Author Archives: Lee Allen Howard

Narratology: Understanding Narrative Modes

To write fiction you must understand the following narrative modes and learn how to write well in each of them. As you write, if you ensure that you’re always in one specific mode, you’ll always know what you’re doing and why. You should always have a reason for switching modes.

By piecing together passages written in various modes, you can produce a tight, well-written novel.

The six narrative modes are briefly delineated and defined in this first table:

Narrative ModeSub-modeSub-sub-modeDefinition
DialoguedirectDirectly presents character’s speech in quotation marks
indirectSummarizes character’s speech
Thoughts, feelingsdirectstream of consciousnessDirectly presents character’s thoughts in first person
interior monologueDirectly presents thought as in direct speech
indirectnarrated monologueMix between interior monologue and psychonarration
psychonarrationNarrator reports character’s thoughts to reader in third person
ActionPresents real-time action and events in chronological order
DescriptioncharacterDescribes story people
placeDepicts story settings
thingDepicts objects
timePresents the season, time of day, or passage of time
ExpositionbackgroundIntroduces backstory or other information for the story to make sense
summaryReports events in a condensed narrative form
CommentNarrator evaluates story events or characters, shares observations or judgments

The following table fully defines the narrative modes, their sub-modes and, in some cases, their sub-sub-modes. From top to bottom, they progress from showing to telling. Examples are in purple text.

Narrative ModeSub-modeSub-sub-modeDefinition/ Example
S
h
o
w
i
n
g
DialoguedirectPresents the speech of characters directly, in quotation marks.

Use this mode to advance your plot, to pit opposing forces against each other.

“I’m tired,” she said. “I’m going to bed.”
v
v
v
indirectSummarizes the speech of characters.  The tense is changed from present to past, from past into past perfect and references to the first person are rendered in the third person.

Use this mode when a character explains something to another character when the reader doesn’t need to hear the exact words because it’s long and boring or routine or mundane, the exact words don’t really matter, or because the reader already knows the information.

She said she was tired and was going to bed.
v
v
v
Thoughts, feelingsdirectstream of consciousnessDirect presentation of a character’s thoughts in first person, usually without the logic of structure or punctuation, sometimes a jumbled sequence of associations, whether thoughts, feelings, or sensations. Often italicized.

Calm down, get a grip now… oh! this is an interesting sensation, what is it?  A sort of… yawning, tingling sensation in my… my… well I suppose I’d better start finding names for things if I want to make any headway […] so let’s call it my stomach.
Thoughts, feelings (cont’d)direct (cont’d)interior monologueDirect presentation of thought as in direct speech.  Interior monologue is usually a longer passage of uninterrupted thought.  It is intended to present a character’s thoughts directly, imitating as much as possible the way the character might actually have thought his thoughts.  Thoughts are more coherent and structured. Sometimes italicized.

What is she doing up there? She’s always fumbling around in the attic, trying to find some memento from her college days, opening boxes, unwrapping nests of newspaper to find something to transport her into the past. I don’t understand what she sees in those things.
Thoughts, feelings (cont’d)indirectnarrated monologueThis is a mix between psychonarration and interior monologue.  The narrator often sets the scene but the character’s thoughts are reproduced directly and in a way the character would think, though the narrator continues to talk of the character in the third person. The syntax is less formal (incomplete sentences, exclamations, etc.) and the character’s mind style is reproduced more closely.  We hear a dual voice; the voices of the narrator and the character are momentarily merged.

This can create an impression of immediacy but it can also be used to introduce an element of irony, when the reader realizes that a character is misguided without actually being told so by the narrator.

What could she be doing up there, he wondered.  Probably trying to find some memento from her college days. He didn’t understand what she saw in those things.
Thoughts, feelings (cont’d)indirect (cont’d)psychonarrationThe narrator reports the character’s thoughts to the reader, representing them in third person.  The narrator remains in the foreground and may add some general observations (comment) not part of the character’s thoughts. We hear the narrator’s voice more than the character’s.

He wondered what she could be doing in the attic.  She spent a lot of time up there, reminiscing. He failed to understand what she saw in those things.
ActionUsed to present real-time action in the story.  Events are presented in strict chronological order, using action verbs.  Follow the pattern of action–result.

You will use this mode most in the writing of your novel.  Sometimes action is interspersed with dialogue and narration.

Jim climbed out of the car and strode toward the house through the dry, dead grass. He stepped onto the porch and banged on the dilapidated screen door.  He waited.
DescriptioncharacterRepresents objects in space (existents of the story), things that can be seen, heard or felt in some way. Character description describes story people.

One of these boxes was occupied […] by a stern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald and glossy forehead, with a good deal of black hair at the sides and back of his head, and large black whiskers.  He was buttoned up to the chin in a brown coat; and had a large seal-skin travelling cap, and a great-coat and cloak lying on the seat beside him.  (Dickens, Pickwick Papers)
placeDepicts setting—either broadly, or specifically and up-close.

On one side of this broad curve in the straight seaboard of the Republic of Costaguana, the last spur of the coast range forms an insignificant cape whose name is Punta Mala. From the middle of the gulf the point of the land itself is not visible at all; but the shoulder of a steep hill at the back can be made out faintly like a shadow on the sky. (Conrad, Nostromo).
thingDepicts an object:

A brass plaque fastened to the front gate read:  “Financially supported by the Garvanter Historical Society.”
timeDepicts the season, time of day, or the passage of time.

Five o’clock had hardly struck on the morning of the nineteenth of January […] (Brontë, Jane Eyre)
^
^
^
ExpositionbackgroundUsed to introduce backstory information into the narrative, information the reader needs for the story to make sense.  It should be doled out sparingly only when readers need to know it.  It should be presented to the readers in a way they’re hardly aware they’re getting it:

• Reduce it as much as possible.

• Don’t repeat it (tell the reader once). If you must repeat it, expand on it.

• Keep the reader guessing about it.

• Chop it up (no big hunks of it).

• Convert it to other modes such as action or dialogue.

• Create a flashback, but only if necessary (to show the reader exactly how something before the story happened—who did what, who said what, what was thought and felt. Structure it as an action sequence.)

• Get it over with (get backstory out of the way by the end of Act 1).
^
^
^
Exposition (cont’d)summaryReports events in a condensed narrative form.  It is a telling mode that distances the reader and should be used sparingly.  Use this mode to:

• Report mundane story events (things not important to plot):

She went inside to freshen up and change. Then she skipped back out to the car.

• Condense story time (to mark a passage of time quickly in which nothing important to the story happens, or to report events that happen regularly or over a long period of time.

The last three weeks of school passed in a flurry of activity.

Each morning for the next week she saw him behind the security desk in the lobby, and every time she passed him he nodded once and gave her a big, handsome smile.


• Emphasize emotions instead of events:

During the month Kevin was in Cincinnati, Sherry wandered about the apartment, not doing much of anything except eating, sleeping and watching TV.  She had never been so lonely in her life.
T
e
l
l
i
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CommentThe mediator (narrator) is most apparent. We find evaluations of the story’s events and characters, general observations or judgments.

In the absence of any precise idea as to what railways were, public opinion in Frick was against them; for the human mind in that grassy corner had not the proverbial tendency to admire the unknown, holding rather that it was likely to be against the poor man, and that suspicion was the only wise attitude with regard to it.  (Eliot, Middlemarch)

Evaluations can also be made less explicitly.  The choice of pejorative diction, a hint of irony or the use of modifiers (such as “unfortunately”) also work as comment.

Sir Leicester Dedlock is only a baronet, but there is no mightier baronet than he. His family is as old as the hills, and infinitely more respectable. He has a general opinion that the world might get on without hills, but would be done up without Dedlocks. […] He is a gentleman of strict conscience, disdainful of all littleness and meanness, and ready, on the shortest notice, to die any death you may please to mention rather than give occasion for the least impeachment of his integrity. He is an honourable, obstinate, truthful, high-spirited, intensely prejudiced, perfectly unreasonable man. (Dickens, Bleak House)

When mixing dialogue with a character’s feelings, thoughts, and gestures, use F-A-D order:

FeelingActionDialogue
An icy chill passed through him.His hands began to shake.“But Helen died a year ago…”

Source: http://www.anglistik.uni-freiburg.de/intranet/englishbasics/PDF/Prose.pdf

The Marshall Plan Workbook, ch. 18.

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Narratology: Focalization or Point of View

Narratology is a branch of literary theory that studies narrative structure and function. Fiction narratives are communicated through a voice that belongs to the narrator.

FocalizationThe narrator is the fictitious character that verbally transmits the events of the narrative. The narrator can share events from a position outside the story, using the omniscient point of view (POV) of “someone who, for some reason, knows everything about the story” (Freiburg).

More likely, narrators will employ the limited point of view of one or more characters in the story. If so, they’re unable to know anything they cannot see, hear, or otherwise perceive.

Focalization and Focalizers

Choosing a perspective is separate from determining whether the narrator is a character in the story. The term focalization distinguishes between narrative voiceWho speaks?—and perspective—Who sees or perceives? Narration is what is told; focalization is what is perceived (Scott).

There are two kinds of focalizers:

  • An external focalizer is a POV character external to the story. An external focalizer is called a narrator-focalizer because perception belongs to the narrator.
  • An internal focalizer‘s perception belongs to a character within the story. Internal focalizers are also called character-focalizers.

If you’re using an external focalizer as a heterodiegetic narrator, you may tell your story in omniscient point of view. If you employ a homodiegetic or autodiegetic narrator as an internal focalizer, you may choose from second person, distant third, intimate third, or first person POV.

You’re not stuck with only one focalization or POV in your story. You can change focalizers to introduce other POVs. For example, you may have multiple first or third character-narrators, or mix and match POVs from scene to scene or chapter to chapter.

Unreliable Narrators

Not all narrators are reliable. As writer, you may lead readers to distrust what your narrator says. “Some narrators tell deliberate lies or omit crucial information” (Freiburg). One such narrator is Holden Caulfield in J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye.

Villains may deliberately lead readers down the wrong trail. Other characters, however, may be unable to provide objective information because they’re “naive, insane, unaware, or mistaken” (Scott).

A given narrator’s unreliability can be obvious or hidden, providing only faint hints that something’s wrong.

In the next installment, we’ll dig into the meat of narrative modes.

Source: https://www2.anglistik.uni-freiburg.de/intranet/englishbasics/NarrativeSituation01.htm
Further reading: https://blog.bookbaby.com/2016/03/focalization-smart-writers-never-ignore-it/ by Rose Scott.

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Narratology: Understanding Narration

Narratology is a branch of literary theory that studies narrative structure and function. Fiction is one form of narrative prose, meaning it’s an account of events told by someone. It’s always communicated through a “voice,” and that voice belongs to the narrator.

To understand narrative voice, you must identify who speaks—who tells the story. This is always the narrator, a fictitious character who has a purpose in telling the tale.

Types of Narrators

Narrators are often a character in the story they’re telling. These types of narrators are called homodiegetic narrators. (Diegetic means within a setting or story world.) If the homodiegetic narrator is also the protagonist of the story, he or she is called an autodiegetic narrator.

For example, Nick Carraway is the narrator of as well as a character in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. But he’s not the protagonist of the novel; Jay Gatsby is. This makes Carraway a homodiegetic narrator but not an autodiegetic one. Katniss Everdeen, however, is both the narrator and protagonist of Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games; she’s an autodiegetic narrator.

A narrator who is not a character in the story but who knows everything and tells the story from an omniscient point of view is called a heterodiegetic narrator. Heterodiegetic narrators were popular in Victorian literature but are out of vogue today.

It isn’t crucial that you remember this jargon so long as you understand the concepts.

It’s also important to realize that the narrator is not the same as you, the author. Narrators, whether they’re story people or not, are fictive characters who can hold viewpoints and opinions that you don’t share. For example, female authors can create male narrators. And you can write multiple stories each with different narrators who have opposite worldviews. Remember: the narrator in fiction is a made-up character.

Narrators are characters who relay the story to a fictive reader, a narratee. A specific addressee is rarely named in stories. However, in my psychological thriller The Bedwetter: Journal of a Budding Psychopath, protagonist Russell Pisarek ends up writing his journal for another character in the story world.

Levels of Narrative Communication

Three levels comprise a fiction narrative, presented here from the inside out:

  1. A character addresses another character in the story world narrative. For example, Russell Pisarek argues with his sister Becky.
  2. This exchange, along with description of character actions and setting, is told by a narrator who addresses an imaginary reader (the narratee). In The Bedwetter, Russell writes in his journal about his encounters and thoughts for another character in the book.
  3. The text is composed by a real author (yours truly) and is read by an actual reader (hopefully, you).

These three levels are nested, as depicted in the following diagram:

Levels of Narrative Communication

Next installment, we’ll learn more about focalization: how narrators intersect with point of view.

Source: https://www2.anglistik.uni-freiburg.de/intranet/englishbasics/NarrativeSituation01.htm

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Easy Way to Write Your Story’s Elevator Pitch

I recently reread James Scott Bell’s helpful little book, Write Your Novel from the Middle (Compendium Press, 2014). In it, he relates an easy process to write a three-sentence elevator pitch for your story or book. (It also helps in writing sales copy for your fiction.)

Elevator PitchHere’s how to do it. I’ll use an example from my novel Death Perception.

1. Your main character’s name, vocation, and initial situation.

Kennet Singleton runs the local crematory and can discern the cause of death of those he cremates.

2. “When” plus the main plot problem.

When what he discerns differs from what’s listed on the death certificate, he finds himself in the midst of murderers.

3. “Now” plus the death stakes.

Now, to save the residents of his mother’s personal care home and avenge the dead, can Kennet stay alive to bring the killers to justice?

That’s all there is to it—a story in three sentences. For more about writing sales copy, see Getting Your Readers to Click “Buy Now”.

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Trim the Fat: Verbs

Trim the FatAnother way to trim textual fat is to carve unnecessary verbs.

Review your manuscripts for generic verbs (italicized below) that introduce a phrase in which a working verb (in bold) becomes a noun (underlined). Cut the bland verb and replace the noun with its strong verb counterpart:

Change “do a study of the results” to “study the results.”
Change “have a tendency to” to “tend to.”
Change “is suggestive of” to “suggests.”
Change “make changes in” to “change.”
Change “make determinations about” to “determine about.”
Change “make progress through” to “progress through.”
Change “provide an analysis of” to “analyze.”
Change “serve to make amendments to” to “amend.”

Other verbs to pare crop up in noun-modifying clauses. You can often cut these weak verbs along with the pronouns and helping verbs that introduce them:

Change “the marbles that are contained in” to “the marbles in.”
Change “the teachers who are concerned are” to “the teachers are.”
Change “the quotation that is referenced in” to “the quotation in.”
Change “the steps that are included in” to “the steps in.”
Change “the words displayed in” to “the words in.”
Change “the falsehoods provided in” to “the falsehoods in.”

Trim the fat, and your prose will profit.

Source: Edit Yourself by Bruce Ross-Larson

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How to Write Stories that Sell

Have you written a slew of stories you’ve been unable to place? I did—for two decades. I didn’t know what I was doing wrong that prevented editors from accepting my work.

Way back in the 1990s, I came across a little how-to book by science fiction writer Algis Budrys titled Writing to the Point: A Complete Guide to Selling Fiction (Unifont Company, 1994). It taught me how to plot a story, a story that would sell. The book is unfortunately out of print but, because it was so helpful to me, I want to share the best from it with you.

Budrys says, “A story subjects its characters to a process; to a growing up, or an enlightenment, or, in the case where a villain is the central character, to an enlightenment and a disaster” (p. 10). For another take on this process, see How to Plan a Great Story.

Seven Elements of Stories that Sell

Most good commercial fiction—meaning stories that sell—have these seven elements:

A main character (MC)…
Show her traits (visible actions) that demonstrate her strengths and weaknesses pertinent to the story.
In context…
Time period, location, setting, circumstances—include whatever readers need to understand the MC’s place and station in her world.
With a problem.
The problem may seem small at first, but it’s important enough for the MC to do something about—to take action toward a goal. Details will emerge as the story proceeds until it becomes “The most important problem this particular person could have” (p. 62). The antagonist is also motivated to win what the protagonist wants, interfering with actions that worsen the problem.
a. MC attempts to solve the problem using logic and intelligence, making an adequate response based on her best guess at the nature of the issue. But… ↓c. MC tries another tack to solve the problem with her newfound knowledge. But… ↓e. MC applies what she’s learned and tries a third time to correct the issue. But… ↓
b. MC encounters unexpected failure. As a result of this failure, the MC learns more about the problem—and about herself. These trials and failures stress your character and reveal hidden facets not shown before. →d. MC fails again, learning even more about the problem. →f. MC fails once more, miserably. ↓
MC experiences victory or death.
“At the last possible moment, wagering everything in a do-or-die situation, the hero wins” (p. 12). If a villain, the MC experiences defeat because of a fatal character flaw.
The outcome is validated.
An independent authority—another character or the narrator—confirms that the story is indeed over: “The monster is finally dead!”

The Seven Elements in Three-act Structure

A story must have a beginning, a middle, and an ending. In each of these three customary acts, you must include certain elements:

The Beginning

1, 2, and 3 can be presented in any order. But all three must be included. Budrys states that “The purpose of the beginning is to lay the ground rules; establish the (1) character (2) in context (3) with a problem, and then go on” (p. 11).

After you have presented 1, 2, and 3 to readers, the beginning is over. Every incident and action in the middle and ending must adhere to the rules you set up in the beginning. In the rest of the story, you cannot violate these rules or the world you’ve established. “If you do,” Budrys warns, “you ‘invalidate’ the story” (p. 62).

The Middle

The middle is where the story develops. 4a is the MC’s attempt to solve the problem using what she believes she understands about the situation and her own resources. At this juncture, the character doesn’t think the problem is overwhelming. This is because she doesn’t fully understand its nature.

The MC encounters unexpected failure in 5b. She also may experience partial success toward her goal but with another complication cropping up. “[I]f the character could solve the problem immediately,” Budrys admits, “it wasn’t much of a problem” (p. 11). Therefore, despite how sensible the character’s effort to resolve the issue, through failure she learns more about the issue and herself.

During these attempts, the problem progressively worsens, and you must put your character under pressure to reveal more facets that fit her. She reaches deeper inside herself, tries to fix the problem again (4c), and fails again (5d). And again (4e and 5f). Three times.

Why three times? Budrys explains:

Because anything less is unsatisfying, because anything more is redundant, because Aristotle and Lewis Carroll said that what I tell you three times is true. Three times, on a rising scale of effort, commitment, and depth of knowledge of the problem and one’s self, is the correct number. Human beings believe that three times has an effect which two does not. Conversely, four creates overkill. (p. 12)

When the bleakest moment ravages the character (see How to Plan a Great Story), something snaps, and she gets a revelation.

In order to win, the character must turn away from some old traits, no matter how precious, and emphasize new ones, no matter how undesirably they would have seemed in the beginning. Some last straw happens: something breaks, or something precipitates. (p. 63)

Based on this new understanding, she decides to make one last monumental effort. “Simultaneously with the climactic physical action,” Budrys says, “the character displays a new view of the world, grown out of the old one” (p. 63).

After this fourth do-or-die attempt, it’s victory or death—6. A positive character achieves victory. A villain dies or fails in such a way that it means ruin (pp. 12, 62). Here, Budrys insists, “You must make sure that the reader understands it is victory or death” (p. 12). Here’s why.

Over the course of your story, solving the problem and winning the goal must become for your protagonist the most important achievement at this point in her life. So that she doesn’t simply walk away at any time, the stakes must intensify through the middle: “the character cannot help but stake everything on the solution, for to fail is to be obliterated, either literally or spiritually” (p. 63).

Budrys recaps: The middle “consists of (4) effort to solve, (5) repeated failure or increasingly near-attainment of the goal, and (6) victory or death” (p. 12).

What’s left to complete your selling story?

The Ending

7 is validation. Some independent authority, a “trustworthy figure,” must, Budrys recommends, “step forward and say, ‘He’s dead, Jim’” (p. 12) to confirm for readers that the story is truly over. This also could be a brief statement by the narrator.

The character’s revelation, adjusted worldview, and the result of her decisive final action must be validated. Budrys likens this to “pinning a hero’s medal on the character” (p. 63). (Remember the final awards ceremony in Star Wars? That’s validation.)

Budrys’ plotting method will help you write a great story. One that hopefully sells. To help you implement the process in your writing, use this PDF worksheet to plan your next story. Here’s to your success!

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Trim the Fat: Nouns

A great way to keep your writing lean is to trim the fat by reducing words or cutting them altogether. This is the first article in the “Trim the Fat” series, tackling flabby nouns.

Don’t wrap nouns in fatty prepositional phrases. Use a strong noun and let it stand alone. For example:

Change “the field of politics” to “politics.”

Change “the level of water rose” to “water rose.”

Change “the process of editing” to “editing.”

Change “the volume of vaccines increased” to “vaccines increased.”

Cut these phrases that nestle a noun between “the” and “of”:

  • the amount of
  • the area of
  • the case of
  • the character of
  • the concept of
  • the degree of
  • the existence of
  • the extend of
  • the field of
  • the form of
  • the idea of
  • the level of
  • the magnitude of
  • the nature of
  • the number of
  • the presence of
  • the process of
  • the purpose of
  • the sum of
  • the volume of
  • the way of

Trim the fat, and your prose will improve.

Source: Edit Yourself by Bruce Ross-Larson

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How to Plan a Great Story

StoryI’ve studied and practiced writing for a long time, incorporating techniques I’ve learned to improve my prose. Because of this, my mechanics are good. But my storytelling was weak. Although I got great ideas and wrote about them, I found I wasn’t telling a story.

It took half my writing life to realize the importance of story structure and content. What, exactly, is a story?

A Story Is a Narrative about an Active Character

A story is a narrative account of a character who takes action throughout a series of related events or experiences that changes him in the end.

Peter Rubie and Gary Provost, in their immensely helpful How to Tell a Story (Writer’s Digest Books, 1998), have this to say about the importance of an active character:

A story is about the person who takes action. Make sure your character is active and really does something to affect what’s happening in the story. It’s not what happens to the character that makes him interesting, it’s what he does about it.

If the conflict you’ve created, however powerful, only causes your protagonist to be passive or merely reactive, the story won’t work. If he’s simply reacting to things the antagonist has done to him, or stumbles on a clue by chance, the story won’t work. Rethink your protagonist’s qualities and make him active!

Story Plan in a Paragraph

Rubie and Provost encapsulate a story in a single paragraph:

Once upon a time, something happened to someone, and he decided that he would pursue a goal. So he devised a plan of action, and even though there were forces trying to stop him, he moved forward because there was a lot at stake. And just as things seemed as bad as they could get, he learned an important lesson. When offered the prize he had sought so strenuously, he had to decide whether to take it, and in making that decision he satisfied a need that had been created by something in his past.

Do you recognize this structure in stories you’ve read? I did. You can use it to write a novel or short story of your own. Here’s how.

Questions to Answer Before You Write

Whether you’re a pantser or a plotter, you must answer these questions about your main character (MC), preferably before you start writing:

Something in his pastWhat past event (which happened before your story begins) happened to your MC to rip a hole in his life? Satisfying this psychological or emotional need is the central issue of your story.
Something happenedThis is the inciting incident, the catalytic event that kicks off the story and forces your character to take action. What happens that rocks your character’s world?
GoalWhat does your protagonist want? This is the prize, the thing he’s trying to get or attain throughout the whole story.
Plan of actionHow will your character go about pursuing his goal or prize? He must try and fail three times, making the situation worse, before succeeding.
Forces trying to stop himThis is the antagonist, which could be another character, entity, or force of nature that thwarts your MC’s attempt to reach the goal. The opposition generates conflict because of the antagonist’s contradictory goal and plan (define them too).
A lot at stakeWhat will this effort cost the protagonist? The stakes must be high: life or death; love lost or gained; physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual devastation—something important everyone can relate to.
Bad as they could getThis is your character’s bleakest moment. Everything has gone wrong, and it seems the opposing forces arrayed against him have won. Yet somehow, from the darkness of despair, from his failures, he finds the strength to persevere and overcome against overwhelming odds. What’s the worst moment?
Important lessonThe protagonist survives the bleakest moment with a gift:  revelation. At last, he sees, he understands something about life that he didn’t before. What lesson does your MC learn?
Offered the prizedecide whether to take itThis is the climax of your story. The protagonist must make a decision, preferably between two outcomes equally undesirable. When he decides, he gains something and he gives something up. It involves high emotional intensity from the reader, as well as moral and ethical considerations.
Satisfied a needThis need has been the driving force throughout the protagonist’s life to this point, whether or not he’s been aware of it (but you must be aware of it). In resolving the story, this need is satisfied.

A Story in Three Acts

The previous elements can be divided into three-act structure. Here’s where the points lie:

Before the story begins (some time in the character’s past):

Something in his past—The traumatic past event that tore a hole and created a psychological or emotion need in your MC. He must overcome this past damage to reach his goal and find happiness now and in the future.

Beginning:

Something happened—The inciting incident that kicks off the story.

Goal—What your character wants to get or achieve that he thinks will solve the problem the inciting incident has involved him in. Initially, the goal may be something trivial. But as the action progresses, it becomes his ultimate objective.

Middle:

Plan of action—How your MC goes about pursuing the goal. His first attempt fails unexpectedly, and often makes things worse, but he learns something from it. His second attempt fails even more miserably, but he learns something again. He tries a third time and meets with disaster.

Forces trying to stop him—In his attempts to solve the problem and reach his goal, your MC is opposed.

A lot at stake—The inciting incident sets the stakes, which must be serious enough for your protagonist to take action. The stakes must rise the more he tries and fails until they become dire.

Bad as they could get—Everything has gone wrong, and it looks like your MC is going to lose. Why and how does he try one final time to overcome?

Important lesson—What does the bleakest moment teach your protagonist? What does he learn that prompts him to make a decision?

Offered the prizedecide whether to take it—Everything that has gone before wedges your character between a rock and a hard place morally or ethically. But, based on the important lesson he has learned, he decides to try one more time—and either triumphs or bombs.

Ending:

Satisfied a need—The process, climax, and final action resolve the past need, and your character is changed.

I used this story planning process in writing my most popular novel to date, Death Perception.

Example Storyline in Death Perception

Here’s the one-paragraph storyline I developed for Death Perception:

Once upon a time, Kennet’s mother died [something happened to someone], and he decided that he would start a new life by making more money and moving out of her personal care home [pursue a goal]. So he started by looking for a new job and apartment [devised a plan of action], and even though Grinold and Flavia (the antagonists) tried to stop him [forces tried to stop him], he moved forward because his life and future happiness depended on it [there was a lot at stake]. And when his life was threatened [things seemed as bad as they could get], he learns he must avenge the mistreated dead [learned an important lesson], and when given the chance to move into a new apartment [offered the prize] he had sought so strenuously, he stays at the care home to gather more evidence against the antagonists, placing himself in mortal danger [decide whether or not to take it], and in making that decision he overcomes his fear[satisfied a need] created by his father’s abuse and death and his fear of conflict and change [something in his past].

This may not make sense unless you read the book, but it’s one of the exercises I did to plot Death Perception. Read it to see how I executed the plan.

Put some thought into this preliminary process, keep your MC active, and you’ll end up with a more satisfying story, one that, hopefully, will sell. Good luck!

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Eradicate Junk Words from Your Writing

No JustAs an editor, I’ve encountered a lot of meaningless, overused words peppered throughout otherwise good manuscripts. And I’ve scratched my red Uniball Micro pen over those words.

Here are some words that are junk. They’re like weeds cropping up in a manicured lawn. Eradicate them, and you’ll improve your writing.

Possible exceptions include when these words are used in dialogue, although do so sparingly.

Junk Word Example Comments
just Sheila just didn’t know what to do about it.

She was still nauseated, and not just from the bad food.

He watched her cry, just like his mother.

You can keep it if it’s a noun that means “guided by truth, reason, justice, and fairness.”

Used as an adverb, as in the examples, it’s junk. If you must keep it, better alternatives are simply, merely, or only.

Delete it and stop using it in your writing. For an in-depth discussion, see Are You Using the Word “Just” Too Much?

even Why did they even come?

Yet, even as the leaves fell, he persisted in hiking without a jacket.

Used as an adjective meaning “flat” or “on the same level,” you can keep it.

Used as an adverb meaning “still, yet”—delete it.

ever Wiley felt sillier than ever before.

How did she ever manage to do it?

Used as an adverb to mean “at any time,” you should delete it.
very Edward was very tall.

Hailey was caught in the very act of driving without a license.

Used as an intensive or superlative, it’s overdone and unnecessary. Ditch it and use a stronger verb.
really

Jake was a really big kid.

Alphonse really didn’t care for Muenster cheese.

Used as an adverb to mean “in reality, actually,” you can keep it, but use it sparingly.

Used as a superlative meaning “very, genuinely, truly, or indeed,” it’s a junk word—delete it.

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Lee Allen Howard’s Eight-step Writing Improvement Process

Do you want to improve your writing? If so, you must identify and fix specific problems with your prose.

You must learn new editorial techniques and incorporate them into your writing toolbox, deliberately applying them through practice until you internalize their use. Then you’ll be able to write better first drafts.

How I Learned the Process

Lee Allen Howard's Eight-Step Writing Improvement ProcessWhen I discovered what a dangling participle was, I noticed I was dangling them in much of my writing. Finally recognizing the issue was like switching on a spotlight. I saw them everywhere. I was shocked.

It took me a few years to consistently catch and fix this problem in my writing during the self-editing process. It took a while longer to catch myself making the mistake when I was writing—and correct it on the spot.

I still goof up at times, but I’ve trained myself to recognize the issue and eradicate it from my prose. Better yet, I taught myself to stop making the mistake when writing first drafts.

Over the years, I’ve crystalized the process we go through as writers learning the craft—or anyone learning a new skill. Here’s how to use it purposefully to make your writing better.

Lee Allen Howard’s Eight-step Writing Improvement Process

1. Write without restriction.

Whether you’re writing fiction or nonfiction, this initial phase is when you tell your inner critic to take a time out and sit in the corner for a while.

Write with abandon and don’t worry about whether it’s any good. Simply get the words down as fast as you can.

You will, of course, be using techniques you’ve already internalized: the proper way to spell “accommodate,” making your subjects and verbs agree, and attributing your dialogue with “said” and not “opined.”

2. Revise your work.

Now it’s time to read your work with a discerning eye. Have you said what you meant? Have you said it the best way?

Revise to include everything that should be there and exclude anything that shouldn’t.

To learn more about revising and editing, I recommend these books:

  • Self-editing for Fiction Writers, Renni Browne and Dave King
  • Revision, David Michael Kaplan

3. Learn about problems you need to identify.

Read about dangling participles, cutting unnecessary details, using commas properly, eliminating little words, ferreting out filtering phrases.

Some excellent texts about editing on my library shelves include:

  • Getting the Words Right, Theodore A. Rees Cheney
  • Editing Fact and Fiction, Sharpe and Gunther
  • The 10% Solution, Ken Rand

4. Examine your writing critically, like an editor.

The links and books in the previous points should help you do this. But what if, even after studying, you’re blind to what your issues are—mistakes that keep you from getting published? What you don’t know can hurt you.

Although I learned by reading dozens of writing texts as well as trial and error, it took me thirty years to discover what I know now and am sharing with you. Do you have that time? Most writers don’t.

What you need is an editor who will teach you how to self-edit your work. I can help you identify your issues and provide advice that will enable you to find those problems in your work so you can fix them yourself. To learn more, see Professional Editing Service.

5. Identify issues in your writing.

Once you realize what your issues are, you must go through your writing carefully to identify those problems you’ve learned about. Cast a critical gaze at what you’ve drafted.

This could be a struggle when you’re learning to implement a new technique. But you’ll get better with practice. There’s no way around this (see side note below).

When you’re learning an editing technique, it’s too hard to fix every mistake in one pass. I recommend going through your work a story or chapter at a time, looking for only one issue—whether it’s dangling your participles, creating unnecessary distance with filter words, or overusing adverbs. Flag each with a comment that pinpoints the matter.

This approach lets you concentrate on that issue alone. It’s the best way to learn how to identify a newly discovered problem in your writing.

(Side note: For each new technique I discovered, I went through every unpublished short story on my hard drive and corrected each of them for that issue. I did this time and again, editing some stories over 500 times. That’s how I learned. In other words, practice makes perfect.)

6. Edit to correct those issues.

After identifying issues, go back and correct each one. Apply what you’ve learned in your reading. Or contact me to edit some of your work to identify issues you’ve been missing—and teach you how to fix them.

Use everything in your editor’s toolbox to improve and polish your work. Make several passes.

7. Internalize the process of identifying and correcting those problems so that every time you edit your work, you catch and fix them.

If you’ve followed the process so far, you’ve learned to identify, find, and fix your recurring issues. It’s hard work at first, but you’ll get better as you continue to practice.

You’ll eventually reach the point where you’re able to find and fix multiple issues on the first or second pass of self-editing. You have internalized the new technique; it’s now committed to your editorial toolbox.

8. Train yourself to write better so that you don’t make those mistakes in the first place.

Although you should write without restraint and not let self-criticism hamper your efforts to get the story down (step 1), you’ll experience moments when you stop to think about what you’re going to say.

These are the moments to insert the new techniques you’ve learned, applying what you’ve internalized during the editing phase to the writing process. Why forever make the mistake of dangling your participles only to fix them during editing?

Move mastered techniques into the drafting process and train yourself to write it right the first time.

Use the Process

Now that you’re aware of this process, consciously employ it to master editing skills more quickly. All it takes is dedicated practice.

Over time, you’ll continue to adopt new methods that you’ll incorporate into the writing phase, and this will make your first drafts better. Good luck!

Copyright 2021 Lee Allen Howard.

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