Your First Novel Page 10

  Examples of Original Antagonists

  • Annie Wilkes from Misery, by Stephen King

  • competing geisha Hatsumomo from Memoirs of a Geisha, by Arthur Golden

  • a handsome genius who believes himself an avatar of Vishnu in Kalki, by Gore Vidal

  THE CONCEPT OF MOMENTS

  To be remembered, you need to punctuate your story with unforgettable moments. A moment is a scene or a bit of action that is so powerful it is what people talk about when they find someone else who has also read your book.

  There are five kinds of moments—the ones that bring us to tears, the ones that scare the hell out of us, the ones that turn us on, the ones that make us laugh out loud, and the ones that make us cheer.

  1. Opening Hearts. These moments are the ones that are touching, either through sorrow or joy. Reunion scenes, deaths, births, and confessions can all be heartbreakers.

  In Louisa May Alcott's Little Women, Beth, on her deathbed, says this to Jo: "Love is the only thing we carry with us when we go." In My Daniel, by Pam Conrad, a girl is hurried out to the edge of a field where her father lifts her in his arms to witness the "matted brown sadness" of a lone buffalo, and she feels "the sudden trembling of her father's ribs" as he mourns.

  2. Instilling Fear. These are moments that frighten us, whether with a shock or a skin-crawling tension.

  In Stephen King's Bag of Bones, a widower watches the shadow of a shrouded ghost woman in his bedroom doorway raise her arms to him and sing: "It ain't nuthin' but a barn dance, Sugar!" These are the moments I refer to as "That can't be good" moments. In The Exorcist, by William Peter Blatty, a possessed child turns her head completely backwards and says, in the voice of the man she has murdered, "Do you know what she did?"

  3. Raising the Temperature. These are moments that arouse us. From G to X, no matter the orientation, romantic or not, these are the erotic hot spots in a story.

  In Barbara Kingsolver's Prodigal Summer, an animal protector and a hunter discover each other in the woods:

  His hands moved to her chest and began to part the layers of clothing that all seemed to open from a place above her heart.

  4. Getting a Laugh. These are the moments that make us burst out laughing so loudly that we are forced to read them aloud to other people because the source of our laughter is an irritating mystery to them.

  In Douglas Adams's The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a newly created whale tries to develop the language for its experience as it falls through space toward its death:

  What's this thing suddenly coming toward me very fast? Very, very fast. So big and flat and round, it needs a big wide-sounding name like ... ow ... ound ... round ... ground! That's it! That's a good name—ground! I wonder if it will be friends with me?

  5. Winning Victories. These are the moments that make books worth reading. The hero wins the race, the villain is caught, the war is won, the unjustly imprisoned woman is set free. We've waited patiently for these victories, and we celebrate them with the characters.

  In The Princess Bride, by William Goldman, Inigo finally kills the six-fingered man who murdered his father: The count's "eyes bulged wide, full of horror and pain. It was glorious. If you like that kind of thing. Inigo loved it." In John Grisham's The Rainmaker, the verdict goes in our hero's favor:

  There's a gasp from behind me, and a general stiffening around the defense table, but all else is quiet for a few seconds. The bomb lands, explodes and after a delay everyone does a quick search for mortal wounds.

  The above examples appeared in their respective novels at different places. The four most common homes for big moments are (1) at the beginning, where Kingsolver placed the above sex scene; (2) at the defining moment, where King placed the above chiller; (3) at the dramatic climax, where Grisham placed his Rainmaker victory; and (4) at the very end.

  1. The Opener. Opening with a moment will hook your reader into the book. When the curtain goes up in Hamlet there is a ghost sighting taking place. The Scarlet Pimpernel, by Baroness Orczy, opens with

  a heroic rescue. Each of the three paragraphs on page one of john Grisham's A Time to Kill opens with a description of one of the three people involved in a rape.

  Billy Ray Cobb was the younger and smaller of the two rednecks. Willard was four years older and a dozen years slower. She was ten, and small for her age.

  It's such a chilling moment, we can't look away—we are forced to read on.

  2. The Defining Moment. Creating a powerful moment at a defining place in your book will deepen the effect of the change that has taken place. In Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier, the protagonist finally stands up to her nemesis, at the beginning of act three:

  "I'm afraid it does not concern me very much what Mrs. de Winter used to do," I said. "I am Mrs. de Winter now, you know."

  3. The Climax. Putting a moment at your climax is a great strategy. It means you didn't deliver the expected scene—you went a step beyond and made the climax blaze in your readers' minds. Volde-mort is found inhabiting the back of a mild-mannered professor's head in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

  4. The Closer. Having a moment on your very last page is impressive and effective. Not the easiest task, but very satisfying when it works. In Chuck Palahniuk's Diary, the whole purpose for the story is revealed at the very end. (Don't worry, I'm not going to spoil it for you.)

  FINDING THE MOMENTS IN YOUR NOVEL

  If you feel you haven't found your story's big moment yet, use these cues to help you discover what the moments should be and where they should go.

  • Is there a fear your protagonist hasn't faced yet?

  • Does your antagonist have a weakness that might turn her around?

  • Is there an annoying character that needs to be told off?

  • Is there a secret that needs exposing?

  • Are there two secondary characters who haven't met but who would create a scene, if thrown together, that would effect the outcome of the plot?

  • Is there a character who might surprise us with a quality we don't expect?

  • Is there a bully who hasn't been felled?

  • Is either your antagonist or your protagonist holding back an emotion—rage, despair, love, lust?

  • Is there a monkey wrench you could throw into the plot that would heighten the tension by making it nearly impossible for the protagonist to live happily ever after, or survive at all?

  • Is there a character who should die but you've been too fond of to kill off?

  Look at the crosshairs of your story. The crosshairs of Rebecca focus on the moment the protagonist realizes Maxim never loved his first wife. In White Oleander it is when Astrid asks her mother to let her go. Hamlet is presented with an opportunity to kill his uncle, but hesitates. Harry Potter stands up to Voldemort. Helen Keller makes a connection between water and the word for it. Most moments stem from a certain action and reaction, a key choice a character must make. The heart of your story, the truest seed of emotion, what makes your novel worth reading, comes from and leads to your moment.

  METAPHORS AND SIMILES

  Two writing devices often used in description are metaphor—describing something by saying it is something else—and simile—describing something by saying it is similar to something else. Her hands were two small birds is a metaphor, and Her hands were like two small birds is a simile. You can use metaphors and similes to demonstrate your originality, but don't fall into a cliche—His eyes were burning coals. Her lips were like cherries. War is hell. Love is like a thorny rose.

  Here are some famous writers making use of metaphors and similes:

  METAPHORS

  ... her tears the strongest of aphrodisiacs.

  —Sleep, Pale Sister, by Joanne Harris

  The floor was winter to his skin as he knelt there ... —Atticus, by Ron Hansen

  ... the backdrop of his life had changed completely ...

  —The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera


  She studied the back of the fat man's neck ... a riot of hacked stiff hairs. —The Tortilla Curtain, by T.C. Boyle

  SIMILES

  He held one arm up, like a statue in front of a courthouse. —The Mosquito Coast, by Paul Theroux

  ... she rolled on like a car that had lost its brakes on a downhill slope. —The Florabama Ladies' Auxiliary & Sewing Circle, by Lois Battle

  ... the dog, slick with blood, slithered madly in his grasp like a monstrous newborn.

  —The 25th Hour, by David Benioff

  I admire the beauty of scorpions. They look like black-ink hieroglyphs of themselves.

  —Under the Tuscan Sun, by Frances Mayes

  Metaphors and similes, like all description, should fit your point of view (POV) character and your voice. They are not required—use them only if it feels natural.

  EXERCISES FOR MAINTAINING YOUR MOMENTUM

  If, as you are writing the first draft of your novel, you get stuck or your inspiration feels parched, take a look at what you've written thus far and try doing one of the following writing exercises to revive yourself. Each of the exercises below builds on a skill discussed in earlier chapters, so you can look back if you need a quick refresher.

  • Stripping. Take a page of what you've written so far (or a page of a published novel, if you haven't started yours yet) and remove all the adjectives and adverbs. Read it back. This may or may not have improved the page, but seeing something in a different light can be refreshing. For example:

  The emerald-colored topiary devotedly carved for thousands of years by too-careful monks strangely was no longer bound within recognizable animal forms, and during the dreary, long day weary nurses gently wheeled silent patients among the lost and long-forgotten shapes.

  Removing six adjectives and three adverbs leaves us with the much superior version by Michael Ondaatje from The English Patient.

  The topiary carved for thousands of years by too-careful monks was no longer bound within recognizable animal forms, and during the day nurses wheeled patients among the lost shapes.

  • Redressing. Take a page of your novel or someone else's and change every noun and verb to a different noun or verb. At first you'll probably start by replacing child with kid and sidewalk with pavement but soon you'll start getting creative. Remember, if you're using your own work, these are just warm-up exercises—don't keep any idea that isn't an actual improvement. Take a look at the following sentence.

  With a sound like an old branch breaking, a piece of the edge of the vase came off in his hand, and broke into two pointed pieces which fell into the water and went to the bottom in a swaying motion together, and lay there, not touching, moving in the broken light.

  By changing eight verbs and nouns, and a few other words, we get Ian McEwan's superior version from his novel Atonement.

  With a sound like a dry twig snapping, a section of the lip of the vase came away in his hand, and split into two triangular pieces, which dropped into the water and tumbled to the bottom in a synchronous, seesawing motion, and lay there, several inches apart, writhing in the broken light.

  • Throwing Your Voice. Take a page or scene from your novel and deliberately change the voice. If you are writing in a breezy, informal tone, try a brooding, pessimistic one. Again, these are just exercises. Playing at different styles is just another way of loosening yourself up to write. Here are some examples of different voices:

  It looks like the kind of hair that if you sniffed it, it would just smell too human to bear.

  —Little Altars Everywhere, by Rebecca Wells

  The very cream of Doric mausoleums, of gables and pergolas and boxwood gardens and dovecotes and some fragrance heavy and maddening on the evening air.

  —The Caveman's Valentine, by George Dawes Green

  First time I got the full sight of Shug Avery long black body with it black plum nipples, look like her mouth, I thought I had turned into a man. —The Color Purple, by Alice Walker

  • POV Switching. Take a page or scene from your novel and tell the same story from someone else's viewpoint—see the action through someone else's eyes. Even if your story is about a man stranded alone on a tropical island, for this exercise rewrite the scene from the POV of the sand or a mango spider.

  • Mixing It Up. Take a scene from your novel and try something completely different—write it in rhyme or in all one-syllable words or in the form of a letter. Or you could look at a famous piece of literature in a different way. How about Hamlet's soliloquy as a math problem?

  Slings + arrows = fortune Troubles > the sea

  How about an English problem?

  Life is to mortal coil as_is to shuffling?

  Another good way to mix up your writing for a fresh perspective is to take a paragraph of your story and copy it down in backward sequence. Don't write the letters backward or the words backward, just put the last sentence first and the next to the last second, and so on.

  • Doubling Dialogue. Take a section of dialogue and try to double or triple it in length. Just like stripping away adjectives and adverbs or redressing your nouns, doubling your dialogue may or may not improve your work. For instance:

  "Tell me more, Jacob. Say something comforting."

  "No, Ebenezer Scrooge, I am only allowed to say a little. And the message is not at all comforting."

  By doubling the words, we have the much more charming and spookier version by Charles Dickens from A Christmas Carol.

  "Jacob!" [Scrooge] said imploringly. "Old Jacob Marley, tell me more! Speak comfort to me, Jacob!"

  "I have none to give," the Ghost replied. "It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more is all permitted to me. ..."

  • Doubling Description. Take a page or paragraph of description and double it in length. Again, it's just an exercise. Try it.

  A holiday was declared, but fine foods were hard to come by.

  By doubling the words, we get James Hilton's much more colorful version from Goodbye, Mr. Chips.

  A whole holiday was decreed for the School, and the kitchen staff were implored to provide as cheerful a spread as wartime rationing permitted.

  • Whittling Down Dialogue. Take a page of dialogue and cut the number of words. Can your characters say the same things in half the words? Look at the difference such a change can make:

  "Hey, I haven't seen you two around here before," Curley said. 'You the new guys the old man was waitin' for?"

  "That's right. We just come in. I'm George. This here's Lennie."

  "What's the matter with him? Let the big guy talk."

  "Lennie here's kinda quiet. S'pose he don't want to talk?"

  "By Christ, he's gotta talk when he's spoke to. What the hell are you gettin' into it for? You lookin' for a fight?"

  "No one wants to fight. We travel together. Lennie's none too smart. I look out for him."

  'You look out for him? Oh, so it's that way."

  'Yeah, it's that way. We stick together."

  With half the amount of dialogue, we're left with John Steinbeck's much more powerful version from Of Mice and Men.

  Curley stepped gingerly close to [Lennie]. "You the new guys the old man was waitin' for?"

  "We just come in," said George.

  "Let the big guy talk."

  Lennie twisted with embarrassment.

  George said, "S'pose he don't want to talk?"

  Curley lashed his body around. "By Christ, he's gotta talk when he's spoken to. What the hell are you gettin' into it for?"

  "We travel together," said George coldly.

  "Oh, so it's that way."

  George was tense, and motionless. "Yeah, it's that way."

  • Whittling Down Description. Do the same with description. Choose your words so carefully that half the words have the same impact. They might even have more impact. Take a look at this example:

  He seemed much thinner, h
is uniform jacket now hanging on his small frame, baggy at the shoulders. He looked nothing like his former self, once so robust and vibrating with energy. Now his face looked tired and pale, lined, dark shadows circling his eyes, his cheeks sunken in as if he were half-starved. He looked like a man nearing death, tired of living, weary of questions and decisions.

  When you cut the number of words by half, you are left with the much more effective version by Jack Higgins from his novel Bad Company.

  He seemed shrunken, the uniform jacket too large for him; the face seemed wasted, the eyes dark holes, no life there at all, his cheeks hollow, a man at the end of things.

  • Charging Up the Senses. Take a page from your novel and rewrite it, adding or intensifying the senses of touch, sight, sound, smell, and taste. Or choose one sense only and concentrate on that one. Don't just tell us the air was smoky—show us exactly what it smelled like. Show us the feel of the wet mattress. Show us the taste of the dying man's lips. Show us exactly what the cry of a wounded doe sounds like in the quiet woods at dawn.

  But what looks like an old blanket in a dark puddle on the shed floor is really a little girl, lying face up, one arm extended, her blond hair fallen across her face.

  This is what some writers might ask us to see, but Stephen King and Peter Straub don't let us just glance at this scene. They force us to stop and stare. We are blessed, or cursed, with perfect vision in this excerpt from Black House.

  As for the something that is not an old army-surplus blanket, beyond a swirl of dusty tracks and furrows, at the floor's far edge, its pale form lies flattened and face-up on the floor, its top half extending out of the dark pool. One arm stretches limply out into the grit; the other props upright against the wall. The fingers of both hands curl palmward. Blunt strawberry-blond hair flops back from the small face.

  >

  FOLLOW-THROUGH EXERCISES

  The preceding exercises are good for getting unstuck or for stimulating your muse. Some writers have an unending flow of inspiration but have trouble completing long manuscripts (novels, plays, screenplays). For follow-through and completion help, try one of the following exercises.