Today’s excerpts are from Chapter 5: Realities, Odds, and Other Inconveniences
It’s true, we sometimes must kill our darlings.
Evolved writers tell us that at some point along the writing road, we will be asked, if not forced, to let go of things we were originally in love with. This refers to specific ideas, sometimes big ones, that no longer fit into the evolved premise, compared to the original version of the idea.
Some writers, though, are hesitant to do this. While others are blindly unaware of what an evolved premise means. (Hint: there are criteria for that… stay with us here.)
So they rationalize a way to insert their beloved pet idea—in the form of a scene or a piece of backstory or a situation—into the story that has already moved on from it. I’ve seen this happen frequently among new writers, who say this idea they’re now being asked to toss was what brought them to the story in the first place.
It’s like an adult bidding their childhood blankie goodbye. But as a professional who is criteria driven, which means we base our story development upon principles and criteria, we must not yield to that overprotective instinct. It can be the thing that makes or breaks the story when it comes time to send it out into the world.
As a principle, this will always keep you on track: Avoid the temptation to take side trips, to expand and expound on peripheral focuses, including overwrought backstory, and in general demand that every single scene in your story move the exposition forward through the contribution of something new or expanded.
If you are over-the-moon about your story world, that’s great.
Just don’t write 400 pages about your story world. Story world, important as it is, always ends up being the stage upon which your dramatic tale will unspool. The goal of story world is for it to become context to the story you are telling.
As strong as your story world seems to you, avoid writing a travelogue about it, where the only thing your hero does is traverse the landscape. Even the protagonist in Andy Weir’s smash hit, The Martian (originally self-published, but went on to land a 7-figure pub deal and became a hit movie starring Matt Damon), who must deal with a story world that is as deadly and fascinating as any you can think of, ends up being about how the guy ultimately gets off the planet.
What happens within your story world is far more important to the reader — even if they came for the story world — than the environment and its backstory will ever be.
These excerpts are taken from my new craft book, “Great Stories Don’t Write Themselves,” with the addition of some framing new content here. Feel free to share with your writer friends, directly or via social media.
One Response
Excellent post, Larry. I’ve had to remind myself of this many times.