Word-Whores Tuesday: Contemporary References in SFF

Image Credit: Lee Moyer

Today, I'm over on the SFF group blog Word-Whores, talking about adding modern-day references to bands, brands, places, and more in your novel.

Hint: I also explain why it's awesome to write second-world high fantasy.


Image Credit: Lee Moyer

Risks, Rewards and 500,000 Words

I'm outlining a not-so-new fantasy today. It's not-so-new because I've four vastly different completed versions of this story, each at 125k -150k. Version One is the pantser story, written wholly on whim of "oh, that could be cool." It begins with the protag as a pre-teen and follows her through ten years of "higher education" in pursuit of a kind of hazy quest. That "hazy quest" led to Drastically Different Revision (DDR) 1. Why? Well, plot is something fairly relevant in most stories. DDR1 tried to retro-fit a plot and failed miserably. It was a bit like dancing a flame-throwing jig blindfolded with forty of your closest friends.

You're lucky if your ass-hairs are the only things getting singed. 

Creating a clear plot led to DDR2, which was spectacular and riveting. You knew what she wanted, why she wanted it, why no one wanted her to have it, and what they were doing to stop it. Awesome, no? No. The plot was strong but the protag too strong. Sure she failed, but the consequences weren't proportional to the failure. They weren't even exaggerated. Level half the world and only get a slap on the wrist? Erm. No. That makes the book a Wall-Banger, the sort you fling across the room in a pique for wasting your time and emotional investment.

 The only banging happening should be between the protag and her assorted lovers.

DDR 3 tried to change the inevitable disappointment, to make her transgressions less egregious and the consequences more heinous. It didn't work. The safety net of higher learning didn't allow her to risk enough or to be punished enough. It became a crutch, the Deus ex Machina of getting out of jail free.

And so, DDR 4 begins. To ensure I have a plot that supports the story, I'm starting with the 5,000 foot outline. Nothing too detailed, because I don't want to lose the fun of discovering the story as I write; however, knowing the Goals, Conflicts, Risks, and Rewards for each chapter should keep me on point. The world I knew will be tweaked, the politics more transparent. The individual quest will pushing the plot forward. Failures will result in tragedies. Success will be in perpetual conflict with the greater desire.

Hopefully, there will be no DDR 5. 

Are You Pondering What I Am Pondering? Erm. No.

It's a Monday, Monday, Monday. Due to the very useful feedback I received from three judges in the On The Far Side Writing Contest for one of my High Fantasy Romances (HFR), I gutted my first chapter and submitted it to another writing contest. Why bother? Because I know I suffer from a fatal flaw of giving too much detail upfront about this other world I've created. For the cost of a dutch-dinner, total strangers with a writing background are helping me get closer to my dream of being published. Why wouldn't I take advantage of the opportunity?

Popular Excuse: High Fantasy readers expect the opening chapters to be about constructing the World. Romance readers care less about the setting and more about the characters.

Fine, but I chose to blend these genres, so I have to find the sweet spot. That is my responsibility as the writer. *I* may need to know that there are hundreds of Higher Species in this world, that the environment is sentient, that certain types of magic mix with certain motivations to yield individuals, and that there are thirty hours in their days. How much of that do readers need to know? Apparently, not as much as I think they do.

Inescapable Reality: When all three judges flag the same issue, I know it's not them, it's me.

I am far from the first person to write a HFR. Big NYC houses have published some great examples. They are by no means as pervasive as historical, paranormal, or contemporary romances, but there is an audience for them. The smaller audience means that publishers are extremely picky about the HFRs they buy, which means my writing has to be stellar. Sure, it's a little daunting, but I'm up for the challenge.

Each time I'm tempted to expose a facet of the world I've built, I stop and quote one of my favorite cartoon curmudgeons:

Brain: Pinky, are you pondering what I am pondering?

For God's Sake, Junior, Stop Mumbling

Mumbling. The second sin of speech (the first is whining). We all know why. I'm fairly certain the five year old next door who stares at me over the fence is garbling the solution to world peace; though, he could be warning me I'm stepping in pee. Really, it's hard to tell. It makes my eye twitch every time. You know what else does? Novice writers who make their characters mumble.

Tip: Do Not Bury Dialogue.

Peaches paced her nemesis, intent on an opening. One Labrador against a bear was unwise. One puppy with a preference for Cottonelle challenging a prickly blue cartoon obsessed with Charmin was suicide. "We have five minutes until the Park Ranger returns. Put the rippled TP on the roll and we all get treats." Growls reverberated along her heaving chest. Puffy squares flossed her fangs as she sank her teeth into the fuzzy butt.

Huh? What? Was something important said by someone? Did your eyes skim over the character stating her goal? Did the consequence of failure send a shiver down your spine?

No? Not so much?

Blame it on Literary Mumbling. Dialogue is more than page filler. It creates tension. It provides depth. It reveals clues. It propels plot. Characters speak to convey something of importance, so why hide it in a nest of other stuff? Paragraph breaks draw attention. Let the character's speech use that bit of natural promotion. Think of it like the pesky five year old who dons the tablecloth over his PJs and vaults off the top of the fence.

True, dialogue doesn't have to lead the paragraph. There are legitimate instances of short, and I do mean, short, emotionally "showing" set-ups that would compel the dialogue to be at the end of the sentence.

The Ranger's jaw locked as his fingers splayed over her throat. "Never leave the toilet paper roll empty."

Get the feeling the dude is wee bit miffed? Get the feeling you know what he was doing in the potty? Yes? Good. Dialogue at the end of the paragraph is justified.

I may not be in a position to encourage Junior to enroll in speech therapy; however, to all those aspiring published writers who enter contests: Don't Mumble. You will be docked points.

Goals, Motivations, & Conflicts: The GMCs of Writing

What does your protagonist want? Why does your protagonist want it? What prevents your protagonist from achieving/acquiring it? Welcome to the world of Goals, Motivations, and Conflicts (GMCs).

Before you ever set fingertips to keys, you should know the answers to, "What are the GMCs of my hero and/or heroine?" Every primary character has a set of GMCs, even the villain. Fictional GMCs should supply the point and purpose of the story. In real life, we're happy if we have a GMC for the day. Me? Fate's nice enough to hand me one every morning. 

Q = What do I want?
A = To pee.

Q = Why do I want it?
A = Because my bladder is going to explode

Q = What is keeping me from achieving it?
A = Four layers of blankets, twenty steps, two dogs, and sloth. Oh, and the potty is occupied (damn loo laggard)

A story is built by major GMCs, and a chapter is constructed out of minor GMCs. Sounds easy, no? Structuring a story shouldn't be painful. Save that for the prose. ::crickets chirping::  Bad puns aside, based on the five conflicts above, I could create a five chapter story on how I achieved my major goal. Each chapter's goal would be conquering a conflict of the major goal. For example, Chapter One's GMC: Goal = Escape four layers of blankets; Motivation = I have to pee; Conflict = I am trapped in bed.

A titillating tale of adventure, I assure you.

GMCs are not your enemy, even if you prefer Ford or Chrysler (come on, you knew it was coming somewhere in here). Using major and minor GMCs to weave the story avoids disjointed transitions, saggy middles, and anti-climatic endings. Who wants bad joints, droopy tummies, and flaccid...  ::cough:: 

Great stories have multiple conflicts, both internal and external. Internal conflicts provide the fodder for a character's emotional growth over the course of the book. Can you name the internal conflicts for The Handmaid's Tale, Star Wars, or Harry Potter? How about the external conflicts? Way easier to put words to the external conflict, isn't it? External conflicts are usually obvious, the government, Darth Vader, and Voldemort, respectively.

The difficulty of conflicts will determine the strength of the story. What if my blankets weren't made of cotton? What if they were dragon hides that had been bewitched to cage the corporeal form? What if I had been attacked by a dragon float when I was a child and the mere notion of dragon anything paralyzed me? External and internal conflicts say I might be in need of a new mattress.


GMCs are not secrets; they convince a reader to keep reading. Don't hide them, bury them, or forget to mention them. Minor GMCs can add the page-turning hook to the end of a preceding chapter or the draw into the chapter proper. Proclaim the major GMCs loudly and proudly in Chapter One. Yes, right, true, not every conflict ought to be spelled out in the first twenty pages; however, if Robert Langdon can't simply put on his glasses to decipher the code near Jacques Saunière's corpse, I need to know why before I devote my night to the Da Vinci Code. Oh, there's a secret order? Oh, and there are riddles and puzzles? Oooh, and solving each of those steps before he can solve the über mystery...is a lot like minor GMCs pulling the reader along to get the reader to the resolution of the major GMC.

Have I convinced you of the glories of the GMC yet? Maybe? Fine. Let me appeal to the practical side of your writer's sensibilities.

Fringe Benefits of GMCs:

Planners (those who outline before diving into the joys of dialogue and narrative): Penning the GMCs of each chapter will make writing your synopsis a snap. One paragraph per chapter, no problem. The content is there in your GMC-Outline. Wrap it up in the voice of your tale and you're done.

Pant-sters (those who write without a plan of attack): Knowing your GMCs will prevent doomed dialogue tangents, pointless tertiary characters, and superfluous narrative meandering. It will also save you extra rounds of revisions and time.

Post your daily GMC…just hang a new roll of toilet paper before you leave.

Your Personal Brand & the DoD

What does your personal brand have in common with the Department of Defense? Success in battle begins in the mind, so does the art of relationships. In a previous post we talked about the importance of relationships. This week, we'll stick to a few gems of advice the DoD has dolled out over the years.


"Loose Lips Sink Ships"
The gem from World War II is a mantra you should remember every time you walk into public. While most writers are not in possession of state secrets, the stuff that tumbles from your lips could sink your career no matter to what stage you have progressed. Never, ever, bad mouth anyone. It doesn't matter if Mr. B.Affoon enrages you to the point of eye twitching. Swallow the tirade burning the back of your throat. Politely excuse yourself and diffuse in private. Similarly, if the gaggle with whom you are relaxing in the bar begins sniping about an agent, editor, artist, etc., get them to change the topic or remove yourself from the toxic scene. You never know who is listening, who is watching, or who has what kind of relationships with whomever. The only thing of which you can be certain is that rumor-rang will come back and sink your ship.


"In God We Trust: All Others We Monitor"
Yes, it is a reconnaissance motto. Only a fool marches into an engagement blind. Conferences are engagements. Attending a conference without doing your research is a poor reflection on your Personal Brand because it leads to the egregious foot-n-mouth disease. Most conferences publish lists of established authors, agents, and editors attending before the event. This is time for recon. Visit the author/agent/editor/publisher blog/Web site/Twitter feed/etc. Learn their lines of interest. What do they rep, what do they publish, from what do they flee? Note the ones who represent your genre. Now you have identified your targets. Now you know who to monitor. (Though, please, let them use the bathroom in peace. Writers are not part of a clandestine service.)


"Can't Stop. Won't Stop. Airborne."
You don't have to jump from a perfectly good airplane to promote your personal brand, but you must persevere. Rejections, changing markets, bad reviews, lackluster sales...there are many ways a writer takes fire. It starts before publication and continues long after a book has finished its print run. It is part of the beauty and the burden of producing a lasting product. Every successful author will tell you: Don't stop writing. Keep honing your craft. Airborne.


What other DoD/military sayings leap to your mind when thinking of your Personal Brand? Share them in the Comments section below.