Breaking The Mould. Why Not?

Back in March, I wrote a blog post called On Non-White Characters and their Representation in Fiction. I read it again recently, while trawling back through old posts to look for ideas for new ones (you can blame two and a half weeks chained to the dining room table squashing quotes, definitions, and the workings of 17th century France into my head for that).

An idea promptly flew out of my screen and splattered quite magnificently all over my face.

In the post, I mentioned my most recent writerly abomination, Ikarus. Easily one of the most challenging stories I have ever attempted to write (except perhaps for that valiant attempt at a creation myth that is currently mouldering in my "golden oldies" folder), the story brought me up against a hundred and one stumbling blocks that I'd not previously encountered.

Needless to say, the first draft makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a rusty paperclip. Not in the least because I'm scared of it.

No, no, it's not because the characters have achieved self-realisation and are currently laying siege to the fourth wall. It's because there are things in it that I am unsure of. Things that don't fit the conventional moulds of character and storytelling. Things I'm not sure will help the book in any way, were I ever to nudge it in the direction of an agent. Things that most of the readerly world seems to ignore, deplore, or, simply, consider a bore.

In short: I'm scared of my first draft because it's different.

I shouldn't be.

And nor should you.

First drafts are intimidating enough without containing issues or elements that the writer isn't sure about. After all, after sharks and hand grenades, there are very few things more terrifying than readers vocalising their hatred for your book. Especially when you knew full well you were taking a risk with presenting something outside the norm.

These sources of agony can be to do with the messages in your book: political, religious, or otherwise. They can be linked to views and actions of the characters in the book. Heck, most of the problems can stem from the characters themselves - one of the most pertinent today being their sexuality, although belonging to any unorthodox bracket can be just as hair-raising for the poor writer.

However, I don't think writers should be afraid of presenting things that aren't in line with the norm. Heck, it's not our job to do that. Some of the most acclaimed works in history were extremely controversial - just look at Banned Book Week, and you'll see how many of those books contain issues that are still alive and kicking in teeth today!

No one should ever be afraid of including an issue or viewpoint in their story. In fact, I'd say we ought to advocate it - issues need raising before they can be resolved, after all. Their presentation and handling is a delicate balance, but I think that unless people have the courage to step up and do so, then we'll all be stuck in a hole with no ladders and a shovel that's older than your grandmother's evil tomcat.

But this post isn't just about the big things - war and death and love and life and humanity in all its convoluted glory. This post is also about the little things. One of my biggest niggles in Ikarus, for example, was the presentation of my nineteen-year-old male narrator. He's not exactly your action hero type - heck, he's not even your conventional male narrator; awkward, nervy, embarrasingly effusive, and an arch-procrastinator, he's exactly the sort of character whose less typical - and, I will admit, more effeminate - personality is likely to draw fire in its deviation from the norm.

Hang on a second . . . Why should anyone be afraid to present a character, a story, or an idea that differs from the run-of-the-mill Sainsbury's Basics selection? Why should we ignore these people and viewpoints simply because they don't fit in with a norm? Why should we be afraid to do so?

Answer: we shouldn't. Why?

Because difference is important.

Because difference is true to the world we live in.

Because difference is good. And I believe the reading public know that. For every person who turns up their nose at your story for going into an area that does not agree with them, there will be another who will love it for doing so.

Because . . . why not?

~ Charley R

Something Plotting This Way Comes . . . - NaNoWriMo Update, Day Eight

This NaNoWriMo is going far better than I expected it to. Well, in most respects.

Pages: 39
Wordcount: 18,155
Plot progression: A little slower than I expected, but elements are coming together more effectively and with greater promise than expected.

I'm aiming to hit 20,000 words before the weekend, preferably, but these past few days have been somewhat hectic with my Oxford English aptitude test, and my slightly panicky rush to send off my marked work to the university. Still, all that is done and behind me to my satisfaction, and thus I'm hoping some open space will allow me to plough on ahead before anything else creeps up on me.

The novel itself, I am fairly pleased with. My loose plot format is pulling together well, and many elements are coming together that I did not forsee, which hold plenty of promise for later stages of the book. 

My main issue thus far is coming from the narrative. I haven't written in first person for eons, and the journal format is creating confusion over dates and timings that I am having trouble keeping track of. My other weaknesses are showing, too. I've never been terribly strong on dialogue, but coupled with a weaker-than-is-preferable grip on the narrator's personality, some rather nasty inconsistencies are coming through. 

Upon finishing, I also intend to go back and ruthlessly hack at the early chapters. I'm sure my introductory passages could be a lot sleeker, and I could get into the beginning of the proper plot much faster than I have done. Other events will also need re-ordering, certainly, in lieu of this.

All in all, though, it's going well - as I write more, I'm hoping to get a better handle on my narrator, and solve some of the problems I mentioned earlier. I may tweak some aspects of his character later, for the sake of kicking the plot forward a bit, as his shy, introverted nature somewhat inhibits that at times, but overall I'm very pleased with him, and with most of my supporting characters, who have begun to enter the mix.

And, finally, I'm drawing up to the opening of the really exciting bit of the plot now. And thus far, it's looking bigger, better and messier than ever I dreamed it would.

Hold onto your hats, readers. It's gonna be a bumpy ride . . .

~ Charley R

Someone Needs a Nappy Change! - Charley R's Guide to Your Characters' Offspring

Fictional kids are just as difficult as real-life ones. Perhaps they're not as prone to screaming fits, stinky nappies and perfecting the art of sleep deprivation, but, just like the bundles of pink squishy matter you meet in the playground, they come with their very own bundles of joys and jubilations. 

And that's just for the characters.

Admittedly, I'm not a great one to talk about children - the closest I've come to parenthood is the occasional  babysitting shift, or working with the younger girls in my boarding house at school. That, and I have no maternal instinct towards children whatsoever. But that's another story.

However, even for authors who are parents themselves, writing about children of any age presents a challenge and - unfortunately - there are good many times when it all goes horribly down the plughole, accompanied by several stinky nappies. 

In my experience, there appear to be three main causes of chronic failure when it comes to children in books:

1 - Children are not portrayed correctly, whether in point of view, or through observation by other characters.

2 - Children are used as vehicles for author wish-fulfillment - e.g. Possessing the potential to be equal to, or surpassing, the magical power / beauty / massive intelligence of the parents.

3 - Children are used solely to create sympathy and pathos - e.g. You show that your grizzled, jaded 987-year-old warlock has a heart by giving him sole guardianship of the sweet innocent little orphan the company picked up on the roadside after the kid's parents were killed. Child may also be killed off for no good reason to jerk at the reader's tear ducts. Note: This never works.

With regards to the first issue, it's probably the hardest to solve. If, like me, you have no children of your own, and / or an aversion to anything under 5 feet tall and incapable of holding a discussion over anything more intelligent than the colour of a rubber duck, then you probably aren't in the best position to produce an accurate representation.

In which case, I have two pieces of advice for you. One is relatively simple - peoplewatch. We all do it, usually when waiting for a bus or train, or sulking over a soggy tuna sandwich in Starbucks, but the trick is to do it productively. Take note of any kids in your vicinity, and ask yourself a few simple questions about them. See how they react to people and events around them, watch for their mood and wonder why they might be acting that way, watch the parents and see how they act around the children. If, as often happens, the child makes eye contact with you, try pulling a few faces. Not meaning to sound like a creeper, but I find it's very easy to work out what sort of child you're looking at by the way they react to me. The braver ones will laugh and hold the look, the shyer ones will look away - or, in some awful cases, start bawling! Though whether that's as worrying as the ones who pull faces back I don't know.

The other solution to the problem of inexperience is, of course, to keep kids out of your story as much as possible. As with any other character, unless they are beneficial and useful to the plot, save yourself the hassle of scraping vomit off the wall and get rid of them. However, if they are essential to your plot, try and work out cunning ways of keeping them as marginal as possible. Here are a few I've used over the years:

- Keep your narrator busy with tasks that will have them out of the house and away from kids.

- If the child in question is very young, it will probably spend a lot of time asleep. Exploit this.

- If (as mine was) your narrator is a clueless male, he may avoid children simply because he has no idea what to do with them. His thoughts shouldn't be too hard to dissimilate from your own.

- If the child is old enough to be off doing things themselves, let them wander! Heck knows my brother and I amused ourselves through much of our youth and left our mother alone ... until we got bored or hungry, of course.

However, on the flip side of the coin, issues two and three are really just the results of poor writing and intention. Obviously, genetics makes it quite likely that a child born to magical parents is likely to have a higher chance of inheriting magic themselves, and kids are - to most, at least - very endearing and empathy-generating things. By all means use this - you'd be daft not to - but please, spare the readers the indignity of a 300-page chapter on how wonderful the fruit of your characters' loins is. Besides, if you're planning on sequels, wouldn't it be more interesting to have a child who didn't turn out like its parents? Nobody is a carbon-clone of the parent and, no matter how much we love the original characters, or how much the author loves the idea of this super-special bundle of genetics that is the combination of every awesome trait they put in the parents, the readers aren't going to believe it, and the child will not turn out well - Mary Sues thrive on advantageous gene combinations.

Besides, everybody loves the screwball hero, don't they? 

Cop-outs on growth and maturing are also very irritating - I might name Renesmee of the Twilight saga as a perpetrator of this, using her uber-speshul vampire blood to age enough in half a book to participate in the action ... and become imprinted with a werewolf who could have been her father. But let's not mention that. Time travel, magic potions, curses and all the rest are out too - your child is a child, and like it or not you cannot entirely excuse its parents (or some unfortunate peasant / wizard / princess who finds the little tyke on their doorstep) from raising it entirely. No matter how fast one wants the child to grow up, there's no Fast Forward button. However much we might wish there was one.

Anyone else been put off the idea of parenthood forever by reading this?

- Charley R