Now, it is a fact that not all stories are character-centric, focusing on an individual or group of individuals who form the core of the story. The works of Annie Proulx, for instance, often have weakly defined characters. This is not an inherent weakness, however, since the “character” of her stories focuses more on the environment the characters live in rather than who they are and what they’re doing.

Annie Proulx, 1999

Writers who take this approach often consider individual people to be largely inconsequential to the greater scheme of things, and they are generally powerless to affect great change. This is a philosophical choice a writer must make, and I cannot argue with Ms. Proulx’s success, but I will say that it is a style that I personally dislike. The best stories, the ones people come back to and cherish the most, I feel, are the ones that possess a character that draws us in, that allows us to connect to the story, rather than to observe a tableau where largely faceless characters struggle against inexorable fate. These are the timeless stories, such as with Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, Sethe and Denver in Beloved, and Abel in House Made of Dawn. These stories allow the reader to delve in to the minds and lives of people as they learn and develop, allowing the reader to connect directly to the story.

It is also no mistake that most works of popular fiction also focus so strongly on characterization. It’s human nature, voyeurism, the ability to look in on other people’s lives and observe what they do. Why do you think biography, memoir, and reality TV have become so popular in recent years?

Harper Lee, 1960

They’ve been around in one form or another for a long time, but the trend has become stronger more recently, and writerswho wish to be published in the here and now would do well to know what people want to read. They want characters to bond with. Lords know that even a weak story, plagued with iffy writing (Twilight) can survive on the backs of characters that allow readers to connect with them. This is especially true of serial stories, where the same characters appear again and again.

For instance, Terry Prattchet has constructed dozens of characters that regularly appear off and on in his Discworld novels, such as the incompetent wizard Rincewind, and the cunning Commander Samuel Vimes. Jim Butcher has built a career on the back of his powerful but notoriously unlucky wizard, Harry Dresden, in The Dresden Files. These are characters that compel readers to return again and again, to see what trouble they have gotten themselves into now.

Jim Butcher, 2000

All the aforementioned characters share something very special in common. They are fairly average people. Some may be possessed of extraordinary abilities, but at their core they are people. Flawed, at times vulnerable, and their concerns and worries are not so dissimilar from our own. Often times they are down on their luck, or put in untenable situations, or have significant hurdles to overcome. Everybody loves an underdog. This trait is not universal, but it is common enough. Even the most competent or powerful characters, such as the legendary Sherlock Holmes or superheroes such as Superman, Batman, Spiderman, etc, possess the same basic human traits and must overcome significant odds in order to succeed. The struggle to persevere is central to every single character and story ever written. Without struggle there is no story to begin with. And without a connecting character or characters it is often difficult to become connected with the struggles in the story. People like stories about other people – especially extraordinary people.

When it comes to my own writing I usually begin with a single character, a primary protagonist. I get to know this character usually by constructing a character philosophy, answering certain questions that help me get into the character’s head. How did he/she grow up? What interests him/her? If confronted with X situation, what will he/she do? Then, sometimes, I compose fictional journal entries for the character, giving the character a written voice. This allows me to delve into the head of the character, especially if the story is told from a third person perspective, where it is more difficult to get into individual characters minds without breaking the barrier between narrator and character. In first-person perspective stories it is easier to get into the character’s head, but the philosophical questionnaire still guides me to think from the character’s perspective, allowing me to distance myself stylistically from the character while still engaging with him or her in writing. This may seem a little overly-complex, but think of it in terms of being an actor, getting into character. Once I know who this character is, I can then build a story around him/her, or them in the case of an ensemble group.

The hope is that in the end the characters feel very natural, and in the case of groups of characters, that their interactions among each other are consistent with their personal philosophies and manners of thought. In the end, though, it saves on editing time for me. When I first began I simply wrote, letting the chips fall as they may. Some writers can get away with this, but I suppose I’m a bit of a scatter-brain, so these character outlines allow me to maintain style, voice, and consistency throughout the first draft, limiting how often I have to go back and alter previous sections where I find a character “slipping,” or simply fading into the background (unless the character in question is meant to do so). When building a character in outline I first envisage basic physical appearance, age (not always specific, but generally in the age range I intend the story to focus on, such as Late teen/Early twenties), and then answer certain questions in-character. Most of my outlines read a lot like a personality test, determining what actions they would take if, say, they were confronted by a physical threat to themselves or a friend, and then a stranger. The outlines are never long, but serve me as a touchstone as I craft the story.

While it is not universally true, characters will often be of a similar age to their intended audience. For those that don’t, their mentality, actions, and the situations they find themselves in will be relatable to a certain age-range. Take Rincewind of Terry Prattchet’s Discworld novels. He is older, never determined specifically but he is likely in his mid-late forties, but the situations he finds himself in as the universe’s punching bag, running through a story filled with socio-political pop-culture references makes him a character more appealing to a 20+ year old age bracket, whereas Scout of To Kill a Mockingbird is a child, but the story is certainly not childish. It may be seen from the point of view of a child, but her story is one that has touched people from their teens and into their twilight years, since her story is a universal one. Other characters have a definite intended audience, the largely teen-based fans of Twilight for example, but they still share qualities that appeal to women in their twenties, thirties, or forties. Truth to tell I can only guess why in this case, but such is the nature of voyeurism and the desire to live vicariously through another. If you want to attract the widest possible audience, this is an important lesson to learn for commercial publishing: the characters you create must reflect a target audience, but still be accessible to those outside that audience. This is even more important if the characters you create will appear again and again, sufficient to attract a following.

One final element to character design that I feel is important is to view the world in which the characters operate as a character in and of itself. This is especially true in the genres I operate in most – Science Fiction and Fantasy. The world has a way of working all its own, and defining how it works is vital to building a story that remains consistent throughout. In The Dresden Files for instance, Jim Butcher builds his world-character from a combination of various myths, legends, and histories. In the world of Harry Dresden, Earth has languished under the yoke of the Age of Reason, but in the modern times magic, the supernatural, and the many creatures of folklore and legend are beginning to return in force and to become more noticeable. Most people still ignore the strange and unusual, since it defies the logic we as a species have nurtured for the past few centuries, with the rise of science. The world operates by unique laws, governing how magic is used (a la the White Council and its rules regarding the use of magic) to how practitioners of magic interact with the modern world (such as shorting out complex machines, frying computers by simply being near them, etc). In Terry Prattchet’s Discworld, the world itself is actually the most important character, the one major constant in all the many stories that occur on it. A disc, resting on the backs of four elephants that in turn stand on the back of a giant turtle, floating through the vastness of space. The unique play of magic, light, and forces on the Disc determine how the characters operate, and what stories occur.

Terry Pratchett and Stephen Briggs, 2004

What a particular character is like is of course important, but understanding how they live in their world, especially when that world differs so much from the real one, is even more important, since it will guide how they operate and how the story unfolds. Once that is done the story itself is comparatively easy, especially since all stories ultimately boil down to two things: Stranger enters the scene and stuff happens, or the character goes abroad and stuff happens. Frankly, when it comes down to it, that is the operating system of all stories ever told, with the only defining factors being what specifically is happening, and what the characters do about it. Building the world and building the characters, really getting inside their heads, and then working on the story or stories has for me been the most effective method of writing with consistency and focus. It is not a method that works for everyone, and it might seem overly mechanical, but I recommend giving it a try, experimenting with it, and seeing how it works for you. And hey, once you have a whole universe built-up, the possibilities for new characters and stories is endless.

Cheers, everyone, and good luck in all your future writing endeavors.

That’s all well and good – artists in other mediums have needed tertiary skills like this for a while – and it’s probably time for writers to catch up. That’s cool. I get it.

I also get that all writers aren’t Emily Dickinson or Thomas Pynchon. Some writers thrive on self-promotion. Indeed, self-promotion might BE the logical extension of the urge to write in the first place, if the urge to write stems from self-expression (I’m not convinced that it does, but that’s another conversation).

But what about the writers who tend away from self-promotion? There’s a dilemma there, especially for self-publishers who don’t have any corporate help.

I’ve been considering all this because of the #amwriting hashtag that’s recently appeared in the self-publishing community on twitter. Including the hashtag in a tweet is the first step to being included in the corresponding website, amwriters.wordpress.com, a writer biography portal and storefront.

It’s silly to be conflicted about little things like a hashtag, but damn it, I’m nothing if not a dude who over-analyzes things.

So, while I respect what amwriters.wordpress.com is doing for the community by linking writers together, I can’t help but feel the same way about the #amwriting hashtag as I do about that hipster I see in every coffee shop ever. You know the one I’m talking about. He’s always sitting in the corner, typing away on a Macbook, wearing emo glassses, a plaid shirt, and pants so tight I can see his sack, all while trying his best to look like he’s concentrating on the NEXT BIG THING even though he’s really just blogging to rant about silly things that don’t matter (VERY AWARE OF THE IRONY, THANK YOU).

“But, luke,” you say, “Aren’t you the guy who always writes his name in lowercase like a pretentious tool and shamelessly promotes your work even while you’re still writing it?”

“Why yes,” I’d say (in our theoretical conversation. Also, you should back up a little – I can tell you had garlic for lunch), “I am indeed such a person. But, lo, I sayeth unto you – there is a key distinction between promotion of the work itself and promotion of the activity that produced it, and therein, as they say, lies the rub.”

What the hell am I talking about, you ask? I’m talking about people who have to declare that they #amwriting. It feels to me like something they are doing to “be seen” rather than just doing because they like it, just like that hipster guy who has to write in public.

Writing is inherently a solitary activity and the real thing that matters is the product, not the activity itself. The actual act of writing is stupidly boring to the outside observer – that’s the reason they’ve never made writing into a reality show ala Project Runway. Writing is some person sitting at a desk for hours typing and playing “let’s pretend.” There’s no reason to broadcast that activity to the world – when you put out a book, a story, or anything else written, people know how you did it. You sat there and you wrote for awhile.

Now, I get that some people might include the #amwriting hash tag not to be seen, but to feel community solidarity and encourage themselves that they are doing something meaningful. But it seems to me that if they need those things – a community and public encouragement (for performing the activity. Encouragement for producing a quality work is something totally different) – then they should question why they are doing it in the first place. The meaningful thing is the work that’s produced.

Unless I completely misunderstand the intent (which is possible, I suppose), including the #amwriting hashtag is no different from informing people you’re doing other things. Perhaps I should start including #amdefecating or #amstokingmyego hashtags in my tweets.

Because it’s the same damn thing.

Or, it’s even worse – it’s attempting to buy into an idealized conception of an artist, the idea that artists are these mystical unicorns that should be encouraged for doing what they do. But that’s dumb and not anything like the actual experience of writing.

Robert Heinlein said it best when he said, “Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards.”

I am blogging. Yes, yet another random person hurling their random thoughts onto the net in the hopes that someone will care enough to read them. I had the same reaction to joining Facebook a year or so ago, but folded under the constant nagging of a friend of mine.

But do not expect me on Twitter. EVER. There’s a line, dammit.

So, who am I? What do I have to write about, and why should anyone bother reading what I have to say? In short, my name is Elric, and if anyone out there is familiar with the works of Michael Moorcock, yes, that Elric. My father was a fan, otherwise if my mother had her way I would have been Sumner. Thanks, dad, I mean it. I’m a writer (as if that should be any surprise, given the nature of this site), focused mainly on the Sci-Fi/Fantasy genres, a historian specializing in military history, and a literary scholar with a Master’s degree in English. This means three things: One – I have spent most of my twenties hiding in the halls of academia, learning to analyze literary works that most people don’t give a shit about, and they don’t want to hear anything about it because they’re busy watching American Idol and Dancing with the Stars. Two – I am in debt up to my ears and still can’t find decent work because I have an MA in English, which at this moment is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Three – that I am skilled at performing in-depth analyses of media in order to discover what techniques they use to communicate with the public.

That sounds like awesome fun, doesn’t it? No? Don’t worry, I can still enjoy Adam Sandler movies and read old Robert Asprin novels, which allows me to both enjoy the less dramatic things in life while still being able to look inside and see how all the metaphorical bits work. Even “dumb-comedy” has its key techniques, just like dramatic literature, and when it works it works (Airplane, Happy Gilmore, Hot Shots for example)

Bob gets physical with Happy

but when it doesn’t, it doesn’t (Epic Movie, most anything by Will Ferrell).

LOL? No? Me neither.

When I do write a review or analysis for a book, movie, video game, or what have you, know that I do not judge all works based on one set of criteria. I seek to understand what it tries to do within its particular area, and then I break it down to see how it does it and whether or not it failed to meet expectations. My expectations, anyway. Everything with a grain of salt and all that.

Which brings me to what I write about. As you have probably guessed by now you can expect reviews and analyses of books, movies, and whatnot from me. I tend to focus on genre fiction, but I may also pop-up with a piece of non-fiction literature when something catches my attention. I am also an anime/manga geek – but not an otaku. There’s a line there, too. And that line is Man-Faye (look it up – at your own risk). Anyway, look for anime reviews and recommendations from me from time to time, if you care for that sort of thing. Also, I will be tossing up some of my thoughts and techniques when it comes to writing. I do not speak as an expert here, as I haven’t published diddly of any importance, but I do have some ideas that might be useful to others who struggle with certain aspects of the writing process, especially when it comes to characterization and dialogue, my two strongest areas, and I know many writers have trouble with those aspects of the writing process. So, consider this more friendly advice and brainstorming than expert commentary.

My attention tends to drift a lot though, so expect a healthy dose of random crap to come from me, including socio-political commentary, scientific developments, and gluten-free recipes (I was recently diagnosed with celiac disease, and it’s a bloody pain in the ass). I’ll also be shamelessly pimping my own work, too, so look for that, check it out, and give me money. Please. Pretty please?

Oh, I didn’t answer why you should be reading any of this crap from me. Well, I’ll leave that up to you all. Maybe I’ll bring some insights. Maybe I’ll make you laugh. Maybe I’ll point you towards something interesting and off-the-wall. Or maybe you’ll like my recipe for Chicken Curry. Anyway, that’s all for now, look for my first substantive piece of writing, “Constructing Character,” in the next couple of days. Until then.

While you’re there, you can also read Waiting, a short story about a young man who returns to his home town for an ex-girlfriend’s wedding.

Thanks for reading! Comments always appreciated!

However, it does have its drawbacks. Fear of failure is the top of the list, as well as social comparison. But those things are well documented (by better writers than me), so there’s no sense retreading old ground. Instead, I want to talk about one of the minor drawbacks to being a writer (though it might be a boon, if you’re the half-full glass sort), and that’s something I call writing the self. Hold on to your hats, we’re about to get all deep and shit (ha!).

The thing about writers is that they are both creators of culture and also perhaps those most easily swayed by it. The reason for this is that writers exist in the realm of ideas more than non-writers, if for no other reason than we spend long hours thinking up stuff that doesn’t exist and pretending it does. It means that other stuff that doesn’t exist can hold great sway over us, since imaginary stuff is very real to us.

This is fine and all well and good – it allows writing to happen – but it also makes us more susceptible to powerful ideas that we didn’t imagine, ideas that someone else imagined, like social concepts. Justice and love are just as imaginary as the characters in a novel, both are ideas and can have an effect on our lives, but have no physical location in the “real world.” (I don’t want to get into a debate here about love and justice existing or not existing here: show me a handful of justice and you’ll prove me wrong. Until then, just chill and listen to my armchair philosophizing. These things are ideas. The fact that they are so pervasive just makes them POWERFUL ideas.)

There are many social ideas we’ve given cultural power by adopting, but the one I want to discuss here is the idea of being an adult, and why it can be problematic. The thing is, writers believe so strongly in the power of imaginary ideas that we have no problem taking an imaginary idea and believing it has a bigger effect on our lives than someone who didn’t spend so much time imagining things.

The idea that I’ve become an adult is something I’ve done my best to adopt, but because I didn’t know what exactly being an adult entailed, when it seemed like it was time for me to be an adult, I reached for cultural markers, imaginary standards, and did my best to emulate them.

This involved two things: the completion of common adult milestones (college, real job, paying bills, etc.), and a reach into the religious mythos of the past, specifically Paul’s 1st letter to the Corinthians, chapter 13, verse 11.

Both the milestones and the biblical advice are imaginary ideas, but because I am a writer (someone who entertains imaginary ideas on a regular basis), it was easy for me to accede to the cultural power of these ideas. I made them my own. In effect, I took ideas and wrote my self.

I’m not sure if other writers have struggled with this or not, but it seems my experience that my association with imaginary things has made commonly accepted social concepts very easy to adopt without knowing it. They just sort of sneak their way in, and invoke very powerful feelings, because I take imaginary things seriously. The problem with that is that adopting ideas without knowing it can lead to some very strange results.

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve loved Lego blocks and comic books. If I had to guess why, I’d say it was because I love the power of imagination contained in the mediums. Building a Lego castle is very similar to writing – blocks of ABS plastic can be arranged in countless different forms, but the blocks stay the same. I feel like words are similar (even though words do change, over many years).

I wasn’t a poor kid growing up, but I wasn’t rich, either. So when I got a new Lego set, or a new comic books, I would have fun with it, but also spend hours flipping through the included Lego catalog, or list of comic book back issues I missed, and tell myself that when I grew up I would buy all the Legos and comic books I wanted.

Then, of course, I did grow up, or at least, I got older. It happens to everyone. But beyond that, I wrote myself as an adult, adopted all the ideas that I thought would make me an adult. But I still wanted Legos and comic books. So I bought them.

It’s funny: I avoided Legos and comic books for so long because I’d written onto my self that adults don’t want those things anymore. But then, once I saw that the whole idea of an adult was just a cultural ideal I’d adopted, it was imaginary, and I’m susceptible to imaginary things, I bought a bunch of Legos and comic books and enjoyed the hell out of them. I rewrote what I thought an adult was, or maybe just said to hell with it, and didn’t worry about being an “adult” anymore. I’m not sure which it was.

Either way, it frightens me how easy it was, once I started thinking about it, to rewrite things I thought I knew about myself. Thinking about it further, the ease I had, rewriting my adopted idea of what an adult is, I wonder if that’s the reason that writers and artists seem like they are always on the forefront of “causes” and why they sometimes seem to be the strongest proponents those causes, only to switch to something else 15 minutes later.

I guess you could call that wishy-washy. I think I’d call it rewriting the self. The thing is, the imaginary is so strong for us, and we develop such fluency with it, that trying on multiple ideologies like suits or hats (or pick your favorite clothing simile) is easy. This rewriting of the self is probably why I love the internet so much, because without physicality, it’s easy to rewrite who I am to the rest of the world.
I don’t know, myself by talking about writers doing this I’m grouping in more people than should be lumped in. Maybe it’s not writers. Maybe it’s just my generation. Maybe it’s just me. I’m not sure.

I’m just surprised by how it is to rewrite the self, when the rest of the world seems to struggle with it so much.

-m.

It’s unfortunate, but I like being able to pay my bills. The jury’s still out on whether I’ll be able to keep pace without writing as much as I’d like to (need to?) for long. Every day I feel like the other shoe is going to drop. And it’s a long way down.

But it’s not just time that’s constricted me lately. I’m not stuck in my current project – I know where I am and where I’m going, but the words just come out wrong. My brain feels thick and empty.

At least, until tonight. And I know why. I just always forget.

I’ve barely read anything lately. I’m about to move (Tuesday) and so I’ve been putting off going to the library. But a buddy of mine recently convinced me to borrow one of his books, the first in a series he’s been trying to get me to read for months, The Dresden Files – Storm Front by Jim Butcher.

I put it off because, as I mentioned in a previous post, I have an intense distaste for series and universes, especially for those that tend toward the episodic. You won’t hear me change my tune here – I’m only halfway through the book, and though I always force myself to continue through to the end once I’ve started a book, it’s just as bad as I thought it was going to be.

Aside from occasional bits of punnery and humor which have made me chuckle, the book is poor, for the simple reason it’s written with words and not with imagination. There are certain stock phrases that writers tend to use when they are attempting to describe a scene or a character, phrases that work in language but not as visual descriptions. These phrases have become shorthand, shortcuts, for writers, and they betray that the writer is not visualizing the scene while composing it. Rather, the writer is shortcutting straight to words.

The line that gave this realization to me was Butcher’s description of a character named Morgan, a man with “boyish good looks.” A stock phrase, “boyish good looks” doesn’t convey any fresh image in the reader’s mind. It tells me that Butcher wrote the words but did not picture the scene. What exactly are boyish good looks? Yes, if you focus on them, try to dig into the words, you can realize a crude image in your mind’s eye, but more likely you’re trying hard to play devil’s advocate to my assertions, rather than actually being able to claim that “boyish good looks” conveys to you a descriptive and interesting character portrait.

I admit, Storm Front is Butcher’s debut and must be taken as such. But this type of thing conveys to me the type of writer he is, one who begins with a story and dry words, rather than beginning with visualizations of the scenes and images. He doesn’t find “the hole in the paper” as Stephen King’s character Paul Sheldon in his book Misery would say.

However, the critique aside, Butcher has afforded me another reminder of what I’ve known and been told for a long time, that one cannot expect to constantly write without constantly reading. As much as I dislike Butcher’s first novel, after only reading half of the short tome, already the words flow much easier through my fingertips.

Reading is brain fuel for the writer, as if by typing out words on the page, a gastank in the mind is drained with each keystroke. And even by reading words that don’t particularly ignite my interests, the tank in my mind is fuller than it was before I started.

It’s bookfuel. I always forget that. And always remember it again after I get stuck somewhere and remember to just read for awhile before returning to the keyboard.

Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Bookfuel. Remember it. As for me, I’m returning to Butcher’s cheap newsprint pages. It’s saccharine schlock, but maybe a sugar rush was just what I needed.

-m.