How Characters (And Settings) Create Plot Problems

In English (as in many languages), there are eight parts of speech: nouns, pronouns, verbs, adverbs, adjectives, conjunctions, prepositions, and interjections. All of these pieces come together to create sentences—and, ultimately, convey meaning to others. But what’s actually required to make a sentence a sentence? Toss some adjectives, nouns, and prepositions together and you might end up with some artsy poetry, but you won’t have a proper sentence. Interjections (like “yay!” or “oh!”) convey a lot in a few letters, but they aren’t sentences either. Verbs can evoke strong imagery in our minds but they aren’t enough on their own. Grammatically, the minimum requirement to make a sentence is one noun (or pronoun) and one verb—or, in other terms, a person/concept/idea and action/being. How you build upon those things or play with them opens up an array of sentence structures, but they all start at that same place.

The Ebb and Flow of Creativity

Recently, I’ve been struck again about the importance of viewing writing holistically. I’ve written about this idea in previous posts—particularly when speaking about worldbuilding or the “character-first vs. plot-first” dichotomy—and, likely, many other authors and artists have talked about the same concept using different language (nothing new under the sun, amiright?). But it’s resurfaced in my mind because I’ve come upon another slow patch of writing my WIP, and like all other times before, I don’t like it.

The Basics of Plotting a Mystery

It’s a cliché sentiment but it’s true: I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love mysteries. Although classics and memoirs take up the majority of my reading time now, mysteries dominate my television preferences—in fact, I don’t think I watch much of anything except crime dramas (of both the fictional and non-fictional varieties). There’s something so compelling about a narrative that invites the audience to gather clues and piece together puzzles along with the characters, and the stress and tension caused by the plot can do amazing things for character development if the writers take full advantage of the conflict. Better yet, the elements of a mystery can be incorporated into and enhance any other genre—some of my favorite classics (The Brothers Karamazov, Crime and Punishment, True Grit) involve some form of investigation, search, or journey to solve a crime. And, perhaps most of all, the general characteristics of a mystery arrange the plot in such a way as to allow for compelling thematic exploration: what is justice? Are some secrets better off kept hidden? What is truly right and wrong, and how do we uphold what’s right? What drives people to commit horrible acts against others or themselves?

Why I Edit as I Draft

One quick internet search pulls up post after post admonishing writers not to edit as they write. This piece of advice has to be one of the most popular in the author world (right behind “don’t use adverbs”), and it’s one I see followed regardless of genre, age, and experience. If you read the title of this post, then you know that I don’t follow that advice—strictly, at least. But it would be unfair not to acknowledge its usefulness before I explain why I often break it.

What I’m Learning and Re-Learning about Writing Dialogue

Some feedback sticks with you for a long time—and not always the painful kind. One such helpful critique has been on my mind lately. A few years ago, I was able to have a published author read the first chapter of my novel’s first draft (so much has changed since then!) as part of a writer’s workshop. Apart from his graciousness, I remember what he told me about a section of dialogue: that I had gone over the natural beat for when it should have ended, and if I edited it to fall on the right beat, the conversation would be much more meaningful and interesting to read. I’m sure that he explained it in more detail, too, but what’s lingered in my mind is the idea of not overextending dialogue.