82. About Writing: Rhythm

Before I share my thoughts about rhythm, here are a few words from Phineas Flynn and Ferb Fletcher. (They’re mostly from Phineas. Ferb doesn’t talk much.)

All right, it’s important to have a sense of rhythm. But what does that mean for writers?

It’s a mistake to use the same kinds of sentences. A paragraph full of identical sentence structures is boring. Sentences should be varied. Sentences should not become monotonous. That kind of writing sounds boring and choppy. That kind of writing is worse if consecutive sentences begin or end with the same words because it sounds boring and choppy.

That last paragraph was, as one of my brothers would say, an abomination. It committed pretty much all the transgressions against which it warned. The structures of its sentences were similar, and it repeated certain phrases. It sounded—forgive the repetition—boring and choppy.

It’s easy to use the same sentence structures over and over. In fact, I do it all the time without realizing it. Writers need to vary the rhythm of their writing, and deliberately use different kinds of sentences.

I won’t go into the technical details of dependent and independent clauses, compound sentences, complex sentences or any of those other ghastly things.

Let us instead learn by doing. Here’s a lousy paragraph, one that ain’t got rhythm.

Uproariously, the typewriter monkeys chattered as Adam dictated a blog post to them. He told them to listen, but they wouldn’t. He shouted, but they only yanked the ribbons out of their typewriters. Clutching his head, Adam went into the kitchen to make tea. Unhappily, he returned and surveyed the devastation.

We have two basic sentence structures repeated in this paragraph: Adverb or adverbial phrase, blah blah blah and Blah blah blah, but blah blah blah.

(A real professional would use proper grammatical terms to describe these sentence structures, but I ain’t real professional.)

Let us rewrite the paragraph with a little more rhythm.

The typewriter monkeys chattered uproariously as Adam dictated a blog post to them. Although he told them to listen, they wouldn’t. He shouted, but they only yanked the ribbons out of their typewriters. Adam went into the kitchen to make some tea, clutching his head, and returned to survey the devastation unhappily.

Behold! With a few words changed and a few phrases shifted around, the paragraph has gone from being monotonous to readable.

Rhythm is important, and syntax—the order in which words are arranged—matters. (Syntax is not a tax extorted from sinners, to quote one of my high school teachers.) Writing that ain’t got rhythm isn’t nearly as powerful as writing that has it.

80. About Writing: Brevity

Shakespeare once wrote, “Brevity is the soul of wit.”

For those of us who don’t speak Shakespearean, what he meant was, “Good writing is brief.” The mark of a good writer is to express something clearly in as few words as possible. Too many words burden a piece of writing.

I didn’t really understand this until I began working on The Infinity Manuscript. Each part of the story, I decided, must not exceed two thousand words. This gave me only two thousand words in each part of the story to set the scene, introduce new characters, develop existing characters and progress the plot, and to do all these things in a way that didn’t feel rushed.

I’ve exceeded the two-thousand-word limit in the first draft of almost every part of the story so far, sometimes by as much as one or two hundred words. It was discouraging at first. However, when I went back and removed whatever dialogue and descriptions weren’t absolutely necessary, I realized the story was actually improved by these omissions. No longer slowed by unnecessary descriptions and wandering dialogue, the story moved along at a quicker pace.

When I began writing long ago, I believed more was better. Long descriptions gave readers a more vivid impression of each scene, and abundant dialogue helped establish characters more clearly, or so I thought.

The problem is that rambling dialogues and longwinded descriptions tend to be vague and pointless.

Anton Chekhov stated that if a gun is hung on the wall of a stage during a play, it should be fired by the end of the final act. In other words, the stage shouldn’t be cluttered with unnecessary props. Every prop should contribute something to the play.

In the same way, every element of a story should have a purpose. Every dialogue and description should develop the characters, explore the setting, move the plot or contribute to the story in some other way. If an element of the story has no purpose, it should probably be cut.

Smaller cuts can often be made as well. Adjectives and adverbs should be used sparingly. Descriptive words lose their impact if they’re used too often.

Take a wordy sentence: “Adam paused suddenly in the middle of a wordy paragraph to sip thoughtfully from a steaming cup of jasmine tea and gaze reflectively out the large window at the green trees swaying ponderously in the strong breeze.”

Awful, right? Let’s cut out those awkward descriptive words: “Adam paused in the middle of a paragraph to sip from a cup of tea and gaze out the window at the trees swaying in the breeze.” The shortened sentence conveys pretty much the same scene without all those cumbersome adverbs and adjectives.

I conclude with a story.

While dining with several other writers, Earnest Hemingway, an author whose brevity is legendary, bet them he could write a compelling story in only six words. They accepted his bet. Hemingway took out a pen and wrote the following words on a napkin.

“For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.”

He won the bet.

68. About Writing: Attitude

There was once a young man whom I’ll call Socrates.

(For the record, this was not the same Socrates as the one who pretended to tear out my heart or the one who gave me an RNA or the one who invented the Socratic method. This is a different Socrates.)

Socrates was a creative writer. A couple of years ago, we had a discussion about our writing projects. It turned out that we had both written fantasy novels and were in the process of revising our work. When Socrates heard about my novel, he offered to read it and offer feedback. I accepted his offer gratefully and gave him a manuscript of my novel.

A few days later, he handed me the manuscript of his novel and told me he was looking forward to hearing my criticism. This came as a surprise to me. I didn’t mind criticizing his novel, but he hadn’t asked for criticism and I hadn’t offered it. He simply gave me the manuscript and expected feedback.

It occurred to me that Socrates might have offered to read my novel only for the sake of obligating me to read his.

Nevertheless, I believed creative writers should stick together. If another creative writer wanted my criticism, I was happy to give it. Thus I plunged into the novel Socrates had written, marking his manuscript with mechanical pencil and thinking about what feedback to give him.

It was not a good novel. The novel had its strengths, of course, but it also had many weaknesses. The most glaring of these were myriad misspellings and grammar mistakes: the sort of errors a spellcheck program wouldn’t catch. Apart from typographical errors, the novel had a number of significant problems.

When criticizing a piece of writing, I believe it’s important to be honest and kind. Honesty can be carried to the extreme of disparagement. Kindness can be carried to the extreme of flattery. Neither disparagement nor flattery are helpful to a writer. As I read the manuscript of the novel, I tried to think of criticisms that would be helpful to Socrates.

I finished the manuscript and sent Socrates an email in which I commended the novel’s strengths, pointed out a few of its faults and suggested changes that could be made.

Socrates replied with an email in which he thanked me for my feedback, responded offhandedly to a few of my criticisms and promised to return the favor by giving me feedback on my novel. (He never did.) Regarding his own novel, he mentioned his intention to “go and work on it once more before I try to find a publisher.”

To be honest, I was left with rather a poor impression of Socrates as a creative writer. The mediocre quality of his writing had little to do with it. When I began writing, the quality of my writing was unspeakably awful. Every writer has to start somewhere, and that somewhere is usually pretty bad. As Jon Acuff once observed, the road to awesome always leads through the land of horrible.

No, my poor impression of Socrates came from his attitude toward writing. In our exchanges, I noticed several problems with his attitude—problems that are common among writers—problems of which I myself have often been guilty.

Writers shouldn’t use other people

It’s extremely important for writers to seek help from others. There is a difference, however, between seeking help from someone and using someone. In my exchanges with Socrates, it seemed that he offered to read my manuscript only to manipulate me into reading his. Writers should never consider other people mere tools or resources. The writer who criticizes my manuscript isn’t a feedback machine. The readers who follow my blog aren’t a statistic. These people are human beings with feelings and opinions and gifts. Treating them as mere tools or resources is wrong.

Writers should respect their readers enough to give them their best work

It’s not a huge deal, but I prefer not to read a manuscript full of typographical errors. I would have enjoyed the manuscript Socrates gave me much more had he taken the time to make sure it was at least written correctly.

Writers should be willing to accept criticism, especially when they ask for it

I received the impression from Socrates that he didn’t really care much for my criticism. I wouldn’t have minded much, except for two things. First, I had taken a lot of time to read his novel and give the best feedback I could. Second, he had asked specifically for my criticism. To ask for it, and then not to accept any of it, seemed a little rude. Writers shouldn’t blindly accept every bit of criticism they receive, but they should at least consider it—especially when they’ve asked for it.

Writers should help each other

Socrates offered to read my novel and give feedback, but he never did. Granted, he may have forgotten or been too busy, but our exchanges seemed unfairly one-sided. If writers accept help from others, they should also be willing to give help.

Writers should be realistic

When Socrates informed me that his plan for his manuscript was to “go and work on it once more before I try to find a publisher,” I had to shake my head. Even if his manuscript weren’t full of typographical errors, he would have had to revise it at least a few more times before it was even close to being presentable to publishers. Then he would have to begin the arduous process of finding a publisher: research the market, find an agent, write a novel proposal, find a publisher, sign a contract, submit the manuscript for editing, make necessary revisions, format the manuscript, promote the novel and so on. Writers mustn’t be daunted or discouraged by the difficulties of publishing, but they mustn’t be unrealistic either.

If it seems like I’m being pretty harsh toward Socrates and his attitude toward writing, I need to point out that I’ve made all of his mistakes myself. I’ve used people. I’ve given other people less than my best writing, been unwilling to accept good criticism and refused to help other writers. As for being unrealistic, I’ve been ridiculously naïve about the quality of my writing and the difficulty of publishing.

Here are two more mistakes I’ve made.

Writers shouldn’t assume their writing is awesome

Writers have a tendency to fall in love with their own writing because it’s exactly the kind of thing they enjoy reading. I like wry, thoughtful writing. I also like fantasy fiction. My novel happens to be a wry, thoughtful fantasy. It’s the sort of novel I would enjoy reading—but it may not be the sort of novel everyone else in the world would enjoy reading. Writers need to follow the Apostle Paul’s good advice: “Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment.”

Writers shouldn’t assume their writing is awful

Writers also have a tendency to give up because they assume their writing is bad. Sometimes it is, and they need to keep practicing. Sometimes it isn’t, and they need to keep writing well. It’s difficult for writers to assess the quality of their own writing, which is why seeking help from others is so important.

It’s essential for writers to have the right attitude: to persevere, to be humble, to be willing to seek help, to be willing to give help and so on.

Have you struggled with any of these attitude problems? How do you deal with them? Let us know in the comments!

62. About Writing: Dialogue

Today’s post was written by Amy Green, blogger and author of young adult fiction. For more thoughts on writing, faith and fiction, check out her blog!

If you want the safe version of this post, here are three simple tips to writing better dialogue: listen to others, know your characters well, and ask others for help with editing. You can stop right there. Go ahead. I won’t be offended. Really.

If you’re still reading, let me tell you something: there’s a problem with those three simple tips.

They’re not simple. And they probably won’t work.

How do I know? Because I am a selfish person, and I recently realized that the biggest obstacle to writing good dialogue is selfishness. Before you stone me with copies of Christian Writer’s Market Guide, here are the reasons why I came to this conclusion.

Selfishness keeps us from listening

I have a cartoon taped to my desk where a boy is going on a rant about how most people just “wait to talk” instead of actually listening. “You know you’ve met someone special if they can respond to what you’ve said without launching into something unrelated about themselves,” he says.

Ouch. Do you know how humiliating it is to be called out on selfishness by a one-inch tall line drawing?

Most of the time, I don’t really listen to what people are saying. I just hijack the conversation to get it to what I want to talk about. That makes me selfish, obviously, but it also makes me a bad writer, because unless I learn to listen to what others say—really listen—I won’t be able to write what others say.

Selfishness makes people into props

I have this really bad habit of using people as objects in my life. Like in the section above, they can be springboards to topics of conversations I’m interested in, or I can use them to make me feel good about myself (sometimes by showing off my excellent sense of humor at their expense).

This carries over to my writing, too. I occasionally dump characters haphazardly into a scene simply because my protagonist needs them for something. Or I start a story with an antagonist who I know as much about as a person I looked up on Facebook.

Then I wonder why my dialogue sounds unnatural or repetitive.

To sound convincing, characters have to be made from fragments of reality—quirks, passions, irrational fears, and annoying habits that make other people want to punch them sometimes. Writing them as people instead of props is what makes the dialogue come alive, and it’s hard for me to do that if, in real life, my relationships with others are two-dimensional or all about me.

Selfishness refuses to ask for help

I don’t like asking for feedback on my dialogue, partly because I think I can do it on my own, and partly because I’m secretly afraid the other person will laugh at me.

If I have a male narrator, I should probably ask a guy if I’m getting it right. If I’m writing about a five-year-old boy, I should go to a mom with small kids to get help with his lines. But I’m too afraid, because what if I got it wrong and they laugh at me and quote the worst part on their Facebook status and everyone comments about how awful it is and they happen to be friends with an editor who blacklists me from every publisher in the country….

So, I clearly have an overactive imagination. The point is, if I don’t know what’s wrong, I can’t fix it. I have to be willing to put away my rugged individualism and fear of failure and get a different perspective on what I write.

I still struggle with all three of these. But I’m working on it. And, hey, even the process of writing this post was humbling. Which means I’m getting better at dialogue while writing a post on getting better at dialogue. Top that!

Oh. That was a little arrogant and selfish, wasn’t it?

Oops.

56. About Writing: Self-discipline

According to one of his biographies, Douglas Adams, the author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, was notoriously bad at meeting the deadlines set by his publishers. “I love deadlines,” he once said. “I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.”

When he absolutely couldn’t put off submitting a manuscript any longer, he locked himself in a hotel room, played the same music over and over, drank gallons of coffee and worked feverishly on the manuscript until it was done. This unusual writing process probably explains why his novels are so bizarre. In addition to being somewhat unorthodox, his writing process must have been highly uncomfortable.

I can sympathize with Douglas Adams. I realized this morning that today is the deadline for a new post for TMTF and I had forgotten to compose one.

Many writers fall prey to procrastination. It’s easy to put off writing until past the deadline. If there’s no deadline, well, it’s easy to put off writing indefinitely. Writing requires a considerable investment of time and effort. It can be exhausting. Without definite goals or serious deadlines, many writers are quick to become distracted from their writing.

Writers sometimes make the opposite mistake, setting so many goals and expectations that writing becomes discouraging, fatiguing and stressful.

It can be difficult for writers to be self-disciplined without straying into one of two extremes: legalism or laziness.

What’s the solution? If you’re a writer, how can you be both productive and relaxed without becoming anxious or lazy?

That’s entirely up to you.

Writers are different. My idea of self-discipline is very different from Douglas Adams’s idea of self-discipline. His methods wouldn’t work for me, and mine probably wouldn’t have worked for him.

In the end, it’s up to each writer to find ways to maintain self-discipline.

Some writers set themselves a daily goal of writing a certain number of words or writing for a certain number of hours. Some writers work only when they’re in a creative mood. Some writers simply start writing and stop when they can’t write anymore.

It also helps writers to find ways to minimize distractions.

Some writers focus best while listening to music; others are distracted by music and prefer silence. Some writers enjoy working in crowded areas; for example, J.K. Rowling wrote much of the Harry Potter series in crowded cafés during the day. Other writers dislike company and opt to work in solitude; for example, J.R.R. Tolkien wrote The Lord of the Rings alone in his study at night.

All writers are unique, and must find their own unique ways of remaining focused, relaxed, productive and self-disciplined.

I’ll keep striving for self-discipline, and maybe I’ll have the next post for TMTF ready by the deadline.

Maybe.

46. About Writing: Style

Jon Acuff tweeted something insightful the other day about literary style: “The only way to find your voice as a writer is to write. Fear says you need to find your voice BEFORE you write. Don’t listen.” A somewhat less positive opinion was once expressed about style by some writer or other: “Style is a terrible thing to happen to anybody.”

Literary style can be defined as the distinct voice of a writer. If the term voice is a little vague, it’s because it includes too many aspects to be covered in a single convenient word. An author’s voice consists of many elements: tone, the attitude of the writer; diction, the words the writer uses; syntax, the way the writer arranges those words; and more. Even basic elements like grammar and spelling make up a writer’s style—consider the immortal passage in Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn in which the narrator declares: “Aunt Sally she’s going to adopt me and sivilize me.”

So what exactly is this vague thing called style? The term voice isn’t very precise. Rather than try to pin down an exact definition, let’s get stylish and look at a few examples.

Let’s take a simple sentence: The boy ran around the corner and ran into his grandpa’s large stomach. Fairly bland, eh?

All right, let’s say the same thing as Huck Finn might: The young’un turned the corner and run slap into his grandpappy’s belly. The style is more colloquial, but the same basic information is conveyed.

What if our character is more sophisticated—say a butler like Jeeves from the stories by P.G. Wodehouse? Jeeves might express the situation thus: The lad careened round the corner and collided with the impressive bulk of his grandfather’s ample middle. Once again the sentence means more or less the same thing, but the style gives off a completely different vibe.

Style is a key component of storytelling. A mystery writer must describe complex situations in a way that keeps the reader engaged without becoming too confusing or hard to follow. A comedy writer must—obviously—be funny. A romance writer must convey the nuances of that most complicated of relationships, the romantic courtship, in a manner that’s vivid and believable. (I’m guessing about the romance writer, since most romances make my stomach hurt.) Apart from the unique, individual style of each writer, each literary genre demands a certain kind of writing.

What about that unique, individual style? If you’re a writer, how in blazes are you supposed to find your own voice?

You’ve probably guessed it if you’ve read my first post about writing, but the answer lies in reading and writing. Writers tend to imitate the styles they enjoy reading and refine their own style as they write.

An author isn’t limited to a single style, of course. Writers tailor their style to suit the sort of work they’re doing. For example, my style when I compose posts for TMTF tends to be conversational. My style when I write Solidarity reports, however, is plain and precise: a systematic, minimalist style I picked up from a couple of journalism classes in high school and college. Then there’s my style when I write fiction, which tends to be wry. I enjoy using dry humor, even in stories with melancholy events.

Style is often the thing that sets a writer apart and makes him or her truly memorable—or at the very least, fun to read.

What literary styles do you enjoy reading? Let us know in the comments!

36. About Writing: Community

Along with visual arts—drawing, painting, sculpting and so on—writing is probably one of the loneliest forms of art.

Most art demands the involvement of more than one person. Most music, whether instrumental or choral, requires a group of people. Theatrical productions usually feature multiple performers; even shows with only one actor require a stage crew. Films demand legions of musicians, editors, producers, sound technicians, makeup artists, prop designers, camerapersons and special effects artists.

Writing is different. The craft of writing can be collaborative, but, unlike other forms of art, it doesn’t have to be. It can be as simple as a writer sitting in front of a computer or notebook and putting her thoughts into words. Whole novels can be written without a single piece of advice or criticism from another person.

However, just because writing can be a lonely form of art doesn’t mean it should be.

Two of my favorite authors, J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, were part of a writing group called the Inklings. They met every week in a pub or private room in Oxford, drank beer, smoked pipes, talked about literature and told jokes. Most significantly, certain members of the Inklings read aloud whatever manuscripts they happened to be working on, and other members offered their criticism.

Of course, not all criticism was encouraging. Hugo Dyson once responded to a passage from a manuscript of The Lord of the Rings with, “Oh no, not another f—ing elf!” (Several versions of this quote have been attributed to both Dyson and Tolkien’s son Christopher.) Much of the criticism was positive, however, and famous works such as The Lord of the Rings and Out of the Silent Planet were influenced by the Inklings.

I believe we can learn something from the Inklings. Speaking from personal experience, writing shouldn’t be a solitary craft. Criticism and encouragement from others are invaluable.

We writers tend not to be very good judges of our own work. We tend to make one of two mistakes when evaluating our own writing: we think it’s superb when it’s really not that good, or we think it’s awful when it’s really not that bad. It’s tremendously useful and helpful to receive criticism from other people.

When finding other people to judge our writing, it benefits us to choose people with different skills and interests. Let’s suppose someone writes a young adult novel. The obvious people from whom to seek criticism are young adults—they’re the ones for whom the book is written, after all. However, it will also be helpful to submit the manuscript to other kinds of readers: a fellow writer to point out weak passages, an English teacher to correct grammar mistakes, an experienced reader to check for plot holes.

When I finished The Trials of Lance Eliot, a fantasy novel, I submitted manuscripts to all kinds of people: a high school student, a number of amateur writers, a professional author, numerous college students, several college professors, my elderly grandparents and several others. I received many kinds of criticism, ranging from in-depth literary analysis to superficial proofreading to simple statements of like or dislike—and it was all helpful.

Apart from useful criticism, community offers something writers can never provide for themselves: encouragement.

Pretty much every writer ever has suffered from self-doubt. I can’t count the times I’ve stared at words on my computer screen and thought, “Dash it all, I’m no good at this.” So much of what has kept me going as a writer has been the encouragement I’ve received from my readers.

It’s easy for writers to become fatigued, but a single encouraging remark can go a long way to keep writers motivated. Encouragement and positive criticism reassures writers that, despite their mistakes and faults, they’re doing something right. Their efforts are not a colossal waste of time.

Criticism should always be honest. “An honest answer is like a kiss on the lips,” as the author of Proverbs reminds us. Flattery isn’t helpful to writers. At the same time, it’s beneficial to writers to be encouraged: “An anxious heart weighs a man down, but a kind word cheers him up,” to quote another proverb.

Writers shouldn’t accept all criticism unthinkingly. In the end, they and no others know what sort of work they want to write. However, writers shouldn’t reject any criticism without considering it first. Quoth the author of Proverbs, “Listen to advice and accept instruction, and in the end you will be wise.”

Art comes out of community. Very, very few artists are sufficient unto themselves. Writers are no exception. Almost every writer can benefit from becoming part of a community of readers and writers, receiving useful criticism and being reassured their attempts to write are worth something.

20. About Writing: Characterization

There’s a common idea that a good story is the description of a series of events. I disagree. I believe a good story is the depiction of the effect of a series of events upon the characters involved. We connect emotionally with characters, not plotlines.

The quest to destroy the Ring in The Lord of the Rings wouldn’t be nearly so thrilling if we weren’t rooting for Sam and Frodo. We wouldn’t care much about the strange events in A Christmas Carol if they didn’t work together to redeem old Scrooge. The Twilight novels would be even worse if some readers didn’t become emotionally invested in Bella and that sparkly excuse for a vampire.

What makes characters interesting, unique and memorable? What makes some characters likable and others detestable? How can a single author create dozens of characters that aren’t all the same?

Here are a few thoughts on good characterization.

Different characters should have different ways of speaking

Every major character should speak differently. A self-important character might speak in long, windy sentences packed with large words. A reserved character might use short, simple sentences. Officious, dignified characters tend to use fewer contractions than casual, easygoing characters.

Some characters have an accent that can be rendered phonetically through spelling. Topsy in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, for example, exclaims “Dunno, Missis—I spects cause I’s so wicked!” instead of the more prosaic “I don’t know, Miss—I suspect because I’m so wicked!” Some characters tend to use a particular phrase or set of words. For example, the eponymous protagonist of The Great Gatsby addresses almost every man he meets as old sport.

Although every character’s speech should be unique, be careful not to overdo it. Too many dialogue gimmicks are distracting to the reader. A character’s way of speaking must be natural as well as unique.

Excessive physical description should be avoided

Too much physical description is often a sign of poor writing. The reader doesn’t need to know every detail of a character’s appearance. It’s almost always best to give an impression of a character, noting the most striking features, instead of a meticulous description. Honestly, how often do we notice or remember a person’s appearance upon meeting her for the first time? We might notice her ironic smile or twitchy hands, but probably not her exact height and eye color.

In my experience, it’s best to give just few memorable details about a character’s appearance—giving the reader a general picture of the character—and move on with the story.

Different characters should have different mannerisms

Sherlock Holmes has a lot of memorable habits that define his character. He plays the violin. He smokes a pipe. He occasionally doses himself with cocaine or morphine. He has odd housekeeping habits, such as conducting chemical experiments and decorating walls with bullet holes.

His peculiar mannerisms all point to a particular kind of character: a gifted man with few opportunities to use his gifts. Since he considers most investigations beneath his ability, he compensates by using his gifts for miscellaneous pursuits (such as violin and chemistry) and distracting himself with drugs. His mannerisms aren’t random; they indicate a very specific type of character.

Mannerisms—whether an obsession with coffee, a fear of spiders or a habit of eating dessert first—make characters memorable and reveal a lot about them.

Characters should change

Well, most characters should change. Every now and then there will be someone like Aslan or Tom Sawyer whose character is built upon unchanging constancy. However, like real people, most characters are influenced by the events around them. If someone survives a gunfight or breaks up with a fiancée, I guarantee he will be changed by the incident. Fictional characters are no different.

Real people change and grow; so should fictional characters.

Clothes should reveal something about a character

There’s a reason Hamlet wears black. Jay Gatsby wouldn’t be quite the same without his elegant shirts. And can anyone imagine Gandalf without a tall, pointed hat?

Clothes don’t have to reveal something about a character—some characters, like real people, wear whatever clothes are handy—but something can often be learned about a character by the way she chooses to dress.

What have I missed? What’s your advice for good characterization? Let us know in the comments!

3. About Writing: Three Platinum Rules

I love writing. Along with making tea, twirling broomsticks and obliterating all competition in Mario Kart, writing is pretty much my only significant skill.

There are innumerable bits and pieces of advice for writers. However, three all-important rules demand attention. Three golden rules. Not just golden rules, but platinum rules. Diamond-studded platinum rules.

I believe these platinum rules are the most important things for a writer to know.

Read

It’s impossible to become a good writer without reading. Impossible. How-to guides, classes and seminars can be useful, but nothing helps a writer as much as reading books.

Let me give an example.

One day I resolve to learn to play tennis. In order to master the sport, I spend hours listening to a professional tennis player give advice. That advice might be helpful, but I won’t be able to pick up a tennis racket immediately and win every match. It will take practice—a lot of practice—for me to learn to play well. Advice can take me only so far. At some point I must actually step onto the court and play.

It’s exactly the same with reading and writing.

Most of what I know about writing comes from reading. By reading fiction, I learned the mechanics of storytelling: plot development, characterization, settings, symbolism, style and the rest. By reading both fiction and nonfiction, I learned proper spelling and grammar.

Best of all, I learned these things intuitively. I didn’t try to learn anything—as I read, I simply developed a feel for writing.

However, a vague feel for writing isn’t enough. It must be refined. That’s where the second platinum rule comes in.

Write

Most people can’t sit down to a piano and play the third movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata without a lot of practice. In the same way, most people can’t sit down to a computer, typewriter or notebook and write a masterpiece without a lot of practice.

Don’t be discouraged if your writing isn’t perfect. I’ve never been completely satisfied with any of my own writing, and my early attempts at fiction were unspeakably horrible.

Reading and writing are essential for any writer, but there is one more platinum rule.

Have fun!

Writing should be fun! There’s satisfaction, joy and exhilaration in putting ideas, reflections and stories into a form that can be read and appreciated by other people.

If writing becomes a dull chore or heavy commitment, remember you’re under no pressure to write. Not everyone is gifted to be a writer.

When I was growing up, I desperately wanted to be a good artist. I sketched and took art classes and read how-to books, but nothing worked. To this day I have the artistic skill of a five-year-old—and that’s okay.

I’m not gifted to be an artist, but I am gifted to be a writer of fiction, brewer of tea, twirler of broomsticks and wicked good Mario Kart player. If you’re gifted to write, awesome. If you’re not gifted to write, learn what your gifts are.

If your gift is writing, read and write and have fun!