<em><a href=”http://penmighty.blogspot.com/2007/11/way-with-worlds.html” target=”_blank”>Reposted</a> (with alterations) from November 18, 2007</em>.

<a href=”http://www.seventhsanctum.com/www/wwwfull.html”>This page</a> is part of a larger site called <a href=”http://www.seventhsanctum.com/”>Seventh Sanctum</a>. Seventh Sanctum is mostly about generators, such as fantasy name generators and the like. But A Way With Worlds is what I am really interested in.

There are fifty-six articles in all, each tackling a different aspect of world-building. The articles vary in length, though none are in particularly great detail. The real strength of the site is in providing a solid overview of the types of things any would-be world builder should be thinking about. I highly recommend that the articles be read through thoroughly before any world building project is undertaken.

Reposted (with alterations) from January 8, 2008.

Teige Benson has just posted a fantastic mini-article in her blog about receiving criticism as a writer. In it, she proposes a three-day rule. In essence, a writer ought to wait three full days after reading criticism before contacting the critic to allow the initial feelings of hurt to die down. Three days, she explains, is just enough time for writers to look at criticism again with clearer eyes and to see it as someone’s attempt to help rather than a personal insult.

From the other end of the stick, this has been a major issue for me when giving criticism. So many times, I have spent hours or even days going over someone’s work only to have them insult me. As Teige points out, writers have the nasty habit of seeing their work as an extension of themselves, as their “baby.” Many authors also seem to request criticism when, really, all they want is to be told that their work is fantastic. They have no real desire for actual criticism.

These sorts of attitudes have made being a critic (well, I’d call it a “beta tester” instead because the term “critic” always makes me think of people like Roger Ebert) a thankless and thoroughly un-enjoyable job. I hope to come back to the issue of criticism again sometime, but as a parting gift I implore all writers out there reading this to think about Teige’s three-day rule, think of the hard work that goes into a good beta testing, and to thank the brave individuals who give up their time trying to help you improve.

Reposted (with alterations) from October 26, 2007.

There was a discussion recently on a forum because a young man asked for Japanese names to use for characters in his non-Japanese fantasy world. Several people told him that a fictional world that has nothing to do with Japan should not have Japanese names, especially if he is not Japanese himself (and clearly knows little about it since he needs to ask for names). Several other people defended the young man by saying that it’s fiction so he can do whatever he wants.

This got me thinking. While obviously they are correct, he can do whatever he wants, that doesn’t necessarily mean that he should. Consider the following:

Fiction is like lying. If you don’t make it believable, you’ll get in trouble.

Reposted (with alterations) from October 18, 2007.

There’s a really great website out there called Imaginary Worlds with a podcast series entitled Shakespeare and Dragons. I discovered the site a few months ago and listened to the entire podcast archive over a two-day span. It was absolutely fantastic. In fact, I found it so helpful that I actually took notes that I sometimes use when writing my own posts here (as well as my posts in my writing group and elsewhere). They’ve started me thinking about story elements I had never considered before and I do think that my writing has improved because of it. The main focus of the podcasts seems to be on world creation for RPG games, but all the lectures are easily applied to any creative story-telling. He also recommends books that I’ve found quite useful in doing my own research for my big fantasy project. The guy is an English teacher and that does come through. He’s got that slightly inappropriate enthusiasm (I’m not sure if it’s feigned or genuine) that most teachers have. Even if he didn’t tell us his profession, I think I would have guessed. I find it adorable. The only real downside to the site is the lack of updates. There hasn’t been a new podcast since 2007 and updates seem to have stopped entirely. Still, though, the archive is well worth the look.

Reposted (with alterations) from October 10, 2007.

With only twenty-nine days until NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), I thought that this would be as good a time as any to write a little about it. In case you’ve been living under a rock, NaNoWriMo is a yearly challenge that takes place in November. The goal is to write a 50,000 word novella (called a “novel” by the site because it sounds better) in 30 days. October is generally slotted as planning month and December as editing month.

The greatest benefit I’ve identified of participating is that it can get people like me to actually focus on a single project and, hopefully, finish it. Other people have said that they need an external deadline to write regularly or that the contest forces them to make room in their schedules for writing. Others have complained of just this thing – that it gives people the impression that a novel is something that is just written in a month, rather than the result of years of hard work and practice.

Whatever you think of the challenge and its implications, it can certainly be a great deal of fun and is a fantastic way to meet new people from around the world who also love to write.

GETTING STARTED

Since October is the month for getting ready, it seems apt to devote some of this post to preparation.

The first step is to register on the NaNoWriMo website. This will allow you to post on the forums, put an excerpt of your story in your profile, and update your work count. Since the official forums are so slow to load, many people have chosen instead of use other online communities or even create their own blogs and forums to use for discussions and progress postings. Those who don’t mind posting their work online often create blogs, posting each day with the latest instalment of their story.

Many participants like to use October to plan out their stories and so save time when November comes. Of course, some prefer not to plan – instead, they like to use November as an opportunity to freewrite and have fun.

FINDING TIME

Writing 50,000 words can be very difficult and finding the time for such a task is no easier. Most people are willing to cut down on unpleasant things (like homework, studying, or chores) and other necessities (like sleep) to make time, but very few people ever consider all the little things that clutter up their lives.

I once spoke to someone who was always complaining about not being able to find time. She insisted that there was absolutely nothing she could cut out of her life. After a brief discussion and calculation, we realized that she was spending an average of twenty hours watching TV every week. She was shocked, but all it took was two hours after work and a bit extra on weekends!

A good idea is to write out a timeline of your day and finding activities that can easily be replaced without negative consequences. If you use TV to relax, consider cutting it back anyway as an experiment. Many people find that they actually feel more relaxed when they fill their time with creative activities rather than passive ones.

Another way some people free time is to get as many responsibilities as they can finished before November. For example, they might write their essays for school a month early. This can be very difficult, especially if you don’t have any long term assignments or if you have professors like mine who seem to think that it’s funny not to tell students what they want until only a week or two before an assignment is due.

STRATEGIES

There are all sorts of strategies out there for getting through NaNoWriMo in one piece. The most common one that I’ve found on the official forums is to forsake sleep and drink as much coffee as possible. I’m not quite sure how this is supposed to help, but it’s endorsed by the site  itself so there must be something to it.

Talking it over in my writing group, we found that the majority of us try to use that initial burst of enthusiasm to bang out as much as we can in the first few days. Others, like me, prefer to set a daily quota and pace themselves. For example, I divided 50,000 by 25 and arrived at 2,000. I will try to write this many words each day – no more and no less. The five remaining days are just to provide a buffer in case I fail to meet my quota.

Some people also like to use October to plan out their stories. Some plan so much that every step of the story is taken care of, eliminating the possibility of writing themselves into a corner. Others prefer not to plan at all so that they can hold on to that “what happens next?” excitement through the whole month. Personally, I’ve opted for the middle road. In the past, I’ve planned out a basic skeleton that includes a begining, an end, and all the major events in between.

A final common strategy I’ve seen is competition. People choose a “writing buddy” and keep each other up-to-date on how many words they’ve each written so far. The element of competition prevents both parties from giving up or falling behind. Of course, it’s important to make a good match. Trying to compete against someone who is truly prolific can be discouraging, while someone who lags too far behind can encourage laziness.

There are many strategies and, unfortunately, what works perfectly for some destroys other people’s creativity. Either try something that you know works or experiment (perhaps trying a new strategy every year) to find whatever works best for you.

Best of luck!

Reposted (with alterations) from October 16, 2007.

Before we can talk about horror, it’s important to define what horror is. As with all genres, definitions are vague and more than one will apply to most stories. To define horror fiction in the most simplistic way possible, it is fiction that aims to evoke feelings of fear or horror in the reader.

Horror is not a literary genre in the same way that most other genres can be. People don’t read horror when they want depth. They read horror when they want to be entertained and scared. This isn’t to say that your story should be mindless and shallow. It merely means that the focus will generally be on titillation rather than intellectual stimulation.

GOTHIC FICTION

Gothic fiction was a popular genre in the 18th and 19th centuries. It could be called the origin of modern horror (horror, of course, has probably existed for as long as people have told stories to each other). As with most genres, Gothic horror evolved rather than disappeared, becoming the Stephen King we read today.

Gothic fiction is often melodramatic. This means that emotions and actions are exaggerated, often at the expense of characterization. Common elements include terror (both physical and psychological), the supernatural, whispers just beyond hearing, labyrinths (or labyrinthine crypts), castles and other buildings usually with Gothic architecture, darkness and shadows, mystery, death, doubles, secrets, hereditary curses, and madness. The hero is frequently made ineffectual or helpless through illness. It may also be called a “sensational novel” in that it seeks to stimulate the reader’s senses through titillation and spills a great deal of ink describing the sensual perceptions of the characters.

Because Gothic horror is generally melodramatic, it comes with a set of stock characters. The tyrant is the villain. The threat he poses is often a sexual one (rape, or the threat of rape, being a common theme). The victim tends to be a persecuted maiden, held captive by the tyrant. Other stock characters include femmes fatals, Byronic heroes, monsters (including vampires, ghosts, or werewolves), and often even Satan himself.

Because of its reliance on the supernatural and superstition (two elements that were at the time contrasted with the ‘modern’ and ‘enlightened’ protestantism of England), the Gothic genre lent itself very easily to an expression of anti-Catholic sentiments. If you choose to write a Neo-Gothic story, this is an important factor to keep in mind. When reading your favourite Gothic stories, try thinking about which elements are anti-Catholic. It’s easy to fall into the trap of adding elements to our stories simply because they are common conventions without considering their real meaning.

GENERAL STRUCTURE

Most modern horror stories follow the same general structure. While deviation is certainly possible, this is a structure that works and that allows for a great deal of originality. It is very logical and isn’t particularly constraining.

Catcher: The catcher is a quick scare that comes at the very begining to set the tone for the rest of the story. It usually introduces the reader to the ‘monster’ (whatever your source of scary may be). It provides the scare that will nourish the reader’s hunger for horror through the next section.

Exposition: In this section, everything is happy and normal – the sun is shining, flowers are blooming, and things are as they should be. This provides a contrast for the horror that will follow. It is also in this section that character backstories are revealed. Often, authors will add tension by presenting interpersonal conflicts in the cast. This may also be the section where characters isolate themselves, making them vulnerable to the ‘monster’ (moving into a new house out in the country or driving to an abandoned amusement park to party, for example).

Creepy Build-up: We are still mostly in exposition mode, but there is a sense that something is wrong. At this point, it’s only in hints and small events, the ‘monster’ isn’t revealed yet. In other words, there should be a vague sense of malaise rather than full blown suspense. The first few quick scares might be introduced to keep the reader’s interest and reassure her/him that this is, in fact, still a horror story.

Action: This is where all the build up from the last section starts to pay off. The malaise is intensified. If handled correctly, your reader will have to struggle to put your story down from here until the end.

Showdown: By now, the feeling of suspense is almost unbearable. The situation usually seems hopeless and the ‘monster’ seems unbeatable. Somehow, however, the main character is able to beat (or at least escape, as in the movie The Birds) the ‘monster.’ While side characters may die, the main character will generally survive the showdown. In the parlance of Freytag’s Pyramid, this would be the climax.

Or is it?: After the ordeal of the showdown, the main character will try to rebuild her/his life and return to something that approximates the exposition stage (if the exposition stage included moving into the haunted house, this stage might include moving to a new home). There should be some sense that the character has changed (throwing out the TV or checking under the bed are two obvious changes). This is when you present the big question mark. The ‘monster’ returns and attacks the main character, though it is usually better if the story ends as the attack begins rather than following it through. This lack of a full resolution preserves the suspense beyond the last page.

MAKING MONSTERS

There are two main types of horror story: scare horror versus horror horror (otherwise known as slasher versus psychological). A single story will usually contain elements of both, but will lean towards only one. A story that doesn’t establish its identity clearly will turn off fans of both types, so pick one and let it dominate.

The most effective scares are ones that address fears we already have. Things like fear of the dark are largely universal. Being able to identify with the fear on some level will intensify it for your reader. So pay attention to the world around you and all the little things that either scare you or have the potential to scary you. This is called a “horror filter” – it is a particular way writers have of understanding the world around them.

The most basic and primal fear is of the unknown. This can take many forms. The most obvious is the unseen - something that slithers around in the dark. The ‘monster’ that cannot be rationalised or defined is the scariest type of ‘monster.’ For cheaper scares, the unexpected works well. The best example I can think of is from The Grudge - the main character is on a crowded bus in the middle of a bright sunny day when the ghost appears in the window right beside her face. No one in the audience expected a scare at that moment.

Similar to the unexpected is the unnatural. The most obvious example of this is an intense evil in the body of a small child. The combination is unnerving because it goes against our accepted understanding of the world. Frank Herbert touches on this idea with the character of Alia in Dune.

Things are frightening because they are abnormal in some way. Gore works because we don’t see it in our every day lives. It is unusual and therefore interesting. This means that you should avoid using too much of any one thing. Too much gore or repeating the same scare tactic will make it annoying rather than frightening.

Isolation can also be very scary. It can be both literal and psychological. Literal isolation is fairly obvious – trapped in a snow storm, car out of gas, too far from town to get help, phone lines are down, etc. Psychological isolation is less used but can be just as interesting. The most obvious example is when the threat is so incredible that no one believes the main character. In this scenario, the main character can be isolated despite being surrounded by people. This is most often achieved by setting the main character up to have a history of crying wolf or psychological issues. One of the most effective uses of isolation I’ve ever seen is in the movie The Thing. The sense of isolation is so reinforced (through dialogue, plot, and cinematography) that it almost becomes a character of its own. Isolation falls under the umbrella fear of helplessness.

The ‘monster’ comes in two main forms:

• The true monster tends to be something we hate in ourselves taken to an extreme (such as greed, anger, or lust). The true monster is inherently evil and beyond salvation. The monster must be destroyed for order to be restored.
• The possessed monster used to mean a victim possessed by a demon or spirit but has, in this age of pop-psychology, broadened to include mental illnesses such as multiple personalities. The possessed monster can either be killed or purged and saved, depending on the author’s whim. In classical tales, the possessed monster was often seen to be “broken” and forever excluded from human society (such as the Wendigo who, in some stories, could even be killed by inviting it to participate in human community).
• A third option is being added by many authors – the misunderstood monster. This monster is morally ambiguous rather than evil and can be saved through understanding, reasoning, and communal acceptance. Mary Shelley flirted with this concept in Frankenstein – leaving her readers with a sad feeling that the whole story could have turned out very differently had Frankenstein accepted his creation.

Monsters tend to be others. They are unusual, unknown, and cannot be related to. As with everything in writing, though, a balance is important. A monster who combines otherness with familiarity can be much scarier than one that is purely other. If we can imagine the monster living next door or, better yet, if we can imagine ourselves becoming the monster, our emotional disturbance is heightened.

BELIEVABILITY

Horror is fantasy, but even fantasy needs to maintain the illusion of reality. Horror is scary because the reader can immerse her/himself into the world of the story and believe for a time that it is real. This is called suspension of disbelief, or verisimilitude. The easiest way to achieve this is to avoid obvious mistakes, such as having the cast of characters trapped in a snow storm in a low-altitude region of Kenya.

If you plan to have anything difficult to swallow, make sure to plant it well ahead of time. For example, don’t wait until the final showdown to bring up the ‘monster’s’ one weakness. Rather, plant hints of it much earlier, even if your main character doesn’t piece it together until the last moment.

Characters also need to be believable. The more realistic they are, the more readers will care about them and fear for them when things get dangerous. A good idea is to give them backstories to give the readers the illusion that the characters are coming out of a past and heading toward a future while the story smacks them in the present. This must be subtle, though. Make sure not to infodump. Infodumping is rarely a good idea, but this is especially true in a horror story where pacing is a delicate beast.

SET UP

As I mentioned in the previous section, planting information before it is used in the story is important. Good planting can also help maintain suspense. For example, imagine a situation where the main character has just heard a news report that a killer is on the loose. This can not only set up the rest of the story, but it can also provide a great false scare. Let’s say that just as this news report plays, there is a knock on the door. The main character manages to convince herself that the person at the door is really the killer but, when she finally gets the courage to open the door, she finds a couple of girl scouts selling cookies. This is a false scare.

Learn to love red herrings. Most readers of the horror genre like twist endings. These are most effectively achieved by planting red herrings. A red herring is information that makes your readers think that the story is going in one direction so that they don’t realize that it is actually going down a completely different route. Let your main character focus on the red herrings, but make sure that the real ending is also planted. Ideally, your reader should be able to read your story a second time, knowing the ending, and feel like it all makes sense.
PACING

Unfortunately, pacing is intuitive. It cannot be taught in a guide. This is where having a beta (someone you trust who can read your stories and give you honest feedback) will really help out. The following section will try to cover some of the major pacing issues that are easy to spot.

The most important thing to remember is that suspense must be maintained throughout the story. Lengthy passages of backstory bog the story down and will lose your readers. Make sure to cut out the fat and keep the stories moving at a fairly brisk pace.

That being said, too much suspense can tire a reader out. This causes a sort of numbness that makes the story flop. Try breaking it up with comic relief. Humour and horror are closely related and people often turn to humour in their real lives to help them deal with fear. Similarly, try varying the pacing a little. A few interspersed scenes of slower, more relaxed pace can give the reader a bit of a breather. This also provides contrast for the more intense parts.

If your story is starting to feel sluggish (as can easily happen, for example, during exposition sequences), try using a flash slash – a quick scare that breaks up a scene that is moving too slowly. Imagine a research scene where your main character is researching the history of the haunted house. Suddenly, a reflection of the ghost dances across the computer screen.

EXTRA

When planting clues for twists, it’s important to find a balance between making them so built up and obvious that they fall flat or making them so obscure that they read like they’ve just been pulled out of nowhere. Like pacing, this is a delicate balance that cannot be learned intellectually. With practice and the help of a good beta, it may become intuitive.

Another important thing to remember is that less is more when it comes to description. Most readers agree that the scariest monsters aren’t described. Try keeping your monster in the shadows, where the reader’s imagination can supply the missing description.

Reposted (with alterations) from January 3, 2008.

Freytag’s Pyramid is a graph used to show the progression of the plot in a story. It is the plot structure used by almost all fictional narratives.

Freytag's Pyramid

The lower left point is called the inciting incident. This may be an event that sets the story in motion, such as the announcement of the Prince’s ball in Cinderella.

The lower left portion of the pyramid is called the exposition. As the name suggests, this is the part of the story that exposes (or introduces) all the players that will be participating. It is usually near the end of the exposition that the purpose of the story is revealed. This portion should take up no more than 25% of the story’s length and should make it explicitly clear what type of story is to follow. For example, we should know if this is fantasy, horror, adventure, or what-have-you.

It is a good idea to make sure you introduce all important plot elements in this portion. For example, if your hero is saved from execution in the end by some obscure law, either that law or the character who knows all about obscure laws should be introduced during the exposition. If it isn’t, your resolution will not satisfy your readers – it will feel too convenient.

The left face of the pyramid represents the complications that are thrown in between the protagonist and the final goal (or, as my original typo makes explicit – the final gal). In some representations, this edge appears jagged to represent the minor defeats and victories that make up the rising action. To use oft-cited example from a popular fairy tale, Cinderella is invited to the ball (victory) but her step-mother tells her that she can’t go (defeat). Her fairy godmother comes to help her (victory) but tells her that she must leave by midnight (defeat). She goes to the ball and the Prince falls in love with her (victory) but the clock strikes midnight (defeat). The Prince comes to find her (victory) but she isn’t allowed the try on the glass slipper (defeat).

The next part of the story is the climax, the tip of the pyramid. For Cinderella, this is when the Prince demands that she be allowed to try on the slipper and it fits. This is where all the rising action that you’ve been building up throughout the complications portion starts to pay off.

After the climax, the pyramid starts to slope downwards again. This is called the falling action or denouement. In the story of Cinderella, this would be where she and the Prince ride away together and perhaps get married. In this portion, we should learn how the process of the story has changed the characters, perhaps by presenting them in a situation similar to that of the exposition so that we can see the difference.

This is all very vague, I know. This is the essence of story-telling. It is something that most of us do naturally, without any conscious thought. It still pays to be aware of the mechanics of story-telling. It will allow you to manipulate the expectations your readers have of stories to your advantage.

Reposted (with alterations) from October 7, 2007

Search the internet and you will find quite a few definitions of a “Mary Sue.” Look in the right places and you may even find violent disputes over how the term should be defined. However, for the purposes of this guide, I will simply define it as a character who lacks individual characteristics and is essentially an idealized author-insert. These characters are typically flat and, if they have any at all, their flaws are minimal and do not interfere with the story in any way. They may go through more trials than necessary, giving them the ability to angst for much of the story.

In this guide, I will be using the pronoun “she” as a default. However, it is important to note that males can be Mary Sues as well (usually called a Gary Stu or Larry Stu or something similar). Everything in this guide is applicable to both genders.

The single most effective way of learning how to write characters with actual depth is practice (and lots of it). Unfortunately, this is something I cannot help with. Just know that you can follow every single piece of advice I present in this guide and you will still be writing Mary Sues (albeit well disguised ones) until you’ve mastered the art of dedication and practice.

MARY SUE LITMUS TEST

There are quite a few of these tests circulating the internet, some better than others. The important thing to remember, though, is that these only address some common symptoms of Mary Sues. In this way, they are very useful as food for thought. This is their only use. Scoring poorly on these tests won’t damn your writing and scoring well won’t save it. Many of literature’s greatest characters would be considered Mary Sues according to these tests, and yet they do have depth and characterizations.

This is one of the most important lessons in writing. You cannot write with a bullet point list of things to include and things to avoid. Well, you can, but it will not by itself make your writing good. Keep this in mind as you read this guide.

CHARACTERIZATION

Characterisation comes through in thought, speech, and action. It is important that you pay attention to all three. That being said, however, not all three need match. In fact, some amount of discord can provide some interesting conflict (not to mention reveal a good deal about your character). Imagine, for example, a character who acts and speaks in a very confident way, but her thoughts are filled with self-doubt.

Planning is very important when designing a character. You need to know your main character inside and out. I find that it can be helpful to write a diary from your main character’s perspective for a week or so before you start writing. Orchestrate some events, perhaps they can be analogous to your own life, and try to get into her head. How did she react to these events? What did she think about them?

One way to design a character is to come up with a word or collection of words that describes her. For example, you might have “elegant.” The next step is to brainstorm everything that these words make you think of. For example, elegant might get silk, haughty, poised, calm, stuck up, cold fish, expensive, diamonds, mansion, floor-length skirts, etc. As you can see, the word “elegant” has given me both positive and negative traits I can give you my character. This sort of exercise can also help you to visualise your character and how she might interact with others.

Planning is very important, but that doesn’t mean that you should dump all this work into your reader’s lap. Rather, your planning should inform your writing. You should use these lists to visualize what your character might wear, how she might act, how others might perceive her. What you don’t want to do is start your story off with “Jane was elegant. She wore only the most expensive clothes and spent her time reading and entertaining guests rather than going out clubbing like other girls her age. Many people saw her as a cold fish because of her haughty attitude…” This is bad for two reasons. The first is that it’s boring. Quite simply, reading a catalogue of a person’s personality just isn’t all that interesting. The second reason is that this qualifies as “telling” rather than “showing.” What this means is that you are simply telling the reader who Jane is, what her personality is like, what people think of her, instead of merely showing it and letting your reader arrive and his/her own conclusions.

So keep your list nearby and use it to inform your writing without allowing it to dominate your story.

A great idea for characterization I heard recently is to combine characters. For example, if you are writing a fantasy story in which ten people are going on a quest, this can be unwieldy. It might be difficult to give all ten characters the type of personality they deserve. Often, when a large cast is used, writers tend to simplify personalities into archetypes. Rather than doing this, try combining some of your characters. For example, try combining your nurturing motherly type with your heroic “go get ‘em” type to create a character who is fiercely defensive of her party members. Not only will this automatically give your characters a little depth, it also opens the possibility of having some very interesting internal conflict.

WARTS AND ALL

One of the major Mary Sue traits is that they have no flaws. Unfortunately, a lot of amateur writers read this sort of statement and decide to slap a couple trivial flaws onto their characters to avoid the “Mary Sue” label. However, a character with nothing but a trivial flaw is still a Mary Sue. For example, the fact that your perfect, beautiful, smart, witty princess-disguised-as-a-pauper bites her nails will not stop her from being a Mary Sue.

A good flaw is one that plays a major part in the story. For example, your Evil Lord(TM) might use this flaw to capture, temporarily defeat, or otherwise harm your main character.

A great way to come up with a flaw is to use your character’s strengths. For example, a character who is very generous might be easy to take advantage of. An example of this would be Superman – He has superhuman strength, but that makes him superhuman. He doesn’t fit in with the world he tries to protect. He is feared. And, because he is so perfect, he doesn’t know how to deal with those around him who aren’t. In a way, his strength makes him weaker than the human characters he lives among.

A common mistake amateur writers make with flaws is that they will change them to fit whatever situation. When you give your character flaws, make sure that they are persistent. For example, if Bettina is terrified of a spider in scene one, don’t have her bravely strut into a dark crypt amply decorated with spider webs in scene five. She may certainly get over her fear, or gulp it down and do what she needs to do (think of Indiana Jones in the snake room), but the fear needs to still be there.

DESCRIPTIONS

Another common mistake made is an over-emphasis on description. Excessive descriptions should be avoided in general, especially if they are of things that are not necessary to the plot (for example, spending three paragraphs describing a flower a character picks up and then throws away a second later is completely unnecessary and, depending on the writing style, is likely to be “purple prose”).

Even if the description is necessary, it should be presented in a readable format. All too often, descriptions in amateur writing come through like lists and, as I said earlier, lists are boring.

When it comes to characters, some description can be useful. How your character dresses, for example, can tell us a lot about what kind of person she is (remember when we were talking about “elegant” earlier? Some of the traits we brainstormed had to do with looks – diamonds, floor-length dresses, silks). It might be useful to describe a character’s beauty if, because of this beauty, the Evil Lord(TM) makes her a target and tries to kidnap her as his bride.

However, long descriptions of a character should only come once. You may choose to remind your readers about this description later, but this must be infrequent and only take a short sentence. One of the biggest telling traits of a Mary Sue is that her beauty is referred to again and again throughout the story, often in a great deal of detail.

But the same is true for ugliness. Some amateur authors try to avoid Mary Sues by writing the opposite – a very plain or ugly character instead of a beautiful one. To do this, they will repeat over and over again throughout the story how plain/ugly the character is, almost as a stamp of “Non-Mary Sue-ness.” This is just as bad.

CONSEQUENCES

Realistic consequences for every action are a necessary part of a realistic character and something Mary Sues often lack. Traditionally, Mary Sues have been able to literally get away with murder. For example, Christopher Paolini’s Eragon meant to bless a child and accidentally cursed her instead. He is told that he cursed her and he thinks “Oh… well… crap…” and then all is forgotten. There is no punishment, no retaliation from her parents or from his teacher, no guilt over what he’d done.

Every action needs a consequence and that consequence needs to feel legitimate. For example, if your character kills someone, there ought at least to be some feeling of remorse (assuming you aren’t writing about a psychopath or someone who has been fully indoctrinated to believe that the person they killed was irredeemably evil). If they kill someone outside of a war context, there might be police looking for the killer. Your character might have to deal with witnesses. Your character might be caught.

This applies to smaller things as well. If your character acts flippantly towards another, that character may dislike your main character – as will all his friends and anyone else who was there to hear it.

That being said, however, the consequences need to be realistic in the other way as well. Stealing an apple isn’t likely to get your character hanged. It’s a bit of a fad these days for amateur writers to dump everything they can onto their main characters, making punishments for crimes disproportionally harsh. This is done so that the character can spend lots of time angsting about how unfair the world is.

THE WORLD

Your character is the centre of your story, but not of her world. It’s easy to forget sometimes that what is true for us as authors isn’t necessarily true for our characters. Just as a well-rounded character will have wants and needs that may not match with what the author wants them to do for the plot, so will a well-rounded world tick on whether your character is there or not.

It’s important to remember that the background characters in your story do not simply appear when needed and then fade out of existence when that need has passed. A fleshed out world is composed of fleshed out characters. So when your beautiful princess-disguised-as-a-pauper wanders into the village, you don’t need to have all the villagers crowd around in awe of her beauty. Realistically, the villagers are busy. Some of them might be trying to buy fish, or trying to sell it, or they might be on their way out to the woods to get some firewood, or perhaps they are too busy thinking about the fight they had with their spouse that morning to notice much of anything.

Just because your main character needs a background character to be present for something doesn’t mean the background character wants to be. Maybe he didn’t get much sleep the night before and is exhausted. Maybe he doesn’t want to miss supper. Maybe tonight is poker night and he doesn’t want to be late.

You don’t need to actually write lengthy biographies for every character who passes by. A good idea is to just go outside and watch people. Bring a pen and notebook along and just write out miniature character sketches. Pay attention to how people look (walking fast vs. ambling along), if they aren’t alone, what sort of things are they talking about, if something happens, how do they react, etc… These character sketches will help you create the illusion of real people in your stories.

Also remember that other characters have had training in certain areas and have their own talents. Your main character who picked up a blacksmithing hammer for the first time that morning will not be a better blacksmith than someone who has been working at it for twenty years. Don’t be afraid to give your character some special above-average skills, but make them realistic. Remember that all skills take time and practice to perfect and that someone who isn’t naturally talented but has been working at it for two decades will always be better than someone who has natural talent but has only just started learning. And, obviously, make sure you limit your character’s skills. No one likes people who are just good at everything (well, that’s not entirely true – Personally, I love River in the TV show Firefly: she’s naturally good at everything, but she is so severely disabled that it almost doesn’t matter. That’s a case where the superhuman character has such extreme flaws that she is made into a realistic and interesting character anyway).

The world needs to function on its own, independently of your character’s needs. A great example is the legal system. Just because you want a legal system that provides a loophole through which your character can get what she wants doesn’t mean that your world would have created one. Pay close attention to the type of society, what its needs are, what its values are. When making a legal system, make sure that it fits within that setting. The same goes for architecture. Just because your character needs a secret passage to escape doesn’t mean that there would be one. This rule applies to everything in your world. It must make sense beyond simply “well, my character needs it this way.”

In fact, this even applies to your character. Your character’s personality must fit with the setting. A common mistake amateur writers make is to give their medieval character 21st century ideals (slavery is wrong, women should have the right to vote, democracy is the only legitimate form of government, suspects have the right to a fair trial, and so forth). This isn’t to say that your character can’t be unique or have ideas that are in conflict with her environment, just remember that she has grown up in that environment and has heard its ideals, not yours, since birth. This will have shaped her understanding of her world in profound ways.