Showing posts with label Ι Category: Writing Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ι Category: Writing Life. Show all posts

Monday, August 3, 2020

Writing Lessons from the Sunshine State

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What Lauren Groff's haunting story collection teaches us about thematic unity and formal innovation.  ♦
Florida by Lauren Groff is a collection of stories in which each piece acts as part of a greater whole, featuring different characters and different timelines that all intersect to create one single representation of Florida as both a state and a state of mind. Groff depicts the state as terrifying yet beautiful, a feeling that stretches throughout, and while tropical storms, snakes, and crocodiles are always a threat, the main characters in her stories somehow find beauty within the chaos. Groff uses the same character in different stories throughout the collection to provide continuity between pieces and stretch the topics of motherhood and marriage, but even when Groff explores characters besides the mother, all lend well to the overall feeling of Florida as a place where being content is not an option, such as the two sisters who are abandoned on an island in “Dogs Go Wolf” or the homeless girl running away from life in “Above and Below.” Groff employs various narrative structures that help keep the content fresh and exciting, making these stories as unpredictable as the Floridian weather, and I found myself being swept around in a gust of literary wind that left me as entertained as I was unsettled.

In fact, maybe the most important thing aspiring writers can learn from Groff is her use of varying story structures. When you think of a short story, you may imagine a beginning, middle and end, and while Groff does use a straightforward, linear form in some of these pieces, she employs other structures to great effect; in “Snake Stories," for example, Groff uses an unconventional, crot-based structure to tell about a woman in Florida struggling to be happy with her husband and two kids. In this context, a “crot” is a part of a whole, like an entire collection of smaller stories sharing space inside a single story. Each one is short, rarely over a paragraph long, and somehow related to snakes, whether this is literally, or related to someone’s deceptive actions, or the narrator recognizing someone’s snake-like tendencies. The piece begins with the narrator relaying the story of Adam and Eve and the snake that fools them into committing the original sin, and it then transitions into the narrator describing her son’s school projects about snakes and his fascination with them:


I can’t get away from them, snakes. Even my kindergartner has been strangely transfixed by them all year. Every project he brings home: snakes.

The pet project: i thnk a kobra wud be a bad pet becus it wud bit me, picture of him being eaten by a cobra. The poetry project: snakes eat mise thy slithr slithr slithr thy jump otof tres thy hissssssssssssssssss, picture of a snake jumping out of a tree and onto a screaming him. Or so I assume: my child is in a minimalist period, his art all wobbly sticks and circles.

Why, of all beautiful creatures on this planet of ours, do you keep writing about snakes? I ask him.

i lik them and thy lik me, he tells me.

As the piece continues, the narrator describes seeing her husband, a man “overrun by angels” but who “struggles with things that appeal,” gravitate toward another woman at parties. “Snake Stories” is about temptation, deception, and recognizing the snakes in the grass, meaning that there is evil and potential danger lurking around everyone.

Most of the stories in Florida are between fifteen and thirty pages long, typically somewhere in the middle of that spread, and all but one take place in Florida. The only story to break both of those normalities is “Yport,” the final story in Groff’s collection. Coming in at fifty pages and taking place in France, this is the perfect way to end the book and drive home the ideas presented throughout. Having spent the previous two-hundred-plus pages in the sunshine state, you might expect that the recurring mother with two kids going to France would be a beautiful, exciting, and stress-free escape . . . but it is nothing like that. Groff seems to be saying you can take the woman out of Florida, but you cannot take Florida out of the woman. Her husband has stayed back home, so she is bound to Florida through him; her melancholy and drinking problem both came with her from Florida to France; and the surreal visions that other characters had in previous stories are present as well. Groff removing her character from the titular state but having the character struggle with the same issues shows that Florida is a state of mind, something that the characters cannot escape, even when they pick up and go elsewhere. The longer page length of the finale and switch up in structure from all the previous stories, along with the changed setting, is a great way to end the collection and solidify the ideas presented throughout.

The stories in Florida are atmospheric and sometimes surreal, and the various narrative structures create a collection that might seem (at first glance) to be here, there, and everywhere, but all of this works together wonderfully to convey and explore a cohesive thematic idea.

  • About the Author
    Ben Woodson is a rising senior at Miami University of Ohio, where he majors in Interactive Media Studies and minors in Creative Writing. One of his aspirations is to write a screenplay. In his spare time, Ben enjoys biking and hiking. He works in a deli but on the side resells vintage clothes. He is very interested in fashion and wants to start a sustainable clothing business one day. After graduation, he plans to work and gain experience in content marketing and branding to one day apply those skills to his very own business.
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    Tuesday, April 21, 2020

    Dungeons and Discord

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    Crafting characters, stories, and entire worlds while trying to stop the barbarian from attacking the gnome priest . . . how Dungeons & Dragons makes you a better writer.  ♦ 
    Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) is a tabletop game that has withstood the test of time. It has also helped me create and craft a story I hope to eventually turn into a series, centered around high fantasy elements such as mythological creatures and fantastical landscapes. The genre alone carries a near-limitless potential, but it also allows for far too many opportunities to get stumped. How should I describe this town? Who should I make as the leader of this group? What kinds of abilities does this massive, Cthulhu-looking, eldritch-abomination of a teddy bear have, and how can I make them work? What significance does all of this even have to the world I created? A few sessions of D&D can provide answers to these questions and more.

    How much effort goes into making a vivid little map of a fictional world? A good example of a well-built location would be Hogwarts from the Harry Potter series. Simply hearing the name of that wizard school brings to mind images of shifting stairs, living portraits, and medieval-styled dungeons full of desks and bubbling cauldrons. It’s a location that sticks with you and such a thing can be very hard to make. However, how does one who has probably never written a full-length story reach that kind of skill? Simple, through trial and error, and copious amounts of improvisation. To put things into perspective, a single D&D session will regularly force me to build multiple locations in the heat of the moment, and it’s all due to the unpredictability of my players.

    Let me tell you, creating an entire dungeon for players to explore without prior planning can be a serious workout for any storyteller, especially if it needs to keep them engaged for a couple of hours. I had to imagine an entire winding labyrinth of caves, ancient holding cells, statues engraved with jagged eldritch runes, and a variety of other methods to provide lore for the dungeon. Books were scattered about, tattered and worn with age, some cursed to punish any curious adventurers. Ghosts, which some players could interact with using spells or items, would regale them with tales of torture or grand designs long forgotten. Then, when all was said and done, I had to create a massive room where the party faced down the final enemy. All of this was done as the players explored and fought.

    As I grew used to making locations, I found another area I needed a whole lot of work in: crafting characters. Making a character from scratch can be difficult because people are complex creatures. We all think in so many different ways, and it’s hard to see things from different perspectives. This is where D&D helped me out, because I was encouraged to become someone else, someone with a different personality and mindset. I played a suave rogue, a valiant paladin, and a creepy warlock, but those felt too stale and too limiting after a couple of sessions. Then, I got to thinking, “How else can I play this kind of character?” From there, things got fun, and my ability to make a person, not just a character, began to grow.

    I started small by adopting some characteristics of different character templates. It made other players laugh at how unusual or conflicting my characters would be to their class’s expectations. I made my paladin a little more suave and teasing, while I tried to slip some valiance into the warlock. Then, I went deeper, playing a darker and more conniving paladin hiding behind a gentleman’s facade, while the warlock became a self-sacrificing gentleman that was far quieter and almost shy. From there, it became a game to see how complex, crazy, or unusual I could make my characters. It was this experience that led to me looking up a couple of other cultures and accents, all in the pursuit of a new character to play, and ultimately new characters to fit into my stories.

    So, with a location built and a character crafted, all I needed to do was construct the world. I needed to create entire peoples and cultures to give life to my story. I used a variety of real-life cultures as a basis for my own. Some people were even mixtures of them or none of them. It became fun to see how I could make cities work, how I could build a hierarchy in a community, or even how they would respond to a character or player’s actions. So many aspects needed to be considered, including things like the economy and social conflicts. I started to feel like my work was becoming real with every new people I created, and every connection I built between them.

    Every single D&D session was, and still is, a learning experience for me. There’s always some slight character detail or a new location that needed to be explored. Unfortunately, like with all things, there are limitations to the benefit of sticking to just D&D. It’s hard to naturally work in sci-fi elements, and there are some scenarios you just can’t effectively play out, even as a DM.

    For the more specific scenarios in which I want to test a series of predetermined events, I use Discord. Discord is a fun little system that works like Skype, but it is better because it lets me play out different kinds of scenarios with my friends. We make servers in which we put individual text channels to post responses to one another. I would describe actions and dialogue from a character or characters I control, and they do the same. It becomes a back and forth between us that slowly unfurls into a full-blown story.

    Oftentimes, since a lot of my friends don’t live nearby, we use Discord to either play D&D or try out other things. The D&D sessions become more heavily focused on role-playing instead of combat, and we get to extend the kinds of scenarios we play since it’s all online. I even bring them into some role-plays in other settings like a sprawling space station, or a present-day city like Cleveland or New York City. We do anything from testing out how two kinds of character would interact at a bar, or how they might lead a crew on a mile-long spaceship. The limits of the kinds of stories we can play out and the characters we use disappear, since like with books the images are all left to imagination and how well-written they are.

    So, to all aspiring writers and storytellers, I suggest that you pick up a couple of D&D handbooks, download Discord, and get playing. I’ll look forward to seeing what new stories and characters will grace the writing community after your own adventures.

  • About the Author
    Chris Marcellino is a Biomedical Engineering student at Miami University with a minor in Creative Writing. He first took on writing as a hobby in sixth grade and has been a member of two creative writing clubs; one in high school, which he started, and one at Miami. His writing is primarily fantasy-based with some sci-fi elements thrown in. He has used his past personal projects to help him run and participate in several Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. It is his hope that honing his writing skills will not only help him complete his novel but as he enters the workforce as a Biomedical Engineer.
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    Chuck Wendig's Aftermath Trilogy Made Me a Better Reader — and a Better Writer

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    The Aftermath trilogy isn’t just good for a fun Star Wars story; it also provides valuable lessons in accepting negative feedback from a galaxy far, far away.  ♦ 
    Not too long ago, in the galaxy we’ve all come to call home, Chuck Wendig wrote the Star Wars: Aftermath trilogy, cementing into the Star Wars canon new characters and new stories that would, as an avid reader and Star Wars fan, come to be some of my favorite books. The Aftermath trilogy takes place almost immediately after the events of Return of the Jedi, with the Empire attempting to regroup after the Battle of Endor and the Rebel Alliance working towards building a New Republic. The first novel, simply titled Star Wars: Aftermath, follows a mission to rescue the rebel pilot Wedge Antilles, who has been captured by Imperial forces converging at the planet Akiva.

    The five new characters in the Aftermath trilogy embarking on this rescue mission are Rebel pilot Norra Wexley, her tech-savvy son Temmin, Zabrak bounty hunter Jas, Imperial defector Sinjir, and Temmin’s droid, Bones. The Aftermath trilogy also brings in characters that Star Wars fans already know and love: Princess Leia, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Mon Mothma, and the aforementioned Wedge Antilles. As a reader, I loved watching the characters introduced in the Aftermath trilogy grow and change throughout the three books, and the plots always amazed me and kept me on the edge of my seat. However, as someone who was doing double-duty by reading the trilogy as an author and a reader, I had a few complaints.

    While the first book in the trilogy, Aftermath, is amazing, and I can definitely say I loved it, I found the way it was written to have more than a few flaws. The book is divided into four parts, with the chapters that make up each part punctuated at various points by short vignette chapters called interludes. Part 1 introduces the reader to the five new characters that the Aftermath trilogy follows and sets up the plot with the Empire converging on Akiva and Wedge being captured. However, the character introduction keeps going . . . and going . . . and going . . . and the characters don’t come together and start really advancing the plot until halfway through Part 2. As both a reader and a writer, I saw that as a serious problem. I noticed my interest in the book fading as I kept reading chapter after chapter of what each individual character was doing during their day, punctuated only by the occasional interlude where I got to read about what was happening on a random planet with random people and aliens. As a reader, I knew the characters had to meet at some point, and I got sick of it not happening. Once the characters finally met, however, the story really began to pick up, with chapter after chapter ending on cliffhangers that kept me reading. The characters began interacting and developing in ways that made me love them and want to keep reading to find out what happens next.

    When I finished the book I expressed my admiration for it, as well as my frustration about the slow start, to my dad. He mentioned that the author, Chuck Wendig, had received lots of negative criticism for the way the book was written. I remember being shocked to hear that. A famous author, who got to write books for Star Wars, getting negative criticism?! I couldn’t believe it. As an aspiring writer, I found the news a little scary. What happened when I published a book of my own and got negative feedback saying how much everyone hated it? What happened when I hadn’t even gotten to the publishing stage and people were reading over my shoulder saying how much they hated my writing? Questions like these plagued me as I waited for the second book in the trilogy to be released. When I finally got my hands on the second Aftermath book, Life Debt, I went into it unsure what to expect. Would I get another book that started off so slow that the story didn’t really begin until halfway through Part 2, or would Wendig have listened to the feedback from Aftermath and improved his writing? My question was answered when I began reading the book and only set it down twice during the day, staying up until three in the morning to finish it because I was so enthralled by the story.

    Star Wars: Aftermath: Life Debt became my favorite book immediately after that. The book made me laugh, it made me want to cry, made me more than once press the book to my skin as if I could absorb the emotions the characters were feeling through osmosis, emoting joy or rage or disgust at something that had happened. Chuck Wendig nearly went from one extreme to another with his slow start in Aftermath being traded for a book that really hits the ground running from Chapter 1 with Life Debt. But Wendig also struck the perfect balance by not throwing too much at the reader at once. He begins with a prologue that follows an unknown character, piquing the reader’s interest and preparing them for Chapter 1, and the action immediately gets to a gripping and thrilling start. I know as a reader I loved the book, but as a writer, I read the book and was blown away as I realized with each page that I was holding a great teaching tool in my hands.

    Life Debt is an amazing piece of writing. While it’s no Pride and Prejudice, I still feel authors can learn much from this book, because I know I certainly did; it's a perfect balance of action, romance, horror, and humor, like when a baker puts the ingredients in just right to make the perfect soufflé. Every time I found myself gushing with emotion, I took note of what the author had done to make me feel that way. How had he gotten the characters to interact just so, how did he throw in just the right piece of dialogue, how had he made the setting and the tension just right to make the reader feel something so strongly? And the question that was on my mind the entire way through the book: How the heck did Chuck Wendig get from Point A to Point B?

    I doubt I’ll ever truly know Mr. Wendig’s thought process that allowed him to create a piece of artwork like Life Debt after the shortcomings of Aftermath, but I do know that just in reading the two books he taught me a lot about how to be a good author. A good author takes criticism in stride and uses it to make their writing as amazing as possible, something Wendig did beautifully and something I struggle with as an author.

    I’m currently working on a novel that I try to share exclusively with my boyfriend, and he’s told me he doesn’t always like to give me feedback or criticism because “you get upset when I do.” That’s not the author I want to be. As authors, we need to be approachable and to remember that criticism is not an attack on us or our work, it’s a chance to learn and be better and to find things that will make our stories even better. My boyfriend gave a suggestion for my story that has already made it a million times better, and I know being calm, collected, and thankful for the criticism and feedback rather than hostile and defensive was better for the both of us.

    I want to be like Chuck Wendig one day and write a novel that makes readers overflow with emotion. And if it takes a not-so-great book to get there, so be it. Chuck Wendig’s graceful recovery is something I strive to emulate as an author, and I think every author should, too. How many authors would still be writing rather than sitting in their bedrooms brooding over the failure that ruined their career, when it was actually a learning opportunity that could have led to greatness?

    The Aftermath trilogy was great in so many ways. All three books managed to reel me in and make me hungry for more. As a Star Wars fan, these novels are a great addition to your library and a fun way to learn about the hidden stories of the galaxy far, far away. As a reader, these are wonderful books that will keep you interested and engaged and make you fall in love with amazing, quirky characters. As a writer, this trilogy is an amazing teaching tool in pacing, accepting feedback and criticism, and using that to improve your writing. I’m so grateful I got to be a part of it and experience that journey, and I know for certain that the Force is with the Aftermath trilogy.

  • About the Author
    Isabela Liu is a sophomore Creative Writing major with a minor in Spanish studying at Miami University. She hopes to obtain a job in the writing field upon graduation. When she’s not in class or doing homework, she likes to read, write, or help care for her brothers at home.
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    Tuesday, April 14, 2020

    Pacing—the Rhythm of Words

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    By improving pacing, you can magnify your voice and enhance your writing. ♦
    Those who understand basic music theory and writing can certainly point out the similarities between that which we hear and that which we read.

    The pauses and key changes, the diminuendos and accelerandos, are made audible by the punctuation we use when we type. Someone who is decent at sight-reading may be able to hear the song before ever playing out what’s written on a paper, because they know the sound the chords make. Just as a reader may hear a voice inside their head reciting whatever their eyes are gazing at with the emotions conveyed within the story.

    With this is mind, pacing is a key aspect of all writing. When I say pacing, I am including the rhythm of a piece, as well as the rate at which a story unfolds. Rhythm, stylistic as it may seem, is integral in determining both the speed at which a scene flows, and the feelings that follow. Rhythm is indicated in multiple ways: by syllables, punctuation, paragraph structure; even by the occasional, “he/she spoke as fast as he/she could.”

    Whether you want to think about it or not, your writing has a rhythm to it. This article has it. This example of quipped speech has it: “‘Oh my God! You’re so dumb. Too dumb. I can’t believe it.’”

    As do long, mellifluous sentences, which drain in a steady stream from the brain to the keyboard, to the laptop screen, emulating a beautiful choral piece such as those held in brilliantly designed Russian cathedrals.

    Now keep in mind—let this worm wiggle into your ear—that poor pacing can make readers frustrated, annoyed, perhaps miserable. Though some readers may take pride in getting through the lengthy prose of Gothic romance and later works like Les Misérables, the typical reader would almost certainly prefer to read five 200 to 400 paged novels than one behemoth of a novel that requires multiple look-overs per page just to process the actual plot points that are present in it.

    This is not to say that a lengthy book is worse than one that is shorter and easier to read—much can be gained from longer works with advanced use of the English lexicon. A short book can be a total waste of time and an atrocious experience to get through as well, and just as unreadable if the author fails to get an editor and goes straight to self-publishing on Amazon. Poor pacing, whether in sentences that are often interrupted by a period, too many commas, or are too long, is a detriment to what could be an enjoyable work of art.

    So, like any song, it is important to include variation in the rhythm. Consider this:


    I would like to sing. I do it all the time. Can’t you see me doing it for a living? I want to perform! That would be a dream come true. We all have dreams. And those dreams are special. Each and every one.


    These are all short, end-stopped sentences. But not all of them require their own sentence, and could be attached to another line. For example, these three abrupt lines


    We all have dreams. And those dreams are special. Each and every one.


    This could easily become:


    We all have dreams, and those dreams are special. Each and every one.


    Keeping the last sentence short adds impact to what is being said. However, if these were still three short sentences, equally weighted, it would minimize the extra umph of the final one being shorter, making it carry less impact.

    Now, let’s analyze the first few sentences.


    I would like to sing. I do it all the time. Can’t you see me doing it for a living? I want to perform! That would be a dream come true…


    This could be changed to:


    I would like to sing—I do it all the time. Can’t you see me doing it for a living? I want to perform! That would be a dream come true.


    By simply changing a period to an em dash, less space is added between the first and second sentence. In fact, it reads as rushed, as if the person speaking is excited about what they are saying. The original way this was written made them sound more robotic. All together now, the new paragraph reads as follows:


    I would like to sing—I do it all the time. Can’t you see me doing it for a living? I want to perform! That would be a dream come true. We all have dreams, and those dreams are special. Each and every one.


    But wait—something else can be done to make this paragraph flow better, which would likewise improve its pacing. Maybe making it two paragraphs instead will help?


    I would like to sing—I do it all the time. Can’t you see me doing it for a living? I want to perform! That would be a dream come true.


    We all have dreams, and those dreams are special. Each and every one.


    Now consider the overall beat of the sentence fragments. Clap along, if you want:



    versus




    The pacing of this paragraph, as indicated by the number above the line which is where the emphasis falls on the sentence and its duration, is important in maintaining a proper rise and fall in how it reads. All writing can be equated to music and math. It might be 15 vs. 14.5, but the difference is noticeable.

    Imagine reading a book that is only written in a frequent duration of 1, with short sentences that all sound alike in their rhythm. That gets old rather quickly.

    For moments of greater emphasis, shorter sentences may be used to build more urgency in the narrative. There should be limited unnecessary info given in action-oriented scenes, whereas there can be greater details and longer sentences when setting a story and developing the plot, as well as during the falling action.

    Focusing on craft and the writing itself is good to do during the editing process. If you are not familiar with varying the sentence patterns and paragraph structures as you are writing, it is something that can be worked on after writing the rough draft.

    Some writers will have an easier time finding their own unique voice, as well as figuring out how to keep their voice without stubbornly sticking to one rhythm.

    However, it is an area that can be greatly improved, for all writers.

    So get to it.

  • About the Author
    Icarus O'Brien-Scheffer is an undergraduate student at Miami University. He is a writer of fantasy adventure novels, short horror stories, and poetry. Follow him on Twitter and on Instagram. If you would like to seek him for beta reading services, he can be found on the online database violetanedkova.com.
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    Thursday, May 9, 2019

    The Failures of Your Favorite Authors

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    If you're filled with self-doubt and have faced with crushing defeats in your writing, take heart: it happens to the best of us.  ♦ 
    As writers, we can all relate to failure. Failure is a fact of life, no matter what field you find yourself in; it just so happens us writers enjoy the throes of failure more often than others. We toil and pour our soul into crafting and refining our art for months, even years, to often no avail. But, this is no reason to fret. Whether it be personal or professional, failure also found its way into the lives of some of the most successful and influential writers in history. Yet they prevailed. So, let us not be discouraged in what has been; rather, let us focus on what could be in exploring some of the failures of your favorite authors.

    I’ll begin by allowing you to guess the first writer: a beloved American icon who, after World War I, became deeply depressed and began writing in the league of the “Lost Generation” in bohemian Paris. A Nobel Prize found itself in his trophy case in 1954, only for the author to suffer two plane crashes the same year. Seven years later, after a long bout of paranoia and as many as fifteen sessions of electroshock therapy, he was found dead with his favorite shotgun in hand. He left an estate in Key West filled with his famous polydactyl cats.

    Ernest Hemingway had his lumps handed to him his entire life, which was marked by tragedy and unluck. An Austrian mortar shell nearly killed him during his time as a Red Cross paramedic in World War I. Regarding the incident, he claims he survived the explosion with “237 bits of shrapnel, an aluminum kneecap, and two Italian decorations.”

    His largest writing failure was during a meeting in Switzerland. His wife was packing to visit him and, wanting to surprise him, brought all of his writing projects. That would normally be a sweet gesture, but her faux pas was bringing everything. Absolutely everything. She brought all the carbons, every paper copy, literally his whole body of work. And of course, that suitcase got lost. This was in 1923, and Hemingway didn’t want to write for years after. Finally, in an attempt to compose a new body of work, he wrote quickly and in a “lean” fashion, providing him with his famous, skeletal style. That crushing loss of his work would eventually land him the Nobel Prize for Literature thirty years later.

    Dr. Seuss almost didn’t make it into the mainstream due to his struggles, either. You probably haven’t heard of And To Think I Saw It On Mulberry Street, as it’s not nearly a Green Eggs and Ham. He got the idea while stuck on a boat while returning from Europe—the boat’s engine was apparently loud and repetitive lending him a rhythm for his writing. Dr. Seuss went to twenty-seven different publishers and twenty-seven publishers turned his book down. He lost hope until one day he was walking home in New York City and bumped into a friend from Dartmouth who then worked for a publishing house that specialized in children’s books. That friend got him published and the book became critically acclaimed, inspiring him to write as a career.

    Many if not most famed authors have been turned down numerous times by publishers. For example, Stephen King’s Carrie was rejected by thirty publishers. When it was finally accepted by Doubleday, King received the news by telegram, since they'd had their home phone cut off in order to save money. The telegram read: “CONGRATULATIONS. CARRIE OFFICIALLY A DOUBLEDAY BOOK. IS $2500 ADVANCE OKAY? THE FUTURE LIES AHEAD.”

    Likewise, J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone was rejected twelve times. Rowling finally caught a break when an editor at Bloomsbury Publishing read it to her eight-year-old daughter, who loved it. Today there are more than 500 million Harry Potter books in print worldwide, and Rowling's share of the books alone has been estimated at over a billion dollars.

    One of Rowling’s inspirations, J. R. R. Tolkien, struggled with self-doubt about The Lord of the Rings. The world was in the throes of World War II as Tolkien, then a famed professor at Oxford University, worked on the book. Bombings occurred daily and Tolkien worried about the future of his novel. He had written an entire language and history for his setting and began to face doubts about if his novel would be read. He also worried about the complexity of his story: would he be able to finish the novel with no holes? Would the story’s world and narrative be appreciated? We all face doubts like these, especially when we’ve invested years, even decades, of our lives to projects. Yet he persevered and sold one of the most loved and well-known novels in history.

    We even have records of Charles Darwin stressing about the legitimacy of his work. In an 1861 letter to his friend Charles Lyell, Darwin summed up his mood this way: “I am very poorly today and very stupid and hate everybody and everything.” Further, he was considered merely average in school and dropped out to become a parson. He would later publish On the Origin of Species and become one of the most influential intellectuals of all time, though upon publication the New York Times reviewed his text unfavorably, saying, “Shall we frankly declare that, after the most deliberate consideration of Mr. Darwin’s arguments, we remain unconvinced?”

    Mary Shelley’s first novel Frankenstein was published in 1818 to public acclaim, though mixed reviews. But following Frankenstein, Shelley would write six more novels, none of them matching the first's success. After her husband Percy Bysshe Shelley's death in 1822, her writing had to support her and their young son, which put even more stress on her work. While writing one of her more forgotten novels, The Last Man, Shelley wrote in her journal, “Amidst all the depressing circumstances that weigh on me, none sinks deeper than the failure of my intellectual powers; nothing I write pleases me.”

    Nearly dying countless times, losing your entire body of work, self-doubt, mental illness, rejection from publishers. None of these prevented some of the greatest works of all time from being written. What all of these artists had in common was perseverance. They were determined in themselves and wrote even when it seemed hopeless. Take what you will from any of this; whether you think exceptional people get exceptions or not, there is an undeniable trend that you cannot succeed without determination.


  • About the Author
    Antonio Vazquez Lim is a Political Science and Philosophy double major enrolled at Miami University as a first-year student and is interested in pursuing a JD/Ph.D. after undergrad. He’s a proud West Virginian who enjoys creative and philosophical writing, powerlifting, and caring for his tortoises in his spare time.
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    Monday, April 30, 2018

    Surveying the Field: An Undergraduate at AWP

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    The annual AWP Conference can be an overwhelming experience for even the most seasoned attendees. For a first-time attendee, it can also be inspiring.  ♦ 
    Back in March I attended the Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP) Conference in Tampa, Florida, for the first time. Not only was this a welcome, sunny escape from the freezing college town I left behind, but it was the perfect peek inside the workings of the larger literary world as authors, editors, and publishers from across the country gathered to celebrate a mutual love of reading and writing. Geared primarily toward MFA-level students, professors teaching in university creative writing programs, and professionals working in literary publishing, AWP offers a wide variety of seminars and readings that cover topics from character-building to working in genres to the state (and future) of literary publishing. For graduate students and industry professionals, the value of these opportunities is clear, but I’d venture to guess that my experience as an undergraduate at the conference was even more valuable. I wasn’t sure what to expect from AWP as an undergrad taking in the somewhat overwhelming event, but I found that it helped direct my career focus and exposed me to different facets of the industry that have since changed my perspective on both publishing and literature.
       I’ve always known that I wanted to work with literature in some capacity but could never quite decide on the specifics, until I attended AWP. Through the many interactions that I had with writers, editors, and publishers, I was able to learn about different functions and responsibilities within each position, some of these practical and some more philosophical or aesthetic. People welcomed questions from an industry hopeful, and my undergraduate status seemed to coax a mentor-mentee relationship from those with whom I came into contact. I learned as much from the panelists as I did from the attendees, and I’d highly encourage all undergraduates to seek out similar opportunities for professional growth and fulfillment of curiosity. But for those who couldn’t attend this year’s AWP—or, for those undergraduates unsure if the conference would be useful for them—here’s a little of my own experience as an undergrad taking on AWP 2018, and just a little of what I took out of it.


    The Mind of a Writer


    On Thursday, March 8th, I bolted out of the Embassy Suites bed at 7:30am, overcome with an unadulterated excitement that even Tampa’s humidity couldn’t stifle—the conference had officially begun. After getting ready and making sure my conference-mandated lanyard was properly secured around my neck, I strolled out of the hotel and into the first seminar of the morning: Defeating Writer’s Block.
       The panel of published authors—which included novelists Jean Kwok, Mira Jacob, and Sari Wilson; memoirist Elizabeth L. Silver; and short story writer Juan Martinez—took my breath away with their successes but even more with their relatability, as they openly discussed their struggles in writing and how they often felt like they couldn’t produce anything of substance. (Even famous authors experience writer’s block!) In this panel, I took on the mindset of a writer and tested the limits of my own creativity by cycling through my own mental narratives that might get in the way of my work. I jotted down all the tips of the professionals discussing their own struggles in an effort to stimulate later creative output. The most impactful of these tips, and the one that I’ve thumbtacked to the bulletin board above my desk, can be summarized as follows: write something, anything. It can be about your day, your lunch, your left shoe, but as long as it’s something, the wheels will begin to turn. This tip came from Juan Martinez, author of the 2017 collection Best Worst American, but it was echoed by the rest of the illustrious panel. As I tested out the identity of a writer—really, as I gave myself permission to call myself a writer, and to believe it—I took this advice close to heart.


    The Mind of an Advocate


    The second panel I attended shook off the authorial mentality and instead substituted a critical, watchdog identity in its place. The subject of this panel was accountability in the literary world, and it was the most profound and impactful experience that I had at the entire conference. Sponsored by VIDA (an organization that monitors the number of male and female bylines in notable publications), this seminar explored issues of sexual assault in the literary community, the ethics behind publishing, and the moral implications of perusing works by authors with worrisome or controversial pasts. In this role, I became a keen surveyor of the literary marketplace, watching for oppressive and domineering behavior by authors and publishers alike.
       The experiences and illuminations provoked by this seminar could take up an entire article on their own, but the overall theme was one of authenticity and responsibility for one’s identity and, simultaneously, for one’s non-identity. The intersections that an individual stands at (i.e. race, class, gender, sexuality, etc.) allow him or her to tell certain kinds of stories in certain kinds of ways. Understanding the implications behind this power or disempowerment is crucial to cultivating an industry that aligns with ethics in both writing and publishing.
       Thinking about these complex issues in the mindset not just of a potential writer, editor, or publisher but from the perspective of an advocate—and as a member of a generation who’ll help decide what the future of publishing will look like—was an empowering experience, and one of the most formative I had at the conference.


    The Mind of a Publisher


    A third influential panel that I attended allowed me to step into the mentality of an independent publisher. Focused on hybrid forms and the presses that specialize in them, this panel hosted Rose Metal Press and opened a dialogue regarding the possibilities that independent presses allow for unconventional work. Kathleen Rooney, the press’s co-founder, spoke about her process for acquiring new works and the ways in which she uses her press to cultivate a dialogue of hybridity. It was at this seminar that I felt most at home and finally identified the career goal I hope to occupy one day: acquisitions editing.
       Enabling authors to be heard and stories to be told seems an enchanting dream, and Rooney’s passion for her work—publishing beautifully designed and rendered experimental narratives, the kind of books that might not always find a home in commercial publishing—pulsed with every word she uttered. Stepping into her mindset allowed me to understand the nuances of the independent press and its mission, with an intimate perspective than cannot be replicated without face-to-face interaction. That AWP allowed me this access and understanding as an undergraduate student, and still young enough to tailor my academic plan around an eventual career in literary publishing, was an amazing opportunity.


    Future Attendees


    An undergraduate at AWP has the chance to step into the mindsets of all kinds of industry positions. From artist to advocate to publisher, I was able to try on hats of all sizes and learn an immense amount about literary publishing while considering my own future within it. I cannot recommend enough the incredible, transformative power of this conference and highly encourage anyone interested in literature to attend.
       Before attending AWP, I was an English student hoping to continue my relationship to literature. After AWP, I am an informed and determined editor-in-training with aspirations to work in literary publishing. And as for the conference itself, I’ll absolutely be back—as a student again, I’m sure, but don’t be surprised if you find yourself sitting in on one of my own panels some day in the not-too-distant future.
  • About the Author
    Cassidy Sattler is a sophomore English Literature and Professional Writing double-major at Miami University. Her work has appeared in Happy Captive Magazine, The Femellectual, and Miami Quarterly Magazine – for which she serves as section editor and copyeditor – and has earned the Gordon and Mary Wilson Scholarship and Robert F. Almy Award in Critical Writing. When not writing or reading, she loves to watch documentaries and eat too much Chinese takeout, often at the same time.
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    Monday, May 9, 2016

    The Importance of an Online Literary Presence

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    In terms of finding (and keeping) an audience, some of a writer's most important work comes in 140 characters.  ♦ 
    When I was younger, all of my favorite authors seemed like these mysterious beings that I could only hope to get a chance to interact with. I loved to read, and it saddened me that the creators of these great works of fiction that I loved seemed so distant and unreachable.
       But things have changed dramatically over the last decade with the rise of social media, especially when it comes to younger authors, and within the last couple of years, especially, I’ve noticed a dramatic increase in the social media presence of up-and-coming writers. The first time I noticed how prevalent literature was becoming on social media would be when I started noticing the Kardashians posting poems by the writer R.M. Drake on their Instagram pages, and, as embarrassed as I am to admit that I follow the Kardashian social media pages, I have to say that I liked the Drake poems that they posted. They are usually very short, and sometimes a bit cliché, but overall pretty pleasant to read, and that lead to me to follow Drake's own page, which lead me to at least consider buying his poetry books. Poetry, in particular, does well in literary social media, because you can fit an entire poem in one post, and very short poems work great for microblogs such as Twitter. Self-Help books also do well on Twitter, because authors can easily post some of the “helpful tips” or “daily reminders” from their work in 140 characters or less. For example, I follow an author named Mandy Hale, who writes Christian self-help books for young women. She tweets short blurbs from her books all of the time, which is what led me to eventually end up purchasing an electronic copy of one of them.
        I’ve recently learned a lot about the importance of “literary citizenship” and how to be an ideal literary citizen. As a millennial, I realize that my social media presence as an author is a major key to getting my name and my own work noticed. But maintaining my social media account is no easy task. I’m constantly forgetting to log onto my “professional” Twitter, and trying to keep up with my blog is a full-time job that there just aren’t enough hours in the day for unless that is already your job. I’ve been trying to start following younger authors online, because I’ve noticed that a lot of older, more established authors are just not that active on Twitter or Instagram. Perhaps they’re busy taking care of their families, or maybe it’s because their work is notable and well-known enough that they don’t need to advertise it on social media, but, personally, I like being able to interact with authors online, or at least feel some sort of close connection to them, no matter how distant they may actually be.
        J. K. Rowling, of the most well-known authors of this day, is extremely active on social media and has a very influential presence amongst her fans, new and old. In fact, Rowling’s very visible and vocal online presence may be one reason why the Harry Potter series is just as talked about today as it was ten or more years ago; the author is constantly answering questions and addressing fan theories in regards to a series that was completed nearly a decade ago. Her social media interactions keep her in touch with her fans, and this is what keeps her work relevant and relatable to the new generation. Gaining new readers is important for every author, and we are in the age where your social media presence may just be the best way to gain those readers . . . but also where a lack of a presence could cost you readers.
        Last fall, for example, I attended a panel with an author whose poetry I was interested in. Just a few days ago, I tried looking up her work online, and got very few results. I immediately tried to look up her social media pages, to see when her most recent poetry book would be printed again, but she had no social media (at least not open to the public). I won’t go as far as to say that she lost a fan, but I definitely lost interest in reading more of her work because she didn’t seem to exist online, and I had no easy way of finding out how to purchase a copy of her work.
        In terms of social media, authors should really consider creating a Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram account dedicated solely to promoting their work. This way, their work can be separate from their personal pages, and with enough effort, you’ll eventually gain a following of people who are genuinely interested in reading and sharing your work with other readers. For shy writers, the beauty of social media is that you can keep things as anonymous as you like when it comes to social media. Consistency is key when it comes to maintain pages dedicated to your work. You don’t have to post multiple times a day if that’s not your thing, but it is nice for readers who visit your pages to be able to see relatively new posts on your pages. You never know who is reading your work, which is why having presence is so important.
        Ultimately, it’s important that writers of all ages become more aware of how valuable a strong social media presence can be. Whether it be tweeting writing advice, or Instagramming samples of your work, social media is becoming one of the best ways to make yourself known to a wide array of people.
  • About the Author
    Darice Chapel is a Journalism and Creative Writing double major at Miami University. She is also the president of Love You Like A Sister (L.Y.L.A.S.) and secretary of the Black Student Action Association.
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    Wednesday, April 27, 2016

    Taking a Page from the Fairy Tale Tradition

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    Looking for fresh inspiration to jumpstart your writing? Look no further than Once Upon a Time . . .  ♦ 
    As writers, we crave inspiration; it’s in our blood. Writers must write, that’s the rule, and when the work is going well, it seems that there are ideas for stories everywhere. However, there is this insidious thing called writers block—which does, in fact, exist—that can quickly suck you into an abyss of anxiety and frustration. So, what do you do when you’re lacking a spark? Where can you turn in order to revamp your creative energies and find new ideas? May I recommend looking to an art form that’s both ancient and continually changing, one that’s embedded in every culture but accessible to a reader from any background, a form that truly has something for everyone from every generation. Of course I’m talking about the fairy tale, and I don’t mean the Disneyfied versions.
        Now I know that you’re already familiar with fairy tales, given their place in our culture (and in our movies, television shows, and other entertainments), and you might even think that it’d be relatively easy to write one . . . but it can be harder than it looks. For one thing, fairy tales have a specific tone that usually avoids overly sentimental scenes and narratives (unless they’re French) in favor of an almost dispassionate telling of fantastic events, which can be a difficult balance to get right. Additionally, there’s no one kind of tale, even if we tend to lump them all together in one category in our minds—to name but a few, there are fables (which use animals/inanimate objects as main characters), etiological tales (which explain how the world works), moral tales (which contrast good and evil), pious tales (religious teachings), and frame narratives (sort of like a story within a story), all of which have their own unique characteristics and purposes. Fairy tales can actually be rather tricky to pull off, and when you see modern writers taking on the form—including such notables as Angela Carter, Lin Lan, Roald Dahl, and Anne Sexton—you can more easily see just how difficult the form can sometimes be.
        But, the good news is that you need not write fairy tales themselves to learn from them—in fact, no matter what kind of fiction you write, the fairy tale can offer inspiration to see your work in a new way and get you moving. So let’s look at a few key elements of fairy tales that can help you when you’re writing, along with some writing prompts you can use to get the creative juices flowing again.


    1. Write to (and for) an audience 

    Originally, fairy tales and folklores developed within and grew out of communities, spreading by word of mouth and passing down from generation to generation. This oral tradition was democratic and community-driven, since anyone could sit back and listen to a story around the campfire, as well as retell it to others (maybe putting a slightly different spin on the tale). Fairy tales were thus shaped by the community’s fears and common sense, reflecting different cultural notions of the place and time. This aspect of fairy tales changed somewhat in the early to mid-1800s, when Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm’s fairy tale collections (though not the first of their kind) marked a transition that moved fairy tales from the scattered oral tradition and into a more of the literary discourse. However, the tales still reflected the importance of cultural norms and fears in the telling, even as these became less community-driven and more commodified into universal “morals” that one could take away from the story.
        The takeaway for the fiction writer, then, is to recognize their community (or audience) when crafting a story. This might seem a simple concept, but what it means is to be engaged and aware of things happening right in your community, not just society at large. Listen to people. What are their fears? Why do they have them? What stories were they told growing up? And how did those stories affect them?

    WP: Observe what’s happening in your community. Investigate the local news. Look for oddities. What’s famous in your hometown and how did it come to be? If you don’t know, make something up. Or, interview a family member, friend, or stranger about their childhood memories. If you have that one great-aunt that always pulls you aside by the arm to tell you an “in my day” story, soak that in and listen to what she or others have to say. What did they believe that might be different now or in other communities? Which things stick out to you? What were their fears? What did they love most to do? How did they see the world?
        Listen. Observe. Take notes. Then write a story or scene revolving around something that stood out to you from your research.


    2. Be a Performer 

    Along with the oral tradition comes the importance of writers reading their work aloud. There’s something special about hearing the story from the writer’s own voice; if done right, the storytelling experience shifts into something more personal as the audience can not only hear the story with voice inflections and at a certain pace, but they can also watch the writer’s body language and facial expressions, which gives more life to the story. Even more, reading your work aloud allows you to hear what’s actually there (not just what you think is there), what works in the piece and what doesn’t, and how it actually plays in front of an audience. Plus, readings are a good place to sell books, have good conversations about writing, and meet more of the community.

    WP: Practice reading your work aloud. Sometimes you can catch mistakes easier that way. Also, take a piece of yours that’s stalled out and transform it into a brief performance piece. Focus on adding lines that could captivate an audience, whether through thoughtfulness, humor, or grotesque horror. Make sure you don’t have any awkward sentences that you stumble through. If they trip you up, they’ll trip the reader up. You could also take a page from poetry, which focuses on the sound of words, not just the meaning. Which words sound right for the piece? What do your ears desire to hear?


    3. Remember to KISS 

    No, this doesn’t refer to the prince coming along to wake up the damsel with a smooch; rather, this stands for “keep it simple stupid.” Fairy tales, especially those edited by the Grimms, have a clear, logical structure that’s easy to follow, putting a character into one predicament and then allowing that to play out. The takeaway? Don’t overload (and overburden) your story with too much backstory, context, or mythology . . . keep it focused and forward-moving. This isn’t to say your story should be bare bones and predictable, of course, but rather that it should not lose the reader along the way, nor waste any words doing so.
        Fairy tales usually start with a version of “once upon a time” where the protagonists are introduced, along with the setting, and then the conflict along with the antagonist. A problem or challenge is introduced which the main character(s) must succeed or fail in solving. Depending on whether they succeed or fail depends on the lesson at the end. One way writers can use this simple structure is to take their story (whether already written or not) and create an outline following fairy tale structure. This exercise can help you get organized and see your story from a different viewpoint. Perhaps this also will help you recognize any pitfalls in your plot while providing a fun break from the writing doldrums.

    WP: Start with the typical “once upon a time” and explain the basics of who’s who, where, what’s happened to put the character into this situation, what conflicts or obstacles arise (by an antagonist, whatever or whomever that is), and then list all the actions (or counteractions) the protagonist must make to overcome these obstacles with or without the help of others. Finally, conclude with whether the protagonist succeeds or fails, and why they succeed or fail. Either way there needs to be a change involved, but it doesn’t matter whether it’s a moral, amoral or immoral one. Contrary to popular belief, not all fairy tales end with happy endings. (In fact, some are rather gruesome.)


    4. Engage the Rule of Three 

    What’s this Rule of Three? A secret spell? An ancient incantation? Actually, it refers to the fact that, in most fairy tales, things usually happen in patterns of three—three bears, three wishes, three chances to guess the name, and so on—a repetition that helps put the story into a particular rhythm and helps the reader recognize the pattern (and, especially, what it means when the pattern breaks). Overdone, the rule could seem predictable and boring, but if done right, a repeating motif can enhance the story and provide opportunities for unexpected turns. Also, this repetition, along with a straightforward structure, can make the tale easier to recall by the reader and easier to share with others.

    WP: Pick an object/animal/feeling/action and connect it with your character, showing how it comes up three times throughout the story and in different ways while also holding things together, acting as dots to connect the story with, Or, pick an object that keeps coming up for the wrong reasons and gets in the way of your character’s quest.


    5. Make Your Character Transform

    In every fairy tale—and in the majority of fiction, too—the main character experiences a change in status. It’s a basic necessity for every story, but this can sometimes be forgotten, especially in the first few drafts. What is the character’s motivation that leads up to the end? What’s the character attempting to do, and why is it important for him or her? And, what does the reader make of the way the events play out, based on what we know of why the goal is important for the character? Protagonists need some sort of inner dilemma (along with the outer one) that they must either succeed or fail in overcoming, which can be easily seen in the best fairy tales: the main character is treated poorly by family, for example, or lives in poverty, or is taken for granted, and the magical or unusual event that takes place allows her to transcend that station in life. What lesson do you want to share with the world? What makes you passionate/angry/joyful? What’s the purpose in telling this story other than to quiet the Muse?

    WP: Define your character’s inner and outer dilemma, then show the change they encounter, for the better or worse. Remember that your characters, whether human or not, are always human at heart.


    6. Break it and Remake It 

    There are rarely any new fairy tales out there, at least not those that faithfully follow the traditional mode; it’s much more common now to come upon fractured fairy tales, wherein a writer takes the original fairy tale and gives it a twist (or, takes the mold and breaks it to make something new). This can appeal to readers, because a story can be familiar but not predictable, and it can also help the writer if you’re stuck on ideas, as it allows you a familiar baseline from which to work as well as permission to play with the familiar.

    WP: Take a fairy tale that you know (or find one that you don’t) and put a spin on it, either changing one of the outcomes, putting it in a different setting or time that would affect the decision-making, or reversing the roles of the characters, making the protagonist the antagonist and vice versa. Of course, many of these have been tried before, so try and develop one in a way that’s unique to your own interests. What if the stepmother was nice and Cinderella was a brat? What if the prince actually had a foot fetish? What if the story took place in Kansas during the Dust Bowl? Endless of possibilities. In the same way, you could take one of your own stories and try putting different twists on it. What if this happened, and how will that affect everything else? Play with the “what ifs” and see if you uncover something new or even better than the original.

    Happy writing!
  • About the Author
    Lauren Bauman is a creative writing major, exploring what it means to live and breathe writing; however, she would not recommend inhaling paper or laptops. Her interests include stress-relieving activities and learning about random things to spark story ideas. She also enjoys traveling that requires a passport. Visit her online at Goats on a Roof.
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    Wednesday, November 18, 2015

    Villains Make the Best Heroes

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    Photo credit: Axxaxxin |

    More complex, introspective, and satisfying to watch, the "bad guy" is about to become your new favorite character.  ♦
    The dichotomy of hero versus villain exists in some way or form in nearly every book, every comic, every movie, every television show. We’ve been socialized to root for the “good guy” and to hope for the defeat of the “bad guy.” We’ve been socialized to stereotype heroes as simply “good” and villains as simply “bad.” Why does a hero do the right thing? Because it's the right thing to do, and that's what they're supposed to do. But happens when these lines of “good” and “bad” become blurred and convoluted? Why would a hero do the wrong thing? That's the real question. Why would a hero kill thousands of innocent people, steal millions of dollars, or fight for an evil superpower? That's the real question. Making a good hero who does the right thing is easy. Explaining why someone fights against evil is simple. Why a hero would commit an evil act is much more complex difficult to explain.
       So perhaps “hero” isn't quite the correct word. In many cases, the villain is still the hero of the story in their own eyes, but there are plenty of stories where the villain is viewed as a hero by other characters. It's tiring to watch the same stories unfold time and time again, where the hero fights the big bad villain and everyone lives happily ever after. Stories are more compelling when the character that we, the audience, are supposed to root for is not objectively the “good guy” of the story. Oftentimes, villains make much better heroes than archetypal heroes, because villains have to justify themselves much more than your typical protagonist. George R.R. Martin, author of the Song of Ice and Fire series (that's Game of Thrones for you TV people) said, “Nobody is a villain in their own story.” Yet, so often we see villains as nothing more than evil caricatures. Great villains always view themselves as truly doing what is right, if not what is good.
       It seems that just about every villain fits into at least one of four categories: Evil, Justified, Fallen, or Hero. There is overlap between the groups, and the best of villains will often fit into more than one category. The things that put a villain in each group are their main motivations and ideals.

    The Evil Villain
    Examples: Scarface, Four Lions, Pain and Gain
    Motivation: Power, money, because they want to

       Evil villains are the hardest characters for authors to write in such a way that audiences will relate to or make a connection with them. At best, the audience can enjoy these villains getting punished at the end, or marvel at the inhumanity they've achieved. The Evil villain knows what they're doing isn't good, but they don't care about what's right or what's wrong. They care about what they want and try to get it by any means necessary. Evil villains are often, but not always, written as either insane or stupid, giving some sort of explanation as to their behavior.
       What really makes the Evil villain interesting is seeing how they act against a world in such opposition to them. An Evil villain often inspires loyal followers that ultimately mean little or nothing to them. The audience gets to watch these deplorable actions and the rise (and often fall) of an individual who truly believes that “nice guys finish last.” If the villain succeeds, the audience is left with mixed emotions of happiness that the archetypal “hero” won as well as the frustration that the villain got away with it. If the villain falls, the audience is again met with the mixed emotions, though this time with happiness that good prevailed and the sadness that their villain was defeated.
       Take a look at Scarface. Tony Montana starts at the bottom, and works his way to the top of the coke empire. He lets friends die, betrays those who have helped him, and kills countless people. Yet, after everything he does, the audience still watches him with fascinated adoration. People don't think of Tony as the evil, ruthless villain he was, but as the underdog hero they saw him as.

    The Justified Villain
    Examples: Watchmen, Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones
    Motivation: To better the world, to save themselves or a loved one

       The Justified villain is the villain who would most likely argue against their status as a villain. Whether they're trying to save the world, someone they love, or just themselves, the Justified villain isn't actually evil, it's just that everyone else doesn't understand what needs to be done, or doesn't have the ability to do it. A justified villain has good intentions, but they will probably have to hurt a lot of people on the way.
       This type of villain is probably the easiest type of villain with whom the audience can identify. These villains usually do not take pride in their actions or enjoy them; instead, the Justified villain almost always sees their crimes as simply “what has to be done.” Justified villains can be entirely self-obsessed or completely the opposite, but they would never identify themselves as a villain.
       Breaking Bad's Walter White would often argue that he is a genuinely good man that just wants the best for his family. In the process of providing for them, he, much like Tony Montana, betrays those who help him, kills (either directly or indirectly) many people, and ruins the lives of others. The entire time Walt does this, he professes over and over about taking care of and loving his family. In his mind, Walt is doing the best thing possible in his situation. He may be hurting others, but the goal is worth the cost.

    The Fallen Villain
    Examples: X-Men: First Class, Count of Monte Cristo, Star Wars (the prequels)
    Motivation: Revenge, recognition, safety

       If villains make the best heroes, then one could make the argument that heroes make the best villains. Other people are the real villains, the money was just too good—these are the trademarks of the Fallen villain. The Fallen villain started out on the good path: fighting against the forces of evil, trying to help those weaker than they, but the universe didn't quite agree with their ideals. Despite their good actions, the Fallen villain didn't get the recognition they deserved, or the world still fears and persecutes them. Eventually, the hero had enough and became a villain.
       No one understands evil better than someone who has fought it. This villain understands their actions and that the outcome is less than good. They're not trying to do what is best for the greater good; they're trying to do what is best for them. The difference between the Fallen villain and the Justified villain is that the Justified villain believes that their actions will ultimately result in good, as opposed to the Fallen villain, who has come to recognize that they are the villain in the minds of the many. Audiences can see the full progression from the character's status as hero to their change of heart. They understand the villain's actions, even if they don't agree with them. This makes the Fallen villain a popular character among audiences.
       Magneto is, by far, the best example of a fallen villain. In X-men: First Class Magneto starts the film as a child during the Nazi occupation of Poland, where he witnesses the fullest persecution of people possible. At first, Magneto buys into Xavier's idea that mutants and humans can live in peace; however, after seeing the fear that mutants create in mankind and the drastic measures they'll take to destroy mutants, he turns away from peaceful coexistence. Fearing a mass genocide like he witness during his childhood, Magneto turns against mankind and becomes a villain.

    The Hero
    Examples: I Am Legend, Fight Club, Shutter Island
    Motivation: Safety, coercion, ignorance

       The Hero is the most unique type of villain. Really, the Hero is not the villain at all; they're a “good-guy” who was forced or tricked into committing evil. Perhaps the real villain is hiding behind the curtains, holding a loved one hostage, or the Hero doesn't know enough about the situation. Somehow, a person who would normally be trying to save the day (or maybe just try to go about their day) ended up as a villain. Heroes search for a way out of their situation if they can, or are distraught when they learn of their villain status.
       The best thing about watching a Hero-type villain is that they see no redemption or good in their actions. Heroes struggle within themselves to try and complete their tasks while still doing as little evil as possible. They are reluctant to do any more than they absolutely have to, and even the bare minimum of evil eats away at their soul. The audience gets to watch the unknowing villain realize what they are and what they've done. The character doesn't wish to be a villain is what makes them so interesting.
       In I Am Legend, human society collapses after a virus transforms the world's population into marauding vampire-like monsters. They come out at night and attack Dr. Robert Neville, who is trapped in New York City with a horde of the infected. He struggles to stay alive, and captures some of the monsters. He experiments on them in an attempt to find a cure for the virus. What Dr. Neville is unaware of is that the creatures have modeled their own tribes and society after humanity. Dr. Neville has been their boogeyman, coming out in the daylight and stealing their people. Though he didn't know it, the hero, who struggled to survive every day, was really the villain of the story.

       Audiences like complexity. Audiences like abnormal characters. Villains inherently need complexity to explain their actions, which rarely seem logical from an outside perspective. Their actions and motivations are unique and well-reasoned, even if only to them. Like a fine wine, a well-written villain is something to truly be savored and appreciated. Villains' successes send us on wild rides of jubilation and worry, and their defeats are just as intense. A good villain is better than a “good-guy” any day.
  • About the Author
    Joy Snow is a senior creative writing student at Miami University. She enjoys playing in Magic: The Gathering tournaments and dressing up in costumes and going to anime conventions with all her nerd friends. She lives with a cardboard cutout of Ronald Reagan, who she claims is the best roommate she's ever had.
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    Wednesday, May 13, 2015

    (Un)Muting Minority Writers

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    AWP 2015 tackles the issue of diversity in the creative writing classroom with panels on pedagogy, classroom politics, and the need for multitudinous perspectives. ♦
    Last month, I traveled from Ohio to Minneapolis to attend the annual AWP Conference, the convention of university creative writers and writing programs. As a first-time attendee, I wasn’t entirely sure of what to expect. Would the 12,000 plus writers overwhelm me? Would I find an intimidating group of established writers? Would I be able to find other writers who looked like me? All my questions were soon answered after I made it to the Minneapolis Convention Center. What I found was an unfathomably large book fair, a ton of welcoming writers, some emerging like myself, some inspiring veterans, and a few literary legends. Yet, most important of all, I found a number of people who looked like me. After looking through the conference schedule I was pleased to find several panels highlighting issues that diverse writers face. During my time at the conference I was able to attend panels discussing diversity in creative writing, and the problems and expectations attached, unfairly, to writers of color.
       I’ve seen the problem myself in some writing workshops I’ve been a part of, where I’ve often been one of the only, if not the lone, minority in the group. When I write a story in which race isn’t mentioned, or where the characters could conceivably belong to any race, my peers will comment on the plot, the style of my prose, or the function of the dialogue, but never on whether the content itself is interesting enough to be read. Yet, in contrast, when my stories definitively feature black characters, there is often a critique by one (or a few) of my peers along the lines of, “I just don’t know if your characters are relatable to the ‘American’ experience’” or “I like that it features black characters, but why would a white person want to read it without any major white characters?” And I think to myself, “No one says they won’t read your story because it doesn’t feature minorities.”
       Minority writers often find themselves being bundled together in groups and expected to comment on large segments of the population. To speak to a singular “minority experience” for any minority group is not realistic, since every human experience is different. Unfortunately for writers, if a story does find a way to speak to a minority experience, it might not find a larger readership because it deals with a minority perspective. Thus, one of the biggest problems for the creative writing classroom is figuring out how to address issues of diversity in such a way that all writers in the room are heard, all voices are considered on their own terms, and all work is given the attention and reading it deserves.
       These problems were at the heart of one of the panels I attended at AWP titled “Striving for Balance between Language and Prejudice in Teaching Writing,” facilitated by fiction writer and essayist Christine Hyung-Oak Lee. When asked about such issues of diversity in the classroom, one panelist, the award-winning Cuban-American fiction writer and college professor Jennine Capo Crucet, said that it is important to remember that minority writers can’t be expected to speak for any group as a whole, that one person does not have all the answers, though that’s an expectation many minority writers face that their white counterparts do not.
       “[We must] recognize that an individual member of a particular ethnic, racial or religious group does not represent that entire group,” Crucet said, and we ought to “refrain from asking, both directly and indirectly, any individual, including yourself, to speak on behalf of an entire culture… it’s impossible to do.” At a panel called “Preparing Students of Color for the MFA: Advice, Reflections, and Methodologies”, Undocumented poet Marcelo Hernandez Castillo noted that some of the problem stems from the fact that, as Americans, we sometimes think about race as only relating to minority experiences, forgetting that “even if you’re white, whiteness is a race.” Instead of thinking of white as racial designation, it is simply considered “the norm or the default” race in literature, and that, “if race isn’t mentioned, it’s always automatically assumed to be white.”
       Crucet also noted how whiteness is considered to be the default setting in literature, pointing out how often “no race is named until a person of color shows up in the story.” This assumption negatively affects not just how we write, but also how we read; we’ve been conditioned to separate the minority experience from the white experience, forgetting that all minority experiences are American experiences, and far more similar than many of us would like to admit. But when minority writers feel marginalized, we may stop writing about our differences and, in doing so, lock away that part of ourselves that makes up so much of who we are, and because of that our writing suffers.
       Whiting Award recipient Alexander Chee, a Korean-American writer, spoke directly to this issue of how we see ourselves versus those constraints the minority writer has placed on his or herself: “I don’t think of myself as having a diverse life. I think of myself as having a life, and other people who don’t have that might see that as diverse.” In the same panel, award winning Irish-African-American novelist Mat Johnson added, “if it’s avoidance [of students writing about their own experiences], it’s going to sink the whole thing, because they’re not giving all themselves.”
    Photo Credit: Kristen Arnett | Twitter: @Kristen_Arnett
       “I don’t want to have [writers] put in a situation where they begin self-censoring,” Chee added, “trying to create these sorts of utopian stories where no one is racist, sexist or homophobic.”
      Fellow panelist Danielle Evans, an African-American, agreed: “We write as though all racists or sexists are people who exist apart from us . . . when in fact they are all around us ... If we want to address these problems, we have to shine a light on them, not sweep them under the rug . . . I’m interested in people writing racist characters or sexist characters . . . not always having it from the position of the victim, because I think otherwise we erase that sort of pervasiveness.”
       What Chee and Evans would call “self-censoring” was described by Marcelo Hernandez Castillo in the MFA panel as a form of White Fragility, wherein “we as writers of color are always catering to make white people comfortable in speaking about race, in speaking about diversity, in speaking about anything that will benefit us.” Writers of color shouldn’t feel the need to capitulate or play it safe to keep white people from feeling awkward. Instead we should show them why they shouldn’t feel that way by telling our stories. This includes not only approaching certain diverse subjects in our work, but also embracing diverse modes of storytelling, as Filipino-American poet Patrick Rosal argued in the same panel with Castillo. Rosal suggested that white readers should “open [their] mind to other possibilities of language, just open [their] mind to the possibility that everybody in your room brings in modes of speech and storytelling that can transform the way that we think about language.” Rosal has it right — if we transform how we think about language, we’ll be amazed at what we find. The lack of diversity in writing seems to come from close-mindedness, but when minority writers are unmuted, then every voice is heard. The writing community has a communication problem, but if we take the time to listen to each other, we’ll realize we all have something to say. The issue is, that I see this reluctance to have diverse conversations not just writing, but all throughout our nation.
       Just recently, while I was at work, a white man asked me, “What is it with the black position? How can black people say black lives matter, when black men are constantly killing each other?” To me that was an offensive question, but instead of getting upset I recognized that he was asking from a point of ignorance, so I attempted to educate him. I started off by telling him, “There is no such thing as a black position. We are an incredibly diverse group and our individual beliefs confirm that.” The gentleman commented back by saying, “But there is a black position.” To change his thought process, I then asked him, “Well is there a white position?” He thought for a moment, but couldn’t respond. Next I asked, “If you can’t view the race you claim in generalities, then how can you view another race in such a way?” He conceded. To answer the crux of his question I told him, “I’ve never killed another black man, so there is no hypocrisy when I say black lives matter. Besides, I didn’t ask you why white men shoot up schools and movie theaters. The most important thing to always consider is that human beings lost their lives, not what color they are.” I continued by telling him there are people that do bad things belonging to every demographic, “There are atrocities committed by people from every group and throughout history some white people have had their own part to play in terrible acts of violence.” He then told me he didn’t mean to be offensive. The problem is neither the intent, nor the interpretation, but instead the lack of communication. As writers, we are the first key to solving our nation’s communication problem.
       By attending the 2015 AWP Conference, I came away more informed about issues minorities face in creative writing. The esteemed panelists shared some of their experiences as students, and as professors, and let us in on strategies they use as writers and professors to embolden minority literature. I also left AWP excited that there were plenty of people who looked like me, and others who’ve had similar experiences as I’ve had, that love language and literature like I do. Seeing that I’m not alone has me more ready than ever to write a story, a true American story, about minority characters, as a black man, and not feel a need to make anyone comfortable. But as I really reflected on my AWP experience, the most important thing I took away was that as writers, we can help start the conversation our country desperately needs to hear.
  • About the Author
    Vernon Williams is a 6’5 black male writer from Ohio. What else do you need to know?
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