James Killick's Blog

Is craft killing your creativity?

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 17:30:00 +0000

You know why you're here. You have a story to tell. A good story. The pictures in your head are vivid, the characters rich, your life-experiences unique and particular to you. No one can see the world through your eyes. Nobody can ever tell your story but you.

You know this, and yet... when you get it all down on paper it's flat, the character are shallow and nobody wants to read beyond the first page. It doesn't affect your audience in the way you know it should. And worse than that, it's clichéd. You are bemused and anguished but slowly you begin to understand why.

Words are not enough

Mere words are never as powerful as your memories. Stark sentences will never be as locked into your reader's sense-of-self as your imagination is to your psyche. So what do you do?

Discovering craft

You do the only thing that you can do – you discover there is a craft to writing, there are techniques for evoking feelings and responses in your audience. You discover the esoteria of foreshadowing, foretelling,subtext, and defamiliarization. You learn about structure, pace and narrative, the importance of character, the distinction between story and plot. And because you want to write and write well - and because you want it badly - you start to devour all you can about these things to get what you want. You read books, subscribe to lists, consume blogs, buy magazines. You do it for months, maybe even years. You apply what you've learned at your critique group, you re-write your work in the context of all the new techniques you now understand.

Improved writing?

And your writing becomes tight and well-paced, the characters have depth, you have dramatic-irony and realistic dialogue. You sound like a writer. You feel like a writer. You have all that. You have all that but your writing is still shit. Why?

Craft is the means not the end

Because craft is just craft. It's easy to attach too much importance to it because it is known and can be learned. That's why there is so much material produced about it. That is why you can find so much information on the craft of writing on the internet. It's deceptively reassuring. It's very seductive – the idea that if you learn all these things and adopt them, you will become a good writer.

But it's nonsense. Story-telling craft is just the language of story-telling – it's not the actual story itself. It's not the ideas, the characters, the content, the romance, milieu or the plot. Those are the things that make your story great, that make it different to everybody else's. Those are the things that make it your story.

Free yourself

You must learn the craft by all means – in the same way you must learn to walk, to read, to write. But it's only the first step. Don't fall into the trap that craft is all there is to writing. Learn it, master it, then be free of it – because if all you do is focus on it, the best you can ever hope for is to be the same as everybody else.

And that's not why you're here.

How to write for role-playing games

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 22:52:00 +0000

It didn't take long for the video game industry to cotton-on to the fact that the key to a great game is a great narrative. Sure, gameplay and cool characters are key, but as any creative writer will tell you, if you want to keep someone hooked to the bitter end it's your narrative that will do it.

This is something that the tabletop role-playing game industry has understood for a long while. It's narrative that keeps you in business. It's narrative that keeps people buying – and playing – your games. But that isn't enough to explain the longevity of the RGP industry, particularly in the face of progressively more immersive and narrative-driven video games. So what is it?

It's the very thing that makes good writing for role-playing games so very difficult. It's the opportunity for the participants to play the hero, to be the characters in their very own story – to be immersed in the story events and to effect a change in them. And there lies the problem for the writer writing for RPGs. Who the hell can write a great story without any characters to populate it?

The wrong way to do it is insist that the players run pre-generated characters and rail-road them through a fixed narrative defined in your text. While this might provide a narrative that's great to read, it certainly won't provide one that's great to play. A story-narrative that allows no room for the players to manoeuvre is no good for a role-playing game.

Here are the right ways to do it.

Let the characters witness someone else's story

Some of the greatest modern novels have main characters who are witnessing someone else's story (Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby, The Chief in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest) and this provides an excellent model for writing a role-play scenario. If you write a story happening to some NPCs (non-player characters) that are closely connected to the player-characters the players will get drawn into that story and become part of it. The fact that you have scripted the story that will happen does not mean that the players cannot impact and change that story. In fact, this is the most likely set-up i.e. a bad thing will happen to the NPC(s) if the players don't get involved and change the course of events. This is a great technique for writing a strong narrative that the players can react to and change, thereby providing freedom of action for the players and yet still allowing the writer to deliver a strong narrative for the scenario.

Let the characters uncover an existing story

This model is the classic ' detective' story. The writer constructs a narrative that has already occurred and it's up to the players to discover what that story is. The trick for the writer here is to write the story i.e. the one that will be discovered by the players – then provide a hook and a trail of clues for the players to follow that gradually reveal the underlying story. This is no easy feat for the writer – but then writing never is. The discovery of the clues and how the players react to them is a story in itself, (which afterall is the whole point - see next section), but it sits on a strong and interesting narrative that provides the back-bone for the front-story of the players.

Let the characters be the story

This is really what everyone is trying to achieve with a role-playing game – a great story created by the players through the characters they have created. This puts a lot more responsibility on the gamesmaster and the players than on the writer (think of a director and actors devising their own piece of theatre rather than working with a text). The work of the writer here is to create interesting and motivated NPCs, stimulating and detailed settings and environments, set-pieces and sub-plots – all of which are provided for the players to create and weave their own story around. Although rather limited in scope this is what the early Dungeons and Dragons scenarios were like (kill monster, find treasure) in that they didn't prescribe a narrative for the players – they had to forge their own.

All of the above

In truth, a great role-play scenario will have all of the above elements within it – narratives to reveal and witness, but most of all one created by the players using the elements provided by the writer.

Why characters and plot are inseparable

The difference between plot and story

Why writing blogs are boring

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Mon, 24 Sep 2012 21:00:00 +0000

I've noticed how it works. I've started doing it myself. Take something you think you know about, or something you might have just learned; or something you'd like to know about - or something you know absolutely nothing about - and act like you’re the world's authority. You want to be the part, act the part.

Then you come up with a ludicrous title that promises the earth, and perhaps more importantly how to attain it - something like 'How to be the best writer in the world ever in 2 days', or '5 ways to be a bestseller without writing a word'. No reader is going to believe that you have the answer to those headlines but they can't resist clicking through just in case you do.

Now you've got to work fast. It's not going to take long before the reader susses you out as a fraud so you've got to go for the sell all over again - you need a quick, punchy opening paragraph that keeps up the promise of delivery and, if possible, also enforces the ludicrous promise of the title. Drop in a war-story for authenticity: 'McEwan laughed at the crit group, and Zadie was reticent, but they laughed the other side of their faces when I blasted them off the bestseller list'.

But you're losing them and you know it, because the bottom line is you don't really know what you're talking about – you don't have the answer on how to be a bestseller without lifting a finger, because, let's face it, if you did you wouldn't be writing a blog. You begin to suspect that your readers don't actually bother reading the main body of your blog post because you never bother either.

Never fear – this is where the trusty sub-title comes in. Aim for five – it's the magic number (or was that 3?). You can guarantee that at least they'll read these just to see if you offer anything like what you've suggested in your title. And even if they don't you'll look like you know what you're doing.

And who cares because you'll have got the click through anyway.

If you still don't get it, here's a quick template you can use for all your writing posts:

Title: How to be whatever in the shortest possible time you can get away with

Subtitle: select five of the following meaningless platitudes applicable to anything:

Work harder
Think better
Exercise your imagination
Find your true self
Work more efficiently
Do different
Think outside the box
Write every day

Et cetera, et cetera, ad nauseam.

Stay tuned for more of the same.

Five ways to an atrocious blog post

How to create great content for your blog

Four lies the internet tells you about writing

Five reasons why blogging makes you a better writer

Another five ways to an atrocious blog post

How to write great sex

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Fri, 07 Sep 2012 23:00:00 +0000

It's the most natural thing in the world. We like to have as much of it as possible and while sometimes disappointing when it's good it's the most amazing experience imaginable. Everybody is talking about it - so why is writing about it so hard and why are there so many bad sex scenes written?

Writer Fear

You can never really know someone until you sleep with them. Sometimes not even then. Writing anything can be a pretty exposing experience and getting over that fear is one of the first hurdles a writer must deal with. Some writers never do. Even if we invent characters a million miles from ourselves in story-lines we could never hope (or want) to experience, our sense of self imbues our characters and our stories. Our world views and sensibilities pervade even our least autobiographical work. Perhaps only we can tell, and perhaps we don't like to admit it, but we always give a little of ourselves away whenever we write anything.

So how can we write about something that the whole world may read when we struggle to discuss it with the people we feel closest to? How can we write about a character's deepest desires when we can't even talk about our own. And what if mum reads it?

Write what you know

If you can't stand it, are not very good at it, or have never done it then the chances are you're not going to be very good at writing about it. This more than anything else. I've never been hang gliding but I'm fairly sure with some online research and a little imagination I could write convincingly about it. Not sure I could do the same about sex if I'd never had it (and I have - honest).

This is because sex is such a deeply personal and intimate experience - it can be tied up with powerful and contrary emotions: love and jealousy, confidence and shame; both empowering and belittling - and sexual desire can take us to places within ourselves we didn't even know existed, and make us do things we wouldn't normally dream of doing.

We give our characters authenticity by lending a piece of ourselves to them. We think 'what would I do if I was this character in this situation?' We look for empathic emotions and feelings within ourselves to project into our characters, and curiously, it's that look inside ourselves that creates universality in our characters – that 'I feel that too and am not alone' response from our readers. It's that personal projection into another character's sexual psyche that makes literary sex hard to write – but only if we're scared.

Keep it real

Once you get over fear, prudishness and self-consciousness writing a sex scene should be like writing any other scene – you must ask yourself what the purpose of the scene is. Is it to reveal character? Is the scene there to progress story? Have the lovers finally come together after a novel's worth of prevarication? Are they the right or wrong pair? For these kind of scenes explicitness is not always required. Ask yourself if the reader just needs to know it happened, or if they also need to know how it was when it happened. Was it the best sex in the world? Was it a disaster? Who had the most fun? If the story demands those kind of answers then you'll need to take it into the bedroom.

You also need to know what response you want from your reader. Satisfaction? Frustration? Laughter? Titillation? You have to know what it is you are trying to achieve if you ever hope to. There are enough literary sex scenes that are so bad Literary Review magazine can have an annual 'Bad Sex in Fiction Award'. Most of the winning passages use horrendously distancing language which only demonstrates that the otherwise accomplished writer is afraid to engage with his subject matter. There's also the other kind of authorly distancing – clichéd language that produces decidedly cheesy sex scenes – calloused hands traversing creamy-white thighs etc. If you keep your distance like that you're going to keep your readers at a distance and you might end up winning the wrong kind of award. If you want to write a convincing (and sexy) sex scene, then you're going to have to do what you should be doing for all your scenes, asking yourself how your characters would really feel and desire in that situation – and the best way of knowing that is to project yourself into those characters. You might learn something about yourself too. You'll certainly write better sex.

And of course you'll need to do frequent, in-depth and physical research...

More Sex Please, We're Writers

Knowing when to fix or cut a crap scene

Why Character And Plot Are Inseparable

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Sat, 18 Aug 2012 21:16:00 +0000

Characters are what has happened

Any writer worth their salt appreciates that for characters to be convincing they have to have had a life before they walk onto the page. They have to be motivated, they have to have a reason to do what they do. If your characters are behaving unconvincingly or refuse to do what you intended it’s probably got nothing to do with them being under-developed or not defined deeply enough - it’s because you haven’t given them any reason to behave that way.

Don’t invent some innate trait or neurosis to justify some unlikely behaviour - think of a good reason, an event, that would make them behave like that; make it a reason that people can understand, a reason they can relate to - it is this quality that makes characters convincing. If the reader is sympathising with the character, feeling anger, happiness, fear, or sadness because of the events that have happened to them, they are projecting themselves into that character. Your need to describe the character’s hairstyle, what their handwriting is like, what side of the bed they get out of is unnecessary, because your audience is becoming one with her, they understand her. They understand her because of the things that have happened to her.

A character with a single but compelling motivation will be more convincing than a complex character without one. If you’re struggling with a character, think of the external events that have made that character who they are.

Characters are what is happening

There are character defining events that have happened in the past, and there are character defining events that are happening right now. It’s the difference between the back-story and the front-story. The events that have happened in the past define your character at the start of your story. The events that happen in the story effect change in your character - they signify what your character is about to become or remain - either a reaffirmation of the character or by pushing them through an arc.

Characters are how they react

Characters are not what they say they are. Characters are not what they talk about. Characters are what they do. The real test of a person is how they act in a crisis. Think of all those people at work you think you like until the shit hits the fan - then you really know who you can trust. That’s why every hero needs a crisis. If life was ticking along without any problems to solve, without any need for bravery or for someone to step up, we wouldn’t need any heroes. It doesn’t have to be a huge thing - how does your character react when they burn their toast or when their kid disappoints them in public? This is when you find the measure of people - how they react to a situation when it’s easy to be bad (when no one is looking), and how they react to a situation when it’s hard to be good (have-a-go hero).

Sometimes you don’t really know your character until you start writing - it’s only when you see them in action can you truly get to know them - just like real people.

Similar Posts

Why story beats character every time
Ten questions to ask your characters
Five ways to know your characters before you even meet them

How to create and maintain narrative interest

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Mon, 23 Jul 2012 21:39:00 +0000

We all know we need a strong story with drama. We all know we need to make our stuff interesting. After all, we're all hoping people will pay us for our words. So how do we do it? How do we make our writing so interesting that we can convince those elusive consumers to cough up their cash?

Actually, doing something interesting isn't that hard. Drop your trousers or start a fight with a random person in the street and it would be interesting - for a while at least. But the real test for writers is not writing something interesting but writing something interesting for the duration of the work. Now that's real magic. It's also real hard. So how can we possibly achieve it?

Cause and Effect

Buy yourself a pack of record cards and if you have a head on your shoulders it shouldn't be too hard to fill each one with an interesting event. Trouble is, without some causal relationship between those events writing a script or novel around them would end up being the literary equivalent of the conveyor belt in The Generation Game – you might grab interest for a bit but you won't maintain it.

Well, theoretically you could. If you had a strong and likable character that linked those episodes you might get away with it, particularly if those events were really mini-stories with their own cause and effect sequence. This is called the 'episodic' plot, for which you can read - a plot where the writer wasn't able to string their episodes together into a causal chain. But more of that later.

What the cause and effect sequence will give you over unrelated episodes is narrative drive – a reason for the reader to keep on reading in order to see the effect of that cause you just set up. If you give the reader a bite size chunk she may just take that bite then go off and read someone else's book. Cause and effect is more likely to keep her hooked.

Structure

Cause and effect is a good start, but it isn't good enough. A story needs an increase in narrative tension from start to finish – from the beginning, throughout the middle and on to the bitter end. The breakdown of story into these three phases seem stupidly obvious but they do indicate a deeper narrative meaning that goes some way to explain the resilience of the three act structure not only in plays but in literature as a whole. Firstly, they imply wholeness. Compare your favourite play or feature-film with your favourite TV series. Most likely the TV series you'll want to keep watching because it never feels like it ends until you get to the very end of the series – and sometimes not even then. This is typically achieved by having an overarching story that isn't resolved until the series finale or by making sure that the stories within the series are not closed before new ones are started – the most compelling series will have a combination of both these devices.

Beginnings typically represent a change in the characters' world – a call to adventure or a unavoidable problem that needs to be solved – what some practitioners refer to as the 'inciting incident'. But the beginning can be as simple as the start of something – the beginning of a new day, the start of a new job - whatever the case it must promise interest, dramatic events, fascinating consequences – a reason for the audience to stick with us.

The middle can often be the hardest part of the story to write. It is the most important part of the story because it makes up the bulk of it and yet is typically the least dramatically significant - the beginning and the end usually offer the most significant turning points. This is why the dramatic question asked by the inciting incident must be powerful and complex enough to drive the entire story – the resolution of that question has to take the entire novel or play to resolve.

The middle is best thought of as a series of complications that lead up to a climax i.e. the events that happen as a consequence of the story characters dealing with the inciting event. The resolution of that climax constitutes the end. It can be helpful to visual represent the three act structure diagrammatically with 'tent-poles'.

It's this escalation in narrative tension that is the different between stories you just can't stop reading and those you can.

Character

But it's not just about structure. For a story to have emotional significance for the reader it must have an emotional impact on characters that the reader cares about. It is often mentioned that characters should go through an arc – a process of change – and this should certainly be the case where the story is about the effect that the plot has on the character. The recent Bond films have tried to add substance to an old franchise by developing Bond and introducing an arc for him, particularly in Casino Royale, but there are plenty of examples of compelling narratives where the character doesn't change at all. You wouldn't want Columbo or Inspector Morse to undergo fundamental change in their stories – their characters are the very reason you keep coming back for more.

Complexity can be as interesting as change – the lesson here is that fascinating characters can carry narrative interest for a long time and be the very thing that creates interest across unrelated episodes - but if you can combine a fascinating and likeable character with a great, cause-effect sequence draped over a carefully structured plot you really will have a story that can't be put down. And that can't be a bad thing, right?

A letter to the playwrights of England

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Wed, 04 Jul 2012 20:44:00 +0000

Let’s talk about drama. Remember that? A term that comes from a Greek word meaning ‘action’ which is derived from ‘to act’.

And that’s it. The key to all great plays - if you want drama you must have action. It's the only secret you’ll ever need.

So if drama requires action, what is it? Action is anything of dramatic significance that characters perform, whether as an attempt to effect a change on the world or the people around them, or in reaction to another event. Why is this significant? Because it is interesting. People come to the theatre to be entertained. Being entertained at the very least requires that something is happening, something happening equates to actions being performed.

Something happening is a good start - many plays don't even have that – but if you want to make it really interesting, ramp up the dramatic significance of those actions. What does the making of this action mean for the character making it? What does it mean for those affected by it? What are the emotional consequences of that action? What's at stake? That’s drama.

Drama is not pretty words without substance. Drama is not humour without structure. Drama is not spectacle alone. Drama is character and story intimately entwined – that is your minimum requirement. Anything else is a bonus. Anything else is not drama. Anything else is just a sorry excuse for a play.

Drama does not happen off-stage or in the past. Drama happens in front of the audience. Right now. You are making a show. Showing is the opposite of telling. Showing is theatre’s lesson to all creative arts. Seeing something happen is more engaging than being told about it. Don’t tell your story through the mouths of the characters – that’s not drama, that’s story-telling. That's why the audience's collective heart sinks when faced with a monologue. Monologues can be dramatic but they are not drama. The best the orator can do is tell you a story, he may attempt to show you certain aspects of that story to heighten the impact, playing different characters, leaping around the stage to effect a pale simulacrum of drama – but it's not drama. All he can ever do is tell you: I thrust the knife into a man and people were upset. If the man is on stage while being stabbed the dramatic effect is heightened. If the victim's mother is there it's heightened again. Imagine if the victim's child is also there. This is because the event has dramatic significance. You really have to be there. That's drama. Within drama, telling is simply a device for accelerating the narrative so you can get to the dramatic events more quickly. That’s why Shakespeare had his chorus in Henry V.

Drama is not a backstory revealed or a secret withheld from the audience – these things should only happen if they are in service to the dramatic story events that are happening on stage. To paraphrase Mamet, any scene where characters are talking about something off-stage is a crock of shit. Scenes are not defined by what characters are saying but by what they are doing. I say I love you but the marriage is falling apart. What’s happening is not what is being said.

Characters are defined by what they do, not by what they say. You don’t make a character heroic by giving him an heroic speech, you make him heroic by having him perform heroic actions. There we are again - actions. Stuff happening. Stuff of significance.

It's all so simple, yet I spend so much time in the theatre desperate for the interval, wishing that what I was watching was half as interesting as my DVD box sets. Why must I watch so many ranting characters and soap-box declamations, witty but substance-less dialogue; characters who don't change, stories where nothing happens, boring monologue? Is Michael Billington right when he says that 'few dramatists possess a passionate commitment to the theatre'? Are you all off writing for television?

Perhaps you are out there but the gatekeepers don't recognise you. Perhaps they are too busy looking for an adaptation or a wordy and worthy museum piece. Perhaps the theatre establishment don't care about drama anymore. But you, playwrights of England, you must care. You can do whatever you like with your writing, but if nothing else, you must start with drama. Because if you don't care about drama, no one else will. They'll be off watching HBO.

How to be a bloody awful writer

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Mon, 25 Jun 2012 22:54:00 +0000

Writing advice can be sickening. Stick around on the internet long enough and you'll keep reading the same old tripe, constantly regurgitated by would-be writing experts, vomiting up platitudes as if they are pearls of wisdom when in fact they are the stale old hair-balls we've already been gagging on. Don't worry, as a purveyor of writing 'wisdom' I'm well aware of the irony – truth is, if I really knew what I was talking about I'd be sunning myself in a Tuscan villa, sipping Chianti whilst penning my next best-seller. But I'm not. I'm here, trying to tell you what I think I know about writing. So for this post I thought I'd share something I'm confident I know a lot about – how to be a bloody awful writer.

Give up

Writing isn't like too much hard work – it is too much hard work. What previously seemed like a leisurely lifestyle tapping away at a keyboard whilst sipping Chianti in a Tuscan villa (N.B. theme) is actually one long, hard, unappreciated and underpaid slog in squalor while the mortgage goes unpaid and the kids starve. Who want's that? Not me, not you, and certainly not the kids. Have some dignity – give it the hell up.

Never finish

You don't have enough fingers for all the fuckwits who come up to you and say: hey, I've got a great idea for a novel/play/film but I'm not going to tell you because you'll steal it and make a million. Just for the record – no we won't. We don't need your ideas. We've got enough of our own. Ideas are easy – writing a story with enough narrative interest to last more than two pages is hard. Very hard. It's hard enough trying to write something that maintains our interest as we're writing it – never mind the reader reading it. So don't bother – write in the white-hot heat of inspiration and when the passion fades, move on. Sticking with a piece that bores you would be like taking the time to reignite a stale marriage - and who bothers to do that these days?

Best to just move on to the next.

Never share your work

Because people think they know everything but they just don't. They'll never understand what you are trying to achieve. They'll just say hurtful things like 'it's not finished'. They will care about the fact that it's not interesting beyond page two. People are just too selfish to cough up hard cash to fund your writing lifestyle so you can find time to develop yourself as a human being and as a writer in your Tuscan villa in the Chianti hills. Sharing your work would be like coughing up hair-balls before swine – or something like that. You might have to reassess your (lack of) talent. You might have to self-analyse. And heaven help us – you might be obliged to rewrite. No chance. Keep it to yourself.

Never learn

If you wanted to learn you'd have been a teacher or something, right? Writing isn't about learning, it's not about craft or structure, it's about art, it's about typing, it's about tapping into your unadulterated angst and rage about the injustices you've suffered in your life and the fact that nobody appreciates you as a distinct and special human being who's hairballs are worth perfect strangers handing over good money so you can fund your lifestyle in the Chianti hills, Tuscany, Italy. Learning might have made that last sentence punctuated better. Learning is for chumps.

Join a writers' group

What better way to convince yourself you’re a writer when you can't be bothered to learn about the craft or even finish what you're writing than to surround yourself with other people who are exactly the same? You can then let other people who don't know what they're talking about tell you what you should be doing with your writing – then you can dismiss them out of hand because if they really knew what they were doing, they'd be in Tuscany sipping Chianti - rather than in a Peckham pub sipping Fosters. The great thing about a writers' group is that if you follow their advice, you'll all be writing the same stuff – in fact you can pretty much let them write it for you. And the best thing about being part of a writers' group? It makes you feel like a writer even when you're not doing any writing!

Because that's all we really care about, right?

Why you should write a treatment before anything else

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Thu, 17 May 2012 20:37:00 +0000

We all have different ways of working, of getting what we need to get done, of going from something to nothing. Some of us pants, some of us plot, all of us make excuses. Sometimes, as in any business, the gatekeepers want to know what we're going to create before we actually do it – particularly if there's money involved. At times like that, insisting that we need six months to bash out a shitty first draft with accompanying esoteric rituals before we can answer isn't going to cut it – we're going to have to produce. But how can we possibly know what we're going to write before we even write it? The answer is a treatment.

Used correctly a treatment isn't just a statement of intent – it's a means of establishing some story and character fundamentals up front. And I don't care who you are, this is never a bad thing.

So what exactly is a 'treatment'? Well, different establishments expect different things so you need to pay attention if asked for one - but essentially they must contain three things: a character list with character descriptions, a brief synopsis, and an outline. The synopsis is basically a short prose description of the story, while the outline is a scene by scene breakdown of the whole thing.

To some writers that sounds like a nightmare. But it doesn't have to be. Here's six reasons why it should be fun – and why it will make your story and characters stronger and your opus easier to write. And why, if you use them properly, you'll end up producing treatments because you want to, not because you have to.

You can develop your characters without restrictions

We all know that true character is revealed through action but that doesn't mean there's no advantage in working out that character before the big events occur. It's amazing how liberating it can be to develop a character free from the confines of the story. You also have an opportunity to ensure that they are complex and fascinating enough to maintain reader interest for the duration of the piece. You can create backstory, interesting quirks, childhood traumas – stuff that may never end up being addressed in the main narrative but will certainly build up complex and convincing characters.

You can develop your story without restrictions

Once you let yourself go, it's actually equally liberating to write a synopsis of a work you haven't yet written because you can make the story as exciting as you like - rather than trying to make an exciting story out of something you've already written. Which, let's face it, may not actually be that exciting...

If you haven't tried it, you really should – and if you're a storyteller worth your salt, it won't be that hard. And the great thing is, you know your story is going to be good before you start writing. You'll also find that the work you've done developing your characters will spark ideas for your story, and your story ideas will start to feed into your character development. This is really the dream we all aspire to, a compelling story about essential and complex characters – where the two – character and story – become inseparable. The story is the characters and the characters are the story.

You can take risks

It's far easier to change or cut a flippant sentence in a story synopsis than it is to change or cut six chapters of carefully crafted prose. Therefore it's easier to try a story twist on for size when writing a synopsis up front because you can dump it with impunity. Think you're writing a romance but your synopsis turns into an action thriller half-way through? No problem – just change it to suit – in seconds.

It's a lot easier to spot structural problems

When you're looking at a distilled story, it's far, far easier to see something that doesn't work when it's not draped in acres of prose - a story development that just doesn't make sense in the context of the preceding events; a character event that wouldn't be a believable response to what has happened before. It's just so much easier to see the story – or lack of it – when the story is all you have written down.

It's a lot easier to fix structural problems

Because you don't have to ditch all those words you spent months writing to change the story – you just have to change a couple of sentences, without the emotional and time investment that you would have in a full draft.

You'll end up with a better text more quickly.

Because you can de-risk the project before you even start – you're characters won't be lame and your story structure will be robust – and you won't have to write fifteen drafts to get them right. Then you can just concentrate on the fun bit – telling the story.

How to free the genius inside you

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Tue, 01 May 2012 23:19:00 +0000

Writers are made up of five elements. The good news is, you already have them – all you need to do is identify your weak spots and fix them. Here they are in ascending order of importance – so start at the bottom and work up.

Talent

I've said it before and I'll say it again – it's overrated – but there's no denying it helps. Some people are just naturally better than others at some things. It's not the end of the world, it just means that those of us less blessed have to work harder to achieve what we want. There are always going to be those who are better than you but that's no excuse not to keep at it – they may squander their ability while you are putting the hard work in – by the time they start to use it you may already be ahead of the game. Talent is just a short-cut. Who's to say the scenic route isn't better anyway? Besides, you'll know how you got there when you get there – which means you'll be able to do it again, and again, and again.

Technique

Somewhat over stressed in writing manuals and the blogosphere and there's a good reason for that – it's the craft, and craft can be understood and explained - but it's not as important as the attention given to it would suggest. You are probably already thinking of a handful of atrociously written but best-selling and well-loved books. We've all been there, wondering how the hell such-and-such got published - but the truth is people don't buy books to marvel at technique, it's what lies beyond the words that they're interested in – we just have to make sure our words don't get too much in the way.

The good news is there's no magic – this is something we can study and learn and practice until we are as good as we want to be.

Critical Faculty

We know what we like and we know what we'd like to write like – which means if we can get enough critical distance from our work we should be able to at least know when it hasn't hit that mark, even if we haven't fully developed the skills to get it there.

But we're also talking here about the reasoning mind – the ability to construct plots and rationalise character, to critique our work, to exercise taste – to make artistic and thematic choices. Essentially it's the ability to recognise that something is bad, why it's bad, and more importantly, how to make it good. You've probably got the first one down, you'll get better at the second by practice – join a critique group, it's far easier to see and understand someone else's bad writing – and the third, well, that's the subject of this blog post, and this blog in general.

Imagination

This is the hot-bed of your ideas, the raw materials from which to cultivate your stories. Without this, no amount of craft will save you, no amount of critical faculty will allow you to be the great story-teller you could be. The best stories are those that have been incredibly imaginative.

Most people think of imagination as hard-thinking but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about tapping into your sub-conscious mind. The things you dream about. The ideas you would run with as a child before society embarrassed you into conformity. You have to break that wall down. You have to tap into all that craziness that's going on behind your sensible head. How? Well, each to their own, but here's a few ideas: dream diaries, free writing, free association, meditation; and here's some more.

Genius

The ancients believed that your 'genius' was your guiding spirit, the thing that led you to greatness. Those who achieved great things would have a powerful genius to guide them. It was only later that people began to think of individuals as geniuses, rather than genius being something outside of ourselves or something that was a part of us. I like the ancients' view better – it means we all have genius. There's a little piece for everyone.

It's what some writers call their 'muse', something that comes to them when they are in the white-hot heat of writing, when the words flow and inspiration burns hot behind them, where you know what you are writing is some of the best you've ever written. But it's also when you have an idea that is so powerful it reduces you to tears, when you make a cognitive leap that you can't explain, when your rational and sub-conscious minds work together in harmony – when you imagine what it would be like to travel at the speed of light...

So how do you tap into your genius? How can you summon your muse? I believe that by pursuing excellence in our craft, developing the artist within us, by breaking down the walls to our sub-conscious and freeing our imagination, we'll eventually find that little genius-child we locked away when we decided to grow up. The person we really are. Let's free him, take him by the hand and let him show us the world as it really is.

How to be both original and universal

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 23:22:00 +0000

What exactly do we mean when we talk about 'originality'? The ability to think independently? Being new or inventive? Most certainly – but for the creative, this definition has its challenges - to be truly unique you have to be aware of everything that has gone before in order to be certain of your uniqueness. When Paul McCartney woke up with the tune 'Yesterday' in his head he was so unsure that he hadn't just heard it somewhere else that he phoned George Martin (and everyone else he knew in the music business) to check.

Same, same but different

It's even more complicated than that. This definition ignores the fact that what people really mean when the say something is 'original' is that it has all the themes, structures or mechanisms expected of the medium but presents them in a new and fresh way. If Sir Paul had just plonked a load of random keys on his piano without thought for melody, rhythm or cadence he might have come up with something new, but it wouldn't have been considered music, let alone original.

So what does this mean for us writers? How can we hope to find the delicate pathway that will lead us to originality? The short answer is, look within.

Don't Imitate

We've all been guilty of it. There are several novels and plays that I wish I'd written myself – and it's fair to say that all of these works were original in some way. The fact that I wish I'd written them is testament to the fact that there's no point in trying to imitate them because they have already achieved what I can only hope to – originality. Don't get me wrong, there's definitely stuff I can learn from imitating those guys, but originality isn't one of them. The best I could hope for is pastiche, the worst a travesty – we need to look elsewhere.

There is nothing new under the sun

While the biblical statement may be arguable – the case is already closed for plots. The guys who know say there are only 36 dramatic situations and 7 basic plots - it's already been covered. You can stick a twist in, or subvert a convention – but you're not being original, you're just being gimmicky. Originality doesn't lie in the plot – it lies in who the plot happens to (what some writers call the real 'story'), how it happens to them, what it means to them and what they end up doing about it.

Don't be afraid of the power

You see, the only thing that is genuinely original about any creative enterprise is yourself. It's tapping into your view of the world as you've experienced it that will provide originality – but (and here's the real big deal) also universality. We've all felt love, hate, despair and joy – and your love, hate, despair and joy will feel an awful lot like mine – but it will be different – because I'm not you and I wasn't there with that person you loved or hated at that particular time.

But I'm not my characters, you cry – how the hell can I invest them with the originality of my experience and view? Simple (ahem), first you discover yourself, you examine your experience, you exercise your voice and means of expression – you understand who you are and the world you've seen. Then you ask yourself, if I was my character, what would I do in that dramatic situation I've put them into?

Trust yourself. Then you'll be original.

Five things more important than knowledge

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Wed, 11 Apr 2012 23:18:00 +0000

Have you ever met anyone who knows everything? No? Me neither. And I'm not sure I'd want to. They'd either be the most fascinating person on earth - or the most boring.

But the accumulation of knowledge is something worthy to aspire to, surely? Knowledge makes us better people. Knowledge makes us better writers. Write what you know and all that. The more we know, the more we can write about, the better writers we'd be, right?

Well, not really. If writers only ever wrote about what they knew we'd have no fantasy, no science fiction, no speculative writing, no vampires or werewolves. If writers only wrote what they knew, the literary landscape would be a very dull place.

The truth is, knowledge is cheap. It's easy to acquire and it's easy to ingest – all it takes is a little work. Anyone can do it. In fact, you can even pay someone to do it for you. Knowledge is nothing more than food for the creative mind.

So what things are really useful for a writer?

Imagination

Albert Einstein said it, and I think we'd all agree that he was pretty smart. And he was a scientist. Surely if anything is all about knowledge it's going to be science, right?

Apparently not.

The great thing about imagination is that it allows you to make cognitive leaps – it's what some business-types like to call 'thinking outside the box' or 'pushing the envelope' – in other words, generating ideas. In a creative space it's even more powerful than that – it's possible to create whole new worlds, and a whole new science.

Experience

If you're going into battle who'd you rather have with you – the combat vet or the newly minted officer with a head-full of knowledge? Me too. And there's a reason for that – no plan survives first contact with the enemy. When it gets real you'd take practical experience over theory any day. You want to be the person who can think on their feet, who has the ability to react to the situation they find themselves in - whatever that may be.

Same goes for writing, or any creative exercise. If all you can do is slavishly follow a plan and stoically apply what you were taught at writing school you're never going to be a great writer. You need to react to your story and your characters as your writing unfolds because if you don't, you'll miss opportunities for great moments and ideas and responses that you didn't envisage when you first set out. Sure, you need to know where you're heading, but if you see something beautiful along the way, make sure you go and check it out.

Attitude

I know a lot of people who know a lot of stuff but do nothing with it. I also know a lot of people who have little knowledge but make it go a long way. The difference is attitude - to never to give up; to see problems as opportunities for new solutions; to relish a challenge with confidence that it can be addressed. You might not know the answer but you can find or invent one. Once you start thinking like that, you're thinking like a writer.

Creativity

You may have an inventive imagination and a good work ethic but creativity is about going from something to nothing – it's about building. You don't need to know great tracts of theory to invent, you just need the basic skills to create in your chosen medium. Knowledge is about knowing someone else's creation - you're now in the business of creating something for someone else to know about.

Understanding

Understanding is about problem solving. Understanding is about perception. Understanding is about looking around you and responding appropriately and sensitively to the environment you find yourself in. Waltzing into a situation with a whole heap of knowledge without the ability to temper that knowledge with what you see around you is very close to prejudice. Sometimes knowledge can get in the way, as you bend the reality to fit what you know rather than the other way around. If the map and theterrain are different, trust the terrain.

Perhaps after all, ignorance is indeed bliss. Now let's get cracking.

Five reasons to keep writing

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Wed, 28 Mar 2012 21:05:00 +0000

We've all been there – staring at a blank page wondering what the hell we're going to write on it, or worse, why the hell we're even trying in the first place. A novel or a play can take years of effort and without recognition or appreciation sometimes writing the thing can start to feel like a waste of a good life. Sometimes it's hard to remember why you do it. Here are some reminders.

Your own peace of mind

Writing for yourself shouldn't be the only reason you put pen to paper - after all the very act of writing pre-supposes a reader – but the fact is that the majority of the time spent 'being a writer' involves you sitting alone writing, so there has to be a considerable amount of satisfaction you derive from it otherwise you're not going to find the energy or the motivation to keep on.

Maybe you have a burning story you just have to tell, maybe you're so appalled by the books you read that you know you can write better; perhaps you just love creating worlds or characters, or maybe you just love the idea of being a writer – whatever your personal motivation is don't forget it – especially in those darker moments of doubt. Deep down we know it's all about the reader at the end of the day, but let's not forget the writer, because without them there would be nothing to read.

Your (potential) readers

When you're sitting on a pile of rejections, when your writing group massacres your every word, when even your own mother is saying 'dear, isn't it about time you got a proper job?' it's hard to imagine that anyone, anywhere will ever read for pleasure anything you write. But don't let yourself forget that they, those potential readers, are why you are doing this. Even if that potential reader is just you, make sure you write what you'd want to read – if you write what you'd love to read, then you can guarantee a readership of at least one, and you can also guarantee that if you love it, someone else will too. People want good stuff to read – that's why you do it.

You will keep getting better

No matter how bad you are at anything, if you keep doing it, you will get better. Same goes for writing. If anything, the worse you are now the better you will get – you've got so much more room for improvement. And here's another thing, the tougher your journey is, the more skilled you will become. Don't envy those people who pour out riveting and beautiful writing like a gift from the gods, pity them – because one day the muse will stop and they won't know how to string a sentence together but you will, because you learned to do it the hard way.

You will never regret it

You will never regret trying for something but you will always regret not trying or giving up. Imagine yourself on your deathbed looking back on your life saying 'I'm so glad I gave up writing that novel so I could concentrate on my office admin career. How very fulfilling.' Doesn't sound right, does it? How about this – 'I wrote fifty two novels and not one of them got published, but hell, I tried. And besides, I bet after I snuff it I'll become a bestseller.' Sounds better, right?

Rejection is not failure

Rejection is just some chump who thinks they know all about writing giving you a bad day. Here's something to remember, if they really knew all about writing why the hell aren't they doing it?

Because they don't know how to.

Rejection is as big a deal as you want to make of it. Sure, you may have been rejected because what you wrote was atrocious, but it's just as likely that the person who rejected you didn't even read it.

You write to turn you and your readers on, knowing you will get better at it, knowing that you will never regret it and laughing in the face of failure. When you put it like that, why would you ever want to give up?

The Subtextual Gap - the what, why and how of subtext

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Tue, 13 Mar 2012 00:03:00 +0000

Subtext is a slippery thing, a frequently misunderstood thing. Good writing will have it – but what is it, what does it mean, and when should we use it?

According to the OED subtext is an underlying theme in a speech or a piece of writing. That should cover it, right? Well, not really. As writers we need to dig a little deeper than that – we are the makers of language, the maestros of subtext; we are the reason people reach for their dictionaries to understand what the hell we're on about. We can't just bluff it.

So let's try another definition – subtext is the difference between what is being said and what is actually happening, the gap between what is said and left unsaid.

There are many reasons why people don't say what they mean – perhaps they don't know; perhaps they know but can't express it; perhaps they know but are afraid of the reaction they will get if they tell. This provides a very compelling reason to use subtext – it's realistic. This is what real people do and characters who do it too will generate empathic responses in readers.

Subtext also creates drama. It's the difference between what a character wants and what they need. If the reader or audience can see what the character needs (as opposed to what they say they want) this will create narrative interest – will that character get what they want or what they need, or both, or neither?

But for subtext to work, the reader or audience need to know what's going on for the character even though the character doesn't know herself. Go back and read that again – the reader needs to understand the subtext, even if the character doesn't. Tough right?

Nobody said this was easy.

If the reader can't understand your subtext, then your characters will just be behaving weirdly, they will seem erratic and unmotivated. And while we're on the subject, subtextual motivation can drive a character in ways that surprise even themselves - but don't confuse it with motivation. Someone breaks into the protagonist's house and kidnaps her children then she is going to be motivated to get those kids back. That's pure motivation - the character knows it, we know it, everyone knows it - no subtext whatsoever. So while motivation can be subtextual, subtext is not motivation.

This is the reason why not all scenes need subtext, if a character's action is well motivated that will be enough to drive a convincing scene – but it's also the reason why we see so many atrocious scenes that don't work at all, because the writer is labouring under the belief that subtext is motivation. Combine this with a subtext that isn't understood by the audience and the result is a vague scene with characters behaving in an apparently unmotivated way. No deal.

So how the hell do we get it right?

Well, it all comes down to your characters. You have to know them better than they know themselves. If you fully understand your characters – their hang-ups, fears and hopes – then there is every chance you won't have to pay subtext a second thought. It will just happen appropriately and convincingly. Your characters will act and speak in a way that demonstrates their subtextual needs juxtaposed against their stated ones creating realism and drama in equal measure.

But more often than not what you'll really end up with is a half-baked character behaving weirdly in vague and unconvincing ways. If, like me, this is where you most often end up, then forget subtext for the time being. Concentrate on first motivating your character and then getting to know them. Don't worry about putting subtextual depth to scenes at first – just get your characters behaving in a convincing way and crack on with the draft. Hopefully by the end of it you'll know your characters well enough to go and rewrite those scenes with more subtextual depth.

Apply subtext with subtlety and always drive it by character. Some characters can express how they feel but don't know why they feel it. Some characters over-analyse their feelings to the point where they are incapable of expressing it. Or you may have a character who is just very well adjusted – don't be afraid of this either. Not every character has to have a whole bag of hang-ups – if this was the case nobody would ever get a straight answer out of anybody.

And ultimately the writers job is to eventually close the gap between the text and the subtext , to get a character to a point of realisation, to get them to say what they mean, to tell the girl of their dreams that they love them more than anything, to get their just desserts.

Because that, folks, is storytelling.

Revelations and Reveals - how to surprise your reader

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 01:00:00 +0000

I've talked a lot on my blog about creating narrative-interest – what gives a story it's propulsive quality, what makes the reader, audience-member or viewer keep with you until the bitter end.

Certainly a powerful way of achieving this is by promising the audience a pay-off, an answer to a question, a final understanding of a fascinating story. Perhaps this is the reason why I've sat through so many plays that promise nothing and withhold the reason or explanation for the nonsense I'm enduring right to the end in the mistaken belief that narrative interest is being created. This has only happened for plays – stories and novels like this I just put down and go and do something a lot less boring instead. Like watch paint dry.

It's happened so often that for a while I banished this device altogether from my writing repertoire in sheer disgust – the reveal, the revelation, the surprise. Kurt Vonnegut spoke the gospel: give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To hell with suspense.

But then I got to thinking – wasn't it cool when Luke discovered Darth was his dad? Wasn't it a thrill to discover the twist in the movie Sixth Sense. A revelation can make a good story great. Sometimes a surprise can be good, right?

But when? What were the bad plays doing wrong and how do we do it right? Time to look a little harder at the whole deal.

Story revelation vs. Character revelation

If you break it down, there are only really two types of revelation that can be made within a story – revelations about the story and revelations about character. The differences should be fairly self-explanatory – a revelation about the story is when something is revealed outside of character – who the murderer is, who is sleeping with the heroine's husband. Character revelation is when something is revealed about character – a hidden trait, an unrealised dream, a hitherto misinterpreted desire.

Ok, so if these are the types of reveals that can occur – let's think about how they can occur, and who to.

Revelation to the character about himself, about others or about the story

This is where the revelation is made to a character – he discovers something about himself he never realised before, that the woman he really loves is not the beautiful socialite but his childhood sweetheart; that the beautiful socialite is not a dynamic inspiration but shallow and vacuous; that she is actually already sleeping with his dad (about himself, about others, about the story respectively). These sort of revelations should not be the sole driving force behind a story because as alluded to in my introduction this won't be enough – unless of course you have used other techniques like dramatic-irony or foretelling to create suspense or expectation in the reader.

That is one reason why those bad plays failed – key information was withheld without creating in the audience enough interest to want to stick around to learn that information. If it's obvious to the reader that you're hiding something deliberately you'll create frustration not intrigue.

Revelation to the reader

This is where the revelation is for the reader or viewer's benefit – and this is where we begin to tread on dangerous ground – because although we write stories for the reader's benefit, the reader lives the story through the characters in it – if the writer is using a reveal just to shock or surprise the reader, not the characters, it's nothing more than a cheap shot.

To give an example, imagine reading a whole story only to be told at the end it was all just a dream. Great. There have been at least two movies I have loved that employed a technique similar to this – Jacob's Ladder and The Last Temptation of Christ, but these worked because we were taken along those journeys with the main characters. Our delusion was theirs, they were just as much bewildered as we were, we knew as much as the protagonists and our revelation was theirs too.

An example where this didn't work was in Ian McEwan's novel Atonement, having read through the entire novel only to find out at the end that the last third never actually happened in the story-world felt like a waste of my time. A made-up story within a story within a story. Very post-modern. Very irritating.

Funnily enough I found this less offensive in the film because the amount of time I spent being tricked was a lot less due to the format and I was in on the deceit.

Withholding information vs. discovering it

The reader shouldn't be the last person to know what is going on in the story, it should be the characters. While it's perfectly acceptable for the reader to know more than the characters (dramatic-irony) it's rarely acceptable for them to know less. Never withhold information from the reader for the sake of it. The reader must know everything the characters know. Detective stories work because we discover the truth along with the detective, or because we know the story and we anticipate the detective discovering the truth and the dramatic impact that will have. Nobody likes to be the last person to know what's going on. That's the other thing those bad plays got wrong.

You see that's what Vonnegut meant – like we must always believe that a character is taking the simplest route to his goal, we must always feel we know as much information as it is possible to know at that point in the story, through the eyes of the character that we are sharing it with. If the reader feels they are being deliberately kept in the dark, they're just going to go and buy someone else's book – and you wouldn't want that, would you?

How to create suspense

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 01:29:00 +0000

Every writer wants to keep their reader gripped right through to the end of their story - that elusive thing called 'narrative-drive' – but how do we achieve it? Theoretically it's simple enough – create a desire in the reader for something, delay the satisfaction of that desire, then deliver what the reader wants in an anticipated yet unexpected way – the desire-delay-deliver pattern. Simple right?

Right. But knowing something and being able to do it are two very different things. Suspense is one way of achieving powerful narrative drive - and here are some practical techniques for creating it.

Dramatic Irony

Dramatic irony is when the reader or audience know something that the protagonist doesn't and if used well can be a very powerful means of creating suspense. The key is that knowledge the reader has implies a dramatic or significant event that will happen to the protagonist. It's a device that can be easily understood from films but is applied in exactly the same way in fiction. For example, we see a man break into a house and hide himself in the bedroom cupboard - then a young woman enters the house. We immediately have a suspenseful situation. For as long as the girl is unaware that the man is hiding in the bedroom suspense is maintained. A classic filmic example is the shower scene in Psycho. Bear in mind that as soon as the protagonist becomes as aware as the audience are, suspense is lost because the audience now gets the pay-off – the delivery of the anticipated event.

There is a subtlety here – although the event is anticipated it cannot be predictable otherwise the reader will get bored waiting for what it knows will happen. Suspense implies a dramatic pay-off but the outcome should by no means be certain. What will happen when the woman discovers the man in her bedroom? Is he a threat? Will she fight him off? Or perhaps there's a twist – maybe he's her husband.

Cross-cutting

Cross-cutting is the device of jumping between two converging story-lines. This is essentially another way of using dramatic irony but it can have a more accelerative impact as cutting between the two storylines will have the effect of rapid movement toward the anticipated dramatic event – a powerful combination of suspense and pace. It is in effect though just another way of exploiting dramatic irony.

Ticking Clock

This is a device whereby there is an inevitable event that is time driven e.g. a bomb will go off in ten minutes, the plane will crash in thirty seconds, the protagonist has a wound that will kill him if he doesn't get it seen to. This can be employed with or without dramatic irony. Once again the principle of narrative drive is the same – a dramatic event is promised, that event is delayed and its consequences will be dramatic and uncertain.

In this case the protagonist being aware of the ticking clock can actually increase narrative drive, as a protagonist striving for a goal (e.g. to disarm the bomb, rectify the planes descent or get to the doctor) has a propulsive effect all of its own, couple this with the suspense of the ticking clock and you are pretty close to a story that's unputtdownable.

As I say, suspense is just one mechanism for exploiting the desire-delay-deliver pattern that creates narrative drive, but there are many other ways to use it. Romance for example – the reader wants two characters to be together, the writer delays that coming together, then delivers it.

But that's another post.

How professionals generate story ideas

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 00:04:00 +0000

If you're going to make a living writing then one great story idea is not enough. You have to keep churning them out. If you manage to get the attention of an agent or editor with a great piece of writing they will want to know what other ideas you have in your bank. I know this because a Television Story Producer and Script Editor told me. Here's what else I learned from them on how to collate a story portfolio.

Stories must be realer than reality

Reality is a great resource but just because something happened in real life doesn't mean it's going to be believable on the page. Sure, people do crazy unpredictable things in life but in your story-world actions must be motivated and believable in the context in which you create them. People just won't buy it otherwise.

Imitation rarely results in success

Genre and medium conventions always apply if you want to write in those genres for those mediums but don't slavishly copy writers you admire. It's originality and freshness that will make an editor sit up and notice. Remember, these people trawl through acres of new writing. Give them a reason to pick yours.

Practice active listening

You're a creative right? Words should just tumble out of you right? Wrong. If you're looking for ideas you should shut-up and listen. The only words coming out of your mouth should be those open questions you ask when someone is telling you an interesting story.

Research

You don't have to write what you know but you should know what you write. Just enough research to stimulate your imagination and give authenticity to your work – no more is required.

Separate generation and evaluation

Be clear – if you're creating ideas don't start assessing them or trying to work them too early – just keep those ideas coming. One exceptionally good idea is worth ten crap ones. Hell, one good idea is worth a hundred crap ones. So keep those ideas coming. You never know, todays crap idea may actually look pretty good tomorrow.

Develop a writers' network

It's a lonely business, but it doesn't have to be. Don't be afraid to phone a writer friend and talk ideas through. It's just an idea, and ideas can be tested and improved by talking them out with people who understand what you're about. Exercising ideas like this will help generate new ones and take the originals into places you might not have got to alone.

How to make good writing great

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 23:31:00 +0000

You're probably sick of hearing that good writing requires well-drawn characters, exhilarating plots, conflict on every page and lots at stake - but that's really like saying what makes a great pizza is flour, eggs and tomato - we all know it takes a little more than that. Besides, a cursory analysis of what readers really like (i.e. what they keep buying) is a heady combination of story, romance and milieu.

Writing is exceptional when it becomes far greater than the sum of its parts – when the reader forgets the words and sees nothing but the world behind them; when the characters and plot become so entwined that you couldn't pull them apart. When you can't, in fact, see the science behind the magic. But how can we hope to achieve that?

Not easily, if at all. We have to start with the craft – this is the foundation of all great writing – but we can become obsessed with the craft itself and forget that it's just a means to an end. We can't win the race until we learn to drive, but let's make sure we don't stay in the pits fondling the gear-stick forever. We mustn't forget to look beyond the craft and remember why we're doing this. Here are some things to think about to help us achieve that.

Words are in service to your Story

You might want to be a poet, a word-smith, or a lyrical writer – but thinking of your work in those terms is already putting a barrier up between your story-world and your reader. If the reader is in awe of your beautifully constructed sentence she's not really being transported into your story-world or swept away by your characters. If that's the kind of writer you want to be then fine, but it will only invoke a superficial response from the reader, because

Emotion is the key to memorable writing

You probably laugh a lot a books, you may even find sequences breath-taking, but how often have you wept at a book you're reading, how often has your chest ached, and your heart gone out to characters? Not very often, and the books that made you do that are probably some of the best you've ever read. A character simply being emotional will not invoke an emotional response in the reader, a sad event alone will not do it either, because

Characters are inseparable from Story

The story reveals character and the characters make the story – you can have one without the other, and they can both be brilliantly constructed – but it's only when the two are intimately entwined do they really become effective. No one cares about a character without a story, and a story means nothing if it effects no-one. This is why context is the key to an emotional response in the reader, because

The effect of the story is more important than the story itself

A child being killed is a sad story, if you've characterised the mother of that child before you take the child away it's far sadder, if the reader of that story happens to be a mother she's going to feel it even more. Emotion is created in the reader when a cared-for and understood character is subjected to emotional events. Events are emotional because of what they mean to the character - either positive or negative. By doing this, we're on our way to making

Memorable moments

There will be only a handful of scenes, or moments, from all the books you've read which you will never forget, and the majority of these moments (if not all) will be events that had significant emotional impact for a character you cared about.

The effect of story-events on the reader is likely to be heightened if they tap into universal fears and hopes because the reader is more likely to share them with the character, or if the writer has particularly increased the significance of those fears and hopes pertinent to the character, so the reader can share with them through empathy. How best to let the reader understand your characters? Through action, because

Every hero needs a crisis

You don't really know a person until you see them under stress, which means (again) that character is revealed through action (i.e. plot) and the story will be driven by the character's response. Once again, we've come around to the point we made right at the start - that a truly great story is inseparable from its characters.

You see, if we manage that, we'll be famous.

4 ways your protagonist can learn the truth

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 18:44:00 +0000

It's not just detective stories that require the protagonist to discover hidden truths. An MC actively pursuing some hidden knowledge will provide strong narrative propulsion to any story – providing it is done right. Here are four paths to discovery that you could use in your work.

The chain

This is perhaps the simplest causal structure outlined here, whereby the MC discovers a series of indicators that eventually lead him to the truth. One discovery leads him to a place where he discovers another piece of knowledge or understanding which leads him to another place where he discovers something else etc. etc.

The pieces of knowledge could be a clues, insights into a personal trauma, understandings about a relationship he didn't have before or a mixture of all the above – anything that is appropriate to your story. The key is that each discovery drives the character onto to the next – hence 'the chain'.

The convergence

This is where a series of possibilities are known or suspected by the MC and the story is about him discovering which one of these is correct. In the simplest sense this could be a detective trying to discover the murderer from a fixed set of suspects – the classic Agatha Christie-esque situation – but it could equally apply to a whole heap of other stories. The MC then (either knowingly or unknowingly) eliminates all the possibilities until alighting on the correct one.

You can have all sorts of fun with this set-up – using dramatic irony where the audience/reader knows the truth while the MC doesn't, or keep the reader as ignorant as the MC. Exceptionally clever writers can convince the MC and the reader that one possibility is a dead certainty, only to discover it's false and a least suspected option is actually the case.

The divergence

This is where the truth seems simple to the protagonist but the situation is far more complex than he imagines. A classic example of this is where an event occurs, which could be quite innocuous, but there turns out to be a massive conspiracy behind it. With 'the convergence' the solution is simple and manageable, but with 'the divergence' it is anything but. Perhaps the MC can do something about it, perhaps the reality is so large (or cosmic) that he can do nothing at all. One way to make a distinction between 'the convergence' and 'the divergence' is that in the former the problem gets smaller and more is known, but in the latter, it gets bigger.

The thunderbolt

Probably the simplest and cheapest device of the lot – where the knowledge comes right out of the blue for the character. This can be a twist (re. Sixth Sense) or reveal (Darth and Lukes' relationship) – and can provide dramatic interest or insight, but used alone will not provide narrative drive unless it leads on to the more causal structures outlined above.

Obviously your not compelled to use only one of these devices, you can use them all – and it's worth noting that these aren't the only ways to provide narrative drive. Mash it up and use of many of them as you can, and you'll be half-way to writing a story that's unputdownable.

Happy New Year and good luck.

Four ways to kill narrative drive

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 23:49:00 +0000

If you took all the books that were ever written and laid them end-to-end you'd have a very long line of books – the point being that with so much to read if you're lucky enough to have a reader take a look you don't want to give them any excuse to put your book down and move onto the next – but if you insist, here's four ways to do it.

Withhold information

A sure-fire way to maintain reader interest is to not tell them stuff, right? That way they'll keep reading just to find out, right? No. Utterly, utterly wrong. Giving the reader a question she wants to know the answer to is not the same as withholding the interesting stuff until the end. If you don't put the interesting stuff at the start then, well, the reader just isn't going to be interested enough to keep reading. It's obvious really.

The key is to give the reader interesting stuff right from the start with the promise of more interesting stuff and then keep delivering interesting stuff right to the end. Nobody said this was going to be easy.

Nothing Happens

The power of your voice, the detail of your description, the depth of your characters, all mean nothing if nothing ever happens. Your voice will quickly become droning, your descriptions pointless and your characters irrelevant and uninteresting if not tested by events. 'What happens next' is the simplest mechanism for narrative propulsion – don't be afraid to use it.

Uninteresting Protagonist

So your MC is a humourless plank? Or a spotless do-gooder? Or a bore? Or two-dimensional mouthpiece for your own Freudian hang-ups? I don't want to read about that sort of chump and neither do you. So don't write them.

Predictability

Your scenes should be the natural consequence of previous scenes, and your ending should be inevitable but not predictable. If the reader has your plot figured by page 2 they are less inclined to read on to find out what they know already.

This doesn't mean you can't play with the form – many great stories start with the ending already known (which can have a propulsive effect of it's own), but unpredictability must remain - why and how did this known ending happen? How is this story going to get to that point. Inevitable but unpredictable.

Ok, so that's how not to do it - here's how to actually do it.

Good luck.

How to create great content for your blog

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 00:12:00 +0000

Producing regular content for your blog can be a daunting task. It can also be a difficult psychological shift for new bloggers to assume the position of authority required to blog with confidence, or to believe that anybody will be interested in what they've got to say – particularly if the last thing you feel like is authoritative or interesting. But the truth is, for your blog to get read, you have to have great content and you have to deliver it in an authoritative and interesting manner. Pretty much like any kind of writing. So how can you produce authoritative content without feeling like a fraud? And how can you talk about stuff without coming across as a pontificating bore? Here are some ideas.

State the obvious

Just because you know something doesn't mean everybody else knows it. Don't be afraid to talk about things that seem obvious to you – there's a whole internet out there and quite a few people who won't know what you know. The added bonus of explaining something obvious is that you'll automatically be an authority on the subject. Believe. Know how to tie shoelaces? Someone doesn't. Know how to make toast? Someone doesn't. You get my drift. A 'How to...' post title always gets a lot of interest because a huge amount of internet traffic is people seeking information – particularly about things that are so obvious that they are afraid to ask their mum/wife/boss about in case they laugh.

Recognise your successes (and your failures)

Getting through your day is a success. Getting enough money together to pay the bills and feed the kids is a success. Getting this far into my blog-post is a success. Recognise these successes and use them as material. 'How to get through your day without killing your boss' is a post anybody would like to read – detail the mechanisms you use to avoid boss-homicide, no matter how trivial they seem. Readers will empathise with situations they recognise, no matter how trivial-seeming they are to you.

Write what you don't know

To produce regular blog-posts requires a lot of material. Eventually you'll come to a point where you feel like you've blogged about everything you know or have ever experienced (in fact, you haven't, but that's beside the point) – this is the time you have to start making shit up. If you've blogged about everything you know now it's time to blog about what you'd like to know. This is an opportunity to broaden your horizons. You've blogged about how to cook risotto, but you'd like to know how to cook a curry – learn how to cook the curry and then blog how to do it, or blog how you learned to cook it, or how you failed to learn how to cook it. All of these things are lessons that readers of your blog could learn from. Obviously you're going to have to do a little research for these kind of posts, but hell, you'll be learning about stuff you want to learn about as well as delivering interesting content.

Write the post you'd want to read

When stuck for ideas come up with a great-sounding post title and build up from there. 'How to fly to space with only a saucepan and a hairclip' is a title that's going to get hits. The challenge then is to come up with the content to support the title. Build five bullet points to support the title, then use these bullet points as sub-titles to support with content. You'll find that as you start writing ideas to support your headlines you may come up with better ones – don't be afraid to change them – the punchier or more interesting the better. Ok, flying to space in a saucepan is a tricky one, but I used this mechanism to produce this post and some of my more audacious (and popular) posts.

Just do it

I'm frequently surprised at what posts get a lot of interest – posts I dashed off shame-facedly go viral, while lovingly crafted sure-fire winners get ignored. Sometimes you've just got to take a chance with a post. Ones you think controversial may barely raise an eye-brow and others you think harmless may kick off a shit-storm. The lesson here is a bad post is better than no post at all – because you never know, that post you thought was hopeless may actually end up being the post that puts your blog on the map.

How to keep on writing when it all seems pointless

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 23:06:00 +0000

No-body is reading it, no-body is buying it, no-body cares – so why bother? What's the point in pressing on wasting your rapidly diminishing time on earth pursuing a hopeless cause? Why would you do it? Why would anybody do it? Here's why...

Someone's got to do it

So it might as well be you. How you going to live with yourself when the guy who lives two streets down from you with half your talent makes the big-time because he kept plugging away while you gave it all up to focus on your office-admin career? You're not going to feel very clever then. Give yourself a chance, keep yourself in the mix, and you'll keep improving in the meantime.

Practice makes perfect

All those years writing and being ignored aren't wasted – because all that time is spent improving your craft – by the time you do hit the big-time you'll be bloody good. Not only that, you'll have an immense backlog of work to publish which, perversely enough, everyone will think is great now you're famous, even though they wouldn't touch it with a barge-pole before.

What the hell else you going to do?

Let's face it, who wants to be in office-admin their entire life? It's not like your other job is 'rock-god'. Giving up the writing moves you from the person-with-shit-career-and-little-hope category into the person-with-shit-career-and-NO-hope category. Which one would you rather be in?

You're going to do it anyway

Writing gets under your skin - if you're the real deal, you're going to keep doing it no matter what, so get a smile on your face and keep on keeping on. If you're going to quit later, you might as well quit now and get on with the rest of your life, because a quitter is a quitter.

An unpursued dream is never fulfilled

Dreams aren't cheap. You can't buy them in Tesco. You have to define them, hew their likeness from stone with your bleeding hands then eternally pursue them as they fly from you like phantoms. Chances are you'll never catch them, chances are you won't even know where to look, but I'll tell you one thing for sure, you won't find them in the office-admin department.

What you have to (un)learn to be a writer

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 23:31:00 +0000

Writing isn't just about finding the time and motivation to sit down and write. Your writing has to be good; other people have to want to read it and like it – that's the difference between 'writing' and 'being a writer'. The first is just writing, the second requires readers.

That wasn't obvious to me when I first started. It never crossed my mind that my writing wouldn't be any good once I actually got round to doing it, or that other people wouldn't be desperate to read it and pay me good money for doing so. Harsh lessons were learnt, assumptions reconstructed, and some lessons unlearned. Here's what I would have told my younger self.

Unlearn:

Every word you write is precious

A lie. Most likely every word you write is rubbish. It's probably safest to assume that. Writing isn't just about producing words, it's about reworking them, rewriting them, and a lot of the time just plain cutting them. Sometimes a blank page makes more sense than the drivel you've just typed out. Believe it.

Sometimes you have to write 'off the page' to make a character or a story or a world more convincing. You have to write details around the edges – stuff that the reader (if you ever hope to get any) will never see, but will add authenticity and depth to the words they do see. In fact, get over this words thing – they are just the medium to convey the world, story and characters you create. If you want to be a poet, fair enough, but for fiction writing words are the last resort.

A good answer now is better than a perfect one later

So grab the first idea you have and quickly bash it into an argument. Start by telling them what you're going to tell them, then tell them, then tell them what you've just told them. Right? No. So very wrong.

It's understandable that after decades of schooling you'll be surprised to have any ideas at all, but that doesn't mean every one is worthy of a full manuscript. Stop thinking of everything you write as some kind of essay crisis, and start giving yourself space to have ideas – bad as well as good. Illogical thinking is more productive than logical thinking when generating ideas.

Being cool is being critical

"Hey, look at that dweeb – he stayed in all summer working on his lame-ass fantasy vampire trilogy while we played Sonic the Hedgehog and ate cheeseburgers. What a dork!"

So that dork spent his early years working on his dream while you fucked about. Who's laughing now?

Life is about consumption

Don't confuse pleasure and happiness. Pleasure is an iPad, happiness is a netbook. Anything without a keyboard is designed to suck your money and time away from you. As a rule of thumb – no keyboard equals evil. You want to be a writer, stop consuming and start creating – all the time.

Learn:

The craft

You think you're a rebel? You think you're a free-spirit unbound from the trappings of decades of form and craft? You think you're avant-garde? Or are you just someone who can't be arsed to learn? You need to know the rules before you can break them. You need to understand why something works and works well before you can presume to do it better.

Don't waste time discovering you're not a genius. Save it and stand on the shoulders of the giants who've gone before you – read, learn and understand. Master the form and then you'll be free to be as rebelish or avant-garde as you like.

A lot of people like different stuff to you

Believe it or not you are not the centre of the universe – what you think is not what everybody else thinks. The fact that you found it entertaining to produce ten-thousand pages of turgid prose regarding a little-known historical character does not mean anyone will find it entertaining reading it. You want to be a writer then you have to realise it's mostly about them, your readers, not you, the turgid prose writer.

Love the act of writing

Because that's what you'll be doing mostly, and you may spend your whole life doing it without recognition or reward. Do it for love not money and you may be starving but at least you'll be happy. Concentrate on writing well and who knows, someone might end up paying you for it.

Maybe I'm glad I didn't know all that before I started because if I had, I might never have done.

Why story beats character everytime

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 23:23:00 +0000

Something has to happen – whether you write for page, stage or screen – because if nothing's happening, no-one is caring, no-one is sticking around, everybody is taking their hard-earned time and money and spending it elsewhere.

But story is cheap, right? Real literature is about character right? Stories are just for kids and action movies right?

Wrong.

Story is the foundation of everything

It doesn't matter how fascinating a character is, or how deep they are, or how well developed or good looking, intelligent or sexy - no-one cares. You could meet the most fascinating person in the world but you wouldn't give a monkeys because you'd never know it if nothing happened.

The point is, you can tell a story without character, but you can't tell a character without story.

There are three levels to story

Plot-driven writing has a bad rep. It's not serious literature. It can't be a serious movie if it's narrative drive is plot. Serious literature has to be 'character-driven'.

Don't believe it.

Story is deep, real deep. First there's what happens – the incidents, the scenes, the events. This is what E.M. Forster calls the 'story' – this happens, then this happens, then this happens. Kids love it.

Then there's the 'plot' – what Aristotle calls the 'structure of the incidents' – not just what happens but why it happens. This is harder to do – because one incident has to be a natural and consequential follow-on from all the ones that have gone before it. Harder for you but easier for the reader, because now you are beginning to create narrative drive.

Then we have what Peter Dunne calls the 'story' (as opposed to Forster's notion of story) – the story is who the plot happens to – the effect of the plot on the characters. This is the real story, and this is the real purpose of characters within stories. Shit happens to them, and then we get to see what they're really like, because...

Character is revealed through action

Someone wiser than me once said 'every hero needs a crisis' - because if they don't have a crisis, they're just a regular schmoe. Every dog needs his day. In fact, it doesn't have to be a crisis, it can just be a situation – a character will reveal himself through how he reacts to that situation. You want to really get to know (and develop) your character? Put him through the mill, and see how he shapes up.

Because Aristotle said so...

And I've found no reason to disagree with him.

Don't get me wrong about character - character is king, but story - story is god.

Four lies the internet tells you about writing

noreply@blogger.com (James Killick) — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 21:51:00 +0000

Yes it's true – the internet lies to you. It poses as an oracle but spouts vacuities. It promises knowledge and delivers platitudes. It offers an audience but gives nothing but loneliness. It hints at success but smacks you with despair. But worst than all that, it can make you believe the following.

You are a brand

You thought you were a person, a unique snowflake with a distinct and idiosyncratic view on the world. In actuality you're just a brand - like a roll-on deodorant. It doesn't matter about quality; it doesn't matter about vision or voice or art or craft. No passion. No love. No wrestling with demons of doubt and truth. No late nights staring at empty pages, words bleeding from your fingertips like sweated blood. No carving through inanities with the broadsword of truth. None of that. You just need to be a powerful and recognisable brand that suggests all those things. Then you'll have a career.

Right.

Your writing is a product

Like toilet-cleaner or cat-litter – your writing is just a product. Utilitarian. No need to aspire to greatness, to delve deep into yourself to discover empathetic and universal insights into the human condition. Your work is just a unit-shifter, a money-maker – standardised, compartmentalised, marketed. An agent or editor hasn't got time to judge your work by its merit, they need to be able to quickly label it in the context of the current market – are you the next Larsson? The next Rowling? The next King? If not, fuck off.

Right.

Your audience is a platform

Not individuals, but a mob – in fact not even a mob – a group of people dehumanised to the point where they are no more that just a stage from which you can propel your career. How engaging. How understanding. How perceptive. A platform? That's right, a lump of concrete that will recognise your brand and buy your product by the truck-load.

Social media is essential

So you can connect with other tossers who tell you that you are a brand, that your work is product to be sold to your platform.

That's enough of that - get out there and mix it up with the real big, bad, ugly human-race.

Oh yeah, and you're all snowflakes to me.

James Killick's Blog

Is craft killing your creativity?

Words are not enough

Discovering craft

Improved writing?

Craft is the means not the end

Free yourself

How to write for role-playing games

Let the characters witness someone else's story

Let the characters uncover an existing story

Let the characters be the story

All of the above

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Writer Fear

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Why Character And Plot Are Inseparable

How to create and maintain narrative interest

Cause and Effect

Structure

Character

A letter to the playwrights of England

How to be a bloody awful writer

Give up

Never finish

Never share your work

Never learn

Join a writers' group

Why you should write a treatment before anything else

How to free the genius inside you

Talent

Technique

Critical Faculty

Imagination

Genius

How to be both original and universal

Five things more important than knowledge

Five reasons to keep writing

The Subtextual Gap - the what, why and how of subtext

Revelations and Reveals - how to surprise your reader

How to create suspense

How professionals generate story ideas

How to make good writing great

4 ways your protagonist can learn the truth

Four ways to kill narrative drive

How to create great content for your blog

How to keep on writing when it all seems pointless

What you have to (un)learn to be a writer

Why story beats character everytime

Four lies the internet tells you about writing