Archetype Writing Blog

So now that my NaNo novel is finished and has officially been sent off to some critiquing friends (bless them!), it's time for something new.  But finding new novel-worthy ideas is difficult for me.  I'll get an idea, but then I think "But where would I go with that?"  Since I never map out a novel before I write it, I guess it's kind of silly that I let that question stop me, but it does.

Like a big old brick wall.

I started to understand better why when I was reading Les Edgerton's Hooked: Write Fiction That Grabs Readers at Page One & Never Lets Them Go. (Recommended, by the way.  I don't often learn new things from writing books these days, but I did from this one.)  Edgerton argues that "surface problems" aren't enough to carry a story, because they don't launch the character on a journey or force him to change (i.e. to have a character arc) the way a "story-worthy problem" does.

Edgerton says you have to just keep asking yourself "why?" questions. To get from a surface problem to a story-worthy problem, he says, you have to delve into the psychology of the character.  Why is this character doing this?  What is the psychology behind his actions?

Out of the blue I had a still from a scene float up into my consciousness.  I knew there was more story to be told in my NaNo novel world, but I had no idea what it was.  And here at last was something, just a fragment of a scene.  And that scene led to another scene. So now I have two context-less scenes that are intriguing me, but I'm not sure how to branch out from here.  I think I am going to write brief descriptions of the two scenes on notecards (which is how I developed the NaNo novel) and then do my best to mind-map outward from there.

I'd love to hear your advice, dear Reader.  What do you do?  How do your ideas start and how do you help nurture them until they're worthy of an entire novel?

I'm up on the blog chain again (again! so soon! eek!).  This time Sandra chose the topic, which is

Do you write romantic relationships in your books? If so, what do you do to show the attraction between your characters? What problems do your characters encounter? What qualities do you think make a romantic relationship work in fiction?

I do write romantic relationships in my books.  Relationships in general fascinate me, but the romantic dynamics of a good couple are even better.

What do you do to show the attraction between your characters?

I try to show attraction the way real people show attraction. They look at each other more than at other people, they're comfortable in each other's space, they talk about the person often and with feeling.

What problems do your characters encounter?

In real life, finding and getting along with your “other half” is difficult. Have you ever read a story in which the characters constantly misunderstand, insult, and stonewall each other, yet by the last page you’re to believe that they will live happily ever after with none of the conflict that filled every page before the last? In real life, it doesn’t work that way, and it shouldn’t in fiction, either. Conflict is the engine that keeps every story going, and the love relationships between your characters are one of the most important parts of that engine.

A problem I see in some fiction is that there is no reason for the characters to fall for each other or be in love -- other than the fact that they're both excruciatingly hot, of course.  As in real life, your characters should be attracted to the people they're attracted to for a reason.  What attracted your character to the love interest in the first place?  What needs does the love interest fulfill?  Why is the love interest different from all the other men and women out there?

In real life people choose the partners they do for all kinds of reasons, some of them noble and romantic, some of them less so.  For example, maybe they had great "chemistry" with the person. Maybe they had a lot in common.  Maybe they need to feel needed.  Maybe they wanted to get out of their parents' house.  Maybe they were ready to settle down.  Maybe they needed someone to help them parent a child.  Regardless, there is definitely a reason other than that someone needed them together to make a particular storyline work.

And once people are together, why do they stay together?  Doing couples therapy was always a fascinating endeavor, because couples with enormous problems would come in and complain about each other and the relationship -- but still want to make it work.  They still loved each other.  And they could usually tell you why.

In my stories, relationships are usually messy.  People say the wrong things,. have affairs, and hurt each other -- sometimes accidentally and sometimes on purpose.  Ex-partners create havoc, hidden histories drive wedges, but in the end love always prevails for me.  I like to pretend to be pragmatic and sensible, but the truth is that I'm a hopeless romantic, and in my stories, love really is the greatest power of all.

What qualities do you think make a romantic relationship work in fiction?

I'm most drawn to fictional relationships where there is a strong, identifiable reason for an attraction at the same time there are problems (internal or external to the relationship) that are trying to tear the couple apart.  Right now I'm writing about a couple with tons of chemistry and lots in common -- the only problem is their respective peoples hate each other.  In other stories, I've let misunderstandings or mistakes be what kept the characters apart.  For me, the attraction to each other has to be stronger than the problems, but not by much. The characters have to keep coming together the way a pair of magnets will.  They might push against each other, but inevitably, they snap together and hold on.

What do you think, dear readers?  How would you answer Sandra's questions?  I'm looking forward to reading your thoughts!  Also be sure to check out Kate's answer -- she's next in the blog chain!

Want to use psychology to give your story authenticity? I'm going to start answering reader psychology/writing questions on the blog. If you have a question, feel free to send it to me using the Q&A form on archetypewriting.com.

Disclaimer: The information on this site is provided as general educational information to readers and should be not be understood as specific advice for any particular individual(s). People who are seeking help for "real-life" problems are advised to consult a local mental health professional.

Q:

How might my character react to the idea of meeting his partner's parents for the first time and how might his therapist and partner help him become more comfortable?

My character's mom died when he was young and his father was an alcoholic. Stress at work, stress with dealing with a new living situation, and poor communication skills have led to depression. He is now on anti-depressants and meeting with a counselor. He, his partner, and his counselor are working on improving his trust and communication in their relationship. He is going to meet his partner’s parents (who accept that he is gay and are looking forward to meeting my character) for the first time, and he’s worried about the impression he will make! He doesn't know how to act around a "normal" family.

A:

My first thought is -- how is he around people in general? If he's generally pretty good with people, the goal is going to be to improve his confidence and feelings of self-efficacy (ability to handle the challenge) rather than to teach him how to communicate. But you mentioned poor communication skills, so the therapist might talk explicitly about things like eye contact, taking turns talking, that kind of thing. (If the communication skills issues aren't that extreme, then they might just talk about what your character is worried about and how someone might "normally" deal with those situations.)

One way to help someone improve their communication skills, and/or to deal with new situations where you're not sure what to do is to role-play in therapy. So the therapist and the client "try out" different responses to the situation. What to do if x happens, and so forth. It's a way to practice.

It might also be helpful to have the partner sit in on a session so the two of them can figure out (with the help of the therapist) ways to handle awkward moments, ways in which the partner might best support your character. For example, if the character were to get overwhelmed, maybe he and his partner can have a plan to go grab lunch or walk around the mall, just the two of them, to get a little break. The character, his partner, and the therapist can also talk about practical things that can be nerve wracking—for example, what should your character should call his partner's parents (Mom and Dad? John and Jane? Mr. and Mrs.?)

If your character were my client, I would also tell him that it's perfectly normal to be nervous about meeting your partner's parents for the first time. (That might seem obvious, but sometimes just being told that a reaction is normal can make a huge difference to someone.) I would also tell him that it's okay for him to say something like "I'm a little nervous about meeting you because I want to make a good impression." Rather than making you look foolish, that kind of thing just makes you more human, and the parents will probably be feeling some of the same feelings.

On the blog chain this round, Michelle chose the topic, and Kate will follow me. Michelle asked

In your reading and writing, which do you prefer – a main character that is intriguing, or one that is likeable? Who are the characters that you love the most? And who are the ones that you love to hate?

This is easy.  Give me intriguing.

As a general rule, I adore villains, and I adore antiheroes.  The very same characters many people find unlikeable.

Unless they're one-dimensional and cliched, of course.  And one-dimensional and cliched are far too common.  You know these villains--they're brilliant but twisted and completely unsympathetic. And each one could stand in for the next. Dean Koontz kicks these guys out at an impressive rate; so do most other thriller writers.  (Dan Brown's albino monk, anyone?)  Don't get me wrong, they can carry the story forward, but they're just filler.  They're not intriguing.

No, I like multidimensional villains--the kind that make you squirm because you can totally see why they're doing what they're doing.  Berg Katse, the villain in an old anime called Gatchaman, is one of my all-time favorite villains.  Sometimes he's smooth, sometimes he's savage, and sometimes he's played for laughs, but he's always interesting.  And he just gets more interesting as you learn more about him, until the quest to understand him is actually pulling the entire show along.

I also like heroes who have a dark side. Who make awful mistakes, have ugly urges, and who might, under the right circumstances, be the villains themselves. 

I'm in love with Supernatural, which definitely fits that bill. The show is about a pair of brothers who hunt supernatural monsters.  They kill off ghouls, save people from vampires, lay uneasy spirits to rest, and all around kick ass.  Both of the brothers are heroic, but they also have dark sides. Serious dark sides.  From time to time one or the other comes dangerously close to being as wicked as the monsters they hunt.  That always leaves the brother still on the straight and narrow with an awful predicament.  What do you do when the person you love most is also your worst enemy?  (If it's Supernatural, you try to save him, even if that means killing him.  At least he'll die human...  I find that kind of dilemma fascinating.)

In an ideal story, for me, both the villains and the heroes are charismatic, intriguing, and compelling. They're like real people, with good and bad sides.  You don't have to love my characters, but if they keep you reading, I've done a good job. Me...I usually love them all -- even the ones my readers love to hate!

So dear readers...how would you answer the question?

This time's blog chain question was asked by Leah Clifford, who recently accepted representation for her novel Reapers!  Kate shared her take on the topic in the post before mine, and Michelle will explore her dark side in the next post. Leah's challenge was:

Show me your dark side...What do you do to amp up the conflict?  What pins do you stick in the little voodoo dolls? How do you torture your characters???  

Have you ever seen the TV show nip/tuck?  It's unusual show, because you're watching along, and they imply that something really edgy is going to happen.  A main character is feeling kind of turned on by the super-expensive sex doll modeled after his business partner's ex-girlfriend. A (male) main character is in danger of being raped...by another man. A patient character has threatened to perform her own mastectomy.  Most writers would turn away, getting their characters out just in the nick of time. Of the few writers who decided to go all the way, most of them would never show the actual event. In nip/tuck, they Go There.  All the way.  And they show all of it. The sex with the doll. The rape. The woman who does the mastectomy on herself with an electric carving knife in the doctors' waiting room. And then they show the fallout. These characters never get a break.

Going There is what intrigues me.  Not what happens when the hero gets there in the nick of time, but when the worst the hero can possibly imagine happens. And then sometimes...that's not all. Next come a few things the hero couldn't possibly have imagined in his worst nightmares.  And then, of course, there's the fallout.  Shattered relationships. Grief. Nightmares. Depression. Post-traumatic stress disorder.  Suicidality. And the humiliation of having had all those reactions in front of other people.

Maybe it's having been on the frontlines and counseled people who have had things worse than they could ever imagine happen to them. Maybe it's just having lived through a few things in my own life.  But I Go There in my fiction.  A lot.

I don't see it as torturing my characters. I see it like this: Life can really, truly be that ugly.  Human beings do horrible things to other human beings, and sometimes they even do them intentionally.  I don't pretend otherwise when I tell a story.

One of the best ways to learn about the dark side of life is to be willing to be open, and to listen. Everyone has suffered indignities, and some have suffered horrors.  But those things are invisible unless you're open and willing to other people, including the really nasty, awful bits.  Like Mary said, the people who seem the most benign are often the ones who hide the most.  Because they've had to learn to seem benign to be accepted by a world too horrified by the realities of their lives.

The same thing is true with your characters.  You have to be willing to really listen to them, and if they have to Go There, you need to be brave enough to go with them.  Carl Jung talked about how we all have a dark side to our personalities, but only a few of us are willing to confront that side and integrate it into the Self.  I've always believed that part of what makes Stephen King so great is that he faces his own shadow and then writes about what he finds.

So how do you do that , avoid giving in to the urge to look away from the dark stuff?

Years ago, when I was learning to write, I came across an article that said the most important word in your story is NO. Whatever your character wants or needs, the answer must always be NO.  Once in a while, it may seem that the character is getting a yes, but in reality that yes must ultimately drive them farther from what they want or need. I believe strongly in the NO.  It always leads to a better story.

Have you ever seen Cool Hand Luke?  No matter how many times they drag Luke back to the chain gang, he always takes off again. He can't seem to help it. After the second time he escapes, the boss makes him dig a trench.  Then fill the trench.  Then dig the trench.  Then fill the trench. Over and over and over, until Luke finally breaks down, half dead, and begs to be allowed to stop.  But they keep pushing him. The other inmates turn away, horrified by what's left of this free spirit they all admired.

Still, later in the film, Luke escapes again, this time with another inmate.  The friend laughs, crowing that Luke's groveling was so convincing that "They didn't know you was foolin!"  And Luke says "Foolin, huh? You can't fool them about somethin like that.  They broke me."

So forget a little spilled milk, a few broken eggs. For me the real question is...what does it take to break your character, and what happens to him after he's broken?

The topic for the blog chain this time, started by the lovely Leah Clifford, is

Be sure to check out Kate's response (she's the blogger before me in the chain) and Michelle's response (she's the blogger after me in the chain) as well as the responses of the other bloggers in the chain -- they're listed to your left.

Are your characters real people to you?

Absolutely.

And sometimes I tie my brain in a pretzel thinking about the nature of reality, and -- sparing you the philosophical Rube Goldberg machine -- what I end up with is, Do I have any proof that they're not real, somewhere, somehow? 

Well...no.

I mean, it often feels like I'm just writing about what's happening somewhere else, because I know when I've got it "right" and I know when I've got it "wrong."  (Though I don't always know how to fix it when I've got it wrong.  I always feel like I need to listen more carefully.)

Other writers have that same experience, though they might not describe it in the same way I have.  They refer to it as "automatic writing" or as "listening to the Muse" or (if they're psychologically minded) as "flow."

How much do you really know about them?

A lot, though I don't learn it all at once. 

Some writers' books and magazines encourage you to learn all the mundane details about your characters, but I don't really care what kinds of grades my characters got in high school or what their exact weight is or every last job they've ever held.  I focus on personality characteristics, fears, terrible secrets, and especially on little details that don't seem to fit the rest of what I know about them. 

For example, I have a character who's hotheaded, blunt, and prefers people to be a little afraid of him.  So when I learned that he was bilingual, a practicing Catholic, and adores his cat, I was intrigued.  Learning about why the face he presents to the world is so different from who he is underneath was important, not only so I could write him "accurately," but also because it drove the plot foward.

I tend to learn so much about my characters that I have to write a lot of it down somewhere so I don't forget, but also so I don't accidentally "contaminate" my characters with how I would do things.  Here's a piece of one of my novels' character sheets (sorry it's ugly, SnagIt tries to create a small file).  I used the RPRF descriptions to help myself make the list of personality qualities in the middle column.  (Read more about how to use it for your own stories here.)  I have also been known to give my characters personality tests.

To me, one of the most intriguing things about learning about characters is how much I learn about myself while I'm doing it.  After all, even if it feels like I'm channeling something from outside myself, I know that in reality the stories come from somewhere inside of me.

And each character reflects a different aspect of my personality.  Carl Jung would have said that only by learning about and accepting that each of those characters is part of the whole self can we learn who we really are.  In other words, your hero must confront his dark side, but to create a truly dark villain, you must delve into your own dark side.  So your villain reflects your own darkness.  Likewise, your hero(ine)'s love interest is likely to be based on your own idea of what's attractive.  So the love interest acts as your hero(ine)'s anima or animus, but is also a reflection of your own.



Narrative therapy theory argues that we create our own reality with the stories we tell about our lives.  When we tell stories, we flavor them with our own perspectives.  If I am in a car accident, when I tell it to my friends, I don't focus on how fast the cars were going, the angle of impact, or the amount of debris on the road.  I focus on how I felt and the role I played.  I might portray myself as a victim, or as unfairly accused of doing wrong, or even as a hero for helping the people in the other car afterwards.  The way I tell my story becomes my reality.

I believe that the stories we tell as writers both reflect our realities and help form them, too.  So as a writer, ask yourself what kinds of characters you like to create, and what (possibly hidden) aspects of yourself make those kinds of characters so compelling for you?

You might be surprised what you learn about yourself.  And your willingness to dig around in your own subconscious may reveal even more about your characters, as well!