More fodder for the writer’s inner learner.
Day 3
Principles and criteria are what feed and nourish our instincts as writers. All writers–plotters and pantsers alike–rely on this storytelling instinct.
But all instincts are not created equal, nor are they applied at the same point along a writer’s learning curve.
It is when those instincts are underdeveloped–which is the case for almost all new writers–that our reliance is misinformed.
Instincts inform all points along the story development process continuum, because they can be applied at the moment of creation, just as they can be retrofitted at the revision and polish stage. That’s two points of entry where criteria are concerned . No matter how you get there, when the story works, it will be because of how the story reads and unfolds, rather than how it was assembled.
Because the criteria don’t favor any given process. Many roads can take you there, even though many forms of the end product are not as available. And when you arrive, the reader will neither know nor care what your process was.
So if this is true—and I can assure you that it is—process boils down to nothing other than a choice. A comfort level leading to a preference. This is critical context for understanding the bigger picture, where process and product merge into one outcome.
We need to know when we’ve arrived at a final draft and when we haven’t.
This is one of the highest-risk benchmarks new writers, and too many resistant writers, face. How do we know when the story is done, and if it’s good enough? They stop too soon, before all the requisite bases have been touched—because they aren’t aware of, or don’t believe in, the term requisite—or the scenes remain less than optimized.
Or, they don’t stop soon enough, which leads to overwriting. Either way, the story is thusly compromised … unless and until they know.
Here’s the paradox that results: They think they know, but outcomes show that they don’t.
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.
One Response
Man, what a great thing to consider: “How do we know when the story is done, and if it’s good enough?”
This “Storytelling Instinct” is something that is learned, just like every other learned instinct in life.
What do you call Assume? It’s where u make an ass in reference to me. Why? Because you didn’t know what you didn’t know–guessed WRONG.
Consider your technologically easy life: how do you know when the glass is full of water? Because you can see when the water overflows. How about when your car gets too close to the fence? You see it coming (you have eyes) and you have the “life experience” to know when you will hit it (exceptions are when you’re wasted, and you can’t discern when the fence is too close, you’re driving too fast, and you can’t find the breaks). Presumptions are you “know how to drive.”
But did you know how to drive by being a passenger? No. You may have had an idea, but being behind the wheel in rush hour traffic or on the Los Angles Freeway…or in Chicago coming up to the permanent toll booth (they sold those to China BTW…) should you stop or take the left thru lane (and get a fat fine later)–THAT took time.
Social Media and “smart phones” ironically have dumbed us down in regards to having an awareness of what it takes to know something vs. having an opinion that you know all about it. It gets worse…opinions are now driving the marketplace and everything else–actual experience is no longer required.
Until you hit that fence, which turned out to be a BRICK WALL. For the novelist, this means your book is REJECTED…either literally or by NO SALES to speak of. **Exceptions are for marketing the book, which is an entire new ballgame that requires you’re in control of your book, not a passenger to wake up finding your book is a car hijacked and stashed in an obscure parking lot.
How do you know when the story is done? It’s like everything else. You have to know the parameters of the road and the vehicle you’re using to drive. If you can’t follow that metaphor, then that’s a HUGE clue… it’s not that you’re an idiot, it’s that your imagination is stagnant.
Driving an actual car requires a physical body with eyes, arms, and legs, feet, and hands. Driving a story is NONE of that physically, other than the keyboard. You MUST have a keen intellect and imagination–you MUST go to the gym!! Most have their minds atrophied from the school system of “memorize and regurgitate = degree-grade”. That is a weak mind. Writing fiction is bloody monumental compared to school.
Story? You have to understand the dynamics of story. You need to understand where the FENCE line is, so you don’t CROSS IT. To be ridiculous, you write a poem and call it a story. That’s a place to start– there’s a big fence there. You cross it, and nobody will read your “story”. At this point, you should have a lightbulb that says, “what is a story”?
You start with “it’s about something happening,” but to leave it at that is like giving the car keys to a drunk who can’t see but has the gas pedal–accidents are comin’ right up!
Sure, this is about Larry’s latest book which deals with these fences so you aren’t off in the field up to your wheel wells in mud–because you MISSED the SIGNS because your intellect, your imagination, couldn’t put together the framework for a story and all the parts inside it.
Remember: you aren’t writing a story. You’re CREATING a real GOOD novel! GOOD means other people enjoy reading it!