Words of Iron, Buns of Steel . . . or Be An Arnold, Not A Sean

Something tickles your muse so you sit and begin writing. Sometime later you decide you’ve finished. Enough is enough and you have other things needing doing. Or your muse has run out of steam and is limping across the finish line. Or you’ve reached your word count goal for the day. Or your hourly count. Or you get frustrated and give up.

      But how do you know when you’re REALLY done?

      For me I usually write anywhere from 2 to 8 hours daily. I sit before my trusty laptop, start banging out words and everything is going great. Hours later the pauses between writing grow longer and longer. Then once I realize I’ve been going back through what I’ve already written and am attempting to find superior words for the past half hour or so I know I’m done writing for the day because: write first, edit last. Time to recharge my muse because it’s drifting off into the oblivion of slumber, exhausted. So I go about the rest of my day with the later plan of reading a good book for a few hours and maybe getting in some weight lifting depending on the specific day of the week after my “real job” because that’s what recharges my muse for the following session.

      For others they have a specific word count goal for the day and once they reach it they stop regardless if they can continue writing. 1,000 words achieved? 2,500? 3,729? Done and done. Time to mow the yard or wash the dishes or beat the kids.

      Others still have a specific set number of hours they write each day, and once the ticker hits whatever o’ clock they click save then close their laptop and go about their daily routine until tomorrow comes along with a new day of writing.

      Then there are those whom have no specific goal at all. You know who you are. They may sit for hours toiling over 3 little paragraphs while attempting to make every word a perfect fit like pieces to an elaborate puzzle. Or they write 10 pages only to realize 9 of those pages are uninteresting or illogical or unrelated bunk and needs be deleted. Sometimes they have no plan of how their story will go and so sit in wonderment trying to figure out where their protagonist should go next or wait for that perfect line of dialogue while they chew on a pen for 2 hours straight and stare out the window. Though sometimes the words flow onto the page so fast their fingers can barely keep up. While other times they grunt and frown because everything they type is crap and their usual musing flow has slowed to a disappointing trickle.

      Which brings me back to weight lifting.

      Lifting weights has afforded me several things over the years (strength and muscle and better health included) and those things have carried over into my writing. Though I’m not a competitive bodybuilder or powerlifter by any means. I started lifting weights when I was a few months shy of 20 years old, I was bitten by “the iron bug” and have continued lifting ever since because I enjoy the struggle of moving heavy weight and the benefits it affords me both physical and mental. And every time I step under or grab the oly bar (olympic bar for you newbs to weight lifting) I have a specific goal to achieve. I don’t always achieve it, mind, but when I do my happiness blooms like spring flowers. Weight lifting is a constant flow of success because you set smaller goals to reach over a shorter course while slowly achieving a larger goal over the longer haul.

      Want to squat 300lbs by next summer? Then you start with the puny 45lb. oly bar across your back knowing you will try to add 5 tiny pounds to the bar each workout or every week until you eventually reach 300lbs.

      Weight lifting is humbling. It’s just you verses the load. There’s no taskmaster lashing your back with their motivational whip. You either move the weights or you don’t. Period. No one else to blame but yourself and your lack of effort.

      Which is why it’s so much like writing. Because it’s just you verses the empty page. You write a little each day over the short course while slowly working toward writing an entire novel over the long haul.

      I’m a Plotter by nature. I’ve tried Pantsing but it wasn’t for me. How anyone can sit and try writing while having no idea what they want to write about is something I’ve never been able to grasp. To me that’s like getting into your car intent on driving but with no destination in mind. I understand the appeal but not the waste of gas.

      I plot my stories out before I begin writing them so I know they make logical sense while also containing surprising yet logical plot twists. I divide them into smaller sections, each with a brief description that tells me where I’m going though not specific enough as to how I should get there so I can still weave new ventures into scenes that did not occur to me while plotting. This helps me write every time I write. I literally cannot think of a single time I’ve ever sat to write and produced nothing.

      And it’s because of weight lifting that I hold to this plotter’s mentality. Every workout I strive for more reps or sets or weight than the previous workout. Progressive Overload is the #1 key factor to getting stronger and more muscular. Everything else is wasted effort if there’s no progressive overload. Even one more single rep than last time is one more rep than last time. Tiny accomplishments added up equal a big success. If I’ve plotted out 40 scenes for a novel, I know once I’ve written all 40 scenes that I’ll have a finished first draft of an entire novel. I may have more scenes when I’m finished, which I almost always do because writing is a wondrous process of discovery, but in the end that first draft is done. Next stop: editsville.

      Because of this I tend to view Pantsers as those whom go to the gym having no idea of which exercises or what muscle groups they want to train for the day, only that they want to exercise. And if you have any knowledge of or experience with lifting weights (I have 20 years worth as I write this, by the by) then you know these are the exact type of “lifters” who remain small and weak because they achieve zero consistent progress.

      These are the skinny-fat guys (yes, “skinny-fat” is actually a lifting term, meaning your limbs are skinny while the rest of you is fat) benching 185 or squatting 225 for “heavy singles” just like they were two or more years ago, and you know in two or more years’ time they’ll still be struggling with the same weights while you’re pushing up 315 for reps or rebounding out of the hole with 495 for a new PR (PR = personal record; the “hole” is the bottom of a squat just so ya know, and not just “the tops of your thighs breaking parallel to the floor” bottom but the “calves touching hamstrings” bottom). These skinny-fat “lifters” also assume glugging 3 protein shakes in one month on top of the 2 extra cheese burgers they ate will somehow add 30lbs. of muscle to their spindly frames then blame “overtraining” or their lack of steroid use when it doesn’t.

      Monday they exercise their chesticles, Tuesday their arms and abs. The next two days are “rest” days because they have stupid memes to tweet out to their 7 followers and groceries don’t buy themselves. Friday rolls around and they decide on chest and biceps again because why not? They want to develop a frosty peak on that massive 12 inch bicep of theirs anyhow and a wide sweep to their flat birdchest. Saturday? Naw, I gotta mow the yard, and Sunday is my “relax and play video games all day” day. Monday again and they decide they haven’t worked their wheels in a month so they bang out a few half-assed squats, sinking 6 inches “deep” if that and with excessive hunching because they overloaded the bar in the hopes of impressing the hot girl locked in a distant stare while doing 1,000 unweighted lunges hoping to tone her saggy glutes who doesn’t even know their name, then they slam the weight home in the power rack and call it a day. Tuesday is a rest day because their lumbars are almost as sore as their fragile ego from Monday’s “squats.” Wednesday and it’s time for some high-rep curls for the girls to pump those tiny biceps, and 5lb. lateral raises to plump their medial delts wider . . . until the pump goes away 20 minutes later and they look like they never even hit the gym let alone broke a sweat in their too-tight wife-beater gripping their flabby gut. Thursday was gonna be back day but now it’s chest day because they watched a youtube video the night before of a silverback twice their age and body weight benching 700lbs. at his local powerlifting meet and earning cheers. What weight did I use last time? Oh, who knows. I don’t keep track of that stuff anyhow because simple math is hard. Friday and whew! It’s been a long week at work so they decide on an extended weekend vacation from the gym. Besides, it’s summer out, and who wants to get all sweaty when I can post on Facebook about the last song I listened to and how it made me feel then sit for hours refreshing the page every 15 seconds while wondering why nobody is liking my dumb-ass post because I forgot I’m not the center of everyone’s universe.

      See where I’m going with this?

      Inconsistency breeds a severe lack of results.

      Now, this doesn’t mean to say that Pantsing is an inferior method of writing, because it’s not. It’s just not my preferred method when it comes to making progress because you can’t measure inconsistent achievements.

      Go ahead and try to find your average word count when you write 1,500 words on Monday, 200 on Tuesday, Wednesday you cranked out 4,500 but deleted half of it because you looked back and realized the last half had nothing to do with the main conflict of your story, Thursday was a good day with 3,200 words down while the kids were at school, Friday you got nothing though you did realize your protagonist’s hair should be brown instead of black after 3 hours of daydreaming, Saturday you managed 500 words but you had to cut it short because you were hungry then did two loads of laundry, and Sunday you banged out a nice 1,700 words but you’re not sure if they’re a keeper because they’re about a new character you just came up with on the fly and haven’t yet figured out how to work them into your story.

      Every Pantser I know enjoys the excitement of discovering what they write as they write it. Though when no words come pouring forth as they’d hoped, they grow frustrated and blame their muse because it’s a lot easier to blame than themselves for being undisciplined as a writer.

      “I just couldn’t write anything today because my muse wasn’t working.”

      Bullshit.

      What you mean is you didn’t write anything today because you are a lazy writer.

      Humble yourself and admit the truth. You might as well do so now because nobody is going to write your novels for you.

      Nothing worth doing is ever easy. Weights don’t lift themselves, and neither do blank pages fill with words on their own.

      Hard work and dedication reap their own rewards. Having a set goal, however tiny, is still a goal for you to work toward achieving. And success breeds the motivation to continue achieving.

      You make progress by keeping track of your progress. It really is as simple as that. And you don’t blame anyone but yourself if you fail to achieve results. Set smaller daily goals so that when added up they equal a big success over months of writing. Which makes that time spent toiling away all the more satisfying when you look back and see just how far you’ve come and how much you’ve accomplished.

      Let me tell you about my writer and lifter friend Sean. Sean doesn’t write every day, instead he writes only when his muse strikes him. Sean also doesn’t rewrite–ever!–because he believes editing will remove the inspirational emotion from his writing (god help us all) because he’s an artist and when he writes he writes with passion sparked by the flames of his fiery muse. One day Sean gets a particular interesting character stuck in his head involved in a few interesting situations, so from here on out he decides his stories will revolve around said character. For the next year Sean only writes when his muse strikes him. One year later and Sean has a random collection of stories loosely connected to his character who is not even a protagonist because no antagonist exists.

      So what does Sean do now?

      He can either face facts and assemble all of his stores, arrange then rearrange them until they flow into each other with a logical sense of connection, go back and rewrite everything so the scenes weave together, and eventually he’ll have a finished novel. Maybe. He also has to deal with several major plot holes he has no idea how he’s going to plug because he never planned out any of his stories beforehand. Or Sean can continue down his inconsistent path and keep writing stories that have nothing in common other than a protagonist wandering through random events and hope for the best.

      Sean, by the way, has never published anything. Ever. Because readers don’t want to spend their hard-earned money on let alone their time reading a collection of random events. Sean also buys lottery tickets with the “plan” of winning and retiring from life and is always disappointed when his numbers don’t come up in the Idiot Tax.

      Is Sean’s lack of progress always true? No. But even Napoleon Dynamite had a plot revolving round a very interesting protagonist.

      Sean is the type of “lifter” who goes to the gym whenever he feels like it. He never records any weights or sets or reps on any of his exercises because his exercise routine is always different. He can bench press his own body weight for a few reps if he really pushes hard, but he never gets anywhere near his goal of bench pressing 300lbs. because some chest days (which are never set in stone, god forbid) he bench presses while others he does cable crossovers and never with the same weight twice let alone for the same sets and reps. Sean has the appearance of possibly working out, though he definitely isn’t what anyone would describe as athletic. Sean has yet to understand the motto “Failing to plan is planning to fail” despite the irony of living it.

      Now let me tell you about my other writer and lifter friend Arnold. Arnold understands that a goal without a plan is just a wish. One day Arnold gets some ideas about an interesting protagonist involved in several interesting and related events. Arnold spends a few days coming up with many more interesting and related scenes, moving them around until his story possesses a logical sense of flow while also having several intriguing plot twists. Arnold then sits down every day determined to write 1,000 words no ifs, ands, or buts. 1,000 words per day is small enough to manage without interfering in his other life activities yet large enough to produce good results so that’s his goal. Sometimes the 1,000 word goal takes Arnold several hours, and sometimes he’s done in half an hour. But he’s made a plan and a commitment and so sticks to it. After 80 days Arnold has an 80,000 word first draft of a novel. Arnold pats himself on the back for all his hard work because his planning and dedication has paid off.

      So what does Arnold do now?

      Arnold takes a break and rewards himself. For the next week he relaxes while his new novel “rests.” The following week it’s back to work, because Arnold spends the next 80 days rewriting and editing his novel-to-be. 1,000 words per day just as before, only now the process is much easier because all those words actually exist. 80 days later and Arnold is done. Hooray! He rewards himself for all his hard work. Then he spends the following weekend polishing his entire novel by crossing all the t’s and dotting all the i’s while omitting needless words and double-checking spelling and grammar. Weekend over and everything in Arnold’s new novel is exactly how he wants it. He could keep tweaking but he knows it’s not necessary. Now Arnold sends his finished manuscript out to publishers. But he doesn’t play the waiting game by sitting there biting his fingernails down to bloody nubs, no sir-ee. Instead Arnold sits and plots out a new story just as before then begins working on his next novel-to-be. 1,000 words a day worked out great so he bumps it up a tad to 1,200 a day because why not reach for higher than before?

      Arnold is the type of lifter who has a plan before he hits the gym. It may not be perfect, and he adjusts it where needed, but his plan provides him goals to strive toward. He keeps a record of his workouts to ensure he makes slow but steady progress because progressive overload is key to training, though sometimes he goes into the gym knowing only that it’s “back day” and decides which specific exercises to perform while working out his back. Arnold not only reached his goal of a 300lbs. bench press months ago but is now closing in on 350lbs because he’s consistently added a tiny amount of weight to the bar over a long period. Arnold definitely looks like he lifts weights by the way his muscular physique bulges beneath his shirt and pants. And Arnold attracts more female attention because not only has his consistent workouts given him an attractive physique but it’s also an instant visual indication to others than Arnold is a hard-working man who follows through with things.

      Arnold’s consistency has not only helped him in the gym but also carries over into other aspects of his life. Arnold is ambitious and sets goals then strives to accomplish them, making him a success and a boss favorite at work. Because weights don’t lift themselves, Arnold is confident when he lifts weights he hasn’t lifted before and humbled when he doesn’t because he has nobody to blame but himself. Arnold is friendly to others because he enjoys helping those weaker than him while also knowing he is physically capable of defending himself against bodily threats.

      There is a major difference between Sean and Arnold, and it ain’t the stink of their gym shorts.

      Arnold is a man others respect and know they can depend on because he follows through with things. He’s a man who gives his word then does his best to stick to it. He lives on his own and works hard to accomplish his goals. If Arnold hit the lottery he’d bank it as savings and enjoy a comfortable rest of his life while still working hard to achieve his writerly dreams.

      Sean is a boy pretending to be a man who shows up late if at all, and when he does you never know what kind of mood he’s in because of his uncooperative muse. He blames everyone else but himself, makes promises he never keeps, and is unreliable at best. Sean is the loser who lives in his parents’ basement smoking weed and playing video games or listening to music all day at 30-something years old, and every so often he scribbles down a story in one of his notebooks for that first novel he’ll eventually get around to writing. Always telling everyone he’s gonna be a writer someday . . . always someday, though never today. If Sean hit the lottery he’d be broke within 2 years.

      I advise you to treat your writing like an exercise program. Don’t think of it as a chore but a habit, and make it a good one. Don’t be a Skinny-fat Sean who makes little if any progress, looks like he’s hardly every touched a weight after several years of “training,” and blames the weights or his uncooperative muse for all his lifting or writing failures. Instead be an Athletic Arnold, a confident and determined though humble individual earning constant success through proven results because he cares enough about himself and his achievements in life to plan ahead.

The Virtue of Flaws . . . or Things Needing Fixed

Hello!

      My name is Adron J. Smitley and I’m an alcoholic.

      Or I was . . . until I achieved synthesis through character growth.

      Alcoholism is a perfect example of synthesis because alcoholics tend to exist in extremes. 100% or not at all. First they indulge, then they abstain. But it’s only when they realize then apply the epiphany of “everything in moderation” restraint that they achieve true synthesis as a person.

      And so too should your protagonist.

      I know this because I’m living proof.

      For twelve years I drank every single day–not just drink but DRUNK!–though three exceptions apply: two D.U.I’s earned me several months each on alcohol-monitored house arrest where I had to blow into a machine every three hours after a blaring alarm went off, and a ten-day mandatory stint in the local hotbox with 90 days suspended because I wised up and paid a lawyer for my second go-around. Other than that it was drink, drink, and drink some more!

      To my credit I was a functioning alcoholic. I would go to work then get plastered when I got home. Soon as I walked in the door I would slam four shots of Everclear (before this became legal in Ohio it was Galen’s 151 vodka), let my dog outside, then I’d slam a few more. Liquor was my drink of choice, the higher the proof the better, because I hated the taste of beer and having to drink so much of it made me pee every 15 minutes. I’d wake up and lift some weights or write for a few hours before work, then come back home and repeat ad nauseam.

      Twelve years gone, just like that. Snap!

      Eventually I hit the proverbial “rock bottom” or in writer terms the “all is lost” and stopped drinking. For me it wasn’t a painful task but a simple decision. I was tired of drinking, decided I’d done enough of it and so simply stopped. No rehab. No A.A. No withdrawals. No problem.

      I didn’t get sick much to my amazement, and I haven’t had a drink since. Not because I can’t but because I can though don’t want to.

      I’ve been around plenty of people over the years since who drink, and I’ve had ample opportunity to indulge in the devil’s sweat. But I choose not to because drinking no longer holds any appeal to me. For lack of better words I drank myself sober. You do something long enough and it either kills you or you grow sick of it. Luckily for me the latter applies.

      So what does my pity party have to do with writing?

      I now understand the true value of synthesis because I’ve lived it, something all protagonists must achieve through character growth. After all, we are the protagonists of our own lives.

      But first lemme tell you ’bout a man named Bill. Little Bill, actually.

      Little Bill protected his small western town of Big Whiskey at all costs. He was the sheriff and by god there’ll be order! The citizens of Big Whiskey looked up to Little Bill for the most part despite his being a fierce bully with fast fists and faster iron at his hips. Then infamous gunfighter William Munny rode into town on his pale horse and shot Little Bill and most of Bill’s pals dead for killing Will’s best friend Ned. You see, Little Bill took his overprotective brand of justice a bit too far. Some rambunctious cowboys cut up one of Skinny’s whores named Delilah Fitzgerald so the whores gathered their money together without Bill’s knowing for a bounty on them cowboys and Will and Ned came after it. They served western justice and killed the cowboys, but Bill found out and caught Ned alone. Tortured then killed him. Set poor Ned’s corpse outside in a pine box on public display with a sign around his neck warning any would-be assassins from coming back into Little Bill’s town. That didn’t sit too well with Will. And thus Bill’s arrogant over-protection earned him death by rifle to the face. Little Bill protected his small western town of Big Whiskey at all costs . . . including himself.

      So who was right and who was wrong? If Bill was right then why’d he end up dead? How can Will be right if he’s a murdering gunfighter killing the local sheriff? Evil William Munny must be the antagonist then because good Little Bill the sheriff was only protecting his town, correct?

      Nope.

      So long as empathy exist then your protagonist can be the most vile person one can imagine.

      Right and wrong, or good and evil, are simply a matter of perspective. Every protagonist believes they are right . . . and so too does the antagonist of themselves. If you sat them down, both could present convincing arguments as to why they should triumph over the other because both view the other as the antagonist obstacle in their way to triumphant glory.

      But just as in Highlander, “THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE! . . . protagonist.”

      What separates protagonist Will from antagonist Bill isn’t right vs. wrong or good vs. evil but synthesis. Both are competent gunfighters, both have their own sense of justice, and both have valid reasons for killing the other. So why does Will win in the end? In the seconds before their gunfight in Skinny’s brothel it seems as if both men will be shot dead by story’s end. Will is alone and outnumbered ten-to-one yet he manages to survive, not only shooting Little Bill but also several of Bill’s cronies. Because Will is a protagonist who has achieved synthesis. Bill on the other hand wouldn’t have settled for anything less than overkill.

      Your protagonist must grow in one of several ways throughout the conflict of your story to earn a fulfilling conclusion through synthesis, the Midpoint being their tipping point of want vs. need when they switch from Reaction (not in control of the conflict) to Proaction (taking control of the conflict). Either by growing stronger as the person they are (think Jesus or Forrest Gump), or by abandoning their precious want for their essential need and growing into a changed and therefor stronger person (think Rocky or Logan). Then there’s the third option of tragic protagonist who foregoes their essential need and clings to their precious want like grim death (think Nick Cage’s alcoholic character Ben Sanderson in Leaving Las Vegas who drinks himself to death) though this represents a smaller percentage of story outcomes compared to the more favorable triumphant protagonist endings audiences prefer.

      Both protagonist and antagonist possess the virtue of flaws, or things needing fixed, yet only one flourishes through character growth and thus the defining difference of achieving synthesis.

      A fact of life is flaws exist--and that’s a good thing!

      Protagonist flaws exist for correction, whereas antagonist flaws not so much.

      Flaws are meant to be corrected into protagonist triumph or clung to in antagonist tragedy while serving as moral examples for what to do and not to do so that you can enjoy or suffer the same deserving fate.

      But which flaws to choose . . . which flaws to choose.

      And what makes a good flaw?

      Justice is the theme of Unforgiven, and Little Bill already showed us what being overprotective can earn, so let’s try something else.

      How about honesty?

      “But wait,” you say, “honesty isn’t a flaw but a virtue.”

      Precisely!

      The best character flaws are exaggerated virtues. Because virtues are admirable . . . though only to a point.

      Sure you can make your antagonist Snidely Whiplash in his menacing swirl of black cape twisting his mustache while he sneers at your blond-haired blue-eyed white-teethed protagonist in his shining knight’s armor atop his ivory steed, but that’s the stuff of boring cliches nobody wants to read.

      The world is not black or white, and neither should be your characters.

      Remember Will the protagonist and Bill the antagonist, because both are a complexity of flaws and virtues. No one-dimensional characters in Unforgiven! Which, by the by, just so happens to be my all-time favorite movie and a definite recommend for viewing pleasure if not a great lesson on how to design intriguing characters.

      But let’s get back to the virtue of flaws. Honesty can’t be a flaw, you say? Tell me that after your wife of ten years asks if her favorite pants from high school make her look fat. Or your 3-year-old holds up their proud painting of a prancing unicorn farting out fluffy koala bears seeking parental approval yet it looks like nothing more than a smeared rainbow of chaos. If you’re truly honest in the aforementioned examples then you may hurt the feelings of someone you care about, so instead you tell a harmless little white lie and smile like you just won the prize pony to avoid unnecessary conflict.

      Which is why the best flaws are exaggerated virtues. Because they introduce conflict into every situation while still resembling admirable traits.

      Complexity of character!

      Little Bill wasn’t just protective but overprotective. William Munny wasn’t just seeking justice (for the cut up whore Delilah and accompanying monetary reward) but revenge (for the torture and murder of Ned). Both have their own notions of justice. Justice is about restoring balance but revenge is retaliation, and retaliate William Munny did right through Little Bill’s face with bullets. He also scored the whores’ bounty, in the end reaping his protagonist reward, though it proved bittersweet considering Ned’s murder earned in cruel trade . . . though not so bittersweet as you might presume given that Ned’s murder was the necessary push to induce Will into synthesis.

      You see, Little Bill and William Munny are very much alike. They both operated in extremes. This is shown by Will being an alcoholic in his murdering and thieving days though at the start of Unforgiven he’s left that life behind for years past . . . or so he thought. And throughout the movie his tortured past and murderous misdeeds haunt him something fierce as he battles with killing again only this time to procure money so he can give his two children a better life because he’s changed from indulgent infamous gunfighter to poor pig farmer in his years of abstinence. Several times throughout the movie he could drink his problems away like he did in the past, but he refuses. And when he does finally drink again it’s to prepare himself by steadying his nerves for the inevitable final confrontation instead of trying to drown his tortured past by getting drunk.

      After hearing of Ned’s torture and death, William Munny takes his first drink of whiskey in years, not just reminding him of his olden days as a notorious gunfighter but physically symbolizing to the audience his true character shift from justice to revenge. He swallows down that whiskey and we get the shiverin’ willies as the transition begins. We the audience know on instant that it’s now going to be either him or Little Bill dead by the end of the movie not long after, mayhaps both. It only takes one step to walk off a cliff, and by taking that first drink William Munny just stepped off his.

      But now he has a parachute because he’s achieved synthesis so his alcoholism flaw becomes a virtue in that he operated at his murderous best when under the influence and will so again once he rides back into Big Whiskey on his pale horse to confront Little Bill in a fantastic shoot-out. When the shoot-out happens Will actually refrains from killing everyone and only shoots Little Bill and those few stupid enough to shoot at him first. The rest he allows to leave alive whereas the old William Munny would’ve killed them all then burned down the whole stinkin’ town.

      Old Will knew nothing of restraint. New Will shows too much restraint to ensure he doesn’t devolve into the bad guy from his tortured past. Synthesis Will shows just enough restraint because he’s achieved and applies the “everything in moderation” epiphany moral through character growth.

      But let’s track way back to honesty as an exaggerated virtue.

      Dr. Phil has made a career on his blunt honesty. Millions of people tune in just to watch him tell people right to their faces exactly what he thinks regardless their feelings.

      Let’s try another exaggeration of virtue.

      Love can’t be so bad, right? Everyone wants to love and be loved so surely there’s no bad twist here.

      Ever had a stalker? Someone so obsessed with you they pine after you day and night, stare at you from afar like a creeper, watch you when they think you’re not looking, and eventually follow you home, sneak into your house, then stab you three-hundred times with their loveknife because if they can’t have you then nobody will!

      Or how about kindness?

      Everyone likes kind people . . . until their Pleases and Thank Yous spill all over the place and you want to punch them in the smile. People overly kind become doormats. Manipulative others use and take advantage of them to get what they want. Overly kind people lend money they never get back then pay their bills late. They go out of their way to please others even at their own detriment.

      How about patience?

      Surely patience is a virtue one cannot bitterly twist. “Patience is a virtue” exists as a saying for a reason. Until the overly patient person who bottles up all their feelings one day explodes into a fit of rage and guns down their innocent schoolmates.

      Diligence?

      Everybody loves a hard worker. As bosses we love them because they get things done. Yet we all know someone who toils away like a slave at their job to the detriment of their family whom they rarely see and then snap at when they do for interrupting the work they brought home. Vacation? Sorry, honey, but I’ve got TPS Reports to finish. And where’s my dinner!

      Cleanliness?

      There are tons of people who wash their hands a hundred times a day and use hand sanitizer after touching anything because they’ve become so obsessive-compulsive about keeping clean. Their motto is usually a place for everything and everything in its place, and woe to those who forget to use a coaster or leave their muddy shoes at the door.

      Commitment?

      Everyone wants a loyal lover. But what about one who calls or texts you every 5 minutes asking where you’re at and who you’re with and when you’ll be home? And when you do get home they cling to you like glue and smother you with their overbearing affection.

      Courage is admirable, right?

      Of course, it’s not so admirable when someone charges blindly into any situation without first assessing the safety and risks involved. Those people tend not to live very long. Adrenaline junkies who go splat at the end of a failed bungee cord or unopened parachute. They make good firefighters . . . until they die because they braved inside for one last attempt and the house collapses atop them in a flaming wreckage. Now their wife and kids go shopping at Stepdads-R-Us.

      There exists a whole slew of virtues from which you may pick then exaggerate to your heart’s content. Honesty, Diligence, Perseverance . . . pick your poison then prick your -tagonist.

      Like William Munny, an alcoholic is a perfect example of how best to achieve synthesis. Going from one extreme to the other then finding the comfortable middle ground. Indulgence into Abstinence into Moderation.

      An alcoholic will indulge in drink, then shift to the other extreme of abstaining completely. But it’s only when they understand then apply the moderation of having a couple of drinks then stopping do they achieve true synthesis, not just in story but also in life.

      Trust me, I know.

      I have twelve years of proof.

      Experience, after all, is the best teacher.

A Hero Goes On A Journey . . . or A Stranger Comes To Town

There is one and only one plot which exists in all of story. Not ten. Not twenty-one. ONE. Pick any play, any novel, any movie and they all follow this same master plot.

      “But what is this magic mystery plot upon thy devil’s tongue of which you speak?”

      Glad you asked.

      A Hero Goes On A Journey, or, A Stranger Comes To Town.

      “Wait a cotton-pickin’ minute!” you say. “That’s two! You just lied, and now I hate your face!”

      “Nay!” I say. “Two hearts that beat as one.”

      You see, A Hero Goes On A Journey and A Stranger Comes To Town are the same plot simply told from different points of view.

      I wish I could take credit for this writer’s nugget of knowledge, but one must give credit where credit is due. I chanced across some writerly advice penned by one James Hudnall many years ago, in which he explained the singular plot theory which changed my writing life forever.

      So how do you know which of these two master plots that are really one in the same fits your protagonist’s bill?

      Drumroll, please…

      …the Inciting Incident.

      I’ll go more in-depth into what an Inciting Incident actually is in a future post. But for now let’s just assume you already know what it is, that it takes place as soon as possible after setting up the protagonist’s Ordinary World, and that it introduces your protagonist to the main story conflict to come.

      Oh stop your whining.

      Fine.

      Here’s the gist:  the Inciting Incident (or “exciting incident” as some prefer to call it) is the event or decision that begins a story’s problem. Everything up to and until that moment is Backstory;  everything after is “the story.”

      Peter Parker, meet radioactive spider. Aaannnd… bite!

      Hey, Italian Stallion! How would you like a shot at the world heavy-weight champion Apollo Creed?

      Oh poor, lonely, computer hacker Neo, everything will be okay. Just follow the white rabbit.

      Frodo, meet ring.

      Now back to the point before it disappears. A Hero Goes On A Journey, and A Stranger Comes To Town. If your “Hero” needs embark on a Journey to solve the main story conflict, then they are obviously a Hero going on a Journey. But wait for it… because if you switch that protagonist point of view to someone outside that journey, and make your new protagonist someone whose town said Hero passes through, then guess what? Now your Hero on a Journey becomes a Stranger coming to Town.

      Does the Inciting Incident which disrupts your protagonist’s Ordinary World originate via circumstances External from their Ordinary World? Then it’s A Stranger Comes To Town, otherwise they would simply continue living their normal life uninterrupted. Maybe boxing promoter George Jergens offers your protagonist bum-boxer a once-in-a-lifetime shot at the world heavy-weight title. Though the “stranger” doesn’t have to be a literal person. It could be a mysterious package, or an email issuing grave news, or a letter of inheritance from an unknown relative passing, and so on.

      Does the Inciting Incident which disrupts your protagonist’s Ordinary World originate via circumstances Internal to their Ordinary World? Then it’s A Hero Goes On A Journey, for if they could solve their new problem without ever leaving their Ordinary World then it’s not really a problem and that makes a short, boring story. Maybe a close relative has been harboring a secret finally revealed and now your protagonist Frodo must take their evil magic ring to the Council of Elrond in Rivendell.

      Dwight V. Swain, author of the fantastic and highly recommend book Techniques of the Selling Writer, explains that all protagonists seek one of three things as their main story goal:

      1. Possession of something.

      2. Relief from something.

      3. Revenge for something.

      And I concur.

      There is nothing new when it comes to Plot, only the interesting twist you apply to the protagonist’s point of view.

      Is your protagonist a hero who embarks on a journey? Or does a stranger come to their town and change their life forever? 
      Choose wisely, or just flip a coin. Either way, your Hero will always be a Stranger to someone somewhere.

Practice Makes Perfect . . . or The 10,000-Hour Rule

It’s become a popular belief that it takes a person 10,000 hours of practice to master a particular craft or skill.

      The concept of the 10,000-hour rule is derived from the work of psychologist K. Anders Ericsson, who studied the way people become experts in their field. Author Malcolm Gladwell brought the idea into the mainstream in his book “Outliers.”

      Regardless of where the belief originated, it holds merit. Though there are exceptions–unless you’re inherently talented, no amount of guitar practice will blossom you into the next Jimi Hendrix–the 10,000-hour rule is a great place to start if you wish to master anything.

      Especially writing.

      Practice doesn’t just make perfect, it also makes masters. But it doesn’t guarantee them.

      Case in point: I spent the majority of my teenage years as a musician. I was talented and I was dedicated. Not just fascination but obsession. I spent countless hours every single day seven days a week three-hundred sixty-five days a year playing music not because I had to but because I wanted to. I loved music because music was my ruling passion. There wasn’t an instrument you could put into my hands that I didn’t know how to play or couldn’t figure out within a few minutes of toying. Guitar, drums, harmonica, piano, violin . . . you name it and I could play it. After several of those years I could listen to any song and within less than one minute mimic finger-blurring guitar licks like I wrote them myself.

      But I didn’t write them myself.

      And that’s the difference.

      And that’s also why my music “career” floundered into obscurity after having a few songs played on the local radio. Because I wasn’t Jimi Hendrix and no amount of practice would make me Jimi Hendrix.

      Close but no cigar.

      Sometimes you have to learn to give up on your dreams in order for others to blossom.

      And for me they did.

      The first “real thing” I wanted to be growing up was a Writer. Well, actually I wanted to be an Adventurer like Indiana Jones until about age 8, but that proved to be an illogical “career” choice which earned me many scrapes and bruises while also getting me into a lot of trouble. At age 9 I decided I loved making up stories. I loved everything about their creation because I was the one creating them. I populated my fantasy worlds with whomever and whatever I could imagine, and I was the one who decided what happened when, to whom and why.

      I WAS GOD!!!

      Usually they ended in a bloody mess of strewn corpses with the killer getting away because I was allowed to watch anything as a kid and my preferred choice of movies was anything Jason, Freddy, and Michael Myers. But my horizons broadened soon enough as I grew older and discovered comic books then novels. And from there I’ve been writing ever since . . . though I sidetracked for many of my teenage years from writing stories into writing music, but if you’re a songwriter then you already know both arts are two sides of the same musing coin.

But let’s get back to the 10,000-hour rule, shall we? And we’ll break it down into smaller chunks, too, because that’s how I prefer to approach things: with a divide & conquer strategy.

      10 hours to become Familiar.

      100 hours to become Proficient.

      1,000 hours to become Good.

      10,000 hours to become an Expert.

And these hours aren’t spent just sitting there doodling or mindlessly strumming or whatever. They are supposed to be productive hours spent actually practicing the skill of your choosing.

      I point that last out because I used to write sporadically. Whenever my muse struck me because I was an artist and damn it my stories were emotional masterpieces poured onto the page through words.

      Then I grew up, stopped being a pretentious douchebag and started a daily writing habit.

      That was ten years ago and it proved the best decision I ever made.

      I don’t have a specific number of hours per day that I write, but I do write for at least a few hours every single day, no excuses and no days off. Not only has my writing improved 10,000% but I have already clocked in those 10,000 necessary hours and then some (not including the 20 years of sporadic writing before, which I don’t; I’m 39 years old as I write this).

      Such dedication has afforded me several things: One, since my writing is constantly improving on the daily I’ve become much more aware of my mistakes while writing and thus make far less of them which makes editing all the easier. And Two, I now read the work of others with an unyielding eye of scrutiny which allows me to learn while reading what not to do in my own writing.

      Oh, and Three . . . my average daily word count is 5,000 words. Sometimes less if I’m rewriting scenes, ofttimes more if I’m writing new ones.

      Not all 5,000 of those words are keepers, mind, but that sure goes a long way when trying to finish your next big novel.

      Point being?

      My years spent as a failed musician taught me two things: perseverance, and an appreciation for the journey regardless its end.

      Some things in life are worth pursuing even if you’ll never master them. Because they’re fun. Because they give you that “butterfly flutter” feeling in your guts. Because they’re what you think of at night while dozing off to sleep and are the first things popping into your mind upon waking for the day.

      I’m well past my 10,000 hours of writing and though I’m not a “rich & famous” author by any means I’m still writing. Every day, no excuses. Because writing is my ruling passion. It’s what drives me every waking moment. It provides me purpose and fulfillment . . . and a tiny bit of money. I may not be the next Stephen King, but damn it if I don’t go to sleep every night dreaming up new scenes to get my characters stuck up the proverbial tree and wake up every morning excited about getting those characters down by throwing rocks at them until they fall. Then comes the real pleasure of motivating them into standing back up and dusting off eager for another treacherous climb . . . because that’s what good characters do.

      Gives me chills just thinking about it.

      If you spend 3 hours per day writing, no breaks, it will take you just under 10 years to get in your 10,000 hours of necessary practice. After which you will know if you have mastered your craft and should continue because you love it, or if you’re better off letting your dream die and moving on to other more worthwhile pursuits in life.

      And if you say you don’t have 3 measly hours per day for the next 10 years to spend finding out? Then you’ve already answered your own question as to whether or not writing is for you.

      “Practice makes perfect” is not a guarantee but a motto.

      Make it yours and enjoy finding out.

Why Bad Books Make Good Writers . . . or The Rule of Three

Have you ever started reading a novel and after a few chapters in you paused and asked yourself, “Why am I forcing myself to read this?” Then, in the hopes of it getting better, you continue reading only to stop a few chapters later and repeat the question?

      I have.

      We all have.

      And that’s the last unpleasantry any writer wants their readers to experience.

      I love reading fantasy above all other genres. In fact, I love it so much that I write it. Years ago I wanted to see what all the hubbub was about with the Harry Potter books I’d yet to read. I mean, everyone was reading them and talking about them. So much so in fact that they were turned into billion dollar movies. So I borrowed the first Harry Potter novel, sat and began reading. After a few chapters in I paused and asked myself, “Really? This is what all the fuss is about?”

      Now, I’m not trying to hate on what’s-her-butt’s Harry Potter novels, because obviously millions, if not billions, of people love them and have enjoyed them. But what I couldn’t get past, what began grating on my nerves after only a few chapters in, were all of the unnecessary -ly adverb tags what’s-her-butt had written into her otherwise entertaining story.

      “Harry sighed softly” or “Hermione ran fastly” or “Ron shouted loudly” and so on and so forth.

      I HATE -ly adverb tags. I mean, how else can someone sigh but soft? How else can someone run but fast? How else can someone shout but loud?

      Harry sighed. Hermione ran. Ron shouted.

      Ahh, there, that’s better.

      And so I learned never to use -ly adverb tags in my own writing . . . or at least to use them “sparingly.”

      Terry Goodkind comes to mind next. If you don’t know who Terry is, he’s the famous (or infamous, depending on whom you ask; Google search “Terry Goodkind is an asshole” at your own risk/amusement) author of the successful Sword of Truth fantasy series. His novels were so well received that one of my favorite film directors Sam Raimi turned Terry’s novels into a television show (I’m still waiting for good ol’ Sam to do the same with The Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan, but alas . . .). I heard all this fluff n’ nutter about how great a writer Terry was, so I “ran fastly” to the library and checked out a few of his books.

      These held my interest much more so than the Harry Potter books, but that’s just a personal preference. Yet after a few hours of reading I paused with reader annoyance. You see, Terry has the bad habit of repeating himself . . . and repeating himself . . . and repeating himself to the point that I wanted to tear the pages out and eat them so I could crap them out just to pee on them then yell at the stinky puddle!

      I have anger issues.

      This is not to say that I think Terry is a bad writer (though I've since graduated to superior storyweavers such as Steven Erikson's fantastic 'Malazan Book of the Fallen' series, Paul Kearney's wonderful 'The Monarchies of God' series, and <sigh> Patrick Rothfuss' poetic 'The Kingkiller Chronicle' . . . if ol' Pat ever finishes the third damn book considering he said all three were already written back in 2007 yet his trilogy is still incomplete as I write this in the tail-end of 2018). I’ve read every novel in Terry's Sword of Truth series and then some, and for the most part I enjoyed them all despite Terry's obsession with Ayn Rand and his incessant need for characters to spit out lengthy pages of boring speech. But I also learned a valuable lesson to apply to my own writing thanks to Mr. Yeard: your readers are not idiots. You don’t have to beat them over the head with the Obvious Stick by repeating something you know is important to your story’s plot just to ensure the reader will remember it when it pays off later in your story.

      And so I learned The Rule of Three: write it once for atmosphere, describe it twice for spice, and only repeat it three times throughout your entire story if it’s important.

      Atmosphere is pretty much anything background. If your protagonist is sitting at a table and the waiter drops their order off then walks away never to be seen again then there’s no point in spending the next few pages describing said nameless waiter. Spice is your protagonist’s childhood scar on their cheek, or their favorite shirt they just can’t leave the house without, or a recurring “something” that adds depth to the story or characters but doesn’t otherwise affect the plot. And anything important that affects the plot is, well, obviously important enough that it needs be repeated for the sake of your reader’s remembrance.

      But don't beat your reader over the head with it. Mentioning it three times is enough. Readers aren’t bad puppies who keep peeing on the carpet when you’re not looking.

      Personally, I had (and sometimes still do, but thank god for editing) the bad habit of having my characters standing up or sitting down.

      But how else can you stand but up? How else can you sit but down?

      In my earlier writings I had my characters standing “up” or sitting “down” all over the place! A small embarrassment, yes, though I've since fixed that personal particular writer's quirk.

      He stood. She sat. ‘Nuff said.

      Ahh, there, that’s better.

      It’s hard to find the annoying mistakes in your own writing, which is why it’s always a good idea to have someone else point your mistakes out to you . . . and preferably not a close friend or family member; they have the bad habit of telling you something is good even when it’s not so as to not hurt your pwecious wittle feelwings. Because it’s human nature to point out others’ mistakes much easier than it is to perceive our own. So use this to your utmost advantage as a writer. Because mistakes exist as opportunities for learning and improving one’s self.

      The next time you sit and begin reading a novel that you soon find grates on your nerves, maybe, just maybe consider pushing through it. Because by the time you finish you might just learn something new and valuable to apply to your own writing.

      I know I have.