Wired for Story | A Guide to the Amazingly Simple, Universal Principles of Story

Monday, January 23, 2012

Learn What You Already Know

Remember that book, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten? Well, when it comes to story, it’s just not true.

We learn the fundamentals of story way before that.

In fact, cognitive scientists believe our first foray into narrative began long before we had the language to express, well, anything. Usually back when we were wee babes and it first dawned on us that when we get hungry, if we cry real loud that nice lady with the kind eyes will bring us some warm milk.

In other words, we wanted something real bad, and figured out how to get it.

Desire drives destiny. It also drives story. Whose desire? The protagonist’s.

Like, for instance, that bear we were talking about last time. The one who wants his hat. We know exactly what he desires. And that’s good. But is that enough to make it a story? To instantly yank us in?

No, that alone won’t do it.

I Want My Hat is not a story.

I Want My Hat Back is a story.

Why? Because it implies conflict. The problem is that a story called “I Want My Hat” – which, after all, does tell us what the protagonist wants — might just list reasons why the bear wants his hat. Do we care about that? No, we do not. We don’t know this bear, so why should we can what he does and doesn’t want? We have much more pressing things to think about. Like what we want and don’t want.

And one of the things we want is a story that solves a problem. One that not only answers a question, but – and here’s the crucial thing – a question that we’re actually aware of.

I Want My Hat Back clearly falls into this camp. This bear isn’t going to write a paean to his lovely, luscious chapeau. Nope. How do we know? That one simple, plain, beautiful word that speaks volumes: Back. Forget the damn hat, it suggests, this is a tale of adventure, intrigue and it’ll answer the question: just how far will this bear go to get his hat back?

That is what the story is really about. In other words, it’s not about whether he gets his hat back or not. That’s just the plot. The story is about what the bear has to go through – and learn – in order to solve his problem.

Which brings us to a lesson that’s hidden in plain sight. It is indeed something we learned back in kindergarten, from books just like I Want My Hat Back, but it’s something that’s shockingly easy to overlook when we write stories of our own. To wit: it’s the very concreteness of the protagonist’s desire that allows us to delve into decidedly deeper matters.

The protagonist’s desire must be clear and concrete, as in: When you close your eyes you can actually see it? Not metaphorically. But in the “Look, it’s a hat!” sense. This is the foundation that gives you access to areas that aren’t so concrete. Like what it is about the bear’s worldview that keeps him from finding his hat. And what he has to master – that is, face inside himself – to actually get it back.

How? That’s exactly what we’ll be talking about in the next installment of the bear’s odyssey, in which we examine the bear’s deeper (and perhaps darker) nature.

Now, what about you? Is there a book you remember from childhood that still resonates with you? How did it do it? Looking back, is there anything about story that it taught you? We’re dying to know!

Posted by Lisa Cron on 5:15 pm

3 Comments >>

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

The Crucial Question that Writers Forget to Ask

A couple of weeks ago I was scrolling through an email from Powell’s Books highlighting their employees’ favorite books of 2011.

One title stopped me dead in my tracks. It leapt out so viscerally that I instantly ordered the book. It was . . . a kids’ picture book. My kids are grown. None of my friends have little kids. I don’t make a habit of reading kids books.

But I had to have this one. Because I loved the title. The name of the book is:

I Want My Hat Back

I read the title and I felt it in my gut, it made me strangely happy. It was so clear, so concise, and so deliciously full of portent. Someone’s hat has gone missing! And clearly that person (bear, actually) is going to do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this missing hat thing. I was instantly dying to know, will he find his hat? And if he does, will he get it back?

After I ordered the book I read the title over and over, and it made me grin every time. I still like saying it. I want my hat back! (BTW, the book came and it’s just as good as the title promised it would be. Even better, maybe.)

And it got me to thinking: Why is it that so many of the manuscripts I’ve read lately – adult manuscripts that is — lack what I Want My Hat Back has? A main character who really wants something. Something the reader is aware of from the very first sentence. Something that we can root for, something that gives meaning to what the protagonist does, and shape to the story.

How is it that writers who’ve spent years studying, and who’ve poured their hearts and souls into their work, can still forget to answer this simple question: What does my protagonist want?

Because the answer? That’s what drives the story. How? We’ll talk about that next time. But for now, tell me, who stole your protagonist’s hat? And what will she do to get it back?

Posted by Lisa Cron on 4:31 am

11 Comments >>

Monday, September 12, 2011

EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT WRITING IS WRONG — Myth Number One

Myth Number One: The goal is to learn to write well.

How it’s perpetuated: Everyone says it – writing books, professors, writing groups, editors, agents, even readers. It sounds so logical, who’d argue?

Why we fall for it: The first goal of any story is to anesthetize the part of the reader’s brain that knows it is a story. When we get lost in a good story, it feels like reality – literally. Recent research has shown that when we read about an action, the same areas of the brain light up as when we actually experience that action. We really are there. As a result, the last thing a reader is able to do (or wants to do for that matter) is analyze how, exactly, the story is creating such a perfect rendition of reality. And so when asked what it is that grabs us about a great story, we say it was the luscious language, the intriguingly complex characters, the witty dialogue, the fresh voice. In other words, we say it’s well written when what we really mean is that it felt like life.

The truth: Writing well is the handmaiden of story. The real goal of every writer is to learn to create that sense of urgency that makes the reader want to know what happens next. This is not triggered by dazzling wordsmithing, but by mastering story itself, and understanding what people are wired to crave from every story they hear. The shorthand answer is: something that just might help them better make it through the night. We turn to story to shed light on the thorny internal problems we face. Stories teach us how to make sense of ourselves, others and the world at large by allowing us to vicariously experience myriad “what ifs.” After all, life is tricky and rife with risk, so what better way to prepare to navigate the one place we’re all headed — the future — than story?

Three things you can do to create a sense of urgency:

1. Make sure you know how your story ends; ask yourself, how does my protagonist’s world view have to shift in order for her to achieve her goal? What does she have to realize that, most likely, she’s spent her whole life avoiding? Then don’t hold back — sew this internal conflict into the story, beginning on the first page, if possible, in the first sentence.

2. Always remember, what draws people into a story is that sense that all is not as it seems. The reader is all too familiar with “business as usual” (read: ho hum), a story is about what happens when something out of the ordinary bursts through that predictable pattern and forces your protagonist to deal with it or else – even if it begins with something as seemingly mundane as the mail arriving a half hour late.

3. Let us know that something specific is at stake, and don’t be shy about telling us what it is, and how it’s affecting your protagonist. Make us feel it by letting us know what it forces your protagonist to confront. How does it differ from her expectations? What action does it trigger?

After all, stories are about how the unexpected forces us to confront our beliefs about ourselves, the world and others – and find out what we’re really made of.

What’s the last book that swept you away? What did it teach you about life, or better yet, yourself?

Posted by Lisa Cron on 6:56 pm

Label: handmaiden, sense of urgency, story, words, write well, Writers Groups, Writing Tips

2 Comments >>

Monday, August 08, 2011

EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT WRITING IS WRONG — The First Part of a Series

5 Reasons Why Writers Get Bad Advice

Here’s how it usually goes down: A promising writer is struggling with some aspect of her novel. When we discuss it, it turns out what’s holding her back is a piece of writing advice she’d been told to follow or — as one writer recently reported — “No publisher will ever consider your work.”

It happened again today. What kills me is that, as is so often the case, the advice the writer was given — “Never tell us what your character is thinking.” — was 100% wrong. It’s a perfect example of one of the reasons writers get bad advice: since most new writers tend to do “X” poorly, they’re told it’s better not to do “X” at all. When the real answer is: “X” is essential to a good story, here’s why, and here’s how to do it well.

There are four other main reasons writers get bad advice:

1. Writing maxims are not fully explained, and so ironically seem to imply the opposite of what they actually mean. For instance, the utterly untrue belief that because literary novels are character driven they don’t need a plot.

2. Writers are taught to follow story structure models that by definition focus on the external plot rather than the internal story. Story structure is actually the byproduct of a story well told, not something that can be imposed from the outside in. Even by the much venerated, often woefully undermining Hero’s Journey.

3. The belief that learning to write well is the same as learning to write a story. Writing well is meaningless unless every single beautiful, well-chosen word is there solely in service of the unfolding story. Beware the seductively slippery slope into the lush valley of wordsmithing.

4. The belief that writing is all about creativity and self-expression rather than communication. And, even more insidious, that learning to communicate will stifle your creativity, when in fact it’s the best way to unleash it.

The good news is that, given what we now know about what the brain responds to in a story, we can sift through all the questionable advice writers get, pluck out and refine what actually works, and lay to rest what doesn’t. That’s exactly what this series is all about. Over the next few months, we’ll be examining common pieces of “bad advice” and either debunking or clarifying them, so they become useful members of the community, rather than the dirty rats that undermine our stories.

What about you, what bad advice have you gotten? What “old writing saw” have you always wondered about?

Posted by Lisa Cron on 11:03 pm

Label: bad writing advice, creativity, story, story structure, the hero's journey, words, wordsmithing, Writing Tips

6 Comments >>

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Story is Your Brain, Outsourced

Most people think of story – first and foremost – as a fabulous source of entertainment. But did you ever wonder why we all love a good story? And we do – storytelling is a human universal. There is no society that doesn’t engage in it, delight in it, and depend on it.

What’s up with that? That’s what neuroscientists wanted to know. Especially since the brain never devotes time or space to anything that doesn’t further its sole purpose: our continued survival. In other words, story, it seems, serves a powerful purpose beyond the ephemeral joy it bestows.

So, how does story help us survive? First, let’s bust a very common myth, the one that says we only use ten percent of our brain. Totally untrue. We use it all, to capacity in fact. Always have.

Thus in order to evolve into the species that rules the world (talk about beware of what you wish for!), the brain had to find a way to outsource crucial information that it didn’t have the space to store.

What kind of information? Information about the future. After all, it’s our ability to envision the future that distinguishes us from just about every other species, and that’s allowed us to outsmart them.

Or, as Ogden Nash put it:

The hunter crouches in his blind
‘Neath camouflage of every kind,
And conjures up a quacking noise
To lend allure to his decoys.
This grown-up man with pluck and luck
Is hoping to outwit a duck.

The trouble was, there were infinitely more possible future scenarios, even when it came to duck hunting, than our elegant brain had the ability to catalogue. So the brain farmed out these myriad calculations – think of them as “what would happen if?” scenarios — to the world’s first virtual reality: story.

But for this to actually work, nature had to find a way to coax us to put the oft-treacherous real world on hold, the better to surrender to a good story. In other words, getting lost in a story had to be pleasurable.

That rush of intoxication you get when you relax into a good story? It’s a surge of the neurotransmitter dopamine. What triggers it? The desire to find out what happens next. Why? Because story is how we learn the ways of the world.

So you want to write a story that engages and delights people? Start by thinking about what you have to say about human nature. How will your story help people make it through the night?

Posted by Lisa Cron on 4:26 pm

Label: brain, dopamine, human nature, neuroscience, story, Writing Tips

4 Comments >>

Saturday, June 04, 2011

Why Don’t We Make Him Eat His Words?

I’m taking a short hiatus from blogging to get my manuscript ready to turn into my publisher on July 1. But I read something in today’s New York Times that made my blood boil, and it was either say something or have my head explode.

First, a question.

Imagine what would happen if Nobel Prize winning author V.S. Naipaul said: “No black person is my literary equal. Inevitably for a black person, they’re not a complete master of a house, so that comes over in their writing too. My black publisher was so good as a taster and editor, but as a writer, low and behold, it was all this black tosh.”

Boycotts? Denouncements? Apologies demanded? Angry editorials? All of which would be perfectly justified.

V.S. Naipaul did say these things. Except not about blacks. He said them about women. And he ended with: “I don’t mean this in any unkind way.” Really? Think about what he means by that. It’s not unkind, because, hey, it’s just a fact, it’s not their fault they can’t write as well as men, the poor sentimental short-sighted dears.

Why is it still okay to say things about women that, if they were uttered about any other group, would rouse people to arms? If Mr. Naipaul felt that way about blacks or Jews or Muslims, do you think he’d have breathed a word of it, unless like Mel Gibson or John Galliano, he was roaring drunk?

Remember what happened to them? Why doesn’t that happen to him? I know, sadly, it sounds like a rhetorical question. Why is that?

Posted by Lisa Cron on 7:08 pm

Label: John Galliano, Mel Gibson, Naipaul, Nobel Prize, Sexism, Sexist, V.S. Naipaul

8 Comments >>

Thursday, April 07, 2011

Readers Are Gloriously Heartless . . . As They Should Be

For more on just why readers are so hard to please, and how to make sure your novel will win your readers’ hearts, check out my interview by fabulous writer Dara Girard on Novelists Inc’s incredibly informative, always entertaining blog.

What about you? Are you heartless when you’re looking for a book to read? Beneath the beautiful language, the humor, the compelling characters, what are you really looking for in the novels that hook you?

Posted by Lisa Cron on 6:09 pm

Label: Novelists Inc, Readers, story, Writing Tips

7 Comments >>

Wednesday, April 06, 2011

Want Your Reader to Identify with Your Protagonist . . . Literally?

Writers often struggle with whether to write in the first or third person. For the most part it depends on the usual suspects: the type of story it is, the writer’s own process, and what feels most comfortable. But I’ve just stumbled on an intriguing variable to toss into the ring.

In a recent experiment, subjects were shown a photo of a stranger and asked to think about the person from a first person walk-a-mile-in-their-shoes perspective, then they were shown another photo and asked to think about that stranger in the third person. The subjects then spent five minutes writing a brief narrative from each point of view. Finally, they underwent an fMRI brain scan during which they were asked questions about each person – and here’s the interesting result: The area in the subjects brains that lights up when they think about themselves, their beliefs and their judgments, lit up when they speculated about the first-person characters. But not when they mused about the third person character.

In other words, that exhilarating feeling of immediacy we often have when we read first person accounts is because we’re literally processing it as if it’s happening to us, in a way that third person accounts might not quite match.

Want quick proof? J.D. Salinger wrote a short story that became Catcher in the Rye. It was called “Slight Rebellion Off Madison,” and was published in the New Yorker in 1946. It’s in the third person. For a hoot, why not read it, and then leap into the first page of Catcher. Talk about a very, very different experience!

What do you think? Do you feel more viscerally involved when reading in the first person?

Posted by Lisa Cron on 11:15 pm

Label: Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger, Writing Tips

8 Comments >>

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Writing Groups: From Pass the Prozac to Eureka!

We’ve been discussing the pros and cons of writing groups, so what better time to share a story about the best, and the worst, they have to offer? Thus without further ado, I’d like to introduce writer Christi Craig, who knows a thing or two about the subject. Including how to find useful nuggets in experiences that might otherwise make you wonder why you wanted to write in the first place, and whether it’s really too late to get that degree in accounting after all.

——

Christi Craig

I’m not new to writing groups, nor am I a seasoned participant – not yet. But, I’ve sat around the tables enough times to encounter the quintessential worst and best feedback moments. And, while “worst” and “best” imply “different,” what I heard during both experiences was almost exactly the same.

The Worst (Or “Pass the Prozac”)

It was the second time I met with this particular group of writers and my first time in the hot seat of critique. My work-in-progress told the story of a quirky young woman – with an overbearing mother – on a path of self-discovery. I set the first twenty pages of my manuscript in front of me and opened a notebook to a clean sheet of paper. With pen poised and a coffee cup half-full (and still hot), I grinned from ear to ear, enthusiastic. Even giddy. I’d been itching to move forward with this manuscript and couldn’t wait to share the work with others and gather some guidance.

“Nice opening,” one person said. I nodded in silent thanks.

“I want to know where she got all that money from,” said another. I scribbled notes.

A different writer spoke up. “Your protagonist hides behind trees and peers into windows.”

I nodded.

“And her relationship with her mother…what’s wrong with her?” She asked. “She seems to have serious psychological problems.” The others agreed and a discussion ensued about possible reasons why my protagonist was so depressed and paralyzed by fear. My jaw dropped. They’d read only a small piece of the story, and the tone was already lost — it was supposed to be funny, at least a little. The longer the critique wore on (a grueling hour and fifteen minutes), the more I worried that years of therapy and rewrites could not save my main character – or my story. I left that critique deflated.

The Best (Or “The Transcendental Moment”)

One year and a different work-in-progress later, I bounded the steps of an old convent to meet with a new group of writers. We were three weeks into our sessions together, and already I had learned much. This time I shared a story about a woman who struggles to regain her footing in life, after losing her mother in a tragic accident. The critique started out on a high note: what worked, what could be expanded, questions I might consider. Then, a woman, who fit my vision of the target audience for this novel, spoke on the main character. “She’s starting to bug me. She’s been dragging on for three chapters now. Give her some anti-depressants already.”

Those three words, “serious psychological problems” came back to haunt me. My heart sank. This protagonist had good reason to be depressed, but she stalled the story anyway. Then, I had a spiritual awakening: a hero isn’t a hero unless she takes action. With that, an ugly and recurring theme stuck out in my writing — passive protagonists. In two separate novels, I’d created characters who sat around and waited for something to push them forward. While some characters do loiter in real life, nobody likes to read about that for too long. They’ll close the book. They’ll pick up another one with more action. Suddenly, my worst critique became my best critique.

I attribute my change in perspective to two things: a level of trust and a better sense of myself as a writer. In the first group, I barely had time to memorize names of the people around me before we dove into a serious critique of my work. Also, I was new to writing; I took their feedback personally. I couldn’t see past their words to the crux of the problem. With the second group, though, I had spent a few weeks at the table, experienced a successful critique of a short story, and seen how they offered encouraging, as well as suggestive, comments. And, I was a different writer. I understood more about how to evaluate and incorporate feedback. I was more confident and more willing to listen.

I don’t advocate for soft critiques to save a writer’s pride. But, I will suggest spending time with peers in a writing group – getting to know them, their style, and their history – before diving into a major critique. And yes, sometimes a “worst” is just that – bad feedback. But other times, even good feedback sounds harsh. Either way, the experience is more telling when studied from a distance.

What about you? Have you ever found gold in what would otherwise be a “pass the Prozac” writers group moment?

—-

You can find more spot-on writing advice from Christi on her fabluous blog, Writing Under Pressure. You can also follow her on Twitter, and on her Facebook page.

Posted by Lisa Cron on 7:14 pm

Label: Christi Craig, Writers Groups, Writing Tips, Writing Under Pressure

14 Comments >>

Tuesday, March 01, 2011

A Common Writers Group Rule You Want to Break

Last week I did a guest post on the hidden pitfalls and unexpected benefits of writing groups on Christi Craig’s fabulous blog, Writing Under Pressure. Today I woke up thinking, but wait, there’s one more thing!

Because it’s not just about the feedback you get, it’s also about how you respond to it. That is, if you’re allowed to. And therein lies the rub. Because often in writers groups, writing classes and in workshops, there’s a rule that goes something like this: When given feedback, just listen, don’t argue or explain, then go home and think about it.

On the face of it that sounds perfectly reasonable. If you’re six years old, that is.

First, the nugget of truth here: as we all know, the worst thing writers can do when given feedback is to argue or explain why what they wrote makes perfect sense, if only the group was smart enough to understand it. After all, their mother, BFF, high school English teacher and cocker spaniel understood it perfectly well, and besides, everything is fully explained in the last chapter, anyway.

Writers who argue with critiques not only alienate the group, but cause members to begin pulling punches. Hey, who wants an argument? And when it comes to agents and editors? Writers who can’t take notes don’t tend to be taken on as clients. Life is too short.

But to treat adults as if they’re incapable of mastering the impulse to argue is, well, condescending. As if to say, “I know that if you speak, you’ll be defensive so, shhhhh!” Makes you want to set someone’s hair on fire, especially since they’re already picking on your story. In fact, feeling singled out, stressed and silenced, often causes your brain to shut down – literally. Instead of listening, you’re melting into a cortisol-induced puddle of “Gee, their lips are moving, but I can’t understand a word they’re saying. I just know it’s bad.” And so when you get home, instead of reflecting on the critique, you eat a pint of vanilla ice cream and watch old movies until dawn. Or maybe that’s just me.

And to top it off, such feedback is rarely as helpful as it could be. Because the most effective feedback is not a monologue. It’s a dialogue.

Of course you should be allowed to explain what you wrote. You have to. Why? Unless the group knows what you were trying to convey in a passage that doesn’t work, how can they suggest what might work instead, or pinpoint exactly where, and why, it went wrong?

And even more beneficial, very often when a writer says, “What I was trying to get across is . . .” something comes out that not only isn’t on the page, but that changes the meaning of everything that is. Often this is the writer’s own “aha” moment, catapulting them in to breakthrough city. It’s just about the best reason to belong to a writer’s group, second only to the cookies.

What about you? How does your writers group handle feedback? Does it work?

Posted by Lisa Cron on 3:00 am

Label: story, Writers Groups, Writing Tips

7 Comments >>