raising the stakes

So I've made my outline. Checked it once. Checked it twice. And the comment I made in almost every scene was "raise the stakes." Or, I found myself asking a somewhat related question: "What is at stake?"

I'm not sure I consciously thought about what raising the stakes meant until recently. When it comes to screenwriting, I learned this summer that you have to torture, torture, torture your protagonist. Whenever you can, turn the screws. I think this rule applies to comedy as well--perhaps even more so. Larry Gelbart used to advise writers to always put the protagonist somewhere s/he doesn't want to be, even if it was something as simple as in an army boot with a big hole, walking through the rain.

At any given time, a character has an intention (I want something) and an obstacle (something/someone is in the way of my getting it). When we ask the question "What is at stake?" we're asking the character what will happen if s/he doesn't get what s/he wants (or, perhaps, what happens if s/he does). Put another way, "What have you got to lose (or gain)?" If there's very little at stake--a bruised ego, a slap on the wrist, etc., then the reader is going to lose interest in the story, as well as the character. Raising the stakes means taking your characters to the brink-- losing a job, a home, a relationship. Becoming a fugitive, a refugee, an exile. Or perhaps it's gaining a child and not being able to afford to take care of her, or winning the lottery at the expense of losing a friend. Perhaps it's coming face to face with death.

Torture, torture, torture.

Knowing what's at stake will inform how or why our characters behave the way they do. When we raise the stakes, our characters enter the Point of No Return. They're forced to make choices that cause anxiety. They have to do things differently. And that's what keeps our readers riveted.

As a revision exercise, take two scenes from your draft -- your best one and your worst one -- and study the action of that scene. Is there an intention? Is there an obstacle? Is your protagonist somewhere s/he doesn't want to be? Determine what's at stake. Then turn the screws -- raise the stakes and see how your character responds. What happens?

I can't wait to find out.

what our characters say reveals who they are

I came up with the idea for this post in the middle of the night as I was trying to fall asleep. My only hope is that the post doesn't read as if I wrote it in my sleep.

As writers, we've all heard the lesson of "show, don't tell" ad nauseum. We've dispensed and taken this advice throughout our writing lives, not to mention our drafting and revision process.

Example of telling: I opened the oven door to discover that I'd burned the roast. It was black and unrecognizable.

Example of showing: Marcus' nose emerged from behind the book he was reading, and crinkled. "What's that smell?" Just then the scent of smoldering sandpaper hit me. I raced to the kitchen, yanked open the oven door, and was assailed by a cloud of putrid grey smoke before pulling out the boulder formally known as my roast.

Ok, so that's a little wordy. But you get the idea. Showing involves the senses. It uses active voice and puts the reader courtside rather than in the bleachers seats.

Dialogue is not only a great tool for showing vs. telling, but also for revealing the various layers and aspects of your characters. In other words, what our characters say reveals who they are.

Consider this exchange between Devin and Andi during their first tutorial in Faking It. I'm deliberately taking out all the narration, but leaving in one direction of nonverbal communication.

DEVIN: What kind of music do you like?

ANDI: Beatles, Hendrix, Clapton, Nat King Cole, Diana Krall, Norah Jones, John Mayer...

(Devin glares at Andi and cocks an eyebrow.)

ANDI: I like guitars and pianos.

DEVIN: What kind of music makes you feel sexy?

ANDI: I'm not sure. I've never thought about it.

On the surface, this looks like really simple dialogue. One character getting to know another character, perhaps. But in the context of the rest of the scene, so much more is happening. For one thing, Andi and Devin are having a miscommunication, revealing that they don't know each other and are far from the point of reading each other's minds and finishing each other's sentences. Devin is asking the question not in a social way, but as a teacher, and assumes Andi gets the context. But Andi has missed the purpose of the question (hence the look he gives her). It reveals her disconnect with the subject of sex as well as with her own sexuality.

Additionally, the reader learns something about Andi that Devin doesn't yet know. Andi's musical preferences (at least in her answer) are mostly the product of her brothers' influence (one is a rock guitarist, the other a jazz pianist). And it's interesting that she doesn't explain this to Devin but rather declares she likes the instruments. We see that the strong connection to her brothers is special but has also been overbearing at times. We also see that she's withholding information from Devin.

Rhetorically speaking, the Socratic method is at work here (and forgive me for defying everything I teach my students and quoting Wikipedia, but it's convenient and defines it well): "a form of inquiry and debate between individuals with opposing viewpoints based on asking and answering questions to stimulate critical thinking and illuminate ideas." This is probably one of the reasons why dialogue so appeals to me as a novelist as well as a rhetoric geek. I'm all about the peeling back the layers, the getting to the heart of the matter, the quest for meaning, and ultimately, truth. I'm all about using argument and persuasion to get one person to see the other person (or perhaps themselves) in a way they've never seen before.

Besides, sometimes it's downright fun, like this exchange between Devin and Andi well after they've gotten to know each other (again, minus the narration):

ANDI: I absolutely adore the Impressionists.

DEVIN:You what? You adore the Impressionists? No. You can't adore them. No one adores the Impressionists.

ANDI: Why not?

DEVIN: You just don't. You--no one adores them. It can't be done.

ANDI: What the hell are you talking about?

DEVIN: The Impressionists are not "adorable." Things that scamper are adorable. Fluffy bunnies hopping in meadows. Little dogs with knitted sweaters. Those little hats that newborns wear. Baby shoes are adorable. Not Impressionists.

ANDI: Wha--?

DEVIN: You don't "adore" men who cut off their ears. You don't "adore" men who eat lead-based paint. Men who refused to compromise themselves or their work, even when it meant depriving their families of food. Men who kept mistresses. Who died poor and alone and bitter. There's something much bigger happening in these paintings, something way beyond adoration.

I love everything about that exchange (and there's more, but why give away my best stuff?) -- the rhythm, the humor, and the style (another post altogether); and yet again, there's something bubbling under the surface.

This time do your own dialogic analysis and tell me what you see.

If dialogue is not your strong suit, try a simple exercise of putting two people with opposite traits, opinions, backgrounds, etc. in a room together (better yet, have them get stuck in an elevator) and see what they have to say. Leave out the narration. I'll bet you'll be surprised what they reveal.

I also use dialogue to help me when I'm struggling with a character's motivation. In that case, the dialogue is usually between me and the character.

Overall, have fun with dialogue. Explore. And most of all, listen.

Antagonist 101

Although I learned quite a bit from the short fiction workshop I took at the Southampton Writers Conference, it was the screenwriting workshops that resonated with me. Namely, the various discussions about character. I had already known that I was more character-driven than plot-driven when it comes to novel-writing, but these workshops reinforced just how comfortable a place that is for me to be.

Two of the most eye-opening moments for me came about as the result of conversations about antagonists. The first time, my screenplay adaptation instructor Stephen Molton asked me who the antagonist was in Ordinary World (I had chosen this work to adapt). I had to think about this. Remember, I'm trained in rhetoric, not literature. This stuff doesn't come as quickly to me.

"Um, I think it's Andi's grief," I replied, my voice full of uncertainty.

Stephen, the nurturing teacher, clarified that grief was certainly one obstacle in the way of Andi's intention. (And then, a blast from the past: "man vs. man", "man vs. nature", and "man vs. himself" emerged from the memory vault marked "7th-grade English".) But there was a more obvious antagonist.

David.

Of course. He's the guy who always pushed Andi's buttons, first as Devin in Faking It. Literally, the antagonizer. I had never thought of him as such because I had always believed antagonists to be villains with sinister motives; and quite frankly, Devin/David never appeared as such to me.

Eye-opener number two came on the heels of this revelation in a second workshop with Will Chandler who mentioned, almost in a by-the-way fashion, that "the antagonist never thinks s/he's the antagonist; s/he always thinks s/he's the protagonist."

And just like that, my world opened up. Of course. Of course! No wonder David never appeared to be the antagonist. He even fooled me into thinking he was the protagonist (well, one of them). This revelation brought with it a new pair of eyes with which to see my current "cast" of characters in my latest novel-in-progess. It opened up possibilities in terms of exploring their depth, their motivation, and their perceptions. It made me excited to (re-)visit them.

And if that wasn't enough, Stephen, with super-screenwriter x-ray vision of his own, saw another antagonist, "the one hiding in plain sight," as he called it, that could be developed for the Ordinary World screenplay.

Can you guess who it is?

So, to sum up, here's what I bring back to my novel-writing: when getting to know my characters, it is key for me to ask what my protagonist wants (intention) and what's in the way of her/him getting it (obstacle). It is key for me to identify my antagonist not necessarily as the villain (although s/he very well may be), but perhaps either as one of those obstacles or, more literally, the antagonizer. And as I explore my antagonists' psyches, it will be key for me to listen to them make their case for protag status. No doubt I will learn plenty from them when they tell me. And so will you.

Elisa answers!

Amanda asks:

I read 'Faking It' on my kindle today, what a refreshing and unexpected gem of a find. I will read 'Ordinary World' tomorrow. I guess my question is this, is Andi and Devin/David's story done after 'Ordinary World' or is there more to come?

First, thank you, Amanda!
Second, this is probably the question I am most frequently asked by readers . And it both flatters and touches me to know that people have come to care about Andi and Devin so much that they want more. I love them dearly as well.

My answer is this: although I have no plans at the moment to write another Andi/Devin story, I never say never! Truth be told, I had thought Andi and Devin's story ended with Ordinary World. But with so many readers asking me for more, I found myself asking Andi and Devin if they had another story to tell. Their answer was "Maybe. We wanna take some time off first."

I will say that this little what if has been whispering to me... I'll say no more, however, because to talk about it would be like trying to pull up a tomato plant while it's still in seed form. I've also got at least two other what ifs ahead of it, also stand-alones, so it might take some time before a third Andi/Devin novel gets written, if at all.

In the meantime, my writing partner and I are still working on the manuscript for Why I Love Singlehood and looking forward to its completion. We hope you'll come to care about its characters just as much as you do Andi and Devin.

Keep the questions comin', friends.
:)

the world within

My good friend Elspeth wrote an excellent post on her blog, It's A Mystery, yesterday in which she presented the irony that many writers face.

"I find it amusing that many introverts spend their days (or nights) writing about extroverts with lives crowded with incident," she says.

Writing can be paradoxically a solitary act and a frenzy of social activity, only the activity is going on inside our minds or on the page. a writer's service can also be simultaneously selfish and selfless. (I write for you, but first I write for me. I can't persuade you if I don't persuade me.)

Here is the response I posted in her Comments section:

When I'm not writing, I want to be writing. When I have nothing to do but write, I want to be elsewhere, with other people. And yet, when the writing is working and I'm in the zone, I'm not alone. I'm immersed in the world of my novel.

Sometimes I want to be living my characters' lives (I agree with you, though -- not their problems!). Career-wise, Andi was/is much further along than me, and at one time I aspired to have her career. I also think Sam was the husband I had wished for.

In our current manuscript, the protag owns a cafe, and there's a part of me that always fantasizes having a place like that, almost like a home. But, in reality, I could never take the work ethic or schedule required to run such a business!

It's fun to live vicariously, but it's also important to have that alone time. I live a lot in my head, but I also live in the world. Sometimes I'm just not sure which is which.

Coincidentally, following my nanowrimo post, a novel started unfolding in front of my mind's eye. Characters are speaking, introducing themselves to me and each other, plots are slowly forming. What am I supposed to do with this? Should I start writing it on the page? Should I keep mentally composing? I'm already behind in my day job (my 24-hr day job, it sometimes feels like), trying to salvage the rest of the semester, trying to keep my students on track, serve them first, trying to get Ordinary World published in paperback before Christmas. Can I commit to beginning a new novel when the third one isn't finished?

I crave my summer vacation already. I crave the alone time, days like today, when it's gray and rainy, days when there are no papers staring me down, awaiting a grade, no lessons to be planned, no emails in my inbox to be answered.

When I'm not writing, I want to write. When I'm not alone, I want to be. When I'm alone, I go to the world within.

Writers, I'm going to steal Elspeth's questions and pose them to you: Do you cherish your time alone and wish you had more? Would you want the lives of your characters? Or is just the price we have to pay for being writers?

always put your characters somewhere they don't want to be

When we're not discussing Pop Tarts or trying to stump each other with lines from The West Wing, my twin brother and I talk writing. He's the one who always gives me the best advice, all of which he learned from other writers. For example, he told me to "always start as close to the middle of the story as possible". This came to him via Kurt Vonnegut. Like Stephen King, he admonishes me when I litter my manuscript with adverbs. And then there's the advice he gave me from Larry Gelbart: always put your characters somewhere they don't want to be.

Gelbart was likely thinking in terms of comedic effect when he dispensed this advice (and that's how I often use it), but I find it works well for any story that warrants conflict. And really, if there's no conflict, then what kind of story is it?

Think about it: On Northern Exposure, Joel Fleischman is stuck in Cicily, Alaska, away from his beloved New York. On M*A*S*H, Hawkeye is stuck in Korea. On Gilmore Girls, some of the best scenes are "Friday night dinner" at Lorelai's parents' house, a condition of the elder Gilmores paying for granddaughter Rory's tuition. And how can I not include Josh Lyman's disasterous press conference while CJ is forced to sit and watch it in her office, her mouth swollen after emergency dental surgery ("I had woot canow") on The West Wing.

In FAKING IT, there were a number of places Andi didn't want to be, whether it was in Devin's apartment stripped down to her underwear in broad daylight, or a freezing cold movie theatre, or a bad first date. More so, Andi began the novel not even wanting to be in her own skin, not wanting to be Andi. Hence, that someplace doesn't necessarily have to be physical in nature, but situational. Someplace could be a state of mind.

Characters need conflict. They need to have their back against the wall, be put in a position where either fight or flight is required. The funniest characters succumb to fits of temporary insanity, the wrong choice at the wrong moment with a series of consequences that fall like dominos.

Your characters will tell you where they want to go, and if you listen closely, you'll find out exactly where they don't want to be, which is exactly where they belong.