Craft || The mechanics of our passion

Mary Sue is that perfect character who can do everything more than just well, but with excellence, even on her first try. In most cases, she is the author's wish-fulfilment self, consciously or not. Who doesn't want to be good at things and well-liked? Or the hero of the hour, solving insoluble problems and rescuing her friends?

When a hundred things happen but only ten are relevant to your plot (and only one actually important to the plot), you could at best call your story 'scattered'. All of these extra things take up space in your story, distract your reader, and confuse the issue. They may be fun and interesting things - they must be, otherwise why would you have included them? - but if they don't help your story, they're extraneous.

I've been writing a novel for the past several months and some of my characters speak with accents. I've read that many writers and editors advise to NOT write the words phonetically as it can become irritating to the reader. Instead they advise you to write the words correctly, but using improper English grammar common to people from that geographic location.

The "rug jerk"¹ ending is one that doesn't follow the story's internal logic, and leaves the reader feeling like they've just had the rug jerked out from under their feet. It is, in short, a surprise ending that's too surprising.

The key difference between a rug jerk ending and a surprise twist ending is that on reflection or a second reading, the rug jerk still doesn't make sense.

While the pronoun "I" invites a reader into the life of the narrator, the word that reaches out across the gap between the writer and his audience is the second person, "you." Deft use of the second person, along with understanding of your audience can draw the reader into your work, but this power is not without risk. It can also backfire if the reader doesn't identify with the role you have created, and end up alienating him instead.

Perspective is more than just a question of writing style. It is a question of power. Should you be the omniscient god, knowing every thought that runs through your characters' heads? Or should you confine the narrator's knowledge to what only she knows, thus focusing on a more intimate subset of the story? The answer may vary by writer, or it may vary by story. Either way, it is a decision that must be made even before you can begin to plot your story.

In a story, everybody has a "cause" - something they want to get, to do, to find, to stop. Not all of these causes are relevant to the plot, but they are there nonetheless.

In the case of the protagonist and antagonist, one of the defining characteristics of their respective causes is that they are conflicting: for one to succeed, the other must fail. But when the antagonist has no reason beyond the dictates of the plot to oppose the protagonist, their conflict - and the story - weakens.

I'm currently writing a story that made use of a pop culture reference (Seinfeld). The story is quite serious and this is the only references I made to pop culture which caused me to realize that it wasn't really needed at all. Perhaps if I were writing a light hearted story about modern life, with snappy dialogue and societal observations, then a pop reference would have made sense.

It is often said that, the best stories are those that retain a timeless quality, they aren't defined by the era they were written in. (even though period affects the sensibilities of the writer and their style) Not many of us will join the ranks of Wells, Twain or Dickens. And even thought it's easier to allow modern culture to slip into our writing, perhaps we can achieve our best when we hold ourselves to a higher standard as if we expect our work to be read by many generations to come.

Deus ex machina is a latin phrase meaning "God from the machine". It its most literal sense, it means exactly that - a god character is lowered or swung onto the stage using a machine (such as a crane) at the end of a play, at which time the god character magically solves whatever insoluble fix the characters had gotten themselves into over the course of the play.

This literary device dates from approximately the 5th century BC, and was very commonly used in ancient Greek tragedies, but now it is considered a very poor way to end a story.

The points of view of the narrator can either distract or contribute to your story.