The Three Rules of Great Antagonists?

Jennifer Crusie is a long-time pro writer. In Filled with Glee: The Unauthorized Glee Companion by Leah Wilson, Crusie had this to say about antagonists in her essay “You Think That’s Hard? Try Being an Antagonist, That’s Hard”: Why Sue Sylvester is Essential to Glee” 

“Sue is riveting, not only because she’s a fascinating character in her own right, but also because she embodies the Three Rules of Great Antagonists: (1) She is much stronger than the protagonist she sets out to destroy, (2) She will stop at nothing to achieve her goal, and (3) despite all that strength and implacability, she’s a vulnerable human being, not a cartoon.” (130)

You know what I think of rules and of form outside the context of function. So here are my questions to you writers who follow my blog and have been following the posts on suspense:

  1. What function or effect do these qualities have on the reader or on story elements that impact the reader?
  2. Do all great antagonists exhibit these three qualities?
  3. If not, are any of these critical for antagonists?
  4. What’s your conclusion about these three rules?

I’m interested to see what you come up with. And don’t be afraid to post your ideas. I really want to hear your take. You might want to read her whole essay.

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  • Generating Story 6: The Story Development Framework

    Folks, it’s been almost six months since I added anything to my series on how to get and develop killer story ideas.  There’s a reason it’s been so long—I’ve been heads-down trying to develop my own stories. 

    I have allotted myself only so much time for writing each day, and when things have to give, unfortunately, it’s my blog that goes first.  Actually, the social media goes first, which is why I have such a lame Facebook and Twitter presence. Of course, if anyone contacts me directly using the link in the sidebar or comments on a post, I always respond promptly.

    Anyway, I wish I had more time, but I do have a day job.  I also have wonderful wife and four daughters, and I simply can’t miss my opportunity to enjoy them while they’re here.  For example, we just did an eight-hour roundtrip trek out to Roosevelt, Utah to attend the commencement ceremonies of my daughter who is graduating with her Associates degree from one of the state universities one month before she receives her High School diploma.  Yes, you read that correctly.  It’s all part of the concurrent enrollment program we have that’s a godsend for those of us who live in rural areas.  That was also the day of my 23rd wedding anniversary to a most excellent and wonderful wife and mom, who would like to think of herself as a large cat, something like a jaguar, but who is more like a horse—sleek, beautiful, and good for something.  Nellie’s a rock. 

    So all that blather to say I haven’t had much time, but I am happy to announce I’ve got something for you today.  I think you will find quite helpful. 

    The Framework

    One of the problems new writers run into is that they don’t know where to start or how to proceed.  This is the same with any complex endeavor.  In my day job, I’ve been teaching some fairly complex things for a number of years, and I’ve found that when you give students a framework for learning, it makes everything SO MUCH EASIER.  Show them the forest first, then the trees.  When you give people a structure, a mental schema, it frees up their working memory so they don’t get overloaded. 

    But it’s useful for more than learning about something.  When we try to do something complex, it’s so much easier when we break the task down into its parts and outline clear objectives, guidelines, and tools for each part.

    I realized that I haven’t really done that here.  I’ve given the general framework for the three things you need to learn to write stories—(1) what stories do, (2) how they do it, and (3) how to develop them.  But I haven’t given one for development. So here it is.

    There are three parts to the framework:

    1. The development OBJECTIVES.
    2. The development PRINCIPLES for each objective.
    3. The development TOOLS you use to help you with each objective.

    Each post I’ve made about writing stories and each post I will make in the future will explain some part of the framework.  For example, the 27-part series Key Conditions for Suspense that I wrote for SFWA explains key principles and concepts for character, problem, and plot.  The post in this series on the Story Setup explains a tool that can be used to help you develop your story’s problem. And so on. What the framework should give you is a map, a guide to help you know what to do and how to do it.

    The Development Objectives

    Let’s start with the objectives. A story is made up of just a few main parts.  I’ve found I’m most productive when I keep the objectives for those parts foremost in my mind and when I keep the list of objectives simple.  Having too many objectives makes it almost impossible to move forward. Here are the objectives I have when I’m developing a story.

     

    Area Development Objectives
    GENERAL Make the story come alive in my own mind
    GENRE Define the overall type of story I want to write
    CHARACTER Develop characters who move and delight me
    SETTING Develop a setting that interests me and feels real
    PROBLEM Develop a story problem that I find compelling
    PLOT Help the reader hope and fear for my character
    TEXT Evoke the story in the reader’s mind

     

    Your job is to develop the story, making it come alive in your mind, then write it in a way that will evoke it in the reader’s mind. You do that by focusing on the objectives you see above.

    Note that I do NOT develop these areas in any special order because ideas for any of the six parts could come at any time. And because I’m focused on the objectives, I don’t get trapped into activity for activity’s sake.  I don’t do character histories because a big name author said that’s what I should do.  I don’t do outlines because everyone I know does them.  I don’t do any activity just because it’s on some list.  I work to accomplish something.  And the things I want to accomplish are listed above.

    Development Principles & Concepts

    Once we know what we’re after, we need to understand the principles and concepts that will help us develop those things.  For example, what kinds of characters “move” and “delight”?  What makes a story problem “compelling”?  What makes readers hope and fear for a character?

    If I don’t understand the principles and concepts that underlie each of the objectives, I’m going to have a difficult time meeting that objective.  So let’s add in the key principles and concepts I’ve found that help me meet those objectives.   

    Area Development Objectives Development Principles & Concepts
    GENERAL     Make the story come alive in my own mind       Focus on developing the 6 core parts of story (genre, character, setting, problem, plot, text) in no special sequence
    Gather zing: use a drag net and hunt with a purpose
    Generate my own zing
    Develop in iterations
    Practice farmer’s faith
    Write what you care about and believe in: listen to your personal Spidey-sense
    Make enough time
    Relax and have fun
    GENRE Define the overall type of story I want to write Reader expectations
    Tropes and patterns
    CHARACTER Develop characters who move and delight me Sympathy
    Deservingness
    Interest
    Types and roles
    Cast sizing
    SETTING Develop a setting that interests me and feels real   How things work
    Telling details
    What’s necessary
    PROBLEM Develop a story problem that I find compelling Hope and fear
    The 3 main types of problems
    Character goals
    Opposition
    Problems that speak to the reader (theme)
    PLOT    Help the reader hope and fear for my character     Suspense
    Surprise
    Curiosity
    The 3 phases of a story’s problem structure
    The story cycle
    Patterns
    TEXT               Evoke the story in the reader’s mind           Telling to evoke
    Clarity
    Working memory limitations
    Stimulus-response order
    The story cycle
    Scenes and summary
    Point of view
    Beginnings & endings
    Poetic devices, Sound and rhythm
    Mechanics

     

    Now let’s see how I’d use the framework.  Let’s say I want to work on developing character.  Sometimes my drag net pulls in great character ideas without much effort on my part at all.  But sometimes what I drag in needs some development.  And sometimes I don’t have anything in my net at all and need to generate something from scratch. 

    When it’s time to develop character, I’ve found that if I focus on the key things that trigger my sympathy for someone, my feeling that they deserve reward or punishment, and my interest in them, it’s much easier to develop a character that rocks, one that moves and delights and thrills me.  It also helps me to think about the roles my characters play.  So I’ll apply the principles one way when developing a sidekick and another when developing a villain.  Finally, there are only so many words in a novel. I need to manage my stage time.  If I have too many characters, I might not have enough stage time to develop any story in a satisfactory way.  If I have too few, I might run into problems with structure and plot.

    Let’s say I want to work on my story problem.  Well, I’d focus on the things that make readers hope and fear for my character.  I’d brainstorm options for the three main story problem types.  I’d make sure my I knew what the goals were for my protagonist and antagonist.

    Do you see how this works?

    Once you get enough material developed in each of the story categories (character, setting, problem, plot, and text), the story will come alive in your mind.  And then it’s just a matter of finishing the text so that it evokes the story in the reader’s mind. 

    Some may wonder why I included text as part of development.  Don’t you develop the story first and then translate it to the text?  No.  A lot of development happens as you write the text.  For example, it’s hard for me to get my character’s voice and attitude without putting him or her on the page.  

    If you go back and look at the list again, you’ll see that the principles and concepts supporting the objectives for genre, character, setting, problem, plot, and text have a lot to do with how story works.  On the other hand, the principles supporting the general objective of having the story come to life in my own mind focus on how we develop stories.

    In this series, I’ve been focusing on the principles of how we develop stories.  But you’ll also want to continue to enlarge your understanding of how stories work.  For more on the principles for character, problem, and plot, see my 27-part series I wrote for SFWA on the Key Conditions for Suspense.

    Development Tools

    Now that we’ve identified what we’re supposed to develop and the principles that support those objectives, it’s helpful to see the different types of tools we can use to help us meet our objectives.

    A tool is just that—something we use to accomplish some objective.  Chimps use sticks to help them fish termites out of holes. Bakers use beaters to help them mix batters. Mechanics have tools to help them turn screws and nuts. Writers have tools to help them do what they need to do.

    I’ve listed the tools I’ve found useful. I know you may not know what a number of them are. That’s okay. In the series I’ll explain what each is and how to use it.  For now just look over the list.  And because I can’t figure out how to make my blankety-blank tables look snazzy with the WPress template and controls I have, I’ve provided a PDF of the framework here instead. Click on the link below to download it.

    John Brown’s Story Development Framework v2012-05-12

    Did you notice that for each set of tools I also list “Other . . .” That’s because there are many tools that authors find useful.  Try them.  Keep the ones you find productive and toss the rest.  This isn’t an exhaustive or mandatory list.

    And remember that the key thing isn’t the tool.  The objective is.  The tool is simply a means to help you meet the objective.  And so you don’t have to use all the tools.  You don’t have to use any of them.  Because the goal is NOT to use a tool.  The goal is to develop the story.

    For example, if you already have a rocking problem, there’s no need to use a tool to get one.  If you’re doing a character history and suddenly hit gold, you don’t have to finish all the prompts in your history document.  You don’t have to because this is NOT about filling out forms.  It’s about making the story come alive in your mind.  Sometimes you need only a little development to get the ideas, sometimes you need a lot.

    Bottom line: focus on the objectives.  Keep developing material until you have enough in each of area that the story is bucking and kicking in your hands.

    And, again, don’t worry about developing the objectives in a certain sequence because there isn’t a best sequence.  With one story you might start with a little character, then a bit of setting, then some text, then more character, then problem, then plot, the back to character, then setting again, then something else, a bit here, an idea there.  On another story you might start with a scrap of text or something somebody said and go to plot then character then genre and then back to each one again and again, building up line by line in some other way.

    There is no golden development sequence!  Just keep the objectives in mind, and keep your eyes open for ideas that you can use to meet each objective.

    Where to start

    Having laid the framework out, I know some might be wondering where to start, especially after I told you it didn’t matter where you started.  You’re wondering this because the fact is that it IS nice to have some guidance.

    And because it really doesn’t matter how you meet the objectives, and because most ideas come when you’re on the move, then there’s a great benefit in simply starting with any method you have at hand.  So let’s not fall prey to an attack of dithering brought on by option overload.  If you don’t know where to start, try this.

    1.    Take Stock

    First, identify a number of slots this week and next when you can work on your story. Try to get at least ten hours each week. You may find your slots in the morning, during breaks, at lunch, late at night.  Just find some times that work for you.

    When that first time slot comes, take stock of the ideas you have right now, the zing you’ve gathered or generated to this point, and make a rough summary.  Do you have any bits of character, problem, or plot?  Have you delved into your setting?  Do you have an idea of the story genre?  Do you have any inkling about the type of story this will be, e.g. is this going to be a story about cyber security, love, friendship, vampires, spies, World War 2, two old fisherman and the mafia?

    Summarize what you have in just one or two pages. Or maybe you only have one line. That’s okay too.  Write it down.

    2.    200 Words

    When you’ve finished step one, ask yourself what genre of story you’d like to write.  Maybe you have two or three genres you’re interested in.  Maybe you want to write some mix—a cowboy science fiction, an epic fantasy comedy, a romantic thriller.  Think about what kind of story you would like to read.  Think about the kind of characters, plots, and settings you enjoy.  The kind of experience you would love to have when reading.  Write two paragraphs summarizing your thoughts. 200 words or less.

    3.    ID Some Patterns

    Third, identify two or three other stories that are kind of like the one you think you might want to write.  Write the titles of these stories down even if they’re only vaguely in the ball park. Now answer these questions about them:

    1. Size

    • How many words or pages was in each book?
    • How many chapters?

    2. Characters

    • How many main characters did each have?
    • How many points of view?
    • What did you like about the characters?
    • What would you do different with the characters?

    3. Problem & Plot

    • What was the protagonist’s main problem?
    • What did the antagonist want?
    • What were the cool plot points or surprises?

    4. What else was cool about the story?

    Now go the extra mile and outline the plot in two pages or less.  Just do little bullet points.

    Did you get any ideas for your story from this?  Anything you want to copy or twist?  If so, write it down.

    4.    Go Zing Hunting

    Fourth, identify the main character, setting, problem, or plot ideas that are drawing your interest.  Decide to go hunt some zing with a purpose.  Pick one of the ideas you think will be a big part of the story, go to the library, and get some books on that thing.  Start with books for juveniles if they have them, then work into more hefty tomes.  Identify some documentaries or films on the subject.  Check them out.  Or get them on Netflix.  Read and watch, keeping your eye out for ideas that might work for your six core story objectives.

    Is there someone you can talk to who has first-hand experience with this thing?  If so, call or visit them and ask them some questions.

    Can you go experience it first hand?  If so, do it.

    Did you get any ideas for your story from this?  If so, big or small, write them down.

    5.    Review

    Fifth, review the zing you’ve captured to this point.  Note anything that pops out to you.  Can you write your story concept down yet (the character, the setting, the goal, and the main opposition and obstacle he or she will face)?  Give it a try.

    If not, no biggie.  Review the seven development objectives to fix them in your mind.

    6.    Generate Some Character and Problem

    Sixth, flip a coin.  Heads you’ll start generating character.  Tails you’ll start generating story problems.  Review the principles for the part of story the coin toss determined you’d work on, then begin generating as many options as possible for that part of story.

    If you’re generating character ideas, list all the types of characters commonly associated with the big idea you’ve been researching.  Try to get at least ten on the list.  Maybe you’ll include some specific people you ran across in your research.  Then list a bunch of types of characters not commonly associated.  Maybe throw in a few people you know who might be fun to base a character on.  Identify characters from each list you think might enjoy writing.  Generate a few more.  Let’s say three.  Don’t be afraid to be wacky.  If you have to, include Chuck Norris as the last one.

    If you’re generating problem, list the threats, opportunities, and mysteries commonly associated with the topic you’ve been researching.  Get at least ten.  Make sure you include some big, significant ones that really speak to you.  If you’re going for comedy, add in some smaller ones.  Think of your favorite comedy show, e.g. Jerry Seinfeld, and ask the types of problems those characters might run into here.  Now list problems that are not commonly associated with this idea.  Try for at least ten.  Identify problems from both lists you think might be fun.  Generate three more.  Don’t afraid to be a bit wacky.

    Now switch.  If you did characters first, do problems and vice versa.

    Did you get any ideas for your story from this?  If so, write them down.

    7.    Generate Some Plot

    Finally, think about the type of problem your character is facing.  If you have a couple of problems you’re deciding between, or perhaps a story where a character has a couple of story lines (maybe an inner one and an external one), choose one to work with.  You can develop the others later.  

    Write up the character’s goal in 50 words or less.  Now list out the steps people like your character would usually take to solve the type of problem you are working with.  Try to avoid having your character do dumb things.  Let them be smart.  If you have no idea how anyone would go about solving that type of problem, go do some research.  Talk to someone who might know.

    Once you’ve sketched out those general steps, generate a list of at least 12 disadvantages, obstacles, conflicts, or surprises your character could run into that would make it really hard to solve the problem and reach his or her goal.  Some of the items on your list can be small; others might throw the character for a major loop.  Again, if you can’t think of any obstacles or quickly run out of ideas, go do some research.  Talk to someone who might know.

    Now look at this from the antagonist’s point of view.  What’s his goal?  Write up the antagonist’s goal in 50 words or less.  What are some common steps a smart and determined (maybe ruthless) person like your antagonist would take to go about removing the problem the hero is causing? 

    Did you get any ideas for your story from this?  If so, write them down.

    And Now?

    At this point, you should be well into the development of your story.  It’s up to you how to proceed.  Maybe you want to write an exploratory draft of a few chapters to get the character’s voice and start defining the setting.  Maybe you’ve discovered you need to research a bit about something specific like sharks or Cessna airplanes or the tactics of Napoleonic armies.  Or maybe you feel it’s time to sketch out a general outline of the plot.  Or maybe you want to review the principles and concepts of one of the story parts.  Or maybe it’s not that at all.  Maybe you want to watch or read some stories in your genre to see how they did it.  There are a lot of things you could do.

    Pick something and do it.  There’s great power in simply getting to work.  Continue to develop the various parts of your story.  And if you feel ready to start writing a draft, then start writing the draft, even if you peter out after only one scene. 

    Remember the objectives.  Keep working on them.  Sooner or later, I guarantee you, the story will open its eyes and look up at you.  It will not come to you fully fleshed out.  But you’ll have enough to switch your focus to drafting.

    When I get to that point and my mind is juiced with some interesting characters in an interesting and compelling situation, I usually capture the essence of the story by writing some form of the Story Setup.  Then I write a simple working outline, which is nothing more than a bullet point sketch of how my character runs into his problem, his response, some of the obstacles he faces, and the results of that action, which leads to trouble, which leads to more action, etc.  It also includes the same for my antagonist.  This is story cycle stuff.  I might include a few key details I need for the scenes I’m listing out.  Or not.  Furthermore, I might be able to envision the whole thing at this point and write an outline that reflects that.  Or I might see only the first few scenes clearly and have to be satisfied with a general sketch of what happens later.  That’s not a big deal because development continues as you’re drafting.  The key is that the story is alive in my mind, and I know in general what it’s about and where I’m going.  It’s enough to begin.  And so I begin to write chapter one (if I haven’t written it already).

    Good luck!

    In the next post I’m going to explain how to generate your own zing using Creative Q&A.  Hopefully, I’ll get to it before another six months has passed :O

    For more in this series, see How to Get and Develop Story Ideas

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  • Exposition, Character Description, Curiosity vs Suspense

    Another great podcast from the writing excuses team. This time with Patrick Rothfuss (I did love his book) on writing exposition.

    http://www.writingexcuses.com/2008/09/15/writing-excuses-episodes-32-talking-exposition-with-patrick-rothfuss/

    One comment that stood out was Brandon’s conscious choice to leave some explaining to chapter 6 of Mistborn. Not only did it make the beginning more accessible, but it actually created a sense of mystery about Kelsier. I wanted to know more.

    Although, I would caution new writers that when Rothfuss talks about withholding, he’s talking about setting. He’s not talking about keeping the story from the reader. You can’t build suspense if you hide what’s going on, the dangers, etc. You can build a bit of curiosity, but that only holds the reader’s attention for a short time. Give information for suspense. Withhold for curiosity. They are two different things.

    To get a sense of proportion on exposition or broad brushing a character, I recommend Bernard Cornwell’s writing advice: http://www.bernardcornwell.net/chapters/writingadvice.htm

    Take a book you love, get a colored pencil or crayon, then begin reading. When you find a passage of descrition/setting, draw a line along the side. After 30 or so pages of doing this you’ll begin to see how much setting the author puts in and how he goes about doing it. Do this with a few stories you love and you’ll begin to see patterns.

    You can do the same thing with character. In fact, I just finished FEAR NOTHING by Dean Koontz. Loved how he did his characters. So I’ve got a used copy and a copy of VELOCITY and am marking them up. I’ve gotten a number of very interesting insights.

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  • More Great Questions for Story Development: Governments

    Part of my model of the creative process is that it’s driven by questions. We come up with creative solutions in response to a problem. The problem triggers the process.

    Let me give an example. Let’s say I have a character named Bill who lives out in space salvaging parts of space ships and other things. Or maybe he’s on some planet.

    I don’t have a story yet. I’ve just got a dude in a general situation. I lack all the necessary parts. That lack is a problem to me as a writer. To develop the story, I state the problem as a question and begin generating options.

    So I might ask, what are the threats Bill faces on a physical and social level? Are there mysteries he encounters? Who else is there? In order to answer those questions I might need to ask what’s the planet like?

    At some point in time, I’ll feel I have generated enough answers for the key questions that it’s time to draft. When I begin to draft, I have other tasks or problems to solve. I might ask things like what’s the goal of this scene? What’s an interesting way to start and end it? What’s something surprising and bad that might happen as a result of the character’s action?

    It’s all question and answer.

    Towards the end of this week’s Writing Excuses on World Building Governments the guys share some great questions you might find fruitful when thinking about your world’s government.

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  • The Secret to Getting Great Story Ideas

    The Secret To Getting Great Story Ideas Passion GuyLast week I spent a lovely day with the League of Utah Writers at their annual writing conference. I presented “The Secret to Getting Great Story Ideas” which was about how to stop generating great story ideas by accident and start generating them on purpose, whenever you need them. I promised the folks I’d post my PowerPoint and notes. You’ll find them below.

    The Secret To Getting Great Story Ideas 2015 LUW – Presenter Notes

    The Secret To Getting Story Ideas 2015 LUW – Slides

    For those wanting more details, you’ll find the same idea in my series on getting ideas. Here’s the first post: “Can You Create a Redneck Crapper”.

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  • Is trying to improve your style a bad thing?

    By Stan Eales
    Ink and Quill by Stan Eales

    Another great podcast by the Writing Excuses team, this time on style and voice: http://www.writingexcuses.com/2008/10/06/writing-excuses-episode-35-voice-tone-and-style/

    Quesion: is it dangerous as a writer to try to improve your style?

    A lot of respected authors say it’s foolishness to focus on style. Because story is what people want. Story is the thing. Put all the lipstick you want on a pig, it’s never going to be anything but a pig.

    I agree with them. Why fiddle with the words when the content oinks? If you have to focus on something, focus on delivering killer stories.

    However, story content is not everything. There is a feeling that comes with how the story is written. You can serve prime rib on fine china in a $100 / plate restaurant, or you can serve it in a cardboard box out on the back lawn by the shed. Same beef, but not quite the same experience.

    Orson Card is one of those who cautions against thinking about trying to improve your style. I want you to read this.  

    Question 5:

    I would like to use the discussion in Lesson One as a springboard to my own inquiry. I understand that obsessively analyzing the style in which one writes can lead to bigger problems. However, my problem is not with an overall stylistic deficiency, but a very specific one. Through dialogue, the voices of the characters speak with one another. Are there any techniques you can offer which make the process of composing dialogue any easier? (I don’t expect a wonder formula, just some methods which would help me organize my thoughts a little better.)

    — Submitted by Jennifer Dittrich

    OSC Replies:

    Composing Dialogue

    The secret is not to think about dialogue as a separate task. You aren’t writing dialogue, you’re writing an encounter between characters. Part of the encounter is what they say, but part of it is how they react to each other, what they want from each other, what has happened between them in the past, who else is watching and the impression they want to make, and so on. When the characters speak, therefore, they aren’t “speaking dialogue,” they’re using words to do something to the other person — sometimes to try to get the other person to understand some information, but more often to get the other person to do something or feel something or reveal something. That’s what you concentrate on, and then come up with words you might use to accomplish that character’s purpose. Sometimes you’ll try many different opening lines as a conversation begins, and see where they go; sometimes you’ll erase long passages because they don’t feel right to you. But the solution to dialogue problems is rarely to “write better dialogue.” It’s almost always to clarify or change what the character wants or feels or thinks.

    Most often, bad dialogue is bad because it’s “clunky.” The usual cause is that you’re trying to “write well,” and your idea of writing well comes from the horrible essays you were forced to write in high school and college. Forget all that! But don’t forget it just when you’re writing dialogue — that’s bad writing even in the essays and papers produced by those very same teachers! Good writing sounds like a person talking. Your narrative sections should be written in fluid language that can easily be read aloud. In other words, your narrative should sound like dialogue spoken by a good storyteller!

    So if you worry about your writing style, especially your dialogue writing, chances are that the problem you have is that you are worrying about your writing style instead of worrying about what happens and why in the story! Bad style is almost invariably the result of trying for “good style,” because “good style” is invariably defined by writing teachers and the students who believe them as “writing like someone else who writes better than you.” But you can’t write like them, because you’re not them and their voice isn’t your voice. You can only write well when you write the way you talk, only more clearly and precisely. If you are laboriously constructing your sentences, searching in the thesaurus for “just the right word,” you are almost certainly writing unreadably; and, while you might only notice it in your dialogue, chances are you are writing badly all the time.

    How do you cure this destructive habit? Let me give you a parallel example. When I was a child, I had a lyric boy-soprano voice, complete with vibrato. I sang high and sweetly, and that ability to sing was an important part of who I was. But when my voice changed, the “high” was gone and so was the sweet. Grimly determined to get my voice back, I forced a vibrato using very bad technique — a strained, rapid diaphragmatic vibrato rather than one that arises from a relaxed throat. It made my voice sound eccentric and unpleasant — and the tightness that resulted severely limited my range. I went through my college career with that voice, even though I knew it didn’t sound all that good, because I didn’t know how to do it better.

    Then I went to Brazil as a missionary. Nobody there knew me as a performer. No one cared how I sang. I stripped away the old pretense and sang “straight,” with clear tone, no vibrato at all. I learned to relax my throat. I sounded like nothing; and then, to my surprise, a genuine, relaxed vibrato began to enter my voice on sustained notes. And my singing range increased, both higher and lower. When I came home, my singing voice was a far more versatile and powerful instrument than it had ever been before. During my forced-vibrato years, I couldn’t “do voices” — I could only sing the one way. Now I could take my relaxed voice and shape it to sound like an old man singing, or a child, or an untrained singer, or an operatic buffoon. I could sing conversationally; I could sing formally. I had my voice at last.

    But I had to stop trying to force my voice and just relax, concentrating on the song and not the singer. Before I could sing well, I had to stop trying to sing well and concentrate on singing clearly, singing to the audience.

    And if you don’t understand how this applies to writing style, I’m not a good enough writer to explain it to you any better.

    You can read it on his site here: http://www.hatrack.com/writingclass/lessons/1998-08-14-5.shtml

    Lots of great insights there. How many ways can you say, “Please, focus on the content of the story!”

    But did you notice this line: ” Your narrative sections should be written in fluid language that can easily be read aloud. In other words, your narrative should sound like dialogue spoken by a good storyteller! ”

    And this one: “You can only write well when you write the way you talk, only more clearly and precisely.”

    Card is talking about improving your style to make it more clear and fluid and authentic to you. Even while warning this questioner as strongly as possible to avoid trying to improve your style, Card prescribes improving your style.

    So style matters, even to Card. It just doesn’t matter nearly as much, in most cases, as content does. And I agree with him on his priorities.

    However, I still think Card is throwing the baby out with the bath water. Maybe because he’s seen too many wretched stories that had great style. Nevertheless, there IS a way that each of us talks. We talk that way out of habit, but also because we like some of those turns of phrases. Because certain sounds, words, and rhythms appeal to us at some level. Because they feel right.

    So what if you’re reading TC Boyle and love the rhythm of his prose? What if you figure out some of what drives that rhythm? What if you begin to use it in your writing? Is that bad?

    Or what if you notice how David Farland always puts movement into descriptive passages? Or that you use “really” and “very” really a lot in very many places? What if you like how Dean Koontz stops to paint his characters? His use of metaphor to evoke an image of a person? What if you notice how some of Card’s prose works poetically?

    What if your editor notices something you do that jars him so much it sets his teeth to rattling, and when he points it out you agree?

    What if you pick up new stylistic elements and options and try them? Are you then going to write excrement?

    No. You’re not. Because it’s natural to pick up words, phrases, manners of speaking. It’s natural to try them on. In fact, trying to AVOID this is what’s unnatural.

    I used to work with a guy named Rick Jendro. He looks like a young Sylvester Stallone. One thing I loved about him was that he is a wonderful water cooler story teller. Rick used his hands and voice and face when telling his water cooler stories. He wasn’t Acting with a capital A, but he was acting. He was evoking the story. He reminded me of another friend, Jeff Cuthbert, who did the same thing.

    I loved listening to both of them. LOVED IT. Partly because of this acting they did.

    So I noticed what Rick was doing and Jeff had been doing. The next time I told a story I let myself be a bit more free with my hand motions and actions. I didn’t study movements or anything like that. Didn’t rehearse. I found they just came when I reminded myself to let them come. I tell a better story today than I did before because of this.

    Was I wrong to delight in what they did and try it? I don’t think so. There’s nothing wrong with imitation. Good gravy, that’s how we learned language in the first place.

    My advice, lowly writer that I am, is to read and imitate. Notice things. Notice every thing that sings. Every thing that clunks. From character to plot to punctuation to paragraphing to dialogue to whatever. Then try things on. Try on structures and plot twists and dilemmas. Try on paragraphing and poetical devices like simile and metaphor. Try on everything that strikes your fancy. Get a whole closet of outfits that feel wonderful on your bones.

    And when you write, just write. Don’t worry about the style because all these new outfits you’ve got: the ones that feel most natural for the task at hand will present themselves to you when the time is right. I promise.

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6 Comments

  1. (Amusingly, I had to look up what Glee was before remembering it’s only about the most popular TV show in the world right now…)

    But my thinking is an antagonist is anyone who works against the protagonist in some way. But regarding the first point, I don’t think the antagonist needs to be stronger than the protagonist… Otherwise the antagonist would always succeed, yes? In many works of fiction the antagonist starts out stronger in some way, but through a series of events the protagonist becomes the stronger one in the end.
    Regarding points two and three, I think the important thing is just to make sure the antagonist is an interesting, three-dimensional character just as the protagonist and secondary characters should be.

  2. I take issue with number 3 on her list. Sometimes you just want to hate someone in the story. It’s hard to hate Sue, because we sometimes feel sympathy for her. In some stories, a sympathetic villain just doesn’t work.

  3. Thanks for a very timely post. I’m finishing up the pre-draft stage on my next novel, and am working on my antagonist(s).

    My take on Crusie’s list—these qualities increase reader empathy for the protagonist when the antagonist demonstrates them. To put it specifically, being stronger than the protagonist makes the hero more vulnerable, which increases our fear for them. Stopping at nothing, in essence being implacable, in order to achieve their goals, makes the antagonist more dangerous—thus more interesting for the reader, and again, ups the threat against the hero, increasing our concern over their fate. In terms of story, this comes down to making things harder on the character, which can complicate their attempts to resolve the story problem. All of this, for me at least, can lead to “stand up and cheer moments”—when the hero finally triumphs against the odds and defeats the antagonist, escapes the antagonist, or saves or converts the antagonist –a classic cinema example would be Luke saving Darth Vader at the end of Return of the Jedi. I don’t think the first is necessary—though it is important for the antagonist to at least be equal to the foe and probably superior at the start, since the hero is likely to grow in ability and knowledge, though the antagonist could as well

    In Lord of the Rings Sauron possessed the first two attributes Crusie lists, but not the third, which, for me at least is crucial for deepening reader interest in the story and adding crucial believability. Plus Sauron largely lurked over the horizon, with various minions threatening our heroes. This made him less interesting.

    Gollum, on the other hand, was a great antagonist. He was implacable in his desire for the ring. He wouldn’t quit. He was also vulnerable. We learn that he had been a hobbit who had been seduced by the ring and was now enslaved (and addicted) to it. Physically he was stronger than the ring weakened Frodo, and a fierce fighter (in his class ;-), but more than anything, he wouldn’t quit. There was a brief moment where it looked like he might be saved, but it was not to be.

    In Dean Koontz’s The Good Guy (your earlier referencing of this novel lead to my reading it a few weeks ago) the assassin is very capable-at least the equal of our male hero, will definitely stop at nothing, but was only vulnerable in his supreme hubris. For me, at the end, he became unbelievable. An aside—while a simply crazy villain can be scary, I don’t find them nearly as interesting as one that has more depth—is vulnerable, and acting on understandable motives. Granted, Gollum was at least partially insane but he had moments of lucidity, and displayed weakness, scarring and vulnerabilities, which ‘humanized’ him.

    A crucial element missing from Crusie’s list is the tendency for the antagonist to let the ends justify the means. In other words, they tend to feel that achieving a goal is more important than side consequences that result from their actions. It seems to me that this can be played off as a contrasting effect if the hero is forced to doing this (and, because they are the hero, they tend to regret and want to atone for the side consequences), or if the villain takes pains to use the right means but does it for the wrong reasons.

    I don’t think that great antagonists have to demonstrate all three of Crusie’s attributes. There are also other attributes that can define the antagonist and increase reader interest and fears, such as letting the ends justify the means, being uncaring about consequences, making the conflict very personal (this one really ups my reader interest), etc.

    I strongly suspect how crucial her three attributes are depends on the reader. I do think it’s necessary for the villain to be at least as capable as the hero. I disagree with her claim that the antagonist must be vastly more capable. The odds need to be long, at first, for the hero, to be sure, but being at least as capable or slightly more can be just as dramatically powerful as being vastly more capable. The antagonist stopping at nothing, being implacable in other words, is pretty important, and probably necessary. Finally, for me as a reader, showing vulnerability and thus humanizing the villain is important.

    My conclusion is that these three are important, but that they are only three of several attributes antagonist can possess.

    I want to thank you again, not just for this thought-provoking and personally timely article, but for all your writings on the craft of fiction. I’ve found them very insightful and quite helpful. In the past two years I’ve been studying the craft of fiction pretty intensely, and your focus on effecting the reader is proving very useful.

    I also really enjoyed your appearances on Writing Excuses and look forward to reading my copy of “Servant of a Dark God.”

  4. Love these responses.

    Dale, thanks for taking the time to post that thoughtful and well-reasoned response. I like the point about means and ends. That’s a valuable insight. It’s in the same vein as Crusie’s #2, but provides it’s own possibilities. Nice. I also think the ideas about the relative strength of protagonist and antagonist are important. I think the more powerful the antagonist, the higher the possibility of failure in the reader’s mind. Where you set it, I agree, I don’t know if there’s an ideal location on the dial.

    With regards to the last rule, I tend to agree with Ben and Dale, that it depends on reader taste and the type of story you’re writing. Alien worked, and the antagonist was not vulnerable. Still, her word choice of “vulnerable” is interesting. But I just don’t see all the stories I love having that, although some do, and it is a wonderful effect.

  5. I guess I’m a little late to the party, but here’s my input.

    I think that as with everything else, whether these rules apply or not depend on what you’re trying to do. If you want this type of antagonist, because it fits your story, then sure, go for it. But does every story need this type of antagonist? Certainly not. I guess that’s what you meant when you said, “You know what I think of rules and of form outside the context of function.”

    So, to answer your questions . . .

    What function or effect do these qualities have on the reader or on story elements that impact the reader?

    * (1) She is much stronger than the protagonist she sets out to destroy,
    Obviously, this sets our hero at a disadvantage and makes things hard. That’s rather important to conflict. If it’s too easy we lose interest. I think a key element here is “sets out to destroy.” Within the context of a story, a BIG antagonist isn’t just annoyed by the protagonist. The protagonist and the antagonist don’t just happen to pass into conflict. Rather, they directly butt heads. They are in direct opposition to each other, and are determined in foiling the other. No middle ground. Does this make for a strong antagonist? Why, yes it does.

    *(2) She will stop at nothing to achieve her goal
    This, too, increases tension. If we know that our bad guy will do anything, we are more likely to fear for the characters we love and want to win. The stakes are higher with a bad guy that is willing to do anything.

    *(3) despite all that strength and implacability, she’s a vulnerable human being, not a cartoon.
    To me, to ask if this is necessary for a great antagonist begs the following question: “What is a great antagonist?” I think there are some great antagonists that don’t seem to have a human side. So, the question is, why might you include this in your antagonist? I think this does a few things for the reader. First, it shows that things aren’t all black and white, and that when the bad guy loses, it’s sad to a degree. Second, it might put the nature of the outcome in question: if there is good in the bad guy, that increases the realm of possible endings; maybe the bad guy will turn; maybe the bad guy will relent; maybe there will be some twist in the end; maybe it won’t be absolute. I suppose there’s more this does, but as with everything, the question is: is making your antagonist more human going to accomplish what you want with your story? In the end, the net effect is that things are grayed a little bit. It’s one thing to defeat an inhumane monster, but another thing entirely to defeat a person who cares for homeless children in his spare time. If you wonder what this “human” characteristic does for an antagonist, consider how you felt about Hunger at various points in Servant of a Dark God: when he first attacked, when you learned more about his struggle, when he was defeated.

    Do all great antagonists exhibit these three qualities?
    No. But certain types of memorable antagonists do. However, the same can be said about any list that describes an antagonist.

    If not, are any of these critical for antagonists?
    For certain types of stories, sure.

    What’s your conclusion about these three rules?
    They’re useful to build a certain type of antagonist. Tuck it away for future reference.

    I think maybe for my next book, I will start with a bid bad antagonist, and build from there. Seems like I usually build from the protagonist’s side, but it might be interesting to start from the bad guy’s side, and build a protagonist that will grow enough to defeat the antagonist by the end.

  6. We’re never late here because we’re running on John Brown time 🙂

    Great stuff, Hezekiah. I agree with what you’ve written. With regards to your last thought, I know with all my novels, because the villain is the force behind the external problem, I have to think about it from the villain’s pov.

    What’s the situation?
    What does she know?
    What’s his/her goal?
    What’s her plan for accomplishing that?
    How far along is she when the hero gets involved?

    Then boom, my hero runs headlong into this and begins to react and form his own plans.

    Is that what you’re talking about?

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