Piquing Curiosity

Yesterday I mentioned some things that cause confusion—conflicting facts, improper motivation, a lack of adequate details to ground a scene, and a lack of foreshadowing. In trying to avoid confusion, however, I’m opening myself up to another novel killer—a boring story.

Well, maybe not a boring story but a story told in a boring way. I suggest a story can turn boring for several reasons.

First, the characters are flat (synonymous with cardboard, two-dimensional, stereotypical). A character who is not well-rounded is predictable, lifeless, a mere placeholder. There is no surprise, no wonder, no passion in such an individual.

The point here is to avoid oversimplifying characters in order to avoid confusion. Instead, a character, like a real life individual, should unfold in increments. Readers are not going to expect a detailed character sketch when the protagonist first shows up on the page. Rather, there will be a process of getting to know him through his actions, words, and thoughts. In fact, that process should continue all book long. Part of what will keep readers engaged is this getting to know the characters on an ever deeper level.

A second thing that makes the telling of a story boring, in my opinion, is a predictable plot. Again, it would be easy to fall into this writing pattern in an effort to avoid confusion. Even a “standard” premise, such as a romance, where the reader knows going in that boy and girl will meet and marry (or fall in love—I just liked the alliteration of meet and marry 😉 ), the story can be interesting, even exciting, because the how unfolds in an unexpected way.

The real plot question I think an author should prompt in his reader’s mind is, How will the protagonist overcome? And the secondary question might be, Or will he? Overcoming, I think, is at the heart of plot. Yes, the character must want something and must want it desperately. This something must matter. But it is in the overcoming of the obstacles that stand in the way of the character obtaining his desire that has readers sliding to the edge of their seats and turning pages as fast as they can.

But if the obstacles are ho-hum, nothing new, seen that one coming a mile away, or if they make the character look foolish because he didn’t see them coming a mile away when the reader did, the plot will fail to pique curiosity. Who is curious about what he is sure will happen?

A third area that can spark curiosity in the reader is the story world. What’s it like in this place, whether it’s the world of a research scientist working in a name university, a missionary starting an orphanage in Indonesia, an astronaut landing on Mars, or a hobbit traveling in Middle Earth. Again, readers won’t want to know all about this place up front. Just as the author must introduce the characters gradually, so must the story world unfold gradually.

Steve Almond gave a good way to determine what needs to be revealed when. I quoted it yesterday, but I think it bears repeating:

[Readers] don’t need to know everything, just those facts that’ll elucidate the emotional significance of a particular scene.

Makes sense to me. 😀

Confusion or Curiosity

So I’ve determined my new writing goal: Create no reader confusion. And I’ve also deduced that creating reader curiosity is not the same as confusion. In fact, the former is desirable and a key factor as to whether or not a reader will continue on with my story.

Like so much in life, then, there is a tenuous balance between what information a writer gives and what he withholds.

Maybe one way to look at this topic is to consider what causes confusion. In her comment to yesterday’s post, Sally Apokedak said that a writer creates confusion by providing conflicting facts. I agree, but I think there is more.

I think confusion results from improper motivation—when the reader isn’t given enough to understand why a character is acting as he is.

Another cause for confusion, in my opinion, is when the writer does not ground the story in something concrete. Playing off Steve Almond‘s examples in his Writer’s Digest article, I’ll offer one of my own to illustrate this point.

He didn’t know why she said it, but more importantly why she said it about him.

Does this create confusion or curiosity? The answer to this question can only be determined by what comes next. If the reader doesn’t start getting some answers (who is he, who is she, what’s the relationship between the two, what did she say, and why did she say it?) in the next little bit, I suggest confusion sets in.

The author does not need to give all the answers, perhaps not even complete answers, and probably not answers without introducing new questions. But the point is, unanswered questions or long-delayed answers are a cause for confusion.

A third cause, in my opinion, is the appearance of that which has not been foreshadowed or outright introduced in a scene. If a character is confronted by villains on the right and another baddie on the left, even as the true antagonist closes in from behind, what’s the hero to do? Well, he’ll hide in the barn, of course. The barn that the reader had no idea was in the scene. Above all, this kind of manipulation breaks the trust of the reader. He no longer feels confident that the author has told him all he needs to know.

But just how much should an author tell the reader? Almond’s answer to this dilemma is helpful:

The reader should know at least as much as your protagonist … [Readers] are happy to open with a scene, so long as they get the necessary background. And they don’t need to know everything, just those facts that’ll elucidate the emotional significance of a particular scene.

Helpful guidelines, I think.

Scene vs. Narrative, Part 3

I mentioned yesterday that I’d made a comment in response to Dave Long’s post at Faith in Fiction about the use of narrative and exposition. Mostly I quoted from one of my favorite writing instructors. As I did a search of my archives, I did not uncover a single reference to this writer. Hard for me to imagine that I haven’t mentioned her here before.

I’m referring to Monica Wood, author of Description, (Writers Digest, 1995). By that publication date, you can see that, in all likelihood, she was operating in the writing era before the emphasis on all things short and quick. Still, I think her advice is sound. Here’s the basics of my response to Dave’s post:

It’s just that there’s a way to do exposition and narrative well and a way to do it so that the story suffers.

I’ve read some beautiful prose that really doesn’t belong in my opinion. Not in a novel. Not as it appeared anyway.

Maybe it’s just what I like, but I’ve bought into some of the principles Monica Wood teaches in her book entitled Description. For example:
“Forward movement in fiction is twofold: physical and emotional …Stories move forward most seamlessly when plot and character mesh.”

Then later: “There is no greater (nor annoying) motion-stopper than immobile chunks of physical description … Deliver physical characteristics a few at a time, and the character in question becomes much more seeable.”

And from the beginning of the chapter on forward motion: “Don’t ask who your character is; ask what your character does.”

And those lines in a book on description! 😮 But don’t get me wrong. Wood clearly believes narrative has a place. From the chapter entitled “Showing and Telling”:

[Referencing a previous example] all this “showing” is taking the spotlight away from someone else who is more important. Besides, too much showing can start to seem self-conscious, as if you’re brandishing your arsenal of similes and metaphors just for the heck of it. Your characters might even disappear in the process. Don’t let your prose style overwhelm the story you want to tell.

Too much telling can flatten your story, too much showing can overwhelm it … A combination of showing and telling usually yields the best description.

Perhaps that combination, once favoring narrative, now favors scene, but I think the combination is still necessary. More from Wood:

Scenes have to be relieved by spots of narrative, though, or your story will never end … You can suggest the torpor of the long afternoon without subjecting the unfortunate readers to a torpid scene.

So maybe there really is no “versus” in fiction when it comes to narrative and scene. But I still need to click on that link Dave posted and read what J. Mark Bertrand had to say about the subject. Could be I’ll have more thoughts on the subject tomorrow.