All posts by Jordan

Technique

Backstory through narration

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This entry is part 7 of 20 in the series Backstory

For the most part, the primary way we see backstory is in narration—and this can be the trickiest mode of exposition of all. One of the biggest dangers here is getting into info dump territory: supplying all the information and context and life stories of everyone involved. Hopefully, when we’re using only “shards of backstory,” and only what’s absolutely necessary, that’s less of a problem—but sometimes it’s still tough to make sure that backstory remains interesting.

Being quick about it is especially important. Even if backstory is informing the current story, it still slows the current reader. As Theresa Stevens, editor, says (emphasis added):

Give the reader just enough to allow them to comprehend how the past event is linked to the current event. Use a minimal number of words, and return to the story timeline as quickly as possible. The story, after all, is what keeps the reader turning pages.

The story—the real story, the present action—is a great way to give any important backstory significance and relevance. Back in our series on tension and suspense, I pointed out a Mystery Man column at the Story Department about this kind of necessary exposition. Mystery Man says (emphasis added):

Great exposition is always in the context of something else. A scene should never be about exposition only. You should feed the exposition in the context of some other scenario that’s going on in the scene whether its poisoned food that’s eaten by a bad secret agent monkey or whether it’s something else interesting going on between the characters, such as a contest of wills, a budding love story, or perhaps exposition that’s being told to a secretly bad character who will use that information against the protagonists.

Backstory is best dispersed not just in small bursts, but in small bursts at the moment you need it—”in the context of some other scenario that’s going on in the scene.”

The theory I’ve heard is generally to wait as long as you can, and then reveal to the reader (or the characters) the rest of the story (RIP, Paul Harvey). The right moment is, of course, the one where the revelation will have the greatest impact.

Say, for example, the hero and heroine are arguing. The content of the argument seems silly to the reader—where to put an orange chair, let’s say. She votes for a.) the dump, or b.) the corner, under this lovely slipcover. He votes for a.) what’s the matter with my chair?, and b.) how dare you move it?, even though he’s already said how much he hates that orange chair. The reader and the heroine are mystified. The hero says mean and nasty things; the heroine runs away.

Then—the moment of greatest impact—we get one sentence of his thoughts—that heroine just wants to control him, like his mother did. Not two pages of sequel where he explains exactly how his mother always made him feel and how she treated him and on and on. Here, the information is revealed in the context of conflict, quickly, and at the moment when the reader needs it.

Naturally, my example is terrible, and there are lots of other ways to handle that particular scenario, but the point here is the timing.

What do you think? How do you determine when to reveal backstory? How do you do it in narration?

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Technique

Backstory: how much is too much?

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This entry is part 6 of 20 in the series Backstory

One of the big problems with backstory is stopping the story to fill in the readers. Last summer, for example, I tried to read a book where the author insisted on giving a life history of each character as they were introduced. The histories were between one and three paragraphs, I think, and outlined the characters’ careers, families and attitudes—none of which had any bearing on the present scene. Just for good measure, we even hopped into the heads of characters who weren’t even in the scene for this direct characterization.

I made it to page five.

Too much backstory early on stops the forward progress of the story—and in many cases, it stops the reader, too.

That doesn’t mean we can’t use any backstory. It just means we have to be judicious and quick in how we slip in our backstory. I love the analogy guest blogger and writing instructor extraordinaire Margie Lawson used last week. As she said, borrowing author Mark Sullivan’s analogy:

Slip shards of back story in dialogue or share it in a quick interactive way. You’ve got the first 100 pages of your book to fit in each sliver of back story.

Exactly how big is a shard? Author Chris Roerden says it’s pretty small:

Once readers become invested in the main character’s problem, you can insinuate backstory via one or two sentences. You don’t want to satisfy reader curiosity—you want to increase it. Several chapters later, after your readers are committed to finding out what happens next, you can offer a paragraph or two of backstory. Be selective. (Don’t Murder Your Mystery, 53)

That’s some loaded advice. First, Roerden establishes that we have to establish sympathy with our characters before we go interrupting the present story with their past. Then note the word “insinuate.” It doesn’t just mean imply—the primary definition is “To introduce or otherwise convey (a thought, for example) gradually and insidiously.”

It seems like much of the time, we slip in that backstory to answer questions we anticipate in our readers. Instead, Roerden points out, we should use backstory to build that curiosity and compel them to read on.

On rare occasions, answering questions can be valuable—if a situation (or character action) is so strange or objectionable on its face that the reader is more likely to be repulsed (or just confused) than interested, we should give a quick explanation.

This is often not what Roerden calls backstory—it’s “background” information. To use our Hamlet example, Shakespeare’s readers/viewers would be pretty darn confused if Hamlet’s mom is married, but there’s all this discussion of his dead dad and his uncle and something . . . Huh?

But even when providing background, it’s best to do it quickly and judiciously—and to involve the characters as we do it. More on that coming up!

What do you think? How much backstory do you put in at the beginning? Do you add more at a time as your story progresses?

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Technique

Jump into the action

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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?

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Technique

Where to start

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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?

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Technique

Backstory: the story begins

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This entry is part 1 of 20 in the series Backstory

Today is the day: we finally begin our series on backstory!

Backstory is the events that happened before your story starts. Your characters need backstory—but your story may not.

Our characters do need backstory—they need to have come from somewhere, have had experiences that shaped their outlook, attitudes, personalities, and reactions. Backstory rounds out a character, helps us to make their actions consistent and explains their motivations. Thus, backstory can and should be a huge tool for characterization and creating well-rounded characters.

But does your story need backstory included in its pages? The answer is probably yes—but the general rule is that to actually stop the story to play all that out as little and infrequently as possible.

Most of the time, backstory does influence the plot directly: at least part of the important events of a story come before the actual “start” of the story. Take Hamlet, for example: before the play starts, the story events are already in motion—his father is already murdered, and his uncle has already married his mother.

The backstory that creates the opening circumstances may be explained fairly quickly—but some of the backstory may not be revealed until the climax (such as the identity of the murderer) or the resolution (the hero[ine] explains why s/he acts in a certain way—though that may not be the best example. Readers get frustrated with inexplicable actions as much as characters do, so if it’s a POV character, we’d want to explore that a little more).

Coming up: how to tell story from backstory (i.e. knowing when to start your story), avoiding infodumps, using backstory to shape your characters, and a guest post by one of my favorite writing instructors, Margie Lawson!

What do you think? How do you define and use backstory?

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News & Contests

We interrupt (well, delay) this series…

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I know I promised a series on backstory, but something came up this weekend.

I don’t make a secret of it—I hate writing contests. And this is because I have never gotten useful (or even non-contradictory!) advice from them. That may be a reflection on the organization sponsoring the contests I’ve entered, of course, because after my first contest through another organization, I’m quickly beginning to change my mind.

This last weekend, I went to a writing conference. Despite my past experiences and with more than a little trepidation (and very low expectations), I entered the conference’s first chapter contest a month ago. I was really hoping to place, of course, but I didn’t expect to do well.

Nevertheless, every time I happened to see the Saturday lunch hour in the conference schedule (“First chapter contest winners announced”), my hearing dulled, my heart pounded and my stomach shriveled. Just thinking about that day put me through the first stages of a panic attack.

(This made planning my conference schedule very stressful 😉 .)

Finally, lunch rolled around. About halfway through, the conference coordinator got up, and the pulled up the PowerPoint that would announce the winners on the two 20′ screens in the hall. To all 450 attendees.

They received almost 200 entries. They printed over 900 critiques which would be returned to each entrant after lunch. And then they started on the winners. I almost hoped they’d start with my category, just so I could have my disappointment and work to move on. But no—first came third place, non fiction: title, author. Second place. First place.

They moved on to General Fiction. And another category. And another.

And then my category, Mystery/Suspense. Third place. Not me. Hey, maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Second place. Not me. Oh. There was no way I took first place—so I had my answer. It wasn’t me. That’s okay, I know how much these things are the luck of the draw—get one judge who doesn’t love your chapter and you’re hosed. And not everybody loves everything I’ll ever write. That’s okay.

Seriously, this felt like the longest pause of the ceremonies. Despite my best efforts at consoling myself, I could hear the contest coordinator’s voice saying the title of my story over and over again.

Stop, I told myself. Don’t torment yourself.

“First place, Mystery/Suspense: Saints and Spies.” This time it wasn’t in my head. “By Jordan McCollum.”

So that little announcement is why we’re not starting a new series today. Tomorrow for sure.

This came at a time I really needed it. Many thanks to all those who helped me prepare the chapter. Thanks for a great conference, to all those who worked so hard to put it on. I also want to congratulate so many of my friends who also placed!

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Technique

Awesome characters—literally

As a follow-up to his March column on Writer Unboxed, which we highlighted last time, Donald Maass takes a closer look at not just situations but characters who inspire awe.

Why is awe so important in writing? Well, to put it simply, it may not be strictly necessary, but it’s an element that will help you craft Maass’s favorite: a breakout novel, one that stays with readers and shakes them to the core. To do that, sometimes, you have to shake your characters to the core, too.

To create characters that inspire awe, he suggests:

Answer the following questions and apply the answers in your current manuscript:

  • What happens in your story that makes your protagonist the most angry? Anticipate that anger three times in the story before the big event.
  • What does your protagonist believe beyond all else? Create a story event that forces him or her to accept the opposite.
  • What does your hero or heroine see about people that no one else does? Find three times when he or she will notice that thing at work.
  • Why does your protagonist’s life matter? At the moment when that’s most true, allow your protagonist to humbly grasp their importance to someone else or to the great scheme of things.
  • As I’m sure you can see that’s just the beginning. Inspiring awe requires building awesome characters.

You might recognize this as very similar to exercises Maass suggests in Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook. These are challenging exercises that prompt you to dig deep into your characters—so have you ever done them? What have you found from exercises like these?

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Technique

Emotions as action

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Have you ever read a book (intended for someone over the age of 12) where the emotions lacked depth? I’m thinking something like “Her puppy died. She felt sad.” While it’s not always bad to tell an emotion like that, if that’s as far as you go in delving into your characters’ emotions, you’re robbing your readers of a rich experience of sympathizing with your characters.

So how can you show emotions? I know I’ve referenced this before, but one of my favorite resources on creating character emotions on the page is the article “Emotion is Physical” by award-winning author and editor Alicia Rasley. (It also goes hand-in-hand with her “Emotion without Sentimentality,” but we’re focusing on the physical now.)

Alicia’s basic premise is that one of the best ways to show deep, overwhelming emotions is through the character’s actions, rather than their thoughts or feelings.

Last month at Writer Unboxed, literary agent extraordinaire (and, by no coincidence, I’m sure, also an author) Donald Maass echoed that idea, with a stronger focus on eliciting that emotion from your readers:

So, now to the practical application: What is the strongest emotion you want your reader to feel? Search and delete that word everywhere it occurs in your manuscript. Now, how will you provoke that emotion through action alone? Got it? Good. Next write down three ways to heighten that action. (Remember that underplaying can also heighten.) When you’ve built a story situation that will force the emotion you want—make it happen.

What do you think? Do you build your story situations or your desired emotional responses first? What do you do to help show your character’s emotions?

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