Exceedingly odd, but also common.
This quote comes to mind whenever in the midst of a craft debate:
Seems the same is true for discussions on writing.
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Let's talk about tension.
- Thread starter Heliotrope
- Start date
This quote comes to mind whenever in the midst of a craft debate:
Michael K. Eidson
Archmage
I gave an example of where my audience was myself, and I couldn't make myself have the emotion I wanted from my writing when I tried to force it. If my target audience is like me, then how can I hope to make them experience something I can't do for myself on purpose? I can't guarantee a particular emotional response from everyone in any group, even if that is a group of one and just me. It's my way of doing things only because that's how it is, not because it's my choice. I don't see how any writer can ensure an emotional experience for even a targeted audience. Everyone is different from everyone else, no matter how similar they are, and what one person cries at, another may laugh at, while both are still in the target audience. I laugh at movies at times when other people don't, but we all agree we enjoyed the movie. I felt the movie had gone for the laugh, but the joke went right past others around me.
Michael K. Eidson
Archmage
Sorry, I didn't directly address this. I set up situations with the potential for emotion, without intent to create any particular one. As I wrote the first draft, I wasn't sure if the scenes I wrote would evoke emotion, though I suspected they might. When I edited, I discovered that the reading (as opposed to the writing) brought the emotion out for me. I did what I could to refine the emotion during editing, but it was already there from the writing, even though I hadn't recognized it when initially writing the scenes. So it was accidental to a degree, hoped for to a degree, and refined during revision to a degree.
Everything else, I understand. This, I just don't get.
How can you set up a situation with the potential for emotion, without the intent to create any particular emotion? It seems if you're writing a scene with potential for, let's say anger, you'd have to have an intent to create anger.
Michael K. Eidson
Archmage
I don't plan on anger being the emotion that comes of the situation, or sadness, or fear, or any particular emotion. I let it play out organically, let the characters react as they will, and let the readers respond to it all as they will.
For instance, say I have a scene involving murder where three characters are involved, in addition to the victim. One character is shocked by the murder, another is relieved, another is ambivalent. Who am I to say how all this will affect the reader? The reader will have her own emotion about the murder itself, and possibly react to how the characters react, but I have no idea how the reader will feel about any of it. Some readers may be outraged that one of the characters is ambivalent about the murder, while other readers might not have the same reaction to the ambivalent character, but might feel a lot of sympathy for the shocked character. I've set up the scene with potential for emotion, and I hope the reader feels something, but I am not trying to force the reader to feel shock or relief or ambivalence or outrage or sympathy or anything else.
FifthView
Vala
First, a caveat. I haven't read this entire thread, only the most recent discussion re: conveying/inspiring emotional responses. I want to address this; I'll leave a separate comment returning to the focus of tension.
I may be an oddball because a) I've given the subject of "call-answer" a lot of thought over many years, and b) consequently I've developed a quirky theory that I think goes to the root of human being, heh.
Here goes. We are social animals, and our evolutionary history has wired us accordingly.
At the most basic level, humans individually were relatively weak.
“Man is only a reed, the weakest in nature, but he is a thinking reed. There is no need for the whole universe to take up arms to crush him: a vapour, a drop of water is enough to kill him. But even if the universe were to crush him, man would still be nobler than his slayer, because he knows that he is dying and the advantage the universe has over him. The universe knows none of this.” ― Blaise Pascal
Besides the general danger of weather, climate, terrain, and other "acts of god," many vicious creatures better suited to killing prowled his neighborhood. But of course, the thinking reed also had other thinking reeds: dangers without the close-knit family group and dangers within. In numbers, we gained strength and security for contending with exterior threats, but we also had the need to bond together in our small family groups to survive those threats and, on an individual level, to survive whatever threats might exist within our small group also.
Long story short: Very early in our evolutionary history, we developed ways to both see signs and communicate signs to our closest companions in order to increase our chances for survival, and we've been doing it ever since. It's in our nature—most of us—and I believe we do this constantly, often without realizing this is what we do.
In-group vs out-group signs would probably have been rather blunt. If some stranger appears, well, that's a stranger; we don't know him. His clothing is different, his speech is different, his face is showing earnest calculation that might be hostile or at least—his goals don't align with our own.
But similarly, our own companions show signs—does my brother have the same goals I have? Or will there be conflict and potential danger? Let's move this into the modern era: Does my employer enjoy fantasy fiction, or will he look down on me, scoff at me, when I tell him I spend my off time (and perhaps even on time) contemplating the book I'm writing? Heh. What are the signs?
All this predates language. Other social creatures do the same things, generally. Call and answer. But language added a new method of influence between humans. I personally believe that we use language to influence our interlocutors in order to achieve some measure of control over our environment. [I am harking back to Svrtnsse's post.] We are reassuring others, fishing for reassurance, trying to get them to change their minds perhaps so that their own endeavors afterward don't interfere with ours, heh. [Goals.] Maybe we are offering a warning; "Don't stand in my way, don't work at cross purposes to my goals and endeavors!" Or we are laying the groundwork so that they actually might help us in the future if we call for help.
Two prospective applicants arrive for a job interview for a sales position. One is wearing a new, crisp, clean suit, is impeccably groomed, and has an easy, friendly manner, and the other is dressed in baggy sweatpants that appear years old, unwashed, and seems to ignore the questions asked by the interviewer while going off on tangents about how his previous employer was too demanding. What are the signs? Heh.
TL;DR: It's in our nature to attempt to influence others when we communicate with them. Ignoring whatever evolutionary basis might exist for this, we still have our own life history filled with many attempts to influence via language (spoken, written, body language.) It's what we do. And we wouldn't be doing this if our efforts have no effect. How do we know we have an effect? We see the changes in our interlocutor, we experience the consequences of the signs we put forth. We've called, and we've studied the answers. This would be impossible if there was no correlation between our calls and the answers we've received.
That said, written language is clunkier than spoken language—and ironically, almost stone age technology compared to the effectiveness of body language, heh.
So an example from very recent experience. In the last few days, I've seen many cars with "Wash me" written in the dirt and grime.
One person might see that message and become very angry; he's insecure, don't others know he's too damn busy trying to earn a living, overworked, always on the road, and doesn't have time to wash his car yet?
Another person might laugh. She knows her teenage daughter wrote it.
Another might think, "Good idea." It's about time he did wash his car.
But. "Wash me" is a very short novel, heh. See how I added different contexts to those three examples above?
I may be an oddball because a) I've given the subject of "call-answer" a lot of thought over many years, and b) consequently I've developed a quirky theory that I think goes to the root of human being, heh.
Here goes. We are social animals, and our evolutionary history has wired us accordingly.
At the most basic level, humans individually were relatively weak.
“Man is only a reed, the weakest in nature, but he is a thinking reed. There is no need for the whole universe to take up arms to crush him: a vapour, a drop of water is enough to kill him. But even if the universe were to crush him, man would still be nobler than his slayer, because he knows that he is dying and the advantage the universe has over him. The universe knows none of this.” ― Blaise Pascal
Besides the general danger of weather, climate, terrain, and other "acts of god," many vicious creatures better suited to killing prowled his neighborhood. But of course, the thinking reed also had other thinking reeds: dangers without the close-knit family group and dangers within. In numbers, we gained strength and security for contending with exterior threats, but we also had the need to bond together in our small family groups to survive those threats and, on an individual level, to survive whatever threats might exist within our small group also.
Long story short: Very early in our evolutionary history, we developed ways to both see signs and communicate signs to our closest companions in order to increase our chances for survival, and we've been doing it ever since. It's in our nature—most of us—and I believe we do this constantly, often without realizing this is what we do.
In-group vs out-group signs would probably have been rather blunt. If some stranger appears, well, that's a stranger; we don't know him. His clothing is different, his speech is different, his face is showing earnest calculation that might be hostile or at least—his goals don't align with our own.
But similarly, our own companions show signs—does my brother have the same goals I have? Or will there be conflict and potential danger? Let's move this into the modern era: Does my employer enjoy fantasy fiction, or will he look down on me, scoff at me, when I tell him I spend my off time (and perhaps even on time) contemplating the book I'm writing? Heh. What are the signs?
All this predates language. Other social creatures do the same things, generally. Call and answer. But language added a new method of influence between humans. I personally believe that we use language to influence our interlocutors in order to achieve some measure of control over our environment. [I am harking back to Svrtnsse's post.] We are reassuring others, fishing for reassurance, trying to get them to change their minds perhaps so that their own endeavors afterward don't interfere with ours, heh. [Goals.] Maybe we are offering a warning; "Don't stand in my way, don't work at cross purposes to my goals and endeavors!" Or we are laying the groundwork so that they actually might help us in the future if we call for help.
Two prospective applicants arrive for a job interview for a sales position. One is wearing a new, crisp, clean suit, is impeccably groomed, and has an easy, friendly manner, and the other is dressed in baggy sweatpants that appear years old, unwashed, and seems to ignore the questions asked by the interviewer while going off on tangents about how his previous employer was too demanding. What are the signs? Heh.
TL;DR: It's in our nature to attempt to influence others when we communicate with them. Ignoring whatever evolutionary basis might exist for this, we still have our own life history filled with many attempts to influence via language (spoken, written, body language.) It's what we do. And we wouldn't be doing this if our efforts have no effect. How do we know we have an effect? We see the changes in our interlocutor, we experience the consequences of the signs we put forth. We've called, and we've studied the answers. This would be impossible if there was no correlation between our calls and the answers we've received.
That said, written language is clunkier than spoken language—and ironically, almost stone age technology compared to the effectiveness of body language, heh.
So an example from very recent experience. In the last few days, I've seen many cars with "Wash me" written in the dirt and grime.
One person might see that message and become very angry; he's insecure, don't others know he's too damn busy trying to earn a living, overworked, always on the road, and doesn't have time to wash his car yet?
Another person might laugh. She knows her teenage daughter wrote it.
Another might think, "Good idea." It's about time he did wash his car.
But. "Wash me" is a very short novel, heh. See how I added different contexts to those three examples above?
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SageI would agree that no level of craft can make sure a story has the intended emotional effect on everyone, even in the desired audience (unless we defined the desired audience as "reacts with X to the event of Y", which may be a fair way of defining it after all). Individual people have many odd quirks.
But you can craft a story to dramatically increase your chances of getting the intended emotional effect. Maass is wrong to state it as an absolute but the jist of it is correct. Individuals are hard to predict but people in general have some known biases that can be used.
I also think that setting up a scene where reader sympathies and emotions are likely to be split still counts. Just because there is no one specific intended emotional effect doesn't mean the author doesn't intended for there to be some emotional reaction. Its the looking for a reaction that counts imo.
On further consideration, Maass' advice maybe works better on a macro level than a micro level. Its pretty hard to always hit the aim with every scene but by the end of the book, the author has plenty of opportunity to set up the reader's expectations and get them invested in the characters. If they get the last big scene right, then I believe they're probably going to get the desired emotional thrill out of the reader.
But you can craft a story to dramatically increase your chances of getting the intended emotional effect. Maass is wrong to state it as an absolute but the jist of it is correct. Individuals are hard to predict but people in general have some known biases that can be used.
I also think that setting up a scene where reader sympathies and emotions are likely to be split still counts. Just because there is no one specific intended emotional effect doesn't mean the author doesn't intended for there to be some emotional reaction. Its the looking for a reaction that counts imo.
On further consideration, Maass' advice maybe works better on a macro level than a micro level. Its pretty hard to always hit the aim with every scene but by the end of the book, the author has plenty of opportunity to set up the reader's expectations and get them invested in the characters. If they get the last big scene right, then I believe they're probably going to get the desired emotional thrill out of the reader.
FifthView
Vala
I remember one previous discussion about tension. I think I wrote then, and would reiterate here, that I view tension as being solely a description of what the reader feels—not what the character feels.
So I am in total agreement about car chases and fight scenes. My reaction as a reader may very well be Meh. So what? The fact that the character is freaking out, or is about to fail in achieving a goal, or whatever, may be immaterial to me.
Meh might not be my reaction, even before I know much about the characters or the story. A car chase or fight scene could be thrilling in and of itself if it is particularly odd, clever, whatever. The scene could tell me something about the world that intrigues me. Science fiction and fantasy might have that advantage: the very weird technology and/or magic on display during the car chase or fight scene might instantly provoke those...questions?
But I think I might take a step back and look at the issue of questions vis-a-vis tension. I think questions might only be a symptom of what's happening when tension is created.
While reading over the early posts in this thread, the thought occurred to me:
Tension correlates to moments of change. Or, potential change, perhaps.
For the reader—and that is the only real consideration—whatever is happening on the page is in flux whenever there is tension. Yes, questions of some sort are likely to be occurring also (even if not consciously considered by the reader.) But the "questions" arise because the reader is reading along as if walking across a gap between two skyscrapers on a tight wire and the wire shakes. Or maybe the better metaphor would be a walk across a taut rope that is fraying nearby or at its end even as the reader crosses the gap over a canyon. Does this line continue all the way to the end—or is something about to change that path?
Another metaphor, or example, might be the line break in a poem. For me, that line break had better be important. It had better signal a potential change in the path of the line. [Here, best to think of "line" as line of thought.] Otherwise, it will come across (!) as irrelevant, pointless, random, etc.
It isn't necessary for what comes after the line break in a poem to be odd, unexpected, or a total break in the line of thought:
It isn't necessary for what comes after
the line break in a poem
to be odd, unexpected, or a total break
in the line of thought,
so long as the lion
gets to eat the reader
at the end.
the line break in a poem
to be odd, unexpected, or a total break
in the line of thought,
so long as the lion
gets to eat the reader
at the end.
Well now, that was odd.
Just pulled that out of my whatever. A silly example, perhaps. The point I would make is that each moment of change introduces the potential for the line of thought—or, the story's line; throughline?—to veer into an unexpected direction.
With a lack of tension, everything would play out more or less as expected. With tension—yes, no, maybe. So yep, there are "questions" of a sort, but there's more to it, I think.
All of the above kinda ignores the importance of stakes and reader investment in the particular characters and story. These, I think, are necessary additional considerations for the writer wanting to create tension for the reader. But I just wanted to shoot an arrow deeper into the hole to see if I could strike the bottom.
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I mentioned earlier that my post might fit better in the Show vs Tell thread, because the way I'm viewing the ways to influence the reader is based heavily upon how I write descriptions.
I do not try to give my reader a detailed and accurate image of a scene or a setting or character, or what a character is seeing. Rather, I try to give my reader the tools to create their own image of whatever I'm describing. As long as the reader knows that there's a big cardboard box on the floor of the room it doesn't really matter what color the walls are (basic example to show the principle).
Any image the reader creates in their mind will be stronger than whatever image I try to describe on the page of the book, regardless of how detailed I am or how pretty words I use. In fact, beyond a certain point it's pointless to try and add more detail because the reader has already created their impression of what I'm describing and anything new I try to add will just distract them or contract the image they already created.
Now, I haven't spent a whole lot of time reflecting on how this applies to tension and plot, but I believe the same general principle applies.
I can't control what exactly my reader will feel, but I can give my reader tools they can use in order to build their own emotional connection to the story and its characters.
Some of these tools are created in the early planning stages, and they're probably pretty rough and clumsy. It's stuff like: make sure the reader understands Roy has issues with women and relationships.
Later on, throughout planning and drafting, new and different options to enhance these tools show up. Some of them appear through planning. How can I make my reader like my character more? Have him save a cat. Others just show up more or less by accident when writing or redrafting a scene.
It's not rocket surgery. Sometimes things just happen and it works out real nice, there's no secret formula that will achieve that with certainty.
However, that doesn't mean I can't lay my story out in a way that will allow for such things to happen.
I do not try to give my reader a detailed and accurate image of a scene or a setting or character, or what a character is seeing. Rather, I try to give my reader the tools to create their own image of whatever I'm describing. As long as the reader knows that there's a big cardboard box on the floor of the room it doesn't really matter what color the walls are (basic example to show the principle).
Any image the reader creates in their mind will be stronger than whatever image I try to describe on the page of the book, regardless of how detailed I am or how pretty words I use. In fact, beyond a certain point it's pointless to try and add more detail because the reader has already created their impression of what I'm describing and anything new I try to add will just distract them or contract the image they already created.
Now, I haven't spent a whole lot of time reflecting on how this applies to tension and plot, but I believe the same general principle applies.
I can't control what exactly my reader will feel, but I can give my reader tools they can use in order to build their own emotional connection to the story and its characters.
Some of these tools are created in the early planning stages, and they're probably pretty rough and clumsy. It's stuff like: make sure the reader understands Roy has issues with women and relationships.
Later on, throughout planning and drafting, new and different options to enhance these tools show up. Some of them appear through planning. How can I make my reader like my character more? Have him save a cat. Others just show up more or less by accident when writing or redrafting a scene.
It's not rocket surgery. Sometimes things just happen and it works out real nice, there's no secret formula that will achieve that with certainty.
However, that doesn't mean I can't lay my story out in a way that will allow for such things to happen.
FifthView
Vala
So Heliotrope another example of what I discussed in my last comment, but this time using one of your early posts as an example.
First, I want to use this example because I know from past experience that you and I approach these considerations in somewhat different ways.
You tend to use your MC as a vehicle. You make it worse "for her." You stress the importance of leveraging the character's goals, the stakes for the character, the effects of events upon the character.
Whereas, I wrote above that my focus is on the reader's sense of tension. I would add here that, for me, it's the reader's stakes and the effects of events upon the reader, that are important.
We are not entirely at odds here however, heh. I think that sympathy with the character, identification with the character will often be one consequence of the intimate, limited third person (or even first person) approach. I.e., the reader experiences events vicariously through the POV character.
To the degree that this blending is strong, then making it worse for the character is making it worse for the reader, the character's goals become the reader's goals (the character wants to succeed, and the reader wants to see the character succeed), and so forth.
I still think that considering the reader's experience is ... more to the point? There are more distant narrative approaches that can work well, and there are even many ways to reveal information to the reader without revealing it to the character—which, I think, speaks for itself re: creating tension in the reader rather than focusing only on the character's sense of tension.
Second...your example is good for showing how a wrench can be thrown into the works. In line (ahem) with my previous comment: The reader is reading along, MC mad as heck at father, and....simply having her storm home and confront her father in a mad argument might be the line the reader's been set upon. If it just plays out exactly like that...ho-hum.
But the congratulation party alters that mental course.
I think that a limited POV works here to build a "perfect line" for the reader which is bound to be upset—just because the POV is limited! It is perfect in the sense that it is the whole of the reality of the world/story that the reader's received. But it's in fact merely a limited portion of that reality. Your MC's sudden sensation of the tight wire being struck by a meteor becomes the reader's. A change has occurred. How does this change affect all that will follow? Read on, dear reader, to find out...
First, I want to use this example because I know from past experience that you and I approach these considerations in somewhat different ways.
You tend to use your MC as a vehicle. You make it worse "for her." You stress the importance of leveraging the character's goals, the stakes for the character, the effects of events upon the character.
Whereas, I wrote above that my focus is on the reader's sense of tension. I would add here that, for me, it's the reader's stakes and the effects of events upon the reader, that are important.
We are not entirely at odds here however, heh. I think that sympathy with the character, identification with the character will often be one consequence of the intimate, limited third person (or even first person) approach. I.e., the reader experiences events vicariously through the POV character.
To the degree that this blending is strong, then making it worse for the character is making it worse for the reader, the character's goals become the reader's goals (the character wants to succeed, and the reader wants to see the character succeed), and so forth.
I still think that considering the reader's experience is ... more to the point? There are more distant narrative approaches that can work well, and there are even many ways to reveal information to the reader without revealing it to the character—which, I think, speaks for itself re: creating tension in the reader rather than focusing only on the character's sense of tension.
Second...your example is good for showing how a wrench can be thrown into the works. In line (ahem) with my previous comment: The reader is reading along, MC mad as heck at father, and....simply having her storm home and confront her father in a mad argument might be the line the reader's been set upon. If it just plays out exactly like that...ho-hum.
But the congratulation party alters that mental course.
I think that a limited POV works here to build a "perfect line" for the reader which is bound to be upset—just because the POV is limited! It is perfect in the sense that it is the whole of the reality of the world/story that the reader's received. But it's in fact merely a limited portion of that reality. Your MC's sudden sensation of the tight wire being struck by a meteor becomes the reader's. A change has occurred. How does this change affect all that will follow? Read on, dear reader, to find out...
Love this. An often forgotten piece of the pie.
If there was no way to influence the reader, then there would not be general agreement that this novel is comedy while that one is tragedy. Sure there's room for variation; why not grant also there is room for commonality?
I also suggest that, however neutral we imagine we are being in the presentation of a scene, the words we use to describe it are influential. To what degree do we engage the senses? What colors, smells, sounds, do we invoke? What is the context for each character in the room--do they come in fresh from a triumph? A tragedy? Do they enter frustrated, joyful, worried? Even the pacing of our sentences and paragraphs influence the reader. We may write the scene consciously choosing each word, or we may write it deep in the moment--and don't forget, we *rewrite* that scene multiple times, each time in a different frame of mind--but the cumulative effect of all these variables is to cast a certain tone. The result is never guaranteed, but neither is it utterly random.
To relate this to the OP, I have to believe that it is possible to create emotion in the reader because that's where tension (suspense, question, whatever we wish to call it) lies. The thing that makes the reader keep reading. If I did not believe I could create suspense, I don't know that I could keep writing. But if I grant that as an assumption, then I move on to the questions of craft: how do I create a particular tension, how might I vary that, what works, what doesn't work? And therein lies the discussions we've been having.
I also suggest that, however neutral we imagine we are being in the presentation of a scene, the words we use to describe it are influential. To what degree do we engage the senses? What colors, smells, sounds, do we invoke? What is the context for each character in the room--do they come in fresh from a triumph? A tragedy? Do they enter frustrated, joyful, worried? Even the pacing of our sentences and paragraphs influence the reader. We may write the scene consciously choosing each word, or we may write it deep in the moment--and don't forget, we *rewrite* that scene multiple times, each time in a different frame of mind--but the cumulative effect of all these variables is to cast a certain tone. The result is never guaranteed, but neither is it utterly random.
To relate this to the OP, I have to believe that it is possible to create emotion in the reader because that's where tension (suspense, question, whatever we wish to call it) lies. The thing that makes the reader keep reading. If I did not believe I could create suspense, I don't know that I could keep writing. But if I grant that as an assumption, then I move on to the questions of craft: how do I create a particular tension, how might I vary that, what works, what doesn't work? And therein lies the discussions we've been having.
And now I have to amend. I fully agree with Michael that I cannot ensure a response in everyone. I don't see how I would even try, much less go about trying to figure out if I had succeeded. Once again I return to the sage advice: always reject absolutes. 
I make an adjustment when I read writing dicta. If the rule contains absolutes--always do this, never do that--then I can reject it out of hand. But if the advice is without qualifiers--reads as do this or don't do that--then I do not automatically add the absolute. I read it as "consider doing this, think about not doing that." It then becomes a tool I can pick up or put aside as I wish.
I make an adjustment when I read writing dicta. If the rule contains absolutes--always do this, never do that--then I can reject it out of hand. But if the advice is without qualifiers--reads as do this or don't do that--then I do not automatically add the absolute. I read it as "consider doing this, think about not doing that." It then becomes a tool I can pick up or put aside as I wish.
I also agree with that point, but do you write for everyone?
I agree with that advice, but I'm unsure what's been presented as an absolute.
Michael K. Eidson
Archmage
...just as tension correlates to the presence of unanswered questions.
One can have change without tension. A character changing clothes might or might not create tension. It depends on whether it creates a question in the mind of the reader. Change unaccompanied by questions isn't likely to cause tension.
Should we exclude those from our discussion who read our work but don't fit our self-imposed definition of our target audience? Does it matter who we write for? It matters who actually reads, and most of us are not personally choosing who buys or reads our books.
I feel Peat has expressed the matter very well here, as regards controlling the reader's emotions with our writing.
That depends entirely on the writer. Do you write for everyone, or do you write for a specific audience?
If you're writing just for yourself, a lot of this advice goes out of the window.
If you're writing just for one person who's not yourself, some of it goes out of the window... but lets be honest, I think we all have stories about the time we did this thing that we were sure would make one individual we know very well very happy and found out we were wrong. Anyone who could get the emotional response they wanted from one person all the time would be an absolute genius.
And there are authors who show every sign of writing for a wider audience - of wanting lots of people to like and buy their story as much as anything else. And their stories have plenty of people who like them, its a workable approach. And one that I think a lot of authors have to consider at some point if they're going to publish - even if they don't consider it before submitting, they'll probably have to once the editor starts suggesting changes based on what will work for the wider audience.
Tbh, when I consider it, I doubt the audience thing is a singular thing, but a spectrum, something where we write maybe 45% for ourselves, 35% for genre fans, 20% for everyone. Or something like that. I know that personally, while I write first and foremost the stories I want to read, I do sort through my story ideas in terms of commercial viability, and I do consider storytelling in terms of genre expectations from time to time. I think I' on a spectrum.
I'm not sure about actively excluding anyone, but I think it's very important to recognise that not everyone is going to appreciate what we write. The question is how we respond to that.
This is why it's so important to know the people who test read your stories. If someone gives me feedback on a story and say that some aspect of it didn't work for them it's really important for me to know if they're part of my "target audience" or not. Does this person enjoy the kind of story that I'm trying to tell, or is it the wrong story for them?
Will my test reader enjoy my story better if I make a few tweaks here and there, or will I have to throw in a swat team and a hostage situation and a dragon before they start to warm up to it?
In this way, it definitely matters who we write for.
I can't pick and choose who buys and reads my books, but I can present my story in a way that appeals more to some people than to others. It's in how I write my blurb, and in how my cover image looks. It's also in how I pick my advertising. Do I target single mothers age 40-50 or do I target young males who like computer games?
Can I write a book that will appeal to both of these groups? It's possible. I doubt I can do it myself, but I'm sure there are those who both can and have done it (though I can't name anyone off the top of my head (Rowling?)).
Michael K. Eidson
Archmage
Okay, so that’s where we differ, I guess.
When I write, I do so to please myself, with the belief that there are many more readers just like me who will enjoy the work. I know what moves me, & therefore, it should move readers who are similar to me.
I’m perfectly fine with the idea that not everyone feels the same as a writer & that not all readers will have the desired emotional experience. That’s as it should be.
When I write, I do so to please myself, with the belief that there are many more readers just like me who will enjoy the work. I know what moves me, & therefore, it should move readers who are similar to me.
I’m perfectly fine with the idea that not everyone feels the same as a writer & that not all readers will have the desired emotional experience. That’s as it should be.
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