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Character Torture
To branch off from the topic of the Big Bads that infest our stories, “character torture” is a phrase I’ve heard many times to describe the misfortunes that befall our characters. Writing them feels like torture sometimes. It’s a fine line to walk — while conflict is central to a good story, if you over do it, readers will detach from the story and refuse to connect with the characters. You have to make the conflict painful enough to evoke a reaction both in your characters and in readers without crossing that line of the suspension of disbelief or alienating readers to the point that they can no longer trust you as a narrator.
I stopped reading a prominent series of historical fiction for that very reason. The main character went through so much in the six books — torture, rape, broken bones, sheer terror over and over again — that finally after one more capture, I snapped. I couldn’t do it anymore. I loved that character and her husband, and it was just too much for me to keep seeing her get beaten into a pulp. I was invested in the character and the series, but I put it down four years ago and haven’t picked it up again. The same thing happened with a fantasy series I was reading — after they killed off half the point of view characters in by the third book, I couldn’t make myself keep reading because I couldn’t let myself get attached to characters I thought were going to arbitrarily get the axe within a few chapters.
If you write fiction that involves bloodsucking vampires (as opposed to the fluffy kitten sort of vampires), or shapeshifters that have to eat internal organs to survive, or witches who can’t be killed except for burning, beheading or dismembering — there’s going to be some violence. Your main character will probably not escape that violence, and mine certainly doesn’t. However, that doesn’t mean I’m going to have her captured, hog tied, and tortured every chapter. I try not to make my character torture gratuitous; it has to serve a purpose for her development and the furthering of the plot. Not one or the other. Both. I think the pitfall the aforementioned historical fiction series fell into was that the series had gotten so long (each book is around a thousand pages, and at the time there were six of them) that the author ran out of other ways to steer the plot. And after six thousand pages, her character had been to hell, chopped into handbasket sized chunks, and sent back in the basket. If you have to torture your character to squeeze another book out of a series that could be wrapped up, you should probably find a new idea to write a book about. A new character to torture who isn’t already covered in scars from your writing.
Like I said, it’s a fine line to walk. Especially in the supernatural genres where the bad guys want your characters dead. But it can be done masterfully so that you love the characters and know they’ll pick themselves back up and come back with more fortitude the next time they’re tested. That’s the tightrope I’m walking with this second draft. Let’s see if I make it to the other side.
Less than 100 pages left to polish up. I also fixed my prologue issue and closed a couple plot holes. Not a bad week’s work so far. Bring it on, gorse bush.
Like this:
An Ode to Revision
I spent a long time dreading the task of revising my novel. I think every writer has at some point dreamed of creating a flawless first draft that will liberate her from criticism and have a Pulitzer waiting as she types the final keystrokes (or scrawls the final words with aplomb).
No one really likes criticism. It never feels good for someone to point out flaws, even if they’re being constructive about it. In all the writing groups I’ve been to thus far, there has been this structure of “point out something you like so you can say what you don’t like.” I don’t think I’m alone when I say that after a while of living in that structure, the compliments all start to ring a wee bit hollow. The old ego can really take a bashing when people start digging through your words, picking some out, and tackling others with sledgehammers.
All that said, I’m fixing to add a big however.
However.
(There it is.)
Criticism is how we grow. Even if it’s put rather unkindly, the meat of what’s there could make you a better writer. I have a huge issue using the word “stare.” Why, I don’t know. So-and-so stared at other-character. A stared at B. Asswipe and Poo stared at each other. I also struggle with passive voice and that wormy little creature, the adverb. Sometimes I’m oblivious to my quirks as a storyteller, and I need someone to just say, “Dude. Knock it off with the staring contests already.” Or, “FIND A MORE DYNAMIC VERB!”
If you want to be published, you need all sorts of readers. You need the Parental Figure. They’re the one who loves whatever you wrote simply because you wrote it, and you’re the obvious choice for Best Writer Ever because you are you. They’re the ones in your corner, picking you up when someone bloodies your nose or knocks you out, telling you to get your ass back out there and write. You also need the Eagle Eye, who will go through your work with a fine-toothed comb and circle all your comma splices and thoughtless typos with a fat red pen. You need the Arrogant Richard. That’s the guy or gal who knows better than any Nobel Prize winner what makes good writing. The one who will tell you what sucks and why. Who won’t pull a single punch because they are so damned sure they know better than you do. And you need the First Fanbase — they might be the most important of all, because they read it, get to know it, tell you what works and what doesn’t, and ultimately will tell their friends to buy it off the shelves.
You also need yourself. Stephen King likes to put his manuscripts away for weeks or months after he finishes them, then goes back to read them with fresh eyes. It works. It’s shocking how it can make you exclaim, “Oh my god! I wrote that!” or “Oh. My. God. I…wrote……………that?”
The point of all of this is that revision is a great way to find out what your skill set needs as a writer, whether that’s a crash course in plot or pacing or a return to constructive dialogue and exposition. Let’s face it: that perfect first draft is the writer’s version of finding a winning lottery ticket in a gutter. Part of what makes writers great is the ability to push themselves to make their work better all the time.
So get your vomit drafts. Read them. Revise them, and love what you’re doing.
(Sidenote: I am now 180 pages into the first rewrite of Primeval. And loving it all over again.)
When You Think You’re Done, You’re Just Getting Started
Oh, Rewrites. You are like that cat that kept coming back the very next day. Just when I think you’re gone and I’m done with you, I hear you meowing. Sure, you look cute and cuddly. You might even purr as you’re drooling on my shoulder and digging your little retractable razors into my flesh. But you see, you won’t go away.
It’s only after a very long time spent with you that I realize that you’re actually one of my most valuable friends. While my first draft may seem like a shining achievement — and don’t get me wrong; it is — it’s like a kid building her first tower of blocks. An accomplishment to be sure, but not quite the Empire State Building. To get to that level, it takes a lot more practice. And math classes. That too.
I’m getting to the end of my first draft of my second novel, and that means that I’m starting to hear little mewling sounds at my front door. The sounds of the Rewrite Cat come to tell me that it’s time to go back to Primeval and fix it. I used to approach rewriting with a huge sense of trepidation. Even a little anxiety. I thought that if I had to rewrite and revise, it meant that I wasn’t a good writer. Silly, silly, amateur me. No matter how good a first draft is, it can always get better, which is the point of revision.
In contemplation of this little kitty peering through my windows now, snaking her tail along the borders between window panes, it’s clear that she just wants the best for my story. She wants to make sure that everything is told the way it will resonate with readers best. I have said this before, but I’ll say it again: a vomit draft is when we tell our story to ourselves. In a vomit draft, we can spew out all the back story and little random details because it’s important that we know that when we move forward. When we polish it up, though, we choose the most economical route between points A and B. We want our readers to grab the rope, jump off the ledge, and swing right to the other side without getting hit in the face with tree branches. If they’re going to take a risk on our book, we need them to want to grab the rope.
I know my first draft of Primeval has its issues. There are a lot of things I want to tighten up, streamline. Some things I need to flesh out a bit more. So as soon as I finish my first draft of Elemental, I will let this scratching little kitty in, pet her a bit, and give her a bowl of cream that she can get in her whiskers. She’s going to be my constant companion until this story gleams like a stone straight out of the tumbler.
Emmie Mears, Author
Ted Mosby….Architect.
Both of those have a certain ring to them. 
Imagine my surprise and warm fuzzy feelings when I discovered (thanks to WordPress’s handy-dandy stats box) that someone had searched for “Emmie Mears author” somewhere. How lovely! Now I only feel bad that I don’t have a book published yet…woe.
Bear with me, gentle viewers. I will do everything in my power to get Primeval and Elemental into your hot little hands as soon as humanly possible. If only it was as simple as willing them onto the shelves….and the bestseller lists.
To the illustrious personage who hath made my day brighter by their curious search-capades: thank you!
This process is a long one, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it will be worth it in the end. I have a good friend who is going to help me edit Primeval and Elemental before I begin to query agents, and because I am committed to making this my career, I want to get everything in tip-top shape before I start. I can’t wait for the rejection letters to come pouring in.
Sometimes I feel like this blog takes place under water. The surface of the water is smooth and unbroken until someone lets out a “Yop!” and creates some ripples — then I know I’m not alone out here. If you find yourself puttering around these pages, know that you’re appreciated.
Seeing as how once I do get an agent and get this ball rolling faster, this blog will remain my conduit into the world and make its nest on my website, I rather want to nurture it. I’m not sure if it’s a baby bird or a fish. Either way. I’ll leave you to ponder the philosophical ramifications of my blog’s species taxonomy. I am going to snuggle down and take a nap.
Alba gu brath…
Hello, world!
No, I mean it. In a shocking feat of bravery, this American is venturing beyond her borders this summer, proving that there are a chosen few of us who do have a passport and do realize that there is something else out there. Whoa. Yeah, I know, I probably just blew your mind.
In all seriousness and without any attempt at disguising my native cynicism, my country wouldn’t have such a bad name when it came to their approach to other countries if it weren’t based in reality. Less than 18% of us even own a passport. How sad. There’s a big wide world out there, and it’s really quite lovely.
So, where am I headed, you ask? Well, it’s back to the motherland for me! Scotland, to be specific. I’m taking a much needed (though ill-afforded) 10 day adventure to clear my head and refocus on following my bliss. It couldn’t come at a better time. I found a relatively cheap flight — I say relatively because dear lord, when did airfare taxes start doubling the cost of a ticket? It wasn’t quite double, but close. The taxes were a full 60-70% of my ticket cost. That’s pretty outrageous.
Anyway, it’s been almost three and a half years since I’ve been back to bonnie Scotland, and it’s high time that got fixed. So I’m off while I have a wee bit of free time. It’ll also give me a chance to fine-tune some of the Scotland descriptions in my novels. I don’t think they’re bad now, but refreshing my own memory can’t hurt. maybe I’ll even find some new ones. I do have a sneaking suspicion that I know where all of the big plot to-do’s are going to come to a head, and this trip will give me a chance to explore it and record the necessary impressions I get of the place. I have two options for it, so we’ll see which one wins out, shall we? I cannot wait.
R-R-R-Rave Review?
Okay, so it’s from my mommy, but still.
I sent her the full soft manuscript of Primeval two days ago, and she proceeded to stay up all night reading it all the way through, which to me, is a rave review in and of itself. I called her today, and we had a chat about it. She gave me the five words that every author dreams of hearing: “I couldn’t put it down.”
Success.
I asked her if she really did like it, and I added the inevitable, “You’re not just saying that because you’re my mommy, are you?” (Yes, gentle viewers, I do still call her Mommy/Mama. Sue me.) Anyway, she said that she genuinely thought it was amazing, and proceeded to laud the descriptions, the characters, the world-building, and the plot, which showed me that she at least actually read it. We discussed a few things I want to change, but the big parts I wanted to come across did so loud and clear, and so I therefore consider my first draft a triumph. Although greater folks than I have played this game and failed, do allow me this fuzzy warm little glow of goldy-colored hope. It is quite comforting to think that perhaps my long hours of toil produced something worthy.
Exciting. What a glorious thing.
Stay tuned, gentle viewers. More to follow.
