Our monthly ad for our all new version 4
StoryWeaver Story Development Software
Get 25% off with coupon code sw25
You really ought to give it a spin. Try it risk-free for 90 days and if it isn’t for you, just let us know and we’ll provide a complete refund.
For your characters to be compelling, your readers will need to think of them as real people, not just dramatic functionaries or collections of traits.
To help make this happen, have each of your characters write a short one-page autobiographical piece about themselves in their own words, describing their childhoods, backgrounds, activities, interests, attitudes, relationships, pet peeves and outlooks on life.
Try to write these in the unique voice of each character and from their point of view. Don’t write about them; let them write about themselves.
This will give you the experience of what it is like to see the world through each character’s eyes, which will help you empathize with their motivations and thereby make it easier for you to write your novel in such a way that your readers can step into your characters’ shoes.
Melanie Anne Phillips
Creator, StoryWeaver
Nicknames are wonderful dramatic devices because they can work with the character’s apparent physical nature or personality, work against it for humiliating or comedic effect, play into the plot by telegraphing the activities in which the character will engage, create irony, or provide mystery by hinting at information or a back-story for the character that led to its nickname but has not yet been divulged to the readers. Consider using nicknames in addition to or instead of characters’ proper names to add flavor and familiarity to their personalities.
Browse our library of writing tips at Storymind.com and try our StoryWeaver story development software risk-free for 90 days.
A novel does not have to be a story. It can just be extremely free forms, such as in Virginia Woolf’s books where the entire narrative is a single subjective stream of consciousness. Other narratives e are simply explorations of a top or even collections of several stories that may or may not be intertwined.
For example, Jerzy N. Kosinski (the author of “Being There,” wrote another novel called “Steps.” It contains a series of story fragments. Sometimes you get the middle of a short story, but no middle or end. Sometimes, just the end, and sometimes just the middle.
Each fragment is wholly involving, and leaves you wanting to know the rest of the tale, but they are not to be found. In fact, there is not (that I could find) any connection among the stories, nor any reason they are in that particular order. And yet, they are so passionately told that it was one of the best reads I ever enjoyed.
The point is, don’t feel confined to restrict your novel to tell a single story, straight through, beginning to end.
Rather than think of writing a novel, think about writing a book. Consider that a book can be filled with anything you’d like to put in it. You can take time to pontificate on your favorite subject, if you like. Unlike screenplays which must continue to move, you can stop the story and diverge into any are you like, as long as you can hold your reader’s interest.
For example, in the Stephen King novel, “The Tommy Knockers,” he meanders around a party, and allows a character to go on and on… and on… about the perils of nuclear power. Nuclear power has nothing to do with the story, and the conversation does not affect nor advance anything. King just wanted to say that, and did so in an interesting diatribe.
So feel free to break any form you have ever heard must be followed. The most liberated of all written media is the novel, and you can literally – do whatever you want.
Find your Muse with our
StoryWeaver Story Development Software
Be your own critic without being critical
Here’s how: First write a single descriptive sentence.
Now look at that sentence not as an author, but as a reader or critic. You can see what’s there, but what’s not there?
To find out, ask some questions about what hasn’t been conveyed (yet).
For example, I write, “It was dawn in the small western town.”
Then I stand back and ask:
1. What time of year was it?
2. What state?
3. Is it a ghost town?
4. How many people live there?
5. Is everything all right in the town?
6. What year is it?
These are just the questions that come to my mind – things I’d like to know more about. Your questions would likely be quite different and for the purposes of this example, you may want to jot down a few additional questions of your own.
Next, let your Muse come up with as many answers for each question as possible.
Example:
For question 6, What year is it?, my answers might be:
A. 1885
B. Present Day
C. 2050
D. After the apocalypse.
Now go back to answering questions, but this time, ask questions about each of your answers to the original question.
Example:
For the original question, What year is it?, one of our answers was D. After the Apocalypse.
So now ask:
1. What kind of apocalypse?
2. How many people died in the Apocalypse?
3. How long ago was the disaster, and so on.
Now let’s expand on this technique. Suppose you write a one-sentence description of your story. Then, by alternating between critical analysis and creative Musings, you will quickly work out details about your story’s world, who’s in it, what happens to them and what it all means.
But you can also use this technique at any point in the story development process. Pick any sentence from one that describes your plot to one that speaks to an attribute of one of your characters. Apply the technique and you will expand that area of your story quickly and easily into some fascinating new material.
In the end, you may very well turn out to be your own best critic.
Melanie Anne Phillips
Creator, StoryWeaver
This technique is at the heart of my
Storyeaver Story Development SoftWare
Arthur says:
I’m a great Dramatica fan so I’m a bit reluctant to take up Melanie’s challenge to refute the Dramatica Theory. My question was virtually identical to Armando’s but he put it better. Theory without practical application is not very helpful. Let’s try another. Supposing you wanted to create a story or play about a gifted female whose unique ability was “supreme self-confidence” and her critical flaw was “sophisticated self-deception.” How would dramatica help you arrive at those characteristics in order to get a Storyform? It can’t, can it? I refute the theory thus.
Okay, so I’m halfway into a deep consideration of this issue when suddenly it hits me…
“Wait just a cotton pickin’ minute!” I yell out loud to no one in particular.
Then, no one in particular shouts back, “What’s biting you?!”
I reply with recovered aplomb, “Did you notice the example in Arthur’s question?” “Yeah, so what?” no one taunts. “Think about it.” I bark bemusedly, “Arthur describes “a gifted female whose unique ability was supreme self-confidence and her critical flaw was sophisticated self-deception.” Sound like anyone you know?”
“Sounds like both of us,” No One replied thoughtfully, “but , we’re both the same person and you realize, of course, that you are having a conversation with your self – and out loud, I might add.”
“True, but in fact, you are my Self-Confidence, and I am your Self-Deception (and pretty sophisticated too, “I” might add!”
“I guess that makes ME “supreme” then! Wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more—PLEASE say no more!”
“Ah, but that would prove Arthur’s point, wouldn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if your self-confidence is undermined by my self-deception, then the Dramatica theory is refuted!”
“Whoa, hold on there, pardner! First of all, I believe it is quite the contrary. My Confidence is only bolstered by your self-deception. I mean, think about it. The more Self-Deceived “we” become, the more our confidence grows.”
“Blimey, but you’re right!”
“I was confident I would be…”
“Okay, that was “first of all,” so is there more?”
“But of course!” Suppose Arthur was serious in his question (though I seriously doubt it). Then, the first point he makes is almost to say that a theory is invalid if it isn’t useful.”
“Now just hold on…. He didn’t exactly say THAT.”
“True, but since he was setting up a refutation of the theory, he established a context in which the “value” of a theory is tied to its practical usefulness. Then, by shifting the subject of the question to the validity of the concepts there is an emotional carry-over that appears to strengthen the logistic contention.”
“Oh.”
“So, second of all, there are lots of theories that are almost totally wrong and still have a few concepts of practical value. And there are also a lot of esoteric theories which are almost certainly true, yet have no practical application at all. In conclusion, the ability to USE a theory has absolutely nothing to do with its validity.”
“I’ll give you that one, even though I don’t think it is self-deceptive enough.”
“Fine, let’s press on…. I think we’ve already dealt with the central contention that self-deception is a critical flaw to confidence. Arthur then asks a seemingly rhetorical question, “How would dramatica help you >arrive at those characteristics in order to get a Storyform? ” The rhetorical answer is, since that combination doesn’t work, Dramatica will not provide such a conjunction of story points.”
“’Scuse me…. but isn’t there ANY time in which I, self-deception, might undermine your self-confidence as a critical flaw?
“Sure, but not in a direct manner. In fact, a number of other writers on this list proposed very serious descriptions of how the “feel” Arthur was describing was quite achievable and in much more depth and nuance than his example would seem to indicate. Perhaps one of the most interesting came from Bill, who said:
“- Since the story is about this person, are these two attributes really the Unique Ability and the Critical Flaw? Perhaps self-deception is the Problem and self-confidence is the Focus. (Or some other combination like that.) Consider this mix of appreciations, straight from the Story Engine:
PROBLEM: Non-Accurate
SOLUTION: Accurate
FOCUS: Expectation
DIRECTION: Determination
UNIQUE ABILITY: Experience
CRITICAL FLAW: Fantasy
(It’s interesting that the self-deception gets sort of a double-whammy with the problem being Non-Accurate and the Critical Flaw being Fantasy.)”
“Well, Ms. “Supreme Self-Confidence”… I suppose you’re pretty pleased with yourself.”
“But of course! Still there are yet two remaining points to be made.”
“Pray tell, what are they?”
“First, Arthur responds to his rhetorical question, “How would dramatica help you arrive at those characteristics in order to get a Storyform? ” with “It can’t.” That’s not quite accurate….”
“Ah, so this is where self-deception comes into play?”
“Sort of… It’s not that Dramatica “can’t” help you do arrive at that combination. It’s that it “won’t.”” If it did, it would be leading you right into an invalid storyform.”
“Is that it, are you FINISHED YET!!!”
“Almost. The final line of Arthur’s post reads, “I refute the theory thus.”
“So?”
“So you don’t refute a theory by refuting an application of it.”
“Meaning?”
“Let’s start at the beginning… Dramatica starts with a hypothesis: Every complete story is an analogy to a single human mind, trying to deal with an inequity.” The hypothesis says “what” but not “how.”
“Go on.”
“The “theory” of Dramatica describes a structure and the dynamics which manipulate it. That winds up the model with dramatic tension.”
“Gotcha.”
“Now, each of the story points is “mapped” onto that structure. Each is determined by a separate formula, each is a separate application. “
“So are you saying some of the algorithms in Dramatica some of the formulas might be wrong?!”
“Sure, they “might” be. I personally don’t think so (remember I AM self-confidence), but of course it is possible. You see, the real value of the theory is to look at every story as a SINGLE mind in which the characters, plot, theme, and genre are but aspects: families of different kinds of thought which interact so as to mimic the internal processes of the mind coming to a solution—it makes them TANGIBLE, so we can watch our own internal mechanism to learn how to best respond under different conditions.”
“Whoa! That’s a mouthful!”
“You bet it is, but it’s really what Dramatica is all about. If writers can just start looking to each story as a complete mind, as a person with a personality (genre), methods (plot), value standards (theme), and driving forces (characters), then the parts of stories would start to work together SO much better!”
“And if some of the particular formulas DO turn out to be in error?”
“Then they need to be re-written so they are more accurate. You see, the “theory” of Dramatica can’t really be proven or disproven. Either stories can be understood as a model of the mind or not. But if they can, then the applications and formulas of the theory need to be constantly questioned, amended, discarded, and added to. The advancement of practical applications and understanding of the theory is an ongoing process which will likely never be completed. After all, how much is there to learn about the mechanism of the mind? The key to improving the theory is to call every suspicious formula into question, lay it out for public viewing. The theory will only “advance” into more practical use if others more skilled than “you” (self-deception) or “I” (confidence) contribute our efforts.”
“That’s quite a concession, Confidence, to admit there are others more capable and you.”
“Hey, you know as well as I do that in spite of our self-deception to believe we are some sort of next-gen Einstein, we’re really just a couple of smart cookies who worked with ol’ Chris for a few years, tripped over a new concept (the Story Mind) because we were too intellectually inept to know better, and then spent the better part of a decade putting in good old-fashioned hard work to try and document it and make something out of it. Truth of the matter is that we’ve gone about as far as we can go! In your heart, you know its true. You keep thinking of yourself as 18, but just because we’re both 46 doesn’t mean we’re each 23!!!”
“Yeah, you’re right. I, of all people, can’t deceive myself on that one. It’s time to hand it off to those with degrees, and practical experience. Time to put it out there, let the world have it and make of it what they will.”
Then, both halves of myself joined in unison, both confidence and self-deception in Greek Chorus “singing”:
“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…”
“Stop it!” I shouted to both of them.”Shut up!”
“And now, the hour is late, and I have reached the final curtain…”
“I said SHUT UP!!! I still have a lot of good, creative years in me. LOTS…. REALLY!”
“Cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man in the moon…”
“WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP!!!!! I know, I’ll show you! I’ll come up with a whole NEW theory. Something even more extensive and complex than Dramatica! I’m not dead yet!”
“It’s a dead man’s party…”
“Ah, the hell with it.”
Reversals change the meaning of something by changing the context. In other words, part of the meaning of anything we consider is due to its environment.
In storytelling, we can add surprise to a story by leading the reader or audience to perceive something one way, than shift the context to show that it is really quite different.
For example, there is an old Mickey Mouse cartoon called Mickey’s Trailer which opens with Mickey stepping from his house in the country surround by blue skies and white clouds. He yawns, stretches, then pushes a button on the house.
All at once, the lawn rolls up, the fence pulls in and the house becomes a trailer. Then, the sky and clouds fold up revealing it was just a painted backdrop and the trailer is actually parked in a junkyard.
In your own story, look for opportunities to liven things up by intentionally creating a false first impression and then reversing it when more information is provided.
Melanie Anne Phillips
Creator, StoryWeaver
Co-Creator, Dramatica
Welcome to our new series designed to focus on one practical way to improve your story each weekend.
This week, try coming up with a log line for each of your characters.
A log line is a one-sentence description of what each character is all about and can help focus your understanding their motivations and their behavior.
Examples:
John is a marketing executive and frustrated artist, unable to pursue his talents because of the financial needs of his family.
Sally, a fashion reporter, is determined to step out of the shadow of her sister, the adventurer, she accepts a dangerous assignment from her newspaper.
Each of these examples gives the character’s name and illuminates their situation and the key issue or issues that affect or drive them.
Individually, each log line provides a core or spine for each character and, collectively, the log lines suggest the nature of the conflicts you might want to explore between your characters and how their relationships might progress.
By referring back to your log lines as you write, you can keep your characters consistent and on track. And by revising each log line as your characters (and your understanding of them) evolves during the writing process, you will build a template to help with revisions to the beginning of your story when you approach your second draft.
The Weekend Writing Workshop is drawn from our StoryWeaver Story Development Software that takes you step by step from concept to completion of your novel or screenplay. Try it risk-free for 90 days.
Your thematic message (moral of the story) has two sides: the Point and the Counterpoint. The Point is the human quality under examination in your story (such as greed) and the Counterpoint is the opposite trait (such as Generosity), presented for contrast. Together, they play both sides of the moral dilemma (Greed vs. Generosity). But how do you go about making your thematic point to your readers or audience?
The most important key to a successful thematic argument is never, ever play the Point and Counterpoint together at the same time. Why? Because you don’t want to come off as preachy and ham-handed with a black & white one-sided message.
Your thematic argument is an emotional one, not one of reason. You need to sway your reader/audience to adopt your moral view as an author rather than telling them to adopt it. This will not happen if you keep showing one side of the argument as “completely good” and the other side as “completely bad” and making that message by direct comparison. Such a thematic argument would seem one-sided, and treat the issues as being black-and-white, rather than gray-scale.
In real life, moral decisions are seldom cut-and-dried. Although we may hold views that are clearly defined, in practice it all comes down to the context of the specific situation. For example, it is wrong to steal in general. But, it might be proper to steal from the enemy during a war, or from a large market when you baby is starving. In the end, all moral views become a little blurry around the edges when push comes to shove.
Statements of absolutes do not a thematic argument make. Rather, your most powerful message will deal with the lesser of two evils, the greater of two goods, or the degree of goodness or badness of each side of the argument. In fact, there are some story situations (as in real life) where both sides of the moral argument are equally good or equally bad.
To create this more powerful, more believable, and more persuasive thematic argument follow these steps.
1. Determine in advance whether if you want each side of your moral argument to be good, bad, or neutral, in and of itself in regard to the situation your story is exploring.
Assign a numeric “value” to both the Point and the Counterpoint. For example, we might choose a scale with +5 being absolutely good, -5 being absolutely bad, and zero being neutral.
In our sample moral conflict between Greed vs. Generosity, we might assign Greed a value of -3. This would mean to your readers/audience that greed is a negative when it crops up in your story. In other words, when someone is greedy, it makes things worse.
Generosity (our Counterpoint) might have a value of -2. So, in this story, Generosity also has a negative impact on things. In such a message, you are saying that in your story’s world, folks shouldn’t hoard nor give away because either way will lead to bad consequences. Both Greed and Generosity are bad (being in the negative) but Generosity is a little less bad than Greed since Generosity is only a -2 and Greed is a -3. Still, it would be better to just keep what you’ve got and neither try to garner more nor give away what you may later need. Pretty complex message.
Of course, you could still show Generosity as all good and Greed as all bad, but what about those real word situations where Greed is good- in other words, what if Greed is actually necessary to solve the story’s problems? By using a scale ranging from Good through Neutral to Bad, you can fashion a far more realistic, believable, and practical message that your readers/audience can take back to the real world and act upon.
2. Show the good and bad aspects of both the Point and the Counterpoint.
Make sure you include in your story examples of each side of the thematic argument being good in some scene and bad in others. In other words, just because a Thematic Point or Counterpoint turns out to be, for example, a +3 in the end doesn’t mean it is a +3 in every scene. In some scenes it might even be a negative. In fact, even if one side of the argument turns out to be good in the end, it might be shown as bad initially. But over the course of the story, that first impression is changed by seeing that side in other contexts.
3. Have the good and bad aspects “average out” to the thematic conclusion you want.
By putting each side of the thematic argument on a roller coaster of good and bad aspects from scene to scene, it blurs the issues, just as in real life. And, as in real life, the reader/audience will “average out” all of their exposures to each side of the argument and draw their own conclusions by the end of the story as to what the final rating or value is of each and how they compare to one another.
In this way, your thematic argument will move out of the realm of intellectual consideration and become a viewpoint arrived by feel. And, since you will have not only shown both sides, but the good and the bad of each side, your message will be easier to swallow. And finally, since you never directly compared the two sides in the same scene, the reader/audience will not feel that your message has been shoved down its throat.
“Snakes… Why did it have to be snakes….???”
What a character likes and dislikes takes the curse of its larger than life stature. Whether you are writing a novel, play, screenplay, or teleplay, your characters loom in the hearts and minds of the audience. No one can relate to a loom. To humanize your characters and bring them down to size, give them preferences rather than just points of view.
You work in an office. Everyone does their job. The place runs like clockwork. Who ARE these people?! Until you know if they love football but hate sushi, you don’t really know them all. Who CARES what their functions are; more important to your readers is what do they take in their coffee, or tea, or do they not touch either but guzzle cola and pistachios.
Red. Does it do anything for them? What about wall paper patterns with thousands of little ducks? The things your characters like and don’t like set them apart from the crowd. And letting yourself go a little bit off the wall can bring forth attractions and repulsions that can suggest settings for a whole scene, sequence, or even the whole story itself.
Work yourself into the words. If you have pet likes and dislikes, this is the place to spout off about them. Assign them to your characters and you can get back at all those hated things, and express all those yearnings for the loved ones.