Put Your Story in Motion by Farland

From David Farland’s Daily Kick in the Pants

Have you ever read a story that just stalled on you? The character isn’t going anywhere, doing anything, or thinking or saying anything new? Did you notice that you wanted to put the book down? In fact, if you’re like me, you probably did put the book down . . . and you’ll never pick it up again. Humans and animals respond to motion. It’s in our DNA. Anything that moves is either a potential threat, potential food, a potential mate, or a potential ally. That’s why you need to keep your story in motion. When it stalls, it’s as interesting as a dirt clod. So how do you keep your story in motion? Here are a few things that you can do. 1) Keep your characters moving. Simply having characters stride purposefully (not wander aimlessly) across a room will add some motion. Putting them to work, having them racing for their lives—all are good options. 2) Create characters who act. Some people in this world simply react. When faced with an imminent threat, they’ll respond, and that alone is enough for a plot to work. But such people are a bit predictable. It’s much more interesting to have characters who set goals, who struggle to achieve, who think outside the box and act decisively. 3) Create emotional movement. A scene where a character’s feelings change dramatically—for example a scene where a young woman’s anger toward her father is replaced by sadness when she learns of his death—is much more interesting than a scene that is emotionally flat. You can create emotional movement in any direction—from envy to love, from humor to horror, from lust to disgust. 4) Create intellectual movement. Many writers have no intellectual component to their tales at all. It seems that the writer almost has no intellectual life. Yet a scene where a character learns something new, makes a discovery, or even just ponders an important theme will engage your reader intellectually and add some depth to your tale. This works best when you deal with universal themes and problems that strongly affect the reader. These philosophical discussions can be handled either as internal dialog, or you can have people arguing, or otherwise exchanging ideas. 5) Move your characters temporally. Too often writers are so “in the moment” that they forget to use temporal motion to their advantage. For example, imagine that your heroine is getting ready for a date. She decides to wear her “lucky” red dress. Why? Because the last two times that she fell in love, she was able to seduce the men that she wanted while wearing this red dress. If you were writing a romance, looking back in time would offer a great opportunity to deepen your character’s personality. In the same way, if I were writing a fantasy, I might want to take a couple of paragraphs to talk about a sword—discussing where it was forged, the conquests of past owners, it’s alleged powers, and so on, all in an effort to engage those fantasy readers who really like to become immersed in a fantasy world. 6) Put your characters together. Too often, I read scenes where a character is alone, but the opportunity for change, for movement, becomes limited. For example, an old woman sweeping her floor is likely to be fairly boring. But if you throw a serial killer in the basement, the level of interest will skyrocket. Whenever you have two characters together, it gives you a chance to let them argue, or even come to blows. Hence, one assignment that I often ask people to do in my writing workshops is to add an argument to your story. Characters should be like balls in a game of billiards—they should bounce off one another, get sent off in new directions in response to opposing forces. Far too often, I read about characters who should get together and they never do. For example, are you writing about a serial killer, and your detective never meets him before the climax? Boring. It’s much more interesting to get them together early on. The same often happens in epic fantasy, where a young hero face a godlike foe that he never sees. Figure out how to put them together in such a way that your hero comes out alive. 7) Change course. In a story, characters are often forced to respond to others, or to stimulate others. Thus, after your character loses a battle, he may have to regroup with his comrades, reconsider his plans, suffer through a dire funk, or make an excursion in order to ensure success at the next meeting. These “course correction” scenes are the meat of your story. 8) Create suspense by allowing your reader to have some doubt as to a probable outcome. When you’re writing, you as a writer usually know what is going to happen next. Your tone and word choice often act as tells, “foreshadowing” the upcoming actions. One great way to create suspense is to foreshadow a different ending. For example, you have a story about a young man who breaks horses for a living, and on a certain day, a horse finally breaks him—literally. It bucks him off and breaks his neck. How are you going to foreshadow this event? You might be tempted to start off with a gray day, with overcast skies and the taste of rain. You might have rumblings of thunder, and your character might feel “off” of his game. But there’s no surprise in that. So rethink how you’ll approach your scene. 9) Combine the techniques listed above. I remember years ago reading Flannery O’Connor’s masterpiece “A Good Man is Hard to Find.” It’s a story about an old woman who has been kidnapped. She’s taken into the woods by a pair of men who plan to kill her, and she thinks furiously about how she might be able to outrun them, outfight them, outwit them. She argues with them and plays upon her captor’s sympathies. She tells her captor that she knows that he’s “a good man,” for he does show her some kindness, and then he proves her wrong. The story has everything—intellectual movement, temporal motion, emotional movement, characters acting and reacting, while the audience is nicely balanced with suspense. In short, I found it absolutely engrossing as a teen. Certainly, there are a lot of great examples for you to look at, but consider your favorite scenes, and you will often find that all of these elements combine in your favorite scenes. In short, whenever your story suddenly stops—whether you do it purposefully or inadvertently—your reader will stop reading. Your challenge is to keep the story moving!

What is a Writer?

A writer isn’t just anyone that can pick-up a pencil and scratch words on paper. A writer is someone with either the skill or talent to write with purpose and power.

Great writing is done in many ways, with literary language or simple words. There is no yardstick for such greatness, except the response of the heart.

Although artistic writing can be done by anyone (meaning poems, meditations, etc.), a professional writer has a passion for the written word. This passion usually expresses itself through skillful communications that make a point, with pure and powerful language.

Children are often more expressive than adults, having not yet learned to be self-conscious. Whether we grew up playing with mud pies or rockets, each child felt a connection with inborn artistic talent. As adults, we should value these gifts, without assuming that our ability to communicate makes us skillful at all forms of writing.

For example, an office assistant may be great at composing newsletters, yet unskillful at PR writing and press pitching. A CEO may enjoy sketching out articles, yet be ineffective at wording said articles to attract the attention of local or national editors.

A professional writer has paid their dues. They know how to write effectively because they’ve been doing it for a long time and know what works.

In short, although everyone can hone an innate ability to write, becoming a specialist in specific fields of writing is the result of experience and study. So, rejoice in your writerly abilities. But, be wise enough to hire a specialist when it comes to those vital ads, infomercials or proposals that make or break your business!

A Powerful Prologue

A powerful prologue can make or break your book. Although most prologues are considered unnecessary these days, there are some prologues that "hook" the reader with images and emotions. Read the following example and compare it to prologues that others have written. You will find it exceptionally attractive to readers that scan the first few pages prior to purchase.

PROLOGUE
A Silence of Three Parts

IT WAS NIGHT AGAIN. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.

The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music…but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained.

Inside the Waystone a pair of men huddled at one corner of the bar. They drank with quiet determination, avoiding serious discussions of troubling news. In doing this they added a small, sullen silence to the larger, hollow one. It made an alloy of sorts, a counterpoint.

The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened for an hour, you might begin to feel it in the wooden floor underfoot and in the rough, splintering barrels behind the bar. It was in the weight of the black stone hearth that held the heat of a long dead fire. It was in the slow back and forth of a white linen cloth rubbing along the grain of the bar. And it was in the hands of the man who stood there, polishing a stretch of mahogany that already gleamed in the lamplight.

The man had true-red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he moved with the subtle certainty that comes from knowing many things.

The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.

When you distill human elements into your prologue, personal details that intrigue, you guarantee that readers carry your book from the shelf to the cash register. Determine what appeals most to your audience, then include those elements in your prologue. This will ensure a powerful loyalty and interest in your book for both familiar and unfamiliar readers.