If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes if hard to plan the day. E. B. White
Dawn has arrived and before it broke, the giant fir trees in the neighborhood looked ghostly in the gloom, but now they’re standing out in sharp relief. Meanwhile on the side street I can hear trucks arriving with shrill beeps and thumps as they park. They’re replacing sewer pipes in the next block and I fear that they’re going to work on this block also.
I know that many parts of the country are buried under snow and heard yesterday Wisconsin has had a record snowfall and I can imagine a world of white back there. Well, actually, in the cities the snow gets dirty and littered with piles of dog poop and they run out of room to stash the mountains of snow, but it’s still a world of white. While here in Portland yesterday when I was out walking I spotted buds and crocuses poking up and signs of spring all over the place as my eyes teared from allergies. And our weather forecast is calling for temperatures in the 50s in the coming days.
And so much is happening in the world as the writers in Hollywood are going back to work, Barack Obama has won eight primary elections or caucuses in a row and is still packing in thousands of people wherever he goes giving his stump speech about hope, while Hillary is rearranging her staff. Meanwhile, Republicans are laying down the gauntlet so that the debate in the summer and fall can be about 9-1-1 and fear and terrorism, not the fact that this country is sinking under debt and despair. Why are these guys so much better at strategy than the progressives? And isn’t it time for Harry Reid to resign after yesterday the vote in the Senate to give immunity to phone companies for warrantless wiretapping/snooping against Americans? Now the bill goes to the House—so we should also call our Congressman and tell them not to vote for it.
On Saturday I was in Olympia teaching a class on fiction and Monday I drove down to Albany to give a talk on the essentials of fiction. When I begin this talk I start by saying that compelling fiction haunts us and touches the deep layers in us. The best stories resonate and are created from elements that cause them to linger in the reader’s imagination, senses, emotions, and memory with a lasting clarity. When a story stays with a reader it does so because the writer employed dozens of techniques. These techniques are often invisible and are sometimes embedded in into the underpinnings or structure. All are needed to bring a story to life. They include: vivid character development, tension that crackles on the page, suspense that keeps us turning pages, conflict that creates worry in the reader and a fictional world that is so intimate, layered, and substantial that it breathes.
But this haunting isn’t easy and the process begins when the reader encounters the first word on the first page. This opening separates the reader from his everyday life and wrests him into the reality and simmering problems of the story. These first pages might open quietly or thunder, there might be a single character or dazzling, funny cast; it might depict an enchanted kingdom or a police precinct in the Bronx. Reading fiction is a physical, emotional, and intellectual experience, a way to live vicariously and to explore psychological issues
I talk about how the opening in fiction is a doorway through which the reader enters separating him from the real world. And in this world, the best stories are balanced, unified, and intimate.
Unity creates coherence and flow in a story -- everything in the story working together for a profound overall effect. Unity also refers to the notion that your story cannot read like it was created by a committee, but instead crafted by a single author with a compelling vision and design. Just as in a symphony or any musical composition, each note is designed to create a profound, overall effect.
Another aspect of unity is that all the aspects from the style choices to scene details to characterization push the reader to understand the themes of the story. Themes and controlling concepts connect the story and deepen the reader’s experience.
An intimate world isn’t created by merely piling on details. It means your story world has the resonance of childhood memories, the vividness of a dream, and the power of a movie. It’s filled in with shadows and corners and dogs and ice cubes and the sounds and smells of a dryer humming on washday and a car blaring past, rap music shaking the windows. These details lend it authority, potency, and a palpable physical existence.
An intimate story takes us to a specific place and coaxes us to remain there. An intimate story is lifelike and feels as real and complicated as the world the reader inhabits. When he finishes the final pages, and leaves the story world, he should feel the satisfaction of the ending, but also a huge sense of loss. Like a friend has moved to another town just when the friendship had reached a level of closeness and trust.
In a balanced story every element exists in proper proportion. The cast size is just right for the kind of story you’re telling and subplots don’t dominate the main story line. Each scene is orchestrated for potency, and backstory illustrates the front, yet the front story is the driving force. Secondary characters are quirky and add to the whole but never overshadow the main players. Description and details are also used in proper proportion because the amount of details you use telegraphs meaning. Also pacing marches past the less important moments and slows down for the most emotional scenes.
More to come….
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