Becoming a better writer

[Ravishing]

"I have a great idea for improving your dialogue," she said, taking a bite from her toast and marmalade as she closed the morning newspaper.

He sighed, "Right now I could use any tips you've got. My editor says my characters sound like kids in a nativity play. Where's the milk?"

"Sam finished it this morning - have some toast or something."

"I don't want any toast," he said. "So what's this great idea for saving my dialogue?"

"Well... I mean... I'm not the expert - you're the writer, honey," she smiled deferentially. "But there was this review in the paper this morning that praised a book for its dialogue, and what it said was - "

"Is there anything to drink in this house apart from water?"

"Sure, honey, there's some orange juice in there if you hunt for it. It said what this writer did was - "

"Found it!" He interrupted with a brief burst of triumph. "Damn, it's got bits in - you know I hate bits in orange juice."

"Bits are good for you. You listening to me?" That slight barb in her voice, usually reserved for her students.

"Yeah, I'm listening. What did it say?"

"It said the thing this writer did was, he basically acknowledged that people rarely think about one thing at a time. They have a whole lot of issues going on at once."

He took a sip of orange juice, silent for a moment as his wife's words sank in. "I guess I see that," he said then. "But in a fast moving story, there's no time for messing about."

"I guess so," she shrugged, feeling a little unappreciated. "but if you add in the odd distraction of everyday life - it might add some depth to your characters."

Receptive to her tone, he moved to plant an affectionate kiss on her cheek. "Maybe I'll give it a try," he said.

*smiles* Well, thats one interesting and good way of showing the example, by giving the example IN the exmaple.

*thinks* Now if only those words make sense to everyone else...

~ Melting Ravishing ~

 

[raphy]

Re: Re: Hmmmmmm

Pops, go for it

I think with a short story (and even some novels) if it is character driven especially, the whole story is the character description right? IN otherwords, you discover the character through the story, through her actions, others reactions to her, her reactions to others actions ect...

Now, that, I totally agree with. You can't just describe a character the first time you meet them, and then just describe what they're doing for there on in the story. There's more to people than first impressions, and in a story, we're spending time with those characters, much the same way as you spend time with real people - And the more time you spend with people, the more you find out about them.

It should be the same way in a story. When I give a character to a reader, they're usually described via the point of view of someone else (I don't like to write in Third-Person Omniscient) which means that as the reader travels through the story, he or she will discover more about the character at the same speed as my protagonist does (And my protagonist will discover things about the character at the speed I determine necessary for the plot)

That's why I usually write in first person, or third-person limited (whether from a single or multi-person PoV), because it's easier to control exactly how much my reader finds out about my characters and when they find it out. I think it's more like real life that way, and I believe it helps draw people into the characters in my stories.

In my NaNo novel (third person limited, single PoV), my protagonist isn't actually described at all. Even I don't really have a clear picture of what Joe Marshall looks like. He's tall-ish, in shape, probably good looking in a weathered, world-weary kind of way, but I have no more details than that. They're not necessary for the story, and the way the story worked out, they didn't seem at all necessary to make you feel like you know him. The people who've read it and given me feedback said that by the end of the novel, they felt like they knew him anyway.

And as for the other characters, you only know as much about them as Joe Marshall finds important. Actions definitely speak louder than words and I'd rather have Marshall notice something than just tell the reader about it.

I mean, when was the last time you noticed someone's eye color the first time you met them? I'm not saying it doesn't happen, but normally something has to actually happen for you to be looking that closely at a person to see the color of their eyes.

One of my characters, Dominique, is a mulatto. Half brazilian, half caucasian. She has coffee colored skin, long straight dark hair and pale blue eyes. But I didn't choose to describe her in that way. I filtered it through Marshall's point of view:

"I'd better go," she said. Her voice was quiet and small, and he had to turn up his audio amplifiers to hear the words. "You're getting wet."

He hadn't noticed. Hadn't noticed the rain, except for the way it ran down the curve of her cheek. Hadn't noticed the wind, except for the way it moved her long dark hair. Wasn't paying much attention to anything except for the look in those big pale blue eyes. Unreadable.

She looked over her shoulder. The guard came forward, automatic rifle held across his chest. His face, set in stone, but his eyes dark and liquid warm as he gestured towards the gate. Reassuring. She turned, walked away. The heels of her sneakers made little splish-splash noises in the wet. The skin of her arms, dark and coffee-colored, reflected in the puddles, lit by the halogen overhead floods.

She didn't look back. Not even once.


I personally think it draws the reader in more. Your mileage, as always, may vary

 

[The_Darkness]

Good point, but not neccisarily true. There are a few of us rare breeds out there that still notice eye-color, hair color, fingernail polish (or lack there of), and hell; even shoes.

The only reason that I remember that is because I'm partially dislexic (which is why editing my own stores SUCKS) and I have a hell of a time with names. Faces, I never forget. So, upon meeting a new person I memorize as much of the person as I can if I think I may run into them again. I also note identifying features that don't change, like Tattos, scars, extra fingers....as opposed to eye color which can change with contacts or hair length and color which can change daily.

But once again, that's all perspecitve. Revealing what the characters notice about another character reveals more about the character than can easily be said.

A writing exercise is comming....a 3-day weekend away from the computer is fine, but 4 days is stretching it....

 

[The_Darkness]

Writing Emotion: writing emotion effectively is key to being able to write in general. It's what differentiates filthy dirty porn from erotica; not that there's anything wrong with dirty porn. It's also what helps translate some of the believeablity factor into whatever it is that you're writing. Poets tend to be better at this, but for those of us who can't write poetry, here's some helpful suggestions:

1) Make us feel the story from the perception of the character(s) we're observing. We need to feel what they feel, see what they see, hope what they hope, etc. If we can't form some sort of emotional attachment to the characters, we really don't give a shit how many times they cum or whether they live or die.

2) Put us in the scene. This is similar to the exercise earlier of writing a scene from a completely different perspective than your own. The above mentioning of how I observe people and how Raphy observes people is a prime example. (Not that I'm saying one way is better than another...just different). That observance will spark emotional responce in the readers and helps the whole believablity factor of the story in general.

3) Don't only tell show your audience how your characters feel, tell us why they feel that way. This will be very tricky to do with out some form of omniscience in the POV.

WRITER CHALLENGE!

This is simply a continuation of what people are already doing in here for examples. This example is easy. Tell us what the character is thinking in the following senario:

The main character is at a bar with few people in it. A woman is seen entering.

You already have a picture in your mind. Show us what's going on.

 

[The_Darkness]

The whiskey swilled absently in his glass as he looked the pool table over, trying to find a shot. The 7-ball was almost in a corner pocket and the 9 was right in front of it. Sober the shot would have been easy; but sober was three glasses of Jack ago.

The last swallow of amber booze disappeared in a slow gulp. He sighed deeply and bent to the table, lining his shot up as best he could as the double vision began to set in. The rap music being spun by the DJ had blended to a muted roar in his pounding ears. His eyes shifted quickly from the mark on the 7 to the pile of money sitting on the edge of the table. There wasn't much sitting there, only 100 bucks, but 100 bucks was 100 bucks. A quick blink cleared his bleary eyes for just long enough to get his bearing on the ball. His stroke was smooth, but his eye was distracted; something wearing a tight blue dress walked in a split second before the hollow clonk of a miscue echoed over the table.

His ears, not even hearing the music or the rest of the noise in the under-populated bar, heard only the cue skidding along the felt with the english he had put on it. The blue dress was tight in all the right places, but seemed to flow loose in every place it should have. Her form underneath was beaconing and wanton as she slid sensuously into the room.

The sound of the cue ball cutting to the rail and bouncing off into the open abyss of worn green felt sounded at the same time as the soft clack of her heel. Her ample chest shook lightly with the step, her long auburn curls bouncing with the movement. Max stood up and propped his cue on the floor, using it for a little extra balance as he watched the main attraction sway into the room.

Another rail impacted against the cue ball. Her cream-colored skin was a welcome sight among the acres of artificially tanned flesh that usually adorned the bar. Her skin seemed to shimmer under the light, changing subtly from cream to red to blue to green and back to cream again under the light cast by the neon beer signs. She kept walking, a curious smile on her painted lips. Her eyes were dark in the lights and alcoholic haze, but they seemed to be looking straight ahead to the bar.

The ball crept across the felt again, and he wasn't sure if it was the sound of the porcelain on the fabric or the sound of the fabric on flesh that he heard as the vision before him kept walking. her dress was open in the back, revealing that there was no way she could be wearing a bra. Her skin became encased in blue once more and the blue swelled softly against the twin globes of her ass. The fabric continued down for a short distance, revealing most of her tight toned legs. She was almost to the bar and she stopped, one leg slightly a head of the other.

She bent forward and kissed the bar mistress; deeply, passionately. They parted after a mere second and the smacking of their lips were almost as loud to Max's ears as the clacking of the cue-ball into the 9-ball. The eroticism of the moment took Max by storm and he was aware of his cock beginning to swell in his pants. He licked his lips, the sound reaching his ears the same time as a second clank was heard as the 9 sank the 7.

In a moment of clarity, Max realized that he wasn't going to get Rozlyn and this vision in blue in the sack and that he shouldn't even try. As a matter of fact, he'd probably get slapped for even asking...probably.

His heart and his manhood sunk with the 7 ball and the game. His empty glass however rose along with his growing fantasy. The courage known only to alcoholics and fools began to come to him in the form of a wry smile as he heard the cue-ball tap into the 9-ball behind him. Rozlyn nodded at him and filled a glass.

"One game over," Max thought to himself as he nodded to his victorious opponent who was folding the money into his jeans pocket, "and another's just starting..." He put the cue on the table and stepped toward Rozlyn as she brought out a fresh glass of Jack.

 

[Dirt Man]

Sitting with my friends at O'Hara's after the game guzzling a few, and exchanging bragging rights back and forth, I looked up to see a drink spiller enter the bar all alone. You know, the kind of woman that will cause mortal men to choke up, or to spill their drink at first sight. The way I did when I caught sight of her.

It's funny how men are in the presence of devine beauty, isn't it. We instantly acquire the same tunnel vision as birds of prey. Breathing, something that we take for granted becomes a real labor of effort. Our hearts like a race car rushing only to break hard to a stop for every stop sign, and traffic light on a main city street makes our heads light, and causes our dicks to throb instantly alert. Some men actually sweat, but we all get clammy hands, and drool slightly. More so the closer this walking heart attack gets near us.

To be truthful, I didn't spill all of my drink. The glass was still half full. Even so, what had spilled was dripping down onto my lap now.

As Always
I Am the
Dirt Man

Edited to add: A poet knows the value of brevity too.

 

[The_Darkness]

Brievity is good, yes, but I'm self-admittedly not a poet.

Wordsmith, sure, but not a poet.

 

[Aztek Pagan]

Writer's Challenge

The place stank of stale beer, cigarette smoke and sweat. This was not the kind of place most people would find a comfortable place, but that is what you get in Mexico. Normally the desert heat would make the place unbearable, but a storm had moved in cooling off the small Mexican town.

Maximilliano sat alone at the oak bar, staring at the half empty glass in front of him. Leaning forward with his elbows resting on the edge of the cracking bar caused his shoulder length hair to sweep around his face like a veil concealing his three-day growth of stubble.
His dark eyes focused on the amber liquid contents of his glass, but he could still see the bartender six feet off to his right drying the freshly washed mugs with a dirty rag. He could hear a squeaking sound coming from the bartender as he thrust the rag into the mug and swirling it around in the mug.

Music was played on a radio that hung on a hook above the mirror behind the bar. The damn thing must have been ten years old because the music was all treble with no bass. Tejano music would not have been Max’s first choices, but then again he only looked Mexican and didn’t practice it.

There was a bright flash outside the opaque windows followed by a loud crack. The lights of the bar flickered a moment, but did not extinguish completely.

How could they have been so careless? William had been his partner on more than one occasion. So how could things have gone so wrong?

Max grabbed warm glass and finished it in two gulps. The liquor burned down his throat and the pain was welcome. “Give me another.” His gaze never left his glass.

The barkeep strode over to where Max sat and reached under the bar for the bottle. The lip of the bottle clanked against the edge of the glass. Max could tell the man was shaking, but he didn’t know why.

The door to the bar opened as another flash and crack came from outside. Max’s left hand quickly slid into his thin black jacket as his head jerked toward the open door. All that could be seen was the top of a black umbrella. Beads of water cascading down its slick surface.

As the umbrella collapsed a lovely young woman came into view. Her jeans were partially soaked from the downpour of rain causing them to tighten around her long slender legs. Water stained her white blouse making parts of it see thru.

There weren’t many people in this quaint little shit hole, but those that were there had their eyes on her. They watched as she wrapped the umbrella and placed it in the can next to the door. Her long brown hair was damp from the rain and reached down passed her shoulders.

Her dark eyes looked out across the bar scanning the faces of the onlookers. She met everyone’s eyes with a penetrating gaze of her own until they promptly looked away. Her walk was elegant and seemed choreographed as she moved to an empty stool at the bar.

Max closed his eyes as she sat two stools from where he sat. His nostrils flared as he breathed in a scent of lavender.

“Beer please,” she motioned to the bartender with a look.

He in return nodded. “Anything else?” His speech was heavily accented.

She threw a glance at the stranger next to her, “Yes and two more for my friends, they are just parking the car.”

The bartender’s handlebar mustache widened as his smiled a dirty tooth grin, “You Americans?” His eyes looking from the woman to Max and then back to her, “Vacationing?”

Sipping the beer, “Yes.” First she tested the flavor with a small mouthful.

The door opened again and with it came a blast of cool air. Two men in long raincoats walked in through the door. They moved slowly to the woman at the bar taking in everyone in the bar.

A strange feeling came over Max as these two men entered the scene. The hairs on the back of his back stood on end and he knew this feeling. He rose up off the bar grabbing his glass of whiskey and slammed it down his throat.

The woman motioned to the newcomers and glanced back at Max. Her eyes were the deepest brown he had ever seen. They were almost black.

That was when he realized they had found him. But how could they have tracked him here?

 

[wildsweetone]

She walked so slowly I was sure she was doing it for effect, and man oh man what an effect she had. There was not one averted eye in the building; even Old Man Rivers was having a job keeping his hands on the table.

Sashaying her ass as she walked towards me only widened my grin. Her sparkling eyes were focused directly ahead, chin slightly raised, head angled in concentration, and left eyebrow raised in daring. Surely she wouldn't!

In complete ignorance of the other patrons, she walked in a straight line with a style that brooked no illusion, left nothing to my imagination. Her tight blue outfit shimmered in the multicoloured neon lights.

The cue balls that had constantly cracked together for the last few hours stilled, the chattering ceased, even the jukebox paid homage in its between song silence.

She was stunning.

Reaching the bar, her eyebrow raised a little higher, she smiled. My heart pounded as she leaned forward. I inhaled deeply her scent then her soft lips met mine. Passionately she kissed me, my breath stolen.

She was woman.

Her lips left mine, but the warmth lingered. She sat, on the edge of the bar stool, her eyes never leaving mine even after I handed her the whiskey, my hand shaking only a little.

After my shift, she would have me.

 

[wildsweetone]

Hi Aztec and welcome to Litland

 

[Aztek Pagan]

Thanks Wild .. I have enjoyed reading everyones posts. I just hope that I can be as much of a help you guys as you have been to me.

 

[wildsweetone]

I don't doubt it for a second.

I'm still learning too.

I hope you enjoy your stay with us.

 

[Aztek Pagan]

Another good trick -- taken from Stephen King's -- On Writing When you are writing the first draft you are in essence telling a story to yourself. So when writing the first draft don't correct punctuation or grammer. The only thing you should be worried about when writing the first draft if to get as much of the story down on paper as you can while its still fresh in your mind. You can always go back later after you have finished the first draft and edit what you have.

The trick is: As you are telling yourself this story and you are putting it to paper try not to stray from the story by focusing on editing. When you are in the ZONE you shouldn't worry about misspellings or correct grammar because then that takes you away from the story. I know when I am writing and the story is coming out faster than I can type I don't focus on anything else but the story that is unfolding.

Here's another good trick from the Stephen King's book. Once you have finished your first draft, put it away for a while and forget about it. Don't go right into writing the second draft. Take a break from that story and characters or start another story.

When you go back and read that first draft that you have forgotten, you want it to be new to you (or as new as possible). That way when you are reading through the scenes of the story you will be able to identify the parts that work well and thoughs that don't work so well.