snippet is all we know so far about Aaron’s past. It’s just one more layer, but the story isn't finished yet.

Later in the book, but still early, we’ll learn more about Grandpop and what he meant to Aaron. Another layer.

Somewhere around the middle of the story, memories of Aaron’s mother will begin to surface. Thin layers peel away, revealing his home life as a child.

Toward the end, we’ll learn the secret of Aaron’s past, and the reason he believes the lie that has ruled his life. Peeling back layer by layer by layer.

Meanwhile, all through the story we watch Aaron’s actions, how he treats other people, and how they respond to him. Layers.

By the end of the book, if I have done my work well, we will know Aaron’s story, his struggles, his spiritual battles, and his physical battles. And we will know the inner man. The hero the readers will fall in love with.



At the same time, we need to be careful not to peel back a layer, revealing a hint of an important detail, and then never bring it up again.

For example, what if you read that smidgen of information at the beginning of the book (Aaron let his mind go back to the angry, fiery young man he had been, hot to kill any Yankee he could find after a scouting party shot Grandpop,) but then you never learned any more about Grandpop or that event? Or what if I didn’t let the readers see the process of the change between then and now? What if I never let the other shoe drop?

Among the things I look for in my revision process are unfinished trails like this. And if I don’t catch them, I pray that my editor will!




Let's chat! Have you ever experienced the "information dump" in your writing? What about in your reading? Or, does it bother you when an author leaves a detail hanging? (It's one of my pet peeves!)

Thanks for reading, and have a blessed Holy Week!

by Jan Drexler

Writing is a complex task.

We work with words, using them to build sentences and paragraphs. But writing is much more than buildings blocks. Any computer could do that.

What we do when we work with words is artistry. We create worlds, moods, emotions, action. We convey hope, despair, love, and hate. We might even affect a reader’s world view.

Our goal is to make the reader forget that they are reading and immerse them in an experience.

That’s easy to say, but how do we do it?

One key is in the details we add to our writing.



Here’s a simple example to start us off:

He kissed her cheek.

Simple and straight forward, right? But where is the experience of the kiss? The way this sentence is written, there is no reward for the reader. No “being there” feeling.

So, let’s add some details:

He cupped her chin in his hands, turning her face toward his. Her eyes softened as he drew her near. The time to claim her as his own hung before him, sweetly tantalizing, but this wasn’t the time. Longing to feel her rosebud lips, he ran his thumb over them in a light caress, then planted the kiss on her soft, fragrant cheek.

This is a different experience, isn’t it? Now we’re getting a hint of both characters and an idea of the story behind the original sentence.

Let’s try another example. This one is from my book, “The Amish Nanny’s Sweetheart.” First, I’ll give you the bare-bones scene, then I’ll show you what the scene is like after I added the details.

Bare-bones, first draft:

Luke left Judith standing in the road. She looked around at the unfamiliar landscape and pulled her shawl tighter. She headed off the opposite way Luke had gone, hoping that this was the way he had brought her.

And now, here’s the way this description appears in the book:

Luke slapped the reins on his horse’s back harder than he needed to and the horse jumped into a trot, leaving Judith standing by the side of the road.

Judith stamped her foot and turned around to walk home. But as she took the first few steps, her anger at Luke faded. The road stretching in front of her was unfamiliar, and the night was dark. The wind had picked up, tugging at her shawl.

Ripples covered the black, oily surface of the lake and lapped against the shore along the roadside. From the woods across the water came the hoot of an owl. A night bird trilled in response. Judith backed away and started down the road, hoping she was heading the way Luke had brought her. 


Do you see how the details I added filled out those few paragraphs, bringing the reader right into Judith’s mind, experiencing what she experienced?

But how do we add those details? And how many details do we add? How do we know when to stop?

One thing I do when I’m filling out a scene like this one is to place myself there. I know the lake where Luke took Judith – it has appeared in most of my Love Inspired Amish books. When I wanted to add the details to this scene, I started by closing my eyes. I went back in my memory. What does that lake look like? Where are the woods? The road in relation to the lake shore?

I thought about times when I’ve been in an unfamiliar place, and times when I’ve been outside on a dark, cold, windy night. I thought about what a lake looks like on a night in early spring, after the thaw and before the first leaves appear on the trees.

Finally, to all those memories, I added Judith’s feelings about what she had just experienced: an unwelcome kiss and a disagreement with the boy she thought she liked. Anger fading to uncertainty and fear.



But it is easy to go too far when describing a scene. Details can slow the action and bog the story down.

Here’s another example from the same story. In this scene, Guy (the hero) has just finished milking the cows and is running the milk through the cream separator. At the same time, he and Judith are having a conversation. I hope this snippet gives you an idea of how the scene goes:

Guy watched Judith from under the shock of hair that always fell over his eyebrows as he started assembling the cream separator. He tried to catch her eye, but she seemed distracted. She stepped forward to help him sort the dozens of rings and filters, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Well?” Guy set the filters in their place and attached the big onion-shaped hopper on the top of the cream separator.

“Are you serious about learning Deitsch?” She handed him the clean steel buckets that would hold the separated milk and cream. Guy started the slow, heavy crank, getting the separator up to speed before he poured the milk into it.

“Of course I am.” He lifted the first pail and poured the steaming milk into the hopper. “At least, I am if you’re going to teach me.” 


In preparation for writing this scene, I learned how a cream separator from the 1930’s works. I read descriptions and I watched You-tube videos. Too late, I realized I should have asked my dad, because he used one of these every day when he was growing up.

But now I know how to run a cream separator, and I know a LOT more than the little details I mentioned in this scene.

And I don’t know about you, but I love sharing information like this with anyone who will listen! I could have added SO MANY more details about cream separators…but I didn’t, and I’m sure you know why:

This scene isn’t about cream separators!

I put in enough details to place the reader in the milk house with Guy and Judith, but not so many that the purpose of the scene is lost.

In other words, don’t let your story get overshadowed by the details.

Learning to sprinkle in the right details at the right time is part of developing your writing skills, so today we're going to play a little game!

Choose one of the following sentences and add in a few details. Make the sentence your own, and share it in the comments. Practice making the sentence come alive for your readers!

1) She turned the page.
2) He closed the car door.
3) It rained all day.
4) It snowed.
5) The meal tasted good.
6) She saw him walking toward her.
7) The dog barked.
8) The smoke was thick.
9) She heard a door slam.
10) A baby cried.


Have fun!


*I will draw the names of two commenters this week to win their own copies of "The Amish Nanny's Sweetheart!"