Ten common mistakes a writer makes when crafting a novel

Stephen King- yes, the horror author Stephen King- experienced a revelation in high school, when LIsbon Weekly Enterprise Editor John Gould gutted his first sports feature; Gould took out the bad parts. Bad parts?

"When you write a story, you're telling yourself the story," Gould said. "When you rewrite, your main job is taking out all the things that are not the story."

The Editor developed this thought further, "Write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open. Your stuff starts out being just for you, in other words, but then it goes out. Once you know what the story is and get it right- as right as you can, anyway- it belongs to anyone who wants to read it. Or criticize it."

1. Nothing happens on page one.
2. The bad guy has no back story.
3. Scenes appear without purpose.
4. Dialogue lacks energy.
5. Story is more travelogue than tale.
6. Multiple viewpoints confuse focus.
7. Tension and conflict are lax.
8. Reader hasn't time to process events.
9. Cavalry saves the characters.
10. Choose words that move action.

These are not mistakes confined to novice writers; professionals struggle to overcome these challenges, even as professional soccer players struggle to avoid fouls, complete passes and score. Keep this list in mind as you read books in print. Editors don't catch every error.

A reader wants to be hooked within the first paragraph- the first page will do, if she is tolerant.  Pick up your favorite story.  The first paragraph should be the best paragraph in the entire book.  It should pull the reader into action or make the reader curious.  It should set the scene for the story that follows.

Ken Follett in World Without End generates curiosity in his opening line, "Gwenda was eight years old, but she was not afraid of the dark."  Such a first line leaves a reader wondering, well, if Gwenda isn't afraid of the dark, is she afraid of something else?

Follett then introduces place and character, integrating sensory detail to suggest what might come, without slowing action.  " When she opened her eyes she could see nothing, but that was not what scared her.  She knew where she was.  She was at Kingsbridge Priory, in the long stone building they called the hospital, lying on the floor in a bed of straw.  Her mother lay next to her, and Gwenda could tell, by the warm milky smell, that Ma was feeding the new baby, who did not yet have a name."

Two thirds down the page, Follett again addresses the unanswered question, what is Gwenda afraid of, if not the dark. And he raises another.  "Gwenda was wary of evil spirits, like every sensible person; but she was more scared of what she had to do during the service."   What does she have to do during the service?

Author Gary Paulsen also raises questions in the reflective opening to his story, The Haymeadow .  "John Barron was fourteen years old.  Just.  'Yesterday,' he thought-- 'I was fourteen yesterday and nothing changed.'  He wasn't sure what he wanted to change or how it should change, or even why it should change but he wanted something to change and nothing had and he felt cheated."  What change is going to happen to John Barron and is he going to like it

Stimulating reader interaction by raising questions about the protagonist makes the reader want what the main character wants.  And commitment to the story begins.

A story where the antagonist is mere caricature isn't much of a story. Such evil ones pop into a story, cause bad things to happen, and exit before the reader understands why.

It is important for a writer to establish motivation for even the most despicable character. Once, Western villains included everyone besides settlers and lawmen, as explained in The Lone Ranger video to the right. But that doesn't work for readers any more. This Information Age gives human beings insight into the lives of those once considered foreign and therefore anti-American. Villains of today must reflect this change in understanding.

Yes, evil does exist. The Ghadafis of the world cannot be ignored.  However, novels feel one dimensional when such characters are portrayed without back story. The Japanese anime Naruto embraces this notion.  I enjoyed reading Terris Dernholm- one of its fans- break down Naruto antagonist's motivations.  What follows is a verbatim reproduction of her analysis, though I couldn' resist correcting some spelling errors.

"Each Akatsuki member has at least some form of a back story; Kakuzu, a remnant of the old wars, lost without a purpose and huge void in his mercenary heart. To fill in this, he symbolically chased one of humanities greatest banes: money, whilst physically devouring other people's hearts to try in vain and feel like a human. Sasori's desire to maintain art in the form of an eternity stems from the absence of his parents and his respect for the art of puppetry is a desire to be fully in control of all things around him (physically, mentally, emotionally). Deidara is a man scorned by his own inferiority in life, and is thus a man whom strives to overcome whatever barrier is placed before him; he is a man unsatisfied with his own art, and thus is constantly feeling the fleeting sense of superiority in his explosions before chasing a higher goal, a man that is driven.

Scenes reveal new information for the reader. They move the story along like frames in a cartoon strip. Each scene must be meaningful and contribute to the flow, or be deleted.

In Scene and Structure, Jack M. Bickham suggests a writer organize scenes by means of index cards- one for each scene. These index cards define each scene by:

• Stating the goal of the scene.
• Introducing the conflict present in the scene that will reveal new information.
• Create a tactical disaster that keeps the character from achieving the goal.

If a scene does not contribute to the whole, it is deleted. If the scene does not contain the above elements, it is further developed.

Picture book author and effective MFA professor, Phyllis Root once told me she spread her finished manuscript on the floor and sat beside the pages, considering what must stay and what must go.

It is easy to fall in love with a scene when its writer has invested energy and time laying it down.  However, weeding out irrelevance is vital to the writing process.

The telephone rang.

Hello?
Hi, it's me!
How are you?
I'm fine, how are you?
I have insomnia brought on by dull conversations such as this one.
Goodbye!

The compulsion to record every communication stifles vitality. Unlike reality, novels do not require allegiance to societal polite-isms. Such conversations heavy eyelids make.

Unless, of course the writer is the brilliant Jane Austen. Her proper Victorian conversation unleashes fascinating undertones that reveal the subjugation of women and other stifling societal ills of that period.

Newbies writing contemporary tales would be well advised to imitate comic strip dialogue rather than plunge into the sophisticated world of Austen.  Be lean and mean; spare and bare.  Keep only what is necessary and toss the rest.  Let dialogue sparkle with relevant information that has purpose.

Roald Dahl's dialogue in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory leaps off the page, it's so exclamation-infested.

"A beard!" cried Veruca Salt.  "Who wants a beard, for heaven's sake?"

"It would suite you very well," said Mr. Wonka, "but unfortunately the mixture is not quite right yet.  I've got it too strong.  It works too well.  I tried it on an Oompa-Loompa yesterday in the Testing Room and immediately a huge black beard started shooting out of his chin, and the beard grew so fast that soon it was trailing all over the floor in a thick hairy carpet.  It was growing faster than we could cut it!  In the end we had to use a lawn mower to keep it in check!  But I'll get the mixture right soon!  And when I do, there'll be no excuse any more for little boys and girls going about with bald heads!"

"But Mr. Wonka," said Mike Teavee, "littel boys and girls never do go about with..."

"Don't argue, my dear child, please don't argue!" cried Mr. Wonka.  "It's such a waste of precious time!"

Recording boring conversation is also a waste of time!  Eh, Mr. Wonka?

Molly Cowtown lives in Metro Denver, only 346 miles west of the United State's exact center. The 15th step of her state capitol sits at exactly 5,280 feet, giving it the nickname, "Mile High City". Molly thinks about altitude often, as she and 2.7 million of America's thinnest people run past the State Capitol along tree-lined boulevards that average only 8-15 inches of precipitation a year, making Denver a mild, dry and arid place to be married-- nearly half are.  The sun shines 300 days a year. This 31.7 median aged woman values facts like these because she and the majority of her fellow Coloradans claim an abundance of high school and college diplomas. 

ENOUGH already!  Readers go to travel books for destination statistics.  It is unnecessary to record such facts in a novel, unless these facts shape outcomes.  Perhaps altitude causes Molly's uncle to faint while sitting in the purple section of Coors Field and he drops his wallet containing sensitive information.  Dribble factual information with a bulb baster as required, but file most of this information under "back story".  Your reader wants details that bring the setting to life.  That is all.

Unless you have published a couple novels, or at minimum completed a few drafts, you are taking a big risk, writing multiple point of view stories. Certainly, the technique has been applied with great success. Study Toni Morrison's Paradise to uncover a strategy that worked.

For most of us, one point of view is enough to manage. Choose one character in your story and let events unfold from that person's perspective. Show, don't tell what this character experiences. When your point of view character is not in the scene, the scene cannot be written. But your character can learn about it. How, you ask?

Think about your life. How do you discover news if you weren't present to experience it? Did you read it in the newspaper? Did a friend tell you? Perhaps you overheard a cell phone conversation and became curious enough to google for more information. Consider character, place, plot; what makes most sense in this context?  Weave it all together as Ursula LeGuin does in the follow example.

LeGuin writes with economy and grace. In her short story, The Wild Girls, images and exchanges confirm protagonist Modh's fear, though Modh does not witness firsthand the fate of her beloved sister Mal, forced to marry evil Ralo.

"Tudju was to return to the Temple the next day. Early in the morning she came to Bela and Modh's apartments Modh had just risen.
' Where is my sword, Modh?'
'You put it in the box in the dancing room.'
'Your bronze one is there, not mine.'
Modh looked at her in silence. Her heart began to beat heavily.
There was a noise, shouting, beating at the doors of the house.
Modh ran to the hanan, to the room she and Mal had slept in, and hid in the corner, her hands over her ears.
Bela found her there later. He raised her up, holding her wrists gently. She remembered how he had dragged her by the wrists up the hill through the trees. 'Mal killed Ralo,' he said. 'She had Tudju's sword hidden under her dress. They strangled her.'"

A single point of view offers insight into the protagonist's soul.  What she experiences affects readers as it would affect a friend.

Something must happen in every scene within a story. The character must accomplish one thing only to turn around and experience another problem. The reader will keep reading if the author ends every scene with uncertainty- the old cliffhanger. If nothing happens, what is the point of finishing the book?

Let's go back to the requirements Bickham stated above, under "Scenes that go nowhere". There must be conflict and there must be a perceived disaster in every scene. Without raising the anxiety of the reader, there is no compelling reason for him to turn the page.

But the conflict must be more interesting that "he said, she said." The reader needs to be brought into the conflict, to care about it. It cannot seem petty or insignificant. It must feel necessary. The protagonist must walk into a scene and want something that furthers the story's overall plot. I'm not talking about craving chocolate.

The goal must be important and attainable; or at least it must appear attainable until the first roadblock. Don't ask me why, but readers relish worry. When that roadblock hits, the worry begins. It escalates through the scene until, in the end, the reader is hit with disaster. I'm not talking about smothered by an avalanche level disaster, but the kind that makes me read the first paragraph of the next chapter even when I am exhausted.

Green Grass, Running Water by Thomas King offers an example of such a disaster, between pages 27 and 28- a sort of chapter break. He doesn't define chapters in the traditional sense, because his book is not traditional. Except that he does adhere to the goal/conflict/disaster pattern.

Bottom of Page 27: "The old Indians walked around in a circle, looking at the sky and the grass, feeling the wind on their faces.
'So,' said Ishmael. 'Are we lost again? Have we made another mistake?'"

Chapter Page 28: "Lionel had made only three mistakes in his entire life, the kinds of mistakes that seem small enough at the time, but somehow get out of hand. The kinds that stay with you for a long time. And he could name each one..."

Lionel doesn't want to make this type of mistake again; and because I care, I don't want him to make such a mistake either.  But, I suspect he will.

The wildfire came within 2.3 miles of his home and he had to evacuate. The next day, the economy collapsed and he lost his job. There was no money to fix the heater, so that night, when the blizzard hit, he piled his family into the car- still packed for the evacuation- and headed to Florida. But Kansas was hit with an early tornado and the car plowed into a freshly fertilized field of sunflowers. Leaky gas, combined with sparking plugs exploded the car. The end.

Whew. Barely had time to breathe in that sad tale. And who were these characters anyway? Do we care? Should we? Hardly- I didn't give my readers time to process any of it before dropping the next bombshell.

Yes, conflict and disasters are important, but the reader likes to know what their viewpoint character thinks about events; how they manage to live another moment. When the reader understands the main character, she becomes an accomplice in the next event. She wants to share in his success.

I have to tell you, I struggled to feel this for the main character in Wally Lamb's she's come undone. Lamb gave me enough information, but Dolores Price's disasters were too disastrous. Take the following scene. Dolores has finally found a man who loves her despite her horrific past; but then, he doesn't.

"'I think I'm pregnant," I said.
'Come on.' He smiled.
'I'm serious.'
'How?' he said.
I told him I'd been careful about taking the pills. 'Religious' was the world I used. 'It just happened,' I shrugged.
'Then we have to do something. I don't want any kids.'
I waited before I answered. 'Why not?'
'Because I don't, that's all.'
'That's not a reason.'
'Because they shit their diapers and spill their milk at supper. I just don't want the fucking responsibility.'
I lay on my back, rigid, tears dropping fast down the sides of my face. My mind was revving. I got out of bed to vomit.
When I came out of the bathroom, he was sitting up in bed, arms across his chest, staring at the ceiling.
'But you love kids, Dante,' I said. You call your students your kids. You act very paternal.' At least I thought he had, up until I'd seen him dancing with all of them."

I kept reading this story, because I liked his novel, I Know This Much Is True . And I met him once, doing laundry while attending graduate school; he has an MFA in Writing from Vermont College.  But it sure took me a long time to get to page 465.

It's unsatisfying to be stuck in the middle of overwhelming conflict just as the cavalry appears. Readers like to witness main characters solve their own problems without relying on heroic saviors.

This was a problem for women, in the past. Too often, boys saved girls, rendering the female helpless-- too fragile to dirty their delicate hands. Certainly, Tom Sawyer saved Becky Thatcher when they were lost in the caves. Had some bloodhound sniffed them out, Mark Twain's classic tale would have been disappointing rather than reprinted.

Both men and women like to be surprised by a protagonist's initiative and imagination. They wish to feel bold and brave; to think on their feet; to do what is best for loved ones. Should they ever become lost in a cave, they want to work it out on their own.

Of such dreams, 127 Hours was made.

Umberto Eco claims the shortest novel written is The Dinosaur, by Augusto Monterroso.

Cuando despertó, el dinosaurio todavía estaba allí.
When he awoke, the dinosaur was still there.