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How to Avoid Nine Ways to Ruin Your Novel

Oh, you don’t want your book to totally suck? Huh. Well, maybe this is the right post for you—how to avoid those nine ways to ruin your novel.

No conflict

Even in literary fiction (actually, especially in literary fiction), we read to experience life through the characters. There really is no better way to relate to a character than to root for them, to really understand what they want and need and hope that they’ll get it, to feel defeat at their setbacks and catharsis at their final victory.

They need to want something, and that something needs to be worthwhile, worth struggling for 300 pages. Conflict is necessary, on every level. Your characters should want something (“even if it’s only a glass of water,” to quote Kurt Vonnegut) in each scene and in the book overall.

Need more conflict? Read more about plotting to add it on a macro level, or tension & suspense to add conflict to each scene and page. Or skip straight to 37 ways to add tension & suspense to your book!

No Emotion

I’m going to be saying this a lot, but readers read to connect with someone else’s life experiences. Humans are emotional creatures, and tapping into those emotions is almost like a powerful short circuit button for authors: show your characters’ emotions so vividly that your readers can’t help but experience those feelings themselves, and you’ll have your readers laughing, crying—and hooked.

Need more emotion? Read more about adding emotion to your novel!

No Effort

Like most people, I can be pretty lazy. Sometimes I hate hate HATE editing, especially the drudgery of scouring my work line by line for every little “JUST.”

Yeah, that’s lazy. Lazy writing can go even beyond that, though: not just using but relishing cliches, the automatic, trite phrases that have been used so often that we don’t think about them and they barely retain their meaning anymore.

Another culprit in this area can be telling—rather than digging in deep to really show what the character’s feeling and thinking and doing, we deliver a distant summary, holding our readers’ at arm’s length (when, once again, they want to experience this character and his life and his feelings!!)

Ready to put in more effort? Learn the difference between showing and telling (or bad telling and good telling)!

Too Much Effort

Wait, what? After she tells us to put more effort into our writing, now she says that too much will kill it? Crap for crap.

Okay, chill. When I say “too much effort,” I mean trying too hard to look like a good writer. Instead, you just end up sounding writerly. Or as agent Ann Collette tweeted in her Today’s Twelve roundup of queries:

And what does that mean? Ann elaborated a little:

Get it? Get it?

How can you make sure you’re not overwriting? Um, some no-nonsense critique partners? (Sorry I’m not more help. It’s a toughie!)

Starting Too Early

Beginning your book long before you begin your story is a major problem. (Beginning too late is less common, but it can be as difficult to overcome. Or not.) Without the conflict to help readers develop that emotional connection to the characters, readers are left floundering, frustrated and . . . bored.

There will be a lot of events that impact your story that happen before the story actually begins. This is called backstory, and you have to be very careful about how you place it in your present story, to inform without bogging the reader down.

Want to get your story going? Be sure to start in the right place, and brush up on backstory!

Not Trusting the Reader

You don’t have to overexplain everything every single time you introduce a new concept (everything) or character or setting or . . . or . . . or. Resist the urge to explain! The exposition of explanation bogs you down, and constantly re-explaining things is frustrating to your readers.

Not everything requires two paragraphs of explanation. Some things are better left mysterious, drawing out the reader’s curiosity. Other things do require a short, simple, direct explanation. And once you’ve explained something, you don’t have to rehash it every two chapters. If you’ve taken such a big detour that readers need the reminder that Agatha was killed and pretty much everyone suspects Agamemnon, your book has gone off the rails (or just gotten on them).

Explaining everything multiple times, constantly bringing the readers (via the characters) up to date on events they’ve already witnessed, and other failures to trust the reader are annoying. Repetition repetition repetition…. See what I mean?

This is a fine line for me, and I have a tendency to go too far the other way. I have a good memory (in general), so pulling facts from several chapters back out of my brain isn’t too hard. That might be a bit much to ask of everyone though.

How can you learn to trust the reader? Again, outside readers are often the best gauge!

Characters We Don’t Care About

Coincidentally, the first syllable of “characters” is “care.” Readers don’t have to love or even like your characters—but they do have to care about what happens to them. For the kabillionth time, we read to experience. Underpinning that experience is caring. Even if we’re rooting for the character to die a thousand deaths, we care. We want to read on. We want more.

But if we don’t care about the character? We don’t really care about finishing the book.

Want to get readers to care about your character? Read more about creating sympathetic characters—even unlovable ones!

Giving Up

The worst mistake you can make with almost any novel is to give up. Your book will never match the glorious vision in your head if you give up. If you want to let little black marks on the page defeat you, give up.

But if you want to be a writer—an author—this is the one weakness you can’t afford. You can fix everything else on this list—I know, I’ve done them all!—but there’s no way to fix giving up.

Just say no to giving up.

Is your persistence flagging? Read more about perseverance in writing and just keep swimming!

What do you think? What are the best ways to ruin your novel?

Photo credits: book heart—Jennuine Captures; baby with book—David Wuertele

Nine ways to ruin your novel

Some books totally suck. Here’s how to make sure your book is one of them.

No Conflict

There are people out there who’ll tell you that you need tension on every page, or tension in every scene.

They’re wrong.

The less tension, the better. Conflict is for aggressive people, and passive-aggression sells books. Besides, everyone knows people read just to enjoy the words you put on the page. Give them more words to mull over, less forward movement and action. If your character wants something, either have him/her give up, or give it to them quickly. Nobody wants to feel compelled to keep reading that way.

No Emotion

All emotional writing is purple prose and should be eradicated. The stark contrast between the words on the page and what the character is most obviously feeling will not only move your readers to tears, but it will probably also win the Pulitzer. No, they’ll have to create a whole new award for your awesomeness, and name it after you.

If at all possible, convey emotion by naming the emotion. If not, assume your reader will understand.

No Effort

True genius springs forth whole from your Zeus-like mind, after all. Editing is for lesser talents. Rewriting? Only if you wanted to feel the genius of your words flowing through your veins again.

Remember that every word you type, write, say, breathe or think is holy. Anyone who attempts to defile your glorious paean with “suggestions” or “critiques” is beneath contempt. Crush them with your superior intellect.

Too Much Effort

If one adjective is good, why not three? Five? Seven? Description is what brings novels to life, so we’ll need reams of it, as florid as possible. You should be the next Shakespeare, so try to emulate his style (except for the blank verse bit). You should be inventing new words every few pages, scouring thesauruses so you never repeat something so common as “said,” and giving your characters vocabularies to rival Noah Webster’s. People read to learn, don’t they?

Starting Too Early

The birth of your main character is probably too early. Nothing before age five or so, but from there, just pick up wherever it interests you. I mean, if you find it interesting, you know all your readers will. They’ll be just as riveted by those opening scenes of first-grade follies in your thriller as you are.

Not Trusting the Reader

Every time you introduce a new concept or setting or character, make sure you take a minute to explain as much as you can about this person. Their life histories, current relationships, current SO’s opinion of them (especially if that SO is too far to bring him/her on the scene), home, hobbies, pets, etc.

But readers don’t have great memories, we know, so be sure to remind the reader of two to three of those facts every time we meet this character/setting/everything again.

Characters We Don’t Care About

We have got to have more avant garde literature out there. Blah blah blah sob story blah blah blah orphan—whatever. Let’s get really experimental. What about a character everyone will hate as the main character? People will sing your praises for decades. Nobody could ever come up with something so original. Again with the new award to honor your awesomeness!

Give Up

The best novels are the unfinish

 

 

 

What do you think? What are the best ways to ruin your novel?

Photo credits: Why did you do this to me look—Julia Roy; Cat asleep reading—Gerry Brague

Jump into the action

This entry is part 4 of 20 in the series Backstory

Once you’ve settled on the who and the what, the when might still need a little fine tuning. In Revision And Self-Editing, James Scott Bell gives a great rule of thumb: “act first, explain later” (132). Start with action—a character doing something—and explain only what’s absolutely necessary, and even then, wait as long as possible.

There are other advantages to this approach, too. The primary advantage is that it piques the reader’s curiosity. This hearkens back to our series on tension and suspense, where one technique to increase tension within a scene is to start the scene with a bang.

One great way to create tension is not to explain these actions—at first. The reader is taken aback by this interesting or inexplicable action—and they’re eager to not only find out what happens next, but to learn why this is happening now.

As James Scott Bell says in Revision And Self-Editing, you can “marble in” this sequel information through the beginning of the scene.

This works on a story-level as well as the scene-level when used in the opening.

When done well, opening with action also helps to anchor us in the POV character’s head far better than, say, starting with their thoughts off in space could. Rather than thinking about the backstory, the character should be acting based on the backstory. Then slipping in that information will be natural.

In Don’t Murder Your Mystery, Chris Roerden distinguishes between “backstory,” the events that take place before a story starts, and “background,” which supplies information that was or still is true. To use yesterday’s example, Hamlet’s father being dead and his mother marrying his uncle are part of the background. By Chris’s definition, then, we want to get the background in so the story makes sense, but not so much we slow the story down—a classic problem of backstory.

Tomorrow we have a guest post from the magnificent Margie Lawson with more about managing backstory!

What do you think? What kind of action do you start with?

Photo by Horia Varlan

Where to start

This entry is part 3 of 20 in the series Backstory

Knowing where to start a story (or even a scene) is a fine art. Too early and we bore the reader. Too late and we confuse the reader (and then have to wedge in that much more backstory later). With backstory, the central issue is usually starting too early—we know these events will influence the story, but we still don’t want to start before the story “really” does. So how can we tell which events are backstory and which are story-story?

Two ways I can think of are focusing on:

  1. who our story is about (the protagonist) and
  2. what our story is about (the theme or the central events).

Take Hamlet, for example: when the play starts, the story events are already in motion—his father is already murdered, and his uncle has already married his mother. But Hamlet’s story doesn’t start until his father’s ghost appears to call for vengeance, and that’s where we join him.

Now, we could have started out watching Claudius plot and eventually murder Hamlet Sr., and marry Gertrude to assume the throne. But Shakespeare’s story wasn’t ultimately about the betrayal of family—it was about the consequences of inaction. Hamlet was his protagonist. (And that kinda made Shakespeare’s choice easy, since he needed Hamlet off at school when his dad was killed.)

Author Chris Roerden offers some more advice on where to find the beginning:

It’s where the first sign of trouble appears.It’s where a change threatens to upset the status quo. Mystery author and literary agent Jack Bickham says, “Nothing is more threatening than change. . . . Identify the moment of change, and you know when your story must open” (The 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes, 11-2; from Don’t Murder Your Mystery, 54).

Naturally, the backstory will set up the opening situation, as it does for Hamlet. Usually, at least some of those circumstances of the story created by the backstory should be quickly explained. We’d be awfully confused if it took a quarter of Hamlet’s story to discover that his dad is dead and his mother has already remarried. Of course, that doesn’t mean we have to explain everything in the opening lines. Backstory is more powerful when we save it as long as possible.

What do you think? How do you choose when to start your story?

Photo by Tom Magliery

Editing ambivalence

This month’s series will be on creating sympathetic characters! But that’s for tomorrow.

I love editing. I love eradicating errors (where did all those typos come from?!); I love finding better, more vivid ways to say things; I love rewriting scenes on the whim of inspiration for something that is much, much better.

On the other hand, I hate editing. I hate slogging through my book for the third fifth eighth time only to discover that it’s still not perfect; I hate feeling that I don’t know whether this latest change is any better than the last three versions of this sentence; I hate getting directly contradictory opinions over something I’m torn about myself.

This is the definition of ambivalence. (Go ahead, look it up—ambivalence means feeling strongly both ways about something, although the common misusage has naturally bullied its way in to many a dictionary. Ambi in Latin means ‘both’—like ambidextrous—and valence comes from the Latin verb meaning ‘to be strong’—the same root as valiant, for example.)

These days, however, my scale is starting to tip towards hate more and more. I think I’m burning out on my latest round of revisions. This will be my third round in two months, so I suppose fatigue is only understandable. But I haven’t written anything new in almost as long (aside from new/rewritten scenes), and that’s something that I really need to do.

Unfortunately, none of my many ideas is screaming “write me now!!!” at the moment. But rather than run myself ragged on revisions, I think I’m going to try to start on another book—just the first three chapters. The big risk here is that if my idea isn’t really ready, writing is like wringing blood from a stone—it’s just as tiring as another round of revisions.

Do you have a love/hate relationship with editing? How do you avoid editing burn out?

Photo credit—Book heart: Piotr Bizior; screaming: ralaenin

I just couldn’t wait

I know, I know, it’s terrible of me, but I just couldn’t wait to get started on a sequel to my latest manuscript. I’m still revising the last book (Duty of the Priest, maybe?), but I just had to get the opening chapters out of the way of this book. They were driving me crazy, and I was starting to think I was going to forget some good lines I wanted (and I probably did).

Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment.

New WIP!

It’s about time—three months after giving birth to my daughter, I’m starting a new work in progress. The idea was a joint effort between me and one of my best friends. We’ve outlined the plot for four POV characters and are both hard at work on parallel stories. Murder, mayhem and much fun will ensue!