What was hard to write?

[Mad Swede]

I’d love to know about peoples experiences writing series. Fantasy specifically. Or SF, but more fantasy.

Seriously? It just happened. I didn't start out with that intention, I wanted to write standalone books. I tried to make the stories standalone. But still my readers think of the stories as a series, to be read in a certain order. And they keep asking when the next in the series is due. In some ways it's a bit of an anchor, because I find myself having to return to the characters. Not that I've run out of ideas, far from it, but it would be nice to have another setting or other characters. But that isn't what the readers want...

 

[A. E. Lowan]

I still struggle with fluid engaging dialogue as a fledgling.

I'm so sorry, somehow, I think we all scanned past this. Dialogue is a pain in the ass. My wife writes fantastic dialogue. I don't. I do write good funny, and it often finds its way into the dialogue, but it's always been my weakest area.

And it's okay. Everyone struggles with some aspect of writing, usually more than one. And there's really only one way to overcome it. Writing is a craft, and you only improve in a craft by doing. A lot. Over and over and over until you're wondering when these people are ever going to shut up. But they don't, and a few years from now you are going to be grateful for that.

And then, because you're a writer, you'll find something else breaks and it's back to learning.

The best advice I have for dialogue is to listen. Listen to how the stories you read sound. Listen to how people speak when you're out and about. People watching in general is a useful skill for any writer. Or spy. Or a writing spy. Never know.

Dialogue, and I don't know who I'm quoting here, is talking with all the boring stuff taken out. Now, the tricky part is figuring out what's boring and what's needed for things like character development, setting, signposting or billboarding (foreshadowing), or wherever you have a need for it. Also, don't forget speech tags. Said is not dead, but I know I live and die by speech tags. They clue us in to all of the subtext going on in any conversation.

And there's us. Scribes is here with writers at all levels who are more than happy to lend a hand and offer advice. There are also social media groups, some really wonderful, that are worth time and investment on your part. Good friends to be found out there.

 

[Prince of Spires]

But I do think there's room for later advice, even though it becomes less universal. How to write a series--and different kinds of series. How to switch genres. Dealing with burnout. Retcon tactics. Managing your research (the junk drawer, redux).

There is indeed a lot of room for more advanced advice. You learn a lot about writing by simply doing it and trying stuff. But I'm a firm believer that with outside help you improve a lot more and a lot faster.

This is where searching for feedback comes in. Working with an editor taught me a lot about the basics of writing. It improved my prose a lot. I'm now working with beta readers, and they're pointing out different issues with my writing that need fixing. It's all stuff I would have figured out on my own eventually, if I had bothered to look for it. But having honest feedback makes it a lot clearer what needs work. All that feedback would be for me specifically. It doesn't mean it's useless to everyone else of course. But it's tailored to my writing.

The same with all the other advanced topics. If you've got some issues specific to your writing, put up a topic and we'll dig into them. I'm sure it will teach us a lot.

As a side note, I think burnout and mental health deserves more attention that it usually gets. There are legions of posts on facebook writer groups on "I wrote 20 books in the past year and now I'm suffering from severe burnout. What do I do?" Writing is a marathon, not a sprint. There is no point in pushing yourself too hard for too long, since you'll just drop away.

 

[A. E. Lowan]

It's a curiosity that there is so much advice on offer for the first-time writer, yet almost none for the authors who are on their, say, third book. Does something magical happen at Book Two?

I rather think not, seeing as how I'm on my sixth book and I still flounder like .... well, a flounder. Flop flop gasp.

Where are the articles on How Finally To Make a Useful Outline? Or, Better Dialog for Those Who Already Do It OK. Or, Fifth Book But First Flashback.

It isn't that we more experienced writers have stopped listening. It's just that all the pundits have suddenly run out of wisdom. Hmm. Curious.

Skip, check this out. I've been watching a few writing channels on YouTube trying to get my head screwed back on straight, and this one is pretty good, especially for an author who started the channel with no published books under his belt. There's a lot of information for the neophyte writer, but also some more advanced material to chew on. He does a great job with using examples from movies and TV for their visual reinforcement of his points. I think you might like this.

Oh! And also this guy. Yeah, totally hot, but also insightful and he presents some more advanced topics for consideration. He's also fun to just listen to.
https://www.youtube.com/@savagebooks7482

I just loved this one. Lots of food for thought, especially since the Books of Binding are so violent.

 

[Prince of Spires]

I just loved this one. Lots of food for thought, especially since the Books of Binding are so violent.

Thanks for that one! It's a topic I have been thinking about a lot. Protagonists tend to get a pass for killing random people just because they're in the way of saving the world (or whatever). We as readers / viewers forget the fall-out of the hero's actions. Just take Elsa from Frozen. In the movie she causes an out of season winter, which probably resulted in wide-spread crop failure, bankrupting the kingdom, and probably killing a large part of the population in the resulting famine. And yet, we completely gloss over that and just celebrate the fact that she also ends the winter again...

It's like that for many heros. It's very easy to have your hero kill a random guard who's simply standing in the way without actually being a bad person. It's funny how the human mind works and how we put people in us vs them buckets.

trying to get my head screwed back on straight

Is it working? I find that for most writers this is pretty much impossible...

 

[skip.knox]

I appreciate the references; I did watch them (mostly). I still have a hard time turning to movies for examples of how to write (or not to write) fiction. To me, it's as alien as turning to a stage play or opera. Yes, an individual writer can find inspiration or insight, usually peculiar to their own situation, but mostly I just sit there saying "yes, but that's for a movie." Literature doesn't make for good YouTubes, though.

Sure, in some books the body count rolls up without regard either to reader involvement or even realism (one of my several beefs with grimdark). But that just doesn't feel relevant to what I write. I try to make my kills count, not least because it takes work to write a scene and I hate wasted effort.

As for the monologue video, that feels even further removed. I try to avoid monologues. This has been a challenge with my current series because very often in a murder mystery you do get monologues. There's the story-so-far monologue where someone speculates (always incorrectly) about the murder. This keeps the reader up to date on the details. Then there's the standard Christie accusation scene. Heck, it even goes back to Doyle, where Sherlock basically solves the case in a monologue. I do have the advantage of having a group of main characters, so there's more opportunity to break such scenes out into dialogue bits rather than monologue.

All my cavil aside, these can be taken as advice for the more experienced writer. It just occurred to me that advice drawn from literature has a problem, called copyright violation. So they tend to draw from public domain sources; which means they might well feel antiquated for the point being made. The YouTubers (love that term) appear to be free to use current movies, so long as the clips aren't too long.

 

[Jackarandajam]

The one little monologue I can think of from any of my work:

.....

The captain turned and locked eyes with Gamel. He was older, with a clean shaven head and brutish face, broad shouldered, his eyes narrowed and face turned in a scowl.

"I love this ship," He said in the husky voice Gamel recognized from the speakers, "Did you know that, boy?"

Gamel said nothing.

"I've had it," he growled, "Since before you were born. I've had passengers from the beginning, wanting a cheap seat, wanting to stay low. I've had passengers that just wanted a ride, just wanted to fight, or steal. I've had passengers that wanted to join the crew and I’ve had ‘em that wanted off no sooner'n they'd boarded. I've had ‘em mean as snakes and sweet as fresh cream. Quiet as little mouses, loud as hammers. I know something about passengers, boy."

Gamel nodded. Sounded like it.

"So I know," He continued, hands in low jacket pockets and taking slow, deliberate steps towards Gamel, "When I’ve got a passenger's got something to hide. I can see it easy as... Well, easy as if they wanted me to, you understand? Like when a man's got something to hide, that's the last thing he really wants to do. He wears it," He waved a hand in front of his face, "all over his face, just begging to give it up. The bigger the secret is, the harder he tries to show it off. He doesn't want it, see, just thinks he has to have it." He shrugged, still taking slow steps towards Gamel. "But he knows, soon as he lays eyes on my ugly old face, ain't a chance in hell he's keepin secrets, not on my ship, and he's damned right. It's a gift I've had long as I’ve been alive, and the older i get, the keener it shines. I can cut a secret out of a man before he's spoken. By the time he talks, it's right here," He cupped his hands together, "In these rough old hands."

He stopped directly in front of Gamel and cocked his head, holding his cupped hands out a little from his chest, offering the empty bowl they made.

"You got a secret for me, boy?"

.....

 

[A. E. Lowan]

Is it working? I find that for most writers this is pretty much impossible...

Uh... Actually, I think it's starting to. I'm still struggling with reading and having to start the current book over knocked the wind out of me, but I think I may finally be on the upswing. Being significantly mentally ill is a pain in the ass most of the time, but I also think that a lot of what makes me work as a writer comes from that strange place where characters can interact with me - it's bizarre, but Etienne totally turned around while I was working on the last draft and talked to me. Yes, I'm bat shit crazy. But I'll also take any advantage I can, all the better to tell stories with.

 

[A. E. Lowan]

And since we're having fun with monologues, we do tend toward the monologue here and there. I think they can definitely be abused, but if one has a light touch it's fairly easy to sneak them by the reader. We've got two just in Faerie Rising that we've always been pleased with.

Here we have a little backstory monologue.

~~

Lana ran her finger around the rim of her empty glass. “And Anluan is not the only king of Faerie the great prince should fear. Midir has committed crimes against both our courts, Queen’s Son.”

Etienne narrowed his eyes at her. “Anluan’s is no court of mine.”

Winter glanced at Etienne. She had seen hints of this animosity earlier when she had read his soul, so seeing it expressed was no surprise. She turned her attention back to Lana. “What else has Midir done?” She remembered something Etienne had said the afternoon they met, something about a rumor of the murdered prince being turned into a cup or vessel of some sort. Was this it?

Lana continued to trace her fingertip around the rim of her glass until the crystal sang a soft, mournful note. “On Midir’s final visit to Ceallach and Deirdre’s court, he presented the Unseelie Queen with a golden chalice. It was exquisite, with bas-relief decorations of a prince in various entertainments; hunting, riding, dancing, dueling, and playing a lute. Around the edge were round jewels and cunningly carved bits of ivory. And the prince was modeled on Ceallach and Deirdre’s son, Prince Ciarán. The likeness was perfect, as if Ciarán had sat for the artist. Queen Deirdre was charmed with the gift. Her sons were her life. After the loss of their younger son, Ciarán had become all the more precious.”

She poured herself a little more wine and held the glass up to the light. “Midir also gifted the Queen with bottles of wine bearing labels that read, ‘For Delight.’ When the wine was poured into the chalice, the little figures sprang to life and played out their scenes. Prince Ciarán wasn’t there to see it, though. He had responsibilities that had called him away from court.” Lana frowned. “That was what King Ceallach told Midir. Ciarán actually never took his duties as Prince and Heir seriously. No, he had a new lover in a neighboring court and had been there for days. But Ceallach could dance around that without lying because he wanted an alliance with that court and Midir graciously accepted the story because he hadn’t come to see Ciarán, anyway.

“And then Midir left Deirdre with her pretty new toy.”

The group was silent as Lana spoke, letting her spin her tale. Her dark eyes were focused on what were now clearly her memories. She was quiet for several long moments, and when she spoke again her voice was thick with repressed emotion. “Days stretched into weeks, and Ciarán lingered at the other court. The Queen missed him and being fragile of mind she became melancholy. She would play with her new chalice and sip the wine, but it didn’t soothe her. The King grew annoyed with his son’s callousness, because this wasn’t the first time—Ciarán only cared for Ciarán—and sent a messenger to fetch him home. When the messenger returned, she was alone. She told the King and Queen that the other court claimed Ciarán and his companions had never arrived.”

Pain filled her eyes. “The Queen was in a panic. When her younger son disappeared centuries before, it was much the same. He went riding out on a visit and never returned. There were whispers, even in my time, that Ciarán had murdered his brother, but that was all they were—whispers. For her it was the same nightmare all over again. The King was ready to ride to war against the other court on any scrap of evidence that they were behind Ciarán’s disappearance. He sent out war parties under the guise of search parties to comb every inch of territory between the shifting borders of the two courts. And the Queen carried that chalice with her everywhere and cried.

“Then a few days into this a wine bottle was delivered to the kitchens. No one remembered exactly where it had come from, just that it arrived. A sharp-eyed page noticed it and brought it to the King where he was meeting with his advisors. Its label read, ‘For Truth.’ He sent for his Queen’s chalice, but she came with it and try as he might, she refused to be parted from it. Ceallach was torn, we could see it, but in the end, he had to know, so he set the chalice on the table and poured the wine.”

Lana twisted the stem of her glass, swirling the liquid. “It was the exact color and consistency of freshly spilled blood.” Etienne made a soft noise and she flashed a glare at him. “Say what you like about the Unseelie courts, there are some things that shouldn’t pour from wine bottles. Not before the eyes of a frightened mother.”

Etienne gave her a nod of apology.

Lana looked away from him, to her wineglass, and then pushed it away. “The thick liquid filled the chalice and just as before the little figures of Ciarán began to move, but then the scenes changed. Now in one scene the Prince laughed with his companions as they violated a helpless fae; in another he drove a sword through the body of a younger sidhe in princely dress, pinning him to an embankment; in another he writhed and screamed under torture horrific to even our eyes; and in the last one he was held fast in a vice, shrieking as a blade sawed at his head. When Ceallach saw the scenes change, he moved to shield Deirdre, but it was too late. She had seen too much. And to make things worse, where it had been silent before, now the chalice screamed. It screamed in Ciarán’s voice. Within a few breaths the Queen joined in.

“Ceallach was desperate to make it stop. He splashed the liquid on the floor, but still the cup screamed. So, he dashed it against the table. Once. Twice. Three times.” Lana’s eyes had gotten wide. “It didn’t crumple or bend like metal should. It cracked and split. We all knew the quality of that cracking sound. We were Unseelie. It was fresh bone—not dry, white bone, but bone still wet in the marrow.

“The screaming stopped, both from the chalice and from the Queen. Several of the jewels and ivory pieces had broken off, scattering over the tabletop, and the gold had stripped away from one of the shards. We knew, now, looking at the raw bone core of the chalice, what the little carved ivory bits really were. The Queen saw it and whispered, ‘My sons,’ over and over and over. It was all she said for days, until she gave over entirely to madness.”

Lana’s voice lowered to a hiss of anger. “It was widely known that Deirdre was fragile. She was called Deirdre of the Sorrows long before Ceallach took her as his wife. But Midir fashioned her son’s skull into a cup, and gifted it to her to drink from, and then taunted her with it.” She brought herself out of her memories and focused on the others at the table. “If he wanted some sort of revenge on Ceallach, then fine… but why punish her like that? It was cruel.”

Etienne purposely did not look at Cian. “The older sidhe enjoy creativity when they send their messages. I think it’s because they get bored.”

 

[A. E. Lowan]

And what's a first book without a villain monologue?

~~

Cian’s breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. It was his fault? His parents had died because of him? But he looked back to Midir and again saw that smile. This time anger kindled in his belly, burning back the guilt and some of the fear. His hands dropped to his sides and balled into fists. “What did you have to do with it?”

The smile turned bitter again. “I had nothing to do with it. I did not court your mother.”

“Why not?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. But, as frightened as he was, this was a side of the story he had never heard before.

Midir stepped away, looking like he was trying to decide something as he gazed out the window. When he turned back he looked serious. Sad. “I could not love her.”

Cian tilted his head. “I don’t understand. How did you know that?”

Midir sat in the chair across from Cian’s. “That will take some explaining. I want you to understand some things.”

That surprised Cian. “Why?”

“Because I made mistakes with Senán that I do not want to make with you.”

The quivering in Cian’s belly travelled up into his chest. What did that mean? Eyes wide, he could only nod.

Midir laced his fingers together. “So long ago that all but the very oldest of us have forgotten, I ruled a kingdom of my own. It was when our two worlds, Faerie and the Mortal Realm, were so intertwined as to be nearly indistinguishable. I had two wives, and by my eldest wife I had a daughter, Bri.” He paused, looking across the millennia to a vision only he could see. His voice lowered. “She was so gentle. I remember, when she was little, she would give me these sticky kisses that I couldn’t stand. I tried to forbid her sweets because she was always sticky from them, but even my most hardened warriors would give in to her smiles and pleading.” A smile that had nothing to do with sadism tugged at his mouth for a moment. “Bri grew into a beautiful girl, and one day she caught sight of a sidhe lord from the neighboring kingdom. She was very young, and her heart was untried, and she immediately fell in love with him. It seems he felt the same way. But she was my only child and he was not a Son of Dagda or even a descendant of one, and in my pride, I refused to let them be together. When he tried to meet with her I had soldiers run him and his men off—one of them died.

“Rumors jumble as they travel, and Bri and her ladies had watched my soldiers run the boys off and had seen one fall. The word that reached my daughter’s ear confirmed her worst fear, that it was her young love that had been slain. She took to her chamber and within the hour died of a broken heart.” Midir’s face had become expressionless, but he could not keep the pain from his eyes. “It was because of me and my damnable pride. The rumor was wrong, it wasn’t her young lord who died, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered to me was that I would never get another sticky kiss.” He glanced at Cian. “I took the name ‘Midir the Proud’ that day.”

Cian was afraid of Midir, but he could not help but ache for him a little. “You never had more children?”

He shook his head. “I lost everything worth having. My eldest wife warred against my younger wife, and in the end Fate took them both from me. Without my family, my kingdom was worthless to me. I wandered for a long time, much like Dagda himself now wanders, a king in name only.” His mouth twisted into the bitter smile. “Eventually, I even lost that.”

 

[A. E. Lowan]

I appreciate the references; I did watch them (mostly). I still have a hard time turning to movies for examples of how to write (or not to write) fiction. To me, it's as alien as turning to a stage play or opera. Yes, an individual writer can find inspiration or insight, usually peculiar to their own situation, but mostly I just sit there saying "yes, but that's for a movie." Literature doesn't make for good YouTubes, though.

Sure, in some books the body count rolls up without regard either to reader involvement or even realism (one of my several beefs with grimdark). But that just doesn't feel relevant to what I write. I try to make my kills count, not least because it takes work to write a scene and I hate wasted effort.

As for the monologue video, that feels even further removed. I try to avoid monologues. This has been a challenge with my current series because very often in a murder mystery you do get monologues. There's the story-so-far monologue where someone speculates (always incorrectly) about the murder. This keeps the reader up to date on the details. Then there's the standard Christie accusation scene. Heck, it even goes back to Doyle, where Sherlock basically solves the case in a monologue. I do have the advantage of having a group of main characters, so there's more opportunity to break such scenes out into dialogue bits rather than monologue.

All my cavil aside, these can be taken as advice for the more experienced writer. It just occurred to me that advice drawn from literature has a problem, called copyright violation. So they tend to draw from public domain sources; which means they might well feel antiquated for the point being made. The YouTubers (love that term) appear to be free to use current movies, so long as the clips aren't too long.

I've been thinking about this, about why it works for me and why it wouldn't work for you and probably a whole lot of other people, and I think that in part it's due to learning styles and also writing styles. I am an extremely visual learner. If I read something, I'll usually remember everything. I can see the pages and the words in my mind. So, the visual nature of storytelling on screen appeals to me. In exchange, somehow, I can't remember most things that are said to me. I need to take extra steps to try to hold the information in my head, repeating the instructions, sometimes over and over. I also seem to be cursed to forget one item on any list read to me. Ah, autism.

And I think my writing style - in particular, my preferred tense - is also complimented by using movies as source material. We write in 3rd Person Limited, which, as you know, Bob, tightens perspective down hard, a lot like 1st Person. When I'm going over an outline getting ready to draft, I'm thinking of how I'm going to keep everything in my POV character's head, where my camera is. In movies we can see this in characters who react to things, but don't talk about them, and we can translate this into how it feeds their perspective and their inner narrative. I also can withhold information from the reader that the character knows, because no one thinks of everything all the time, and we're easily distracted, as a whole.

 

[skip.knox]

Hm, that's pretty much how I work (except I resist saying I'm a visual learner or tactile learner or olfactory learner). I do remember what I read and do visualize where I read it (see the page, see the cover, remember the author, all that). What's said to me is often lost (to the despair of my wife). As a student, I took copious notes. I never thought about it, that's just how I worked, but now I think it was the only way I was going to remember stuff.

And I prefer third person, I guess pretty much limited. I know when I'm in a scene, it feels weird to get into the head of anyone else in the room.

My objection to using movies for writing is because the writing itself is profoundly different. There are similarities, sure, but when so many examples of the actual craft are so ready to hand, why refer to another medium? My best guess is that it's because more people have seen a popular movie than have read a popular book, so the author of the advice column (or video or book) will find a wider audience if they reference Star Wars than if they reference Of Mice and Men. Or some such. And online, it's much easier to link to a video than it is to reproduce whole passages of text.

I dunno. It's not a huge deal. It's just an idiosyncrasy of an idiosyncrat.