Category Archives: Uncategorized

A Special Brand of Bravery

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In yesterday’s post, villains took center stage so it’s only fitting that the heroes receive a little equal time. In a future post I plan on discussing the anatomy of a hero (all right, guttermind, give it a rest) but today I’d like to explore the key ingredient your protagonist must possession to some degree in order to attract your audience and keep them invested:

Bravery.

And it should come as no surprise to any of you that if I’ve brought the subject up, there must be more than one type of courage you may either instill or bestow upon your hapless hero:

1. Heroic Bravery is the most typical brand of courage found in fictional characters nowadays, where the protagonist places themselves in jeopardy for the protection of others or to further a cause in which they passionately believe, knowing in their heart of hearts that the risk to their own well-being is completely worth it.

2. Steadfast Bravery is usually displayed by someone who routinely endures a mental or physical dangerous situation and challenges fate by meeting it head on with patient doggedness every single day.

3. Quiet Bravery, often confused with cowardice, is an offshoot of steadfast bravery where the situations are less physically dangerous. Protagonists maintain their sense of self-worth and hope as they handle their business with grace and patience.

4. Personal Bravery is exactly what it says on the tin. The protagonist risks everything for a chance at a better life as they pursue their seemingly impossible dreams. This type of bravery speaks to us all as we’ve all experienced it in some fashion at one time or another.

5. Devil-May-Care Bravery comes from protagonists that feel they have nothing left to live for–the loss of everything dear to them, a terminal illness, etc.–so they display insane courage in order to meet their inevitable death with open arms on their terms.

6. Frightened Bravery is easily the most interesting type of courage to explore within a protagonist. A character that normally chooses flight in fight-or-flight situations that has either mentally or physically been backed into a corner and forced to face their fears and rise above them can be viewed as the bravest of all the courageous archetypes (and it makes for one hell of a character arc).

The best thing about these? You’re not limited to one type per character, in fact, your protagonist may display each and every one of these types of bravery as they trod along their hero’s path. Your job as creator is to recognize which category suits your character best in order to fully flesh them out on the page.

Sally forth bravely and be writeful.

 

Every Villain is a Hero

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“Every villain is a hero in his or her own mind.” – Allison Brennan

What suits a hero best? That which opposes them. Despite the fact your protagonist is an expert in whatever field applies to your story, the very best at what they do, they’re only really as strong as their antagonist.  And how do you create a strong antagonist? By not treating them like a mustache-twirling villain.

While your shouldn’t limit yourself to the suggestions below, here are the most common antagonist archetypes writers tend to use for ideas and inspiration:

The Immoral Antagonist

Easily the most popular form of antagonist–the person your audience will have no trouble hating. They’re usually set in clear contrast against the hero. The lines are drawn in varying shades of black and white, and readers have no problem choosing whom to root for.

1. The Hypocrite is an antagonist who feigns goodness. They may be guilty of all sorts of treachery and evil, but on the surface they’re all sweetness and light. They put a righteous face on their misdeeds–perhaps even accusing the protagonist of hypocrisy to disguise their own–but the audience knows the truth: this person isn’t just bad, they’re a fraud, which makes them all the more hateable.

2. The Psycho is simply evil through and through. No excuses, no thread of goodness leading them back to redemption. They’re rotten to the core… and crazy to boot. Serial killers, genocidal world leaders, and sadists fit the bill and if you do your job properly, your audience will not only hate the psycho, but fear them as well.

3. The Regular Person Forced to Do Bad Things for an Illegitimate Reason who has let their weaknesses get the better of them. Lust, greed, and hatred can drive even ordinary people to do extraordinary evil.

The Moral Antagonist

In the moral antagonist we find a more complicated—and often more compelling—character, since they presents more parallels than contrasts with the protagonist. This is a person who is doing the right thing—as they see it—and usually for the right reasons, but who has nonetheless been forced to do battle with the hero, thanks to the requirements of your story’s overall conflict.

1. The Good Guy on the Opposing Side is usually present in stories where the conflict is between good people with opposing views who appear on both sides of the battle lines. Lawyers fighting each other for causes in which they each believe passionately, football teams competing for a championship, two love interests trying to win the same girl—none of them have to be inherently bad. Stories of this nature can provide all kinds of interesting possibilities for exploring the grey areas of life, relationships, and morality.

2. The Crusader can be insanely scary in their own right, someone who fiercely believes they’re doing the right thing, and indeed may well be fighting for a good cause. They may be someone who believes they’ve to choose between the lesser of two evils in their decisions. Or they may be someone driven to fanaticism—and thus dangerous decisions—by their passion for the cause. In fact, they may be just plain out right, while the protagonist is the one who’s wrong.

3. The Regular Person Forced to Do Bad Things for a Legitimate Reason because they feel they have no choice. A character who robs a bank to pay for their family member’s operation or to save themselves from the Mafia’s threats may be a hero in their own right—or they may be a compelling and relatable antagonist to the detective protagonist who has to go after them.

So, what are you waiting for? Walk a mile in your antagonist’s shoes, see the world from their point of view, empathize with their plight, understand the justifications for their actions. In other words, treat them with the same love and respect you do your hero for they’re equally as important to the overall success of your story.

Sally forth and be writeful.

The Dynamic Progression of Dual Protagonists (say what?)

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Being normal and following the rules bores the pants off of you, so how do you shake up an otherwise blasé story? Why, you chuck in another protagonist, of course! Two for the price of one, double the bang for your buck, right? Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you, kiddo, but it’s generally not a good idea (unless you’re writing an ensemble/multi-plot screenplay like Crash or Magnolia). Each plot should have a single protagonist—–or Main Character—–whose eyes we see the story through. Une. Unus. Uno. Uma. Eins. Ena. One.

But you’re a rebel, aren’t you? You ain’t gonna have no faceless hack on a blog tell you how to write your story. So, since you’re determined to go the dual protagonist route, why not try thinking of your screenplay in terms of a Dynamic Progression —–having a Main Character who arcs and a Dynamic Character who teaches the Main Character what they need to know? (Pay, I say, pay attention, kid… I’m tryin’ to show you how you can have your cake and eat it too).

THE DYNAMIC PROGRESSION

The Main Character: the main character’s experience or emotional journey is emphasized through his active misbehavior (the way the character acts which affects other people around him/her negatively.)

Example 1: the main character uses violence to solve problems, but then, in the end, works through the main climax utilizing non-violent methods. The active misbehavior doesn’t have to be a negative behavior necessarily, but it does have to affect everyone else around the main character in a negative fashion.

Example 2: In The Apartment, the main character is a human doormat, constantly allowing himself to be trodden upon by others——this is his active misbehavior. Then, he finally learns to stand up for himself at the end.

The Dynamic Character: the central relationship between the main character and a secondary character, with this relationship acting as a catalyst for change in the main character.

Example: Adrian is the reason we care about Rocky. The main character’s active misbehavior affects the secondary character in a negative way. This dynamic relationship is useful in structuring the second act.

The dynamic character may also have an active misbehavior—–most often this is the exact opposite misbehavior exhibited by the main character (violent main character paired up with a non-violent partner; an obsessive-compulsive main character paired up with a laid-back partner, etc). This is true for buddy movies such as Lethal Weapon—–a crazy, suicidal cop is partnered up with a careful, conservative family man—–and on top of this, the conservative, family man cop is retiring in a week.

The 4 Stage Dynamic Progression – in which the main character and the dynamic character are transformed by each other (extremely useful for structuring the second act).

1. Dynamic Introduction: Not necessarily when the main character and the dynamic character meet, but when the nature of their relationship is firmly established.

Example 1: The Sting – Redford meets Newman in scene X, but in scene Y, Redford asks him, “Will you teach me?” and Newman says yes—–the nature of their relationship has then been established.

Example 2: Heathers – when Winona and Christian, together, cover up the accidental death of a friend–they are now locked together in their cover-up. Note that they had met earlier, but the exact nature of their relationship had not been established until the point of said cover-up. The Dynamic Introduction usually happens just before or just after the Act 1 to Act 2 shift.

2. Dynamic Escalation: the deepening of the dynamic relationship, where it becomes more profound, and usually hits The Point of No Return at the mid point.

Example: in Witness—-Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis are locked together when they realize he has to protect her by allowing him to hide out at her place, but their relationship deepens and reaches The Point of No Return when they fall in love (and have sex for the first time–another common Dynamic Escalation). The Dynamic Escalation usually happens halfway through Act 2, at the Mid-Act 2 Reversal.

3. Dynamic Estrangement. The main character and the dynamic character are separated: whether it be mentally, physically, or both. In Star Wars, Ben Kenobi dies, in The Matrix Morpheus is captured, etc. The Dynamic Estrangement usually happens at the Low Point just before the Act 2 to Act 3 shift and is typically the catalyst which begins Act 3 (Neo’s decision that, yes, he is in fact going back into the Matrix to rescue Morpheus, etc.)

4. Dynamic Convergence/Resolution. The dynamic relationship is resolved—–there is closure to the relationship. Sometimes this means the two cannot hope to be together, but they understand at the same time why it has to be this way (Casablanca, Roman Holiday or in Star Wars when Ben Kenobi returns, in a sense, with the sage advice, “Use the Force, Luke” while Luke makes his final run on the Death Star). The Dynamic Convergence takes place in the climax, the battle scene, at the height of Act 3.

See? That wasn’t so painful, was it? Sally forth and be writeful.

Illegitimi Non Carborundum (no matter who they are)

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ImageThe aphorism “illegitimi non carborundum.” is mock-Latin for “don’t let the bastards grind you down.”

This isn’t about handling the countless rejection letters you’ll receive if you plan to pursue writing as a profession. That’s already been addressed in a previous post.

I’m talking about the little things—–the offhanded comments, the pieces of friendly advice, the hard doses of reality (meant for your own good, of course)—–that chip away at your self-confidence bit by bit and make you want to turn your back on writing.

Maybe you’re no good at it, maybe you’ll never make it as a writer, maybe you’ll never finish that novel, maybe you’ll never get your name out there, maybe no one will ever pay you for what you’ve written. So what? I’ve said it once before but it bears repeating: if you want to write, write.

You don’t need to justify your desire to do so. Ever. To anyone.

Sally forth and be writeful.

Every Picture Tells A Story, Though Not Always A Good One

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It’s easy to put the boots to M. Night Shyamalan whenever he debuts a new film, but the fact of the matter is as long as Lady In The Water, The Happening and The Last Airbender exist, After Earth will never be considered his worst film.

The story, conceived by Will Smith while he was watching an episode of I Shouldn’t Be Alive, was originally meant to tell the tale of a father and son crashing their car in some remote region, and the son having to venture into rough terrain to get rescue for his father. Will later changed it to:

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A crash landing leaves Kitai Raige and his father Cypher stranded on Earth, 1,000 years after events forced humanity’s escape. With Cypher injured, Kitai must embark on a perilous journey to signal for help.

It’s a simple story, which is what you should strive for when creating fiction. So, why doesn’t it work (apart from the wooden acting and bizarre futuristic southern military accents)? What storytelling lessons can you learn from After Earth?

1. When good exposition goes bad – Avoiding exposition is nigh-impossible when dealing with science fiction set in the future. In the case of After Earth, the audience needs to be brought up to speed on why humans fled the planet one thousand years ago, as well as being introduced to the new homeworld, Nova Prime. And that’s where it should end. Everything else the audience needs to know should be introduced organically. The one thing you should not use your opening expository scene for is telegraphing the solution for the climax of the story. It’s lazy and a cheat.

2. The protagonist/antagonist relationship – Even with coming of age stories, which After Earth is—–well, that and a motivational speech dressed up as a sci-fi actioner—–the strength and audience interest lies in the conflict found in the relationship between the protagonist and antagonist. The reason After Earth doesn’t ring true isn’t because the protagonist, Kitai, is weak—possessing a weakness that must be overcome is exactly what any good story needs.

The first problem is the antagonist. The thing that combats Kitai in the film is nature—which is filled with its fair share of animal and insect nasties (plus one blast from Kitai’s past, conveniently placed to help him arc properly)—but it doesn’t oppose him. There isn’t one beast that stalks him with animal cunning and outflanks him at every turn, with the ultimate goal of turning him into a tasty morsel. The wilderness isn’t planting snares and death traps in his path to prevent him from reaching his destination.

Not that either of those scenarios are particularly original or great, but something else is needed than to have Kitai stumble and bumble his way through unfamiliar and dangerous terrain. I would have been more invested if he actively tried to outwit the environment and was constantly met with defeat. At least then he would have gained some insight. We learn from mistakes.

Which is the problem I had with the resolution. At the all is lost stage, Kitai suddenly masters the gimmick that allows him to prevail in the end. Without obtaining the wisdom or acquiring the experience to properly do so. And again, it’s a cheat and lazy storytelling.

3. Telegraphing – Some writers mistake this with foreshadowing—the act of dropping hints about certain plot developments that will come to be later in the story. The difference between them? Telegraphing is giving away too much, too soon, thereby ruining the suspense, or the impact of the event.

Before using foreshadowing, have a good think. Is it necessary to heighten the tension? It can be difficult knowing which side of the line you’re on, so if you’re attempting to foreshadow, you should ask yourself if there’s any chance the audience can predict what you’re hinting at? If the answer is yes, take a good look around. You’re standing in telegraph territory. Try a subtler approach.

4. Flashbacks – It’s amazing how many screenwriters still get this wrong by thinking flashback sequences serve the purpose of filling in plot holes in the past. A well-constructed flashback should always move the story forward. Always. If your flashback doesn’t accomplish this, you need to rework your story and find a way to introduce whatever bit of information is missing from your plot.

In After Earth, we have dueling flashback sequences, one set belonging to Cypher which explains his estrangement from his son and the other set telegraphing Kitai’s final obstacle. Nether of these string-of-past-event-sequences impact the present day story, nor do they escalate the conflict. The just provide information that could have be delivered during the Act 1 set-up.

Naturally, there are other problems I had with this film, but delving into them would reveal too many spoilers, so I’ll just end the post here. If you happen to see the film and want to discuss it, feel free to comment below or drop me a line.

Sally forth and be writeful.

The Opinions Expressed Do Not Necessarily Reflect blah-blah-blah…

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The internet is filled with writers who either write for attention, because they’re bored, to fit in, to crack wise, to ruin people’s day, to shamelessly hawk their wares, to make connections, to share experiences, etc. These are generally people who write because they can. Nothing wrong with that, but I’m not addressing those writers today.

I’d like to take a moment to turn the spotlight on the people who write because they have to. People with voices that won’t be silenced. Those invisible few who write to be seen. To whom candid writing is a necessity in order to make their message more relatable, significant, profound, and enduring.

I have a friend, well, that’s a bit of a stretch—that term is so inappropriately applied these days—more like an online acquaintance that I’m on friendly terms with (at present), whom I admire, even though I don’t always agree with their views or the appropriateness and timing in which they’re injected into a conversation.* But I respect the hell out of the person because they aren’t afraid of not being liked.

Different from finding your voice–I’ll address that in a future post–not being afraid to express an honest, unfavorable opinion for fear of losing fans or raising the ire of the audience is not only an admirable trait but also a fundamental step toward becoming a better writer.

It’s essential to develop the ability to say something important without getting hung up on the word important. There are those who put forward the challenge to only write what’s missing in the world. It’s a nice sentiment but the knowledge of what’s missing from the world is already out there and has probably, with all due respect, been written by someone more intelligent and eloquent than yourself. What’s missing from the world is the people’s willingness to put worldwide love, caring, peace and understanding into action, despite your personal views or belief system. There is obviously nothing wrong with writing about this… just as there’s nothing wrong with writing about what feels important to you.

So, what separates the “because I can” and “because I must” writers? The musters have generally identified and clarified their unique worldview. The keyword in the sentence is unique. Every writer has a worldview, even if they aren’t consciously aware of it, often adopted from one particular media source or a friend or relative. That’s a great starting point, but to be an authentic writer you need to know what you believe. What are your values? What do you stand for? How do you interpret life? Be aware that as you grow, your worldview will shift and your writing will become more candid.

Musters also strive to be clear and accurate in their writing as their goal is to reveal the truth.  They tend to be selective with words because they appreciate the potential words have to create images that make their audience feel something profound and enduring.

In summary, write candidly, speak your mind. Say something important. If someone isn’t going to like you because of your opinion, let them dislike the real you. Better that than currying favor with folks who only like you for who you pretend to be, in my far-from-humble opinion.

But what do I know? I just write a blog.

Sally forth and be writeful.

*If we have an online relationship and you think this post is about you, you’re not vain at all, in fact, you’re probably right. Doesn’t mean I don’t have mad love for ya, kiddo.

Annie Proulx Suggests You Live Before You Write

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Spend some time living before you start writing. What I find to be very bad advice is the snappy little sentence, “Write what you know.” It is the most tiresome and stupid advice that could possibly be given. If we write simply about what we know we never grow. We don’t develop any facility for languages, or an interest in others, or a desire to travel and explore and face experience head-on. We just coil tighter and tighter into our boring little selves. What one should write about is what interests one.

Frank Conroy: “The Author Makes A Tacit Deal with the Reader”

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The author makes a tacit deal with the reader. You hand them a backpack. You ask them to place certain things in it—to remember, to keep in mind — as they make their way up the hill. If you hand them a yellow Volkswagen and they have to haul this to the top of the mountain—to the end of the story—and they find that this Volkswagen has nothing whatsoever to do with your story, you’re going to have a very irritated reader on your hands.

Have No Unreasonable Fear of Repetition

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Have no unreasonable fear of repetition. True, the repetition of a particular word several times in the same paragraph can strike a jarring note, but ordinarily the problem arises differently. The story is told of a feature writer who was doing a piece on the United Fruit Company. He spoke of bananas once; he spoke of bananas twice; he spoke of bananas yet a third time, and now he was desperate. “The world’s leading shippers of the elongated yellow fruit,” he wrote. A fourth banana would have been better. — James J. Kilpatrick

The Arrogance of Presumption

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“There is no excuse. If you want to write, write. This is your life, you are responsible for it. You will not live forever. Don’t wait. Make the time now.” ― Natalie Goldberg

On occasion, people stuck in a writing rut seek advice, which has become harder to dispense without sounding like a scribe’s bumper-sticker, especially since you can’t swing Schrödinger’s cat on the interwebz without hitting hundreds of inspirational tips and tidbits.

The simple, honest and truest bit of advice is to write. Write when you’re too tired to write. Write when writing hates your very existence. Write when words have moved out of your head in the wee hours of the night and left no forwarding address. Write when every word you put to paper is like pulling teeth. Write when your inner critic is telling you you’re a talentless shit. Write when the words refuse to make sense. Just write.

But no one wants to hear that because it isn’t a magical solution offered up by a Bagger Vance muse that makes all the tumblers in their befuddled minds line up and open the creative sluice gates.

Which leaves the long way around:

So, things aren’t going your way with your writing and you might be inclined to mope around the house and bask in self-pity for What Might Have Been, but there’s no reason to get down on yourself. Wipe your tears on your sleeves, buck up and realize today marks the start of a whole new ball game. All the old bets are off. You’re back at square one and it’s time to get a new bottom line. Take all your expectation and aspiration and lay them out like cards on a table. This is the first step towards putting the pedal to the metal. You’ve got to make no bones about what you truly wish to accomplish with your writing—–aside from the ludicrous notion of instant riches and fame—–and pull no punches with yourself on the hard work needed to make your dream a reality. And if I can toss in one more tired cliché, your ship doesn’t always come in… sometimes you have to swim out and meet it halfway.

As a writer it’s important to strike a balance between the creative and rational minds. The problem with the creative mind is that it’s equipped with the arrogance of presumption that it knows all there is to know and sometimes it becomes difficult to suspend tyranny long enough to receive messages from life, the universe, the inner muse, and—if you can stretch your fantasy muscles around the strange-but-true notion—your future self. Scoff all you like, but the part of you that exists on a higher plane of consciousness occasionally tries to contact you in order to provide panoramic views of the far horizon. The messages may be brief and strange, or they may appear in a matter-of-fact guise in the midst of your daily routine. Either way, if you turn a blind eye to the minute workings of the world all around you, you may be missing pithy pointers on how to shape your life’s mission to become a happy writer—–note that I didn’t say a successful writer, writing should first and foremost lead to happiness and fulfillment—–in the near and distant future.

A more metaphorical view on encountering obstacles in moving your writing forward is akin to walking in the deep dark forest and encountering a savvy old crone camouflaged as a wolf. Your fear, already swarming because of the unfamiliarity of your surroundings, kicks instantly into high gear, causing you to flee before you can see through the disguise. But now that you know the truth, go back and find the crone again. She has much to teach you about harvesting the treasure that comes from the deep recesses of the creative mind and taking aggressive measures to build up your confidence and mental wellness. Stop talking about and start manifesting the dream, and get as bawdy and funky as you dare.

Those last three paragraphs are a bit cringe-inducing, aren’t they? And they sound like a load of gibberishy nonsense. So, why not take the simple advice and…

Just write.

Sally forth and be writeful.

— Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys