Ask a writer what it is they want to do with their story, and something like eight out of ten will start by giving you a description of the plot. Ask again, push a little harder, and 99% of them will eventually come up with “I want to write a really good book.”
Unfortunately, there aren’t nearly as many writers who can answer the obvious follow-up question: “OK, but what does that mean?” Usually, they look at me blankly, or say “But – but – but everyone knows what a really good book is!”
Well, no, they don’t. If everyone agreed about what a really good book is, you wouldn’t have people arguing about whether various bestselling titles are works of genius or perversions of the writer’s art. And unfortunately, nine times out of ten, if I say “So OK, tell me what a good book is, then,” the writers can’t articulate it.
This is a problem, because if you don’t know what it is you are trying to do, you’re likely to have a hard time figuring out whether you’ve done it. I’m not talking here about knowing the ending of the story (though a lot of writers do need to have that to aim for). I’m talking about knowing exactly what you, as a writer, want to accomplish and why.
What does “write a really good book” mean to you? If the stories that you find gripping or engrossing are all thrillers, writing a moody, atmospheric story of character development is likely to leave you feeling unsatisfied and twitchy, no matter how brilliant everyone else tells you it is. And if you don’t realize that what you think makes for a good book is different from the opinions of your critics, teachers, friends, etc., then you’re likely to feel equally unsatisfied, if not downright miserable, when your top-notch action-adventure story or stylistic masterpiece receives a lukewarm reception from people for whom “a really good book” means something other than what you’ve written.
Every writer has, on some level, a vision of what they want to do with the story they’re writing, and if the writer betrays that vision, they’re not going to be pleased with the result, no matter what else goes right. Unfortunately, the writer’s vision is seldom the sort of clear picture that’s advocated by a lot of how-to-write books. It can be hard, if not impossible, to articulate. Sometimes, it’s little more than a feeling, which is intensely frustrating to both the writers and to the well-meaning people trying to tell them they have to come up with a log line or a summary paragraph or an outline or a theme.
“I’ll know when I get it right” is just not good enough for the more analytical types, but it’s often all we have – even for those of us who are ourselves analytical. So what does one do when the vision one has for the book isn’t something one can spell out in so many words?
What you do is, you take a deep breath and believe in yourself. If you’ll know when you get it right, then believe that you will know. Work at it, fiddle with the parameters, change the viewpoints, mess with the plot outlines – but trust that inner voice when it says “Not like this” to something that logic says is just the perfect thing. And trust it again when it says “Yes, this is right” to something that logic (and/or your editor, agent, friends, crit group, fans, etc.) all say is insane and unworkable.
If you find that your confidence is easily undermined by those other voices, you may have to stop listening to them for a while. That means not talking about your work-in-process with the dear, supportive friend who thinks you should be writing gritty urban fantasy instead of the sweet Romance that your inner voice is demanding. It means that you stop reading the writing forum where everyone talks endlessly and with great assurance about how books have to start with action to sell these days and how you must never use a first-person narrator, when the book that’s banging on the back door of your brain is a first-person memoir that starts with three pages of description and backstory. It may mean reading a lot of books like the one you want to write (to reassure yourself that yes, books like this do sell), or it may mean reading a lot of books that are totally unlike the one you want to write (so you don’t get the depressing feeling that it’s all been done before, much better than you’ll be able to do it).
You also want to be fairly certain that it really is your backbrain that’s insisting on doing this insane and unworkable thing, and not the lazy part that doesn’t want to be bothered doing things the hard-but-better way. Generally speaking, if I feel gloomy and depressed about the advice I’m getting (because in my heart I know it’ll be better for the book, but it’s going to take a lot more time and effort and I-don’t-wanna), then I knew I should follow it; if I feel cranky (because no matter what they’re saying it’s just not right for this story), then I know I shouldn’t. I expect that there are writers who are the opposite – who feel cranky about advice they ought to follow (because they know they should and hate being told/reminded) and depressed about the advice they ought to not follow (because they know that’s not the kind of story they want to write, but they think they have to). The trick is to know what your particular tells are, so that you can reliably ignore what needs ignoring and accept what needs accepting.
I know that the story I’m working on now needs to be one that says something. I even know what it’s trying to say. When I look at the plot and look at the characters, each time I have to ask myself, not ‘is this right for the character,’ but ‘does this make the book do what i want it to do?’. In my writing group, I’ve just started the section where ‘the prince’ has been introduced, and some people are actually expecting a romance. But if the characters ended up together in the end it would Spoil Everything! The story would lose all its integrity. It makes me cranky and upset whenever I hear it.
But when I talk to my beta reader (my mom), who’s read the whole thing (even in a horrible messy first draft), she gets it. She knows that the story can’t end with two people & happily ever after. But she reminds me that to make it really work, I need to make ‘the prince’ a strong interesting character too. That we need to see how he also is an example of the ‘theme’ or whatever (what I want the book to do). This advice makes me exhausted, but also a little desperate to get to work, because I know it’s the right advice. It will make this book into what I think is a ‘really good book.’
And if I have a chance of actually writing the sort of book that I love, a smart, funny book, that takes what we know and flips it on its head so you can see it differently, I have to do everything I can to succeed, don’t I?
Another eminently timely post, as I sit here struggling with my synopsis and with revisions that I hadn’t realized were needed, and which seem to be expanding the more I work on them…. Giving the novel what it needs is hard enough; figuring out what it needs makes me envy the friend who’s currently doing her taxes.
I wish there was a ‘love’ button for this post.
This is perfect. I was just thinking how sad it is that I don’t write deeply realistic, historically accurate backdrops… which is kind of silly when (as your article made me remember) my books are mostly parodies and spoofs! Thank you. 🙂
Cara: You should possibly look at Terry Pratchett’s Nation and Shaw’s Pygmalion — the postscript where he explains why a romance between Eliza and ‘Iggens could never have worked.
Definition of a good book? Isaac Asimov: “…and I’ve written umpty-ump books.” Lady beside him: “Are there any about baseball? My son’s written four books, all about baseball.”
This is sooooo true. I’m now writing my fourth book, and it is going so much better than my previous attempts. Yes, it is partly because I am getting more practice. But also, it is because I am finally listening to that voice that I want to write, rather than writing what I feel like I’m supposed to write. It’s rather sad that it took me this long to figure out…
And Zombie Plato rampages over the literary landscape, yet again. 😉
The important thing here is to recognize that “Good” isn’t just one thing. And the question to ask is, “good for whom?” For technonerds and other detail enthusiasts, who appreciate deep consistency and exploring implications of a change? For socially-oriented readers, who are looking for character development and interpersonal tension? For escapists, who want a relief from the unpleasantness of everyday reality? For idealists, who hunger to see their worldview vindicated?
Yes, all those are simplifications, but the point remains — different potential readers are looking for different things in their books. You can’t please them all, and if you try you’ll please nobody. What you can do, is try to please some particular group of people… usually, one of the groups that includes the author!
In general, if a book isn’t good for the author, they won’t have the investment needed for their craft. And yet, there are exceptions… consider Piers Anthony’s Xanth series, where the author got tired of the conceit long before the readers did, but he still knew how to churn them out. So I’d say “pleasing the author” is secondary to “pleasing some group of readers”, and the choice of group will shape the character of the book.
I whole-heartedly (resignedly) agree with your advice, and it comes at a very appropriate time. I’m a studio art major with an imminently ending semester, and your creative advice is very accurate. I am going to commit mental energy to figuring out my tells.
These are wise words. Tracy Hickman wrote something similar in the late 80s, which I’ve always boiled down to one statement: “we should write the books we want to read.”
In my own case, what I think makes a good book is flow. If I am constantly jarred out of the book I can’t read it; when it’s good I don’t notice the pages turning, it’s more like watching a movie than reading. That’s what I shoot for in my own writing (‘Fortunes Rising’ http://tinyurl.com/792oqpd)
As I’m a fantasy writer, the other part of my judgement is more philosophical. I’m tired of ‘save the world/universe’ stories. I see nothing wrong with adventure stories, and want to see more of them, so that’s what I set out to write. No worlds saved in the eleven novels I’ve written so far. I don’t mind epic scale, but it has to BE EPIC to have an epic scale. I think it’s a bad choice for society at large as well; focussing on saving the world let’s us off on saving our neighbors who need help that we can actually give. A point, strangely enough, made by Amy Heckerling in “Clueless.” You never know where the nuggets of wisdom might come from.
OT: I was browsing the archives (what, me procrastinate?) and noticed that only the 10 most recent posts under any given tag are displaying. If there’s a way to get to the older posts, I’m not seeing it.
I think this is a new phenomenon since the server move? At least, I seem to remember being able to waste a lot more time — er, that is, immerse myself in your writing wisdom for more extended periods — by wandering about in the old posts previously.
Tolkien gave his own definition of “a really good book.”
He said, “The prime motive was the desire of a tale-teller to try his hand at a really long story that would hold the attention of readers, amuse them, delight them, and at times maybe excite them or deeply move them.”
LizV, there’s an orange “Archive” list to the right of the text. I *think* that leads to the older posts; haven’t tried it yet.
LizV – if you click on one of the months under “Archives,” it’ll list the posts for that month, and if there are any posts that aren’t showing, you can get at them from the calendar. I’ll have to check on the tags; fortunately, my web person comes this afternoon.
Dorothy: Nice to see you again!
Ah, I was unclear; yes, the monthly Archives links work just fine, if one’s doing a calendar-based read. It’s reading by topic (all posts tagged “process”, for example) that seems to be limited to 10, even though hovering over the tag says there’s 34.
LizV- It should be fixed now.
Yep, it’s working fine now. Thanks, and kudos to your web person!
I think right is a subjective term when it comes to writing, so I go with it by saying that what I want to do as an aspiring novelist is write books which meet my own ludicrously high standards in fiction.