Given our current state of lockdown and distancing, I thought I would stay connected by offering Storyfix readers, regulars and guests–which is to say, those who seek and appreciate insight on the craft of writing novels–a few tasty notions to chew on and apply to their writing beliefs, processes and projects.
Hope you are all safe and staying sane.
Day One
Writing a great story is all in your head.
Or is it? The better question may be, should it be all in your head?
That’s the real issue at hand, in this or any other book about the craft of fiction. The destination of the serious author, in any genre, is to gain an understanding of the craft specific to it, and then apply that understanding to the development of a story within your process of choice.
Which tees up one of the most mission-critical memes in all of writing:
Too often we don’t know what we don’t know.
This is a paradoxical truism by virtue of its very nature. It is also a sticking point.
Because it’s that last part—what we don’t know—where both risk and opportunity await.
Of course, none of us know everything about writing a story that works, and few of us know every nuance of the story we are about to write before we begin, sometimes even once we’re well into it.
This not fully knowing applies, as it does for us, to the famous authors we read and the gurus whose workshops we devour. And we certainly can never claim to know what the market will respond to, or why.
Nonetheless we soldier on, into the dark woods of the unexplored, defaulting to an acceptance of not knowing.
And thus we find ourselves in yet another sort of paradox. Because it is the acceptance of what is actually, for lack of a better word, ignorance, when piled on top of the sheer volume of what we don’t know, that can take us down.
These excerpts are taken from my new craft book, “Great Stories Don’t Write Themselves.” Feel free to share with your writer friends, directly or via social media.
2 Responses
Hey Larry!
If that idea, “we don’t know what we don’t know” isn’t more appropriate for our current time.
Story is to resemble real life with the boring parts removed…I think Alfred Hitchcock said that.
What do we need to experience that maybe…we don’t have all the pieces to the puzzle? For me, it’s usually the door is locked…literally or figuratively. The door may not resemble a door but somebody I need to know, to get approval from (typical in business deals).
Curiosity. Isn’t that the root of an open mind? Are the minds of people today open? I can’t speak for others but I’ve always been a very curious person. I observe behavior and look for an explanation–just for something to do. I don’t look at outfits, fashion, tatoos…sometimes you can’t miss, but I look at the behavior.
It’s the same for me in fiction. What the character does and how she does it–that’s stimulating my curiosity. Clair Danes in Homeland for example. I don’t like watching Middle East anything because I find poverty stricken desert towns depressing–especially when people on multiple sides are making money, which brings us to the conceptual story of Homeland.
Clair Danes is amazing to watch. And what goes on is never what you expect–exactly. It’s good writing.
They claim that true life doesn’t have to make sense unlike fiction. Actually true life always makes sense–and if it doesn’t, it’s because you–don’t know what you don’t know.
Ignorance is not bliss in real life nor as an author. For a short time as a reader, you don’t wanna know–yet.
For anyone stumbling upon this site, Larry’s latest book really nails what stands in your way of writing a successful commercial fiction book–you. As in what you don’t know.
Any doubts? It’s like the guy who got electrocuted while working with live wires (true story) becaue he didn’t know someone turned them back ON.
Shared this excellent post on Twitter.
Hope you are well, Larry. {{{hugs}}}