Likeable characters can become the beating heart of your narrative. Readers root for them and stick with them throughout their journeys. But what exactly makes a character likeable? It’s not just about being nice but making them relatable.

So, let’s look at how to write such characters!

Kindness WITHOUT An Agenda

A likeable character is helpful, compassionate and patient with others because it’s part of their personality … NOT because they want something in return. They will even be kind when it’s not convenient to themselves.

Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables) can be dramatic and impulsive, but her deep kindness shines through everything she does.

Forrest Gump’s kindness is pure and never changes, even when others attempt to take advantage of him.

Ted Lasso always gives others grace, even when they’re contemptuous of him.

Give Them an Optimistic Outlook

Optimism can be endearing, especially when it’s grounded in awareness. An optimistic character can seem clueless or over-privileged if they are overly naive. Likeable characters acknowledge reality, but choose to see the positive in it.

Jo March in Little Women is a good sister to Meg, Beth and Amy. Jo also wants to earn her own money and is determined to succeed as a writer. Jo does not mention love, a rich husband, or children like many women of her time. When she gets her first pay cheque then, we cheer for her.

Phil Dunphy in Modern Family is goofy and sometimes child-like, but that is not where his characterization ends. He is a committed father and husband, providing for his family. When his real estate business is not going so well, he hides this from wife Claire as he doesn’t want her to worry. This makes him lovable rather than a man-child like Homer Simpson.

Have Them Lift Other Characters Up

A character become likeable when they put others first. They validate the other characters and support their own journeys. They help them deal with setbacks, as well as celebrate others’ wins.

In Lord of the Rings, Samwise Gamgee is a constant support to Frodo. Sam accompanies Frodo on his epic quest and encourages him through its trials and tribulations.

Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice is quite reserved, but offers constant support for her sisters. She understands the sacrifices she may need to make to ensure the family is financially secure. Her acceptance of this makes readers root for her.

Last Points

Remember there are three elements that contribute to a likeable character: kindness, optimism and uplifting others. Just ensure they are not naive or over-privileged in doing so. Then you will have a likeable character that resonates with readers and viewers alike.

Good Luck!

The post How To Write A Likeable Character appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Stakes are a crucial part of your story because they define what will happen if the protagonist fails. To build reader empathy, you need this piece in place because when the reader sees what’s at stake, and they recognize why it matters to the character, the story becomes important. It matters.

Stakes also create tension when the reader realizes what’s on the line. So when the stakes are referenced early on, readers are more likely to be drawn in and root for the character’s success.

But that empathy connection only happens if the reader can see what’s at stake. And that can only happen if the author knows what’s on the line. Sometimes, it’s obvious. What are the consequences if Sheriff Brody doesn’t catch the shark in Jaws? Death and dismemberment. In the original Inside Out, if all of Riley’s emotions aren’t acknowledged and won’t work together, her identity is at risk.

But other times, it’s harder to identify what’s at stake in a story. So I’d like to share a simple method for figuring that out.

Outer Motivation + Inner Motivation = Stakes

All you have to do is figure out a couple of key elements for your story.

First: the protagonist’s goal. This is their overall objective. It’s what they’re hoping to achieve: getting the girl, enacting revenge, catching the criminal, etc. This is also called the Outer Motivation because it’s what the character is visibly working toward; everything he or she does is in pursuit of this objective. In The Lord of the Rings, Frodo’s goal is to destroy the one ring. In An Officer and a Gentleman, the protagonist’s goal is to become a Navy officer. The story goal should be pretty obvious because it’s what your character is actively seeking and pursuing.

But, often, there’s also something internally driving your character toward their goal. This is called the Inner Motivation because its private and is usually related to self-esteem or personal fulfillment. Figuring this out requires some digging into the character’s psyche and their past, but on a basic level, you can simply ask: Why is the goal so important to them?

In An Officer and a Gentleman, why does Zach Mayo want to become a Navy officer? There are lots of possibilities, but the true reason becomes clear when you know his backstory. His mother committed suicide, abandoning him as a ten-year-old. He was sent to live with his father, who was an excellent drinking buddy but not good for much else. And his dad’s military career had them moving all over so he could never put down roots. What Zach craves more than anything is belonging, and becoming a military officer will provide that for him. This is going to meet an internal need that’s missing. Belonging to a group is his inner motivation.

One interesting connection to note:
the inner motivation will often point back to a missing human need.

If you’ve followed Angela and me for long, you’ve likely heard about Maslow’s hierarchy of human needs and how it fits into character arc. The full explanation is here, but to summarize, there are 5 needs that are common to all human beings. If any of these are missing, people become vulnerable, and they’ll take action to fill the void.

Very often, that missing need is the inner motivation.

So, when we’re thinking about how to create meaningful stakes for a character, it’s helpful to zero in on which need is missing or most important to them—and be sure it’s tied to their inner motivation. For Zach, he’s missing love and belonging. He’s chosen a goal that, if he succeeds, will usher him into a ready-made community. So what’s at stake if he fails? Not belonging—continuing to live in isolation, alone.

SIDEBAR: It’s important to note that not every protagonist has an inner motivation. This happens a lot in stories that are plot-driven rather than character-driven: thrillers, action/adventure, etc. Think: Indiana Jones, Lara Croft, and vintage James Bond. Those stories are all about the character achieving the goal rather than them growing and maturing, so that internal piece isn’t necessarily needed. In stories like these, the stakes will be very obvious: the end of the world, someone dying, the Nazis getting the Ark of the Covenant and becoming all-powerful, etc.

Bonus: You Can Start from Anywhere

The cool thing about this method is you don’t have to know all your story elements at once; you can start with the inner or outer motivation to figure out the rest of the pieces.

Example 1: Start with the story goal. You know you’re writing a romance with a protagonist who’s looking for true love. What missing human need will be filled if they succeed (inner motivation/human need)?  What’s at stake if they fail?

Example 2: Start with the human need/internal motivation that’s driving their behavior. You know your character inside and out, so you’ve already identified their wound and the human need that’s been compromised. Let’s say it’s Esteem and Recognition. What story goal might they pursue that would fill that void? What’s at stake if they fail to reach their objective?

And now you know how to figure out what’s at stake for your story. Convey that to readers early on, and you’ll show them why the story matters, making it engaging and difficult to put down.

Additional Stakes Resources:

Make the Stakes Personal
Tips for Raising the Stakes
Use Stakes to Establish Reader Expectations

The post Use This Method to Identify Your Story’s Stakes appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Realistic, evocative dialogue is an important part of any successful story. We need our characters’ interactions to be authentic, consistent, and engaging to draw readers in to what’s happening. So when we’re learning to write, we spend a lot of time on mechanics—learning all the grammar and punctuation rules. But proper form is just the first step.

When writing strong dialogue, we often forget that real-life conversations are rarely straightforward. On the surface, it may seem we’re engaging in simple back-and-forth, but if you look deeper, to some degree our conversations are carefully constructed. We hide our emotions, withhold information, dance around what we really mean, avoid certain topics, downplay shortcomings, or emphasize strengths—all of which leads to exchanges that aren’t totally honest.

Completely candid dialogue scenes fall flat because that’s not the way people converse. Subtext plays a huge role in conversation. It’s often tied to how characters are feeling, which can trigger readers’ emotions and increase their engagement. So we need to include this crucial element in our dialogue scenes.

Simply, subtext is the underlying meaning. Hidden elements the character isn’t comfortable sharing—their true opinions, what they really want, what they’re afraid of, and emotions that make them feel vulnerable—constitute the subtext. They’re important because the character wants them hidden. This results in contradictory words and actions.

A Subtext Example

Consider this exchange between a teen-aged daughter and her dad.

“So how’d the party go?”

Dionne plastered on a smile and buried herself in Instagram. “Great.”

“See, I knew you’d have a good time. Who was there?”

Her mouth went dry, but she didn’t dare swallow. Despite the hour, Dad’s eyes shone and searched, spotlights carving her mocha-infused fog.

“The usual. Sarah, Allegra, Jordan.” She shrugged. Nothing to see here. Move along.

“What about Trey? I ran into his mom at the office yesterday and she said he was going.”

“Um, yeah. I think he was there.” She scrolled, images blurring.

“He sounds like a good kid. Maybe we could have him and his mom over for dinner.”

Her stomach lurched. “Oh, I don’t know.” Her fingers trembled, so she abandoned the phone and sat on her hands to keep them still. “We don’t really hang with the same crowd.”

“Well, think about it. Couldn’t hurt to branch out and get to know some new people.”

Dionne blew out a shaky breath. How could her dad be so smart at work and so stupid about people?

Something happened at the party involving a boy Dionne’s now avoiding, and she clearly doesn’t want her father to know about it. While Dad is kept in the dark, the reader becomes privy to Dionne’s true emotions: nervousness, fear, and possibly guilt.

This is the beauty of subtext in dialogue. It allows the character to carry on whatever subterfuge she deems necessary while revealing her true emotions and motivations to the reader. It’s also a great way to add tension and conflict. Without subtext, this scene is boring, just two people chatting. With it, we see Dionne desperately trying to keep her secrets while it becomes increasingly difficult—even unhealthy—to do so.

So how do we write subtext into our characters’ conversations without confusing the reader? It just requires combining five common vehicles for showing emotion. Let’s look at how these were used in the example.

1. Dialogue

We all go a little Pinocchio when we start talking, and Dionne is no exception. Her words scream status quo: nothing happened at the party and she doesn’t feel anything in particular. But the reader can clearly see this isn’t the case.

2. Body Language

Nonverbal communication often reveals to readers the truth beneath a character’s words. Notice Dionne’s body language: the plastered-on smile, frantic social media scrolling, and trembling hands. Readers hear what she’s saying, but her body language clues them in that something else is going on.

3. Visceral Reactions

These are the internal physical responses to high emotion. They’re not visible, but the point-of-view character will likely reference them, since they’re so strong. Here, Dionne’s dry mouth and lurching stomach contradict her claims that everything went swimmingly at the party.

4. Thoughts

Because they’re private, thoughts are honest. Dionne’s mental musings (nothing to see here; move along) show that she desperately wants her father to drop this line of questioning. And her final bit of internal dialogue reinforces that she knows something he doesn’t. Because there’s no reason for characters to disguise their thoughts, this can be the best vehicle for showing readers the truth behind the words.

5. Vocal Cues

We choose our words carefully when we’re hiding something; we may even do certain things with our body to fool others. But when emotions are in flux, the voice often changes, and at first, there’s nothing we can do to stop it. Shifts in volume, pitch, timbre, and speed of speech happen before the character can force the voice back into submission. So variations in vocal cues can show readers that not all is as it seems.

Nonverbal vehicles are like annoying little brothers and sisters, tattling on the dialogue and revealing true emotion. Put them all together and they fill out the character’s narrative and paint a complete picture for readers. And you’ll end up with nuanced and emotionally layered dialogue that can intrigue readers and pull them deeper into your story.

The post Five Vehicles for Adding Subtext to Dialogue appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

If you’ve researched story structure at all, you know there are many models out there, and they’re all slightly different. The most popular forms tend to follow the three-act structure, which resonates with many readers regardless of genre or format.

• Act 1 sets things up for readers by establishing the protagonist, their story goal, the setting, and all the basics.
• Act 2 builds on that information, introducing escalating conflicts (both internal and external) that block the character from their objective.
• Act 3 resolves the story conflict in a showdown that determines whether the protagonist succeeds or fails at achieving their goal.

Within this simple framework, certain events need to happen not only to progress the plot, but also to encourage the character to become more self-aware, make positive internal progress, overcome setbacks, and so on. This journey is essential if your character is to progress realistically from Once upon a time to The End. It’s not an easy path, though, and sometimes characters balk; they’d rather stay where it’s comfortable and safe, thank you very much. The status quo may be stagnant or even unhealthy, but it’s what they know.

But a stalled character means a stalled story—which is death for reader engagement. At times like these, your protagonist needs a nudge (or a full-fledged shove) to reach the next important story event. This is where amplifiers come in.

An emotion amplifier is a specific state or condition that influences what the character feels by disrupting their equilibrium and reducing their ability to think critically.

Distraction, bereavement, illness, and exhaustion are examples of amplifiers that create friction.

To illustrate how amplifiers get characters moving while also supporting story structure, let’s examine a popular (and my favorite) model: Michael Hauge’s Six-Stage Plot Structure, which is beautifully explored in his book Writing Screenplays that Sell. In the right order and at the right places, these points move the character through the story in a logical fashion without sacrificing pace.

Six-Stage Plot Structure Model

Setup: The protagonist is living in their everyday world, but they’re emotionally stuck or dissatisfied in some way.

Opportunity (Turning Point 1): Called the catalyst in other models, this point consists of a challenge, crisis, or opportunity that pushes the protagonist into pursuing a certain story goal. That decision sets them on a journey that sweeps them out of their ordinary world and into a new one.

New Situation: The protagonist is adjusting to their new world, figuring out the rules and their role while dealing with obstacles that crop up. At this point, the character is largely unaware of their own faults and how they contribute to a lack of fulfillment.

Change of Plans (Turning Point 2): Something happens that creates an awakening for the protagonist, clarifying what they need to do to achieve their goal. They begin moving purposefully in that direction.

Progress: Fully conscious of their goal and their new plan, the protagonist takes steps toward success by gaining knowledge, honing skills, or gathering resources and allies. Although they may be growing in self-awareness, they’re not yet able to fully comprehend the depth of internal change that needs to occur.

Point of No Return (Turning Point 3): The protagonist’s situation becomes more difficult than ever as a death or significant loss pushes their goal seemingly out of reach. Forced to face what’s holding them back (their flaws, fears, lies they’ve embraced, and so on), they commit to changing their dysfunctional methods and evolving in the pursuit of their goal.

Complications and Higher Stakes: Though dedicated to personal change and healthier methods, the protagonist is assailed by escalating conflicts and increased stakes that make it more important than ever to reach their objective.

Major Setback (Turning Point 4): The protagonist experiences a devastating setback or failure that makes them doubt everything. Their plan forward will no longer work, and all seems lost. Finally rejecting any beliefs, biases, or doubts that were holding them back, they adapt their plan.

And so on…

Amplifiers in Story Structure

The flow of a story seems logical when seen through the lens of plot structure, but guess who really dictates this little road trip? Your characters—who don’t always cooperate.

Characters tend to resist change, especially the internal kind. An emotion amplifier pushes them from one point to the next with opportunities for decisions that add volatility, increase vulnerability, and make the situation worse. As the story progresses, particularly in the second half, amplifiers can also begin revealing growth as the characters adapt to new challenges and make better choices.

Look at how amplifiers have been used to this effect in some popular movies and books:

Inebriation: In Sweet Home Alabama, Melanie, who has spent years creating a new life for herself in Manhattan, returns to her hometown to get a divorce, which her estranged husband is reluctant to grant. Frustrated by her lack of success, she gets drunk during the Progress stage, turns nasty, and outs her best friend. This leads directly to the Point of No Return, when she awakens in a hungover stupor and realizes that her horrible behavior has caused her husband to finally sign the divorce papers. She should be excited to be able to put her past behind her and fully recreate herself, but she realizes she’s been pursuing the wrong goal all along.

Instability: The Nostromo vessel is floating in outer space, light years away from help, when an alien makes its way onboard (Alien). In the Complications and Higher Stakes phase of this classic movie, as crew members are picked off one by one, the captain is forced to pursue the alien into the air ducts to try to kill it. He fails, leaving protagonist Ripley as the senior officer with an enhanced security level that enables her to discover the Nostromo’s true mission, which has rendered her and her crew expendable (Major Setback).

Hunger: In Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, a father and son travel to the coast in a hard, post-apocalyptic world. During the Progress stage of the story, the father’s hunger drives him to enter a building he otherwise would have avoided. What they find there sends them running for their lives, questioning humanity’s right to survive. They stick to the woods, wet, cold, and hungrier than ever. A quote explains the father’s mindset at this point: “He was beginning to think that death was finally upon them.” Their foray into the house of horrors, driven by extreme hunger, has propelled them to their Point of No Return.

In each of these examples, an amplifier is used to drive the character from one turning point to the next, a technique that could work just as effectively for you. Once you’ve created a basic outline for your project, explore amplifiers that could be placed strategically to propel the character into the various stages of their story.

Choosing the Right Amplifier

Your story’s theme can deliver the perfect amplifier for informing a character’s choices and actions. It may be the same one employed repeatedly (as isolation is used in the movie While You Were Sleeping), or a variety of amplifiers that circle the overall message. If you know the theme for your story, consider options that reinforce it while also steering the plot events.

Genre can also provide ideas. A bleak, post-apocalyptic story like The Road is a natural setting for hunger, cold, and exhaustion. Likewise, attraction and arousal are common amplifiers in romance plots and subplots. Thrillers and action stories often include multiple instances of danger, stress, and mortal peril.

Additional Research

Looking for more information on amplifiers? Check out The Emotion Amplifier Thesaurus. With it’s easy-to-use list format and comprehensive how-to front matter, this resource can show you how to use amplifiers to motivate your characters, add meaningful conflict, and further your story.

You can see all the entries in this book here.

The post Need to Get a Stubborn Character Moving? Use an Amplifier appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Raptors are some of the most successful predators on the planet. From owls, eagles, and vultures to hawks, falcons, and other birds of prey, raptors are skilled hunters with incredible senses, like binocular vision, that help them detect prey at far distances. The secretary bird even carries mouthfuls of water back to the nest for her young — one of the few avian species to quench a chicks’ thirst.

If a raptor was a character in a book, they seem like the perfect villain on the surface. After all, they kill and consume adorable critters like chipmunks, squirrels, mice, monkeys, birds, fish, and old or injured animals. As readers, we’d fear the moment their shadow darkened the soil.

What we may not consider right away is how tender raptors are with their young, or that they only take what they need to feed their family and keep the landscape free of disease from rotting meat and sick animals, or what majestic fliers they are. Raptors have many awe-inspiring abilities.

Take, for example, the Andean condor, the largest flying land bird in the western hemisphere. In the highest peaks of the majestic Andes, the largest raptor in the world hovers high in the sky in search of its next meal — a carcass or old/injured animal to hunt. Andean condors have a wingspan of over ten feet. If one flew sideways through an average living room with eight-foot ceilings, the wings would drag on the floor!

How could we turn a massive predator like the Andean condor into a hero? It’s difficult to offset their hunting abilities and diet with the innocence of their prey, but not impossible.

A layered characterization holds the key. It doesn’t matter who your protagonist is or what they do. With proper characterization, a raptor or killer can play any role.

Go Deeper than the Three Dimensions of Character

1^st dimension: The face they show to the world; a public persona
2^nd dimension: The person they are at home and with close friends
3^rd dimension: Their true character. If a fire broke out in a cinema, would they help others get out safely or elbow their way through the crowd?

A raptor-type character needs layers, each one peeled little by little over time to reveal the full picture of who they are and what they stand for. We also need to justify their actions so readers can root for them.

A perfect example is Dexter Morgan, vigilante serial killer and forensic blood spatter analyst for Miami Dade Police. Why did the world fall in love with Dexter?

What makes Dexter so fascinatingly different is that he lives by a code when choosing his victims – they must, without a doubt, be murderers likely to strike again. But he didn’t always have this code. In the beginning, he killed to satisfy the sick impulses from his “dark passenger.” If it weren’t for Dexter’s adoptive father and police officer, Harry Morgan, who educated his son to control his need to kill and established tight guidelines for Dexter to follow (the code), he would have been the villain.

Readers accept his “dark passenger” because he’s ridding the world of other serial killers who could harm innocent people in the community. And that’s enough justification for us to root for him. We’re willing to overlook the fact that he revels in each kill and keeps trophies. We even join him in celebrating his murders — and never want him caught.

Jeffrey Deaver couldn’t have pulled this off if he showed all Dexter’s sides at the very beginning. It worked because he showed us each layer to the character of Dexter Morgan over time.

The Characterization for Vigilante Killers Cannot be Rushed

When I created this type of character, he started as the villain for two and half novels while I dropped hints and pieces of truth like breadcrumbs. It wasn’t until halfway through book four that the full picture of who he really was and what motivated him became evident.

So, go ahead and craft a raptor as the protagonist of your story (as an antihero). When characters are richly detailed psychologically, readers connect to them. Perhaps a part of us wishes we could enact justice like they do.

If crafted with forethought and understanding, your raptor may become your most memorable character to date. Just go slow and really think about how much of their mind to reveal and when. Who knows? You may create a protagonist readers will analyze for years to come!

*It’s unfair to draw a parallel between raptors and vigilante killers, but the idea came to me while watching a nature documentary. Make no mistake, I adore raptors.

The post Could a Raptor Play the Protagonist Role? appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

For strong storytelling, we need to focus on what’s important and relevant to current story events. That means we shouldn’t info-dump a bunch of irrelevant backstory just because it’s interesting or it’s something we enjoyed developing about our character, as we instead need to keep this story moving forward.

Yet two advanced writing techniques may seem to go against this advice by focusing on showing readers events in the past: flashbacks and dual timeline stories. What are these techniques, when might it make sense to use them, and what’s the difference between flashbacks and dual timelines?

Backstory 101: Use When Necessary

While we do need to be careful with backstory (due to potentially causing pacing issues, etc.), in most stories, it’s essential to include at least some pre-story information. Well-crafted backstory gives readers the context of a character’s issues (like a backstory wound) and emotions, informing readers about what makes the character tick. Backstory often creates a character’s pain and motivation—helping readers comprehend the why.

That said, our goal shouldn’t simply be to include backstory whenever we think readers “need” information. Instead, the most important advice for integrating any style of backstory is that the information must be relevant to the current story events and readers’ understanding of the story.

In general, backstory should be shared:

• only when readers need the context for understanding a character’s current choices and emotions (that why information), such as when their actions or behaviors seem out of character or confusing – and –
• only when that technique is the best way to have readers understand why the character is doing what they’re doing.

Advanced Backstory: Flashbacks vs. Dual Timelines

Normal Backstory:

In normal usage, we may allude to backstory in just a phrase or paragraph. Rather than spelling out the details of a character’s history, we may include just a hint, just enough for readers to understand.

For the first time in years, she prioritized her needs over those of her coworker.

That opening 6-word phrase is enough to allude to a past that’s held this character back from standing up for herself. Over the course of the story, readers can get similar hints if necessary to better understand her backstory wound and thus fully understand the story’s stakes and obstacles and her choices and motivations.

Backstory through Flashbacks:

However, sometimes it’s necessary to give readers more information. Maybe during this scene, readers need to know why this is the first time she’s willing to set boundaries. Maybe they need to see for themselves what happened in the past to understand why she was so traumatized and stuck in her mindset—and thus get the importance of this scene.

In that case, rather than contriving a way to share the information within the current story, such as having the character tell someone else about the past event, we may decide to show readers the event itself in a flashback. A flashback gives us a few paragraphs—up to a full scene—to show (rather than tell) a past event.

As her coworker prattled on about yet another emergency that he’d caused—and that required her to give up her weekend off to fix, for the twelfth weekend in a row—she remembered all the hundreds of other times she’d sacrificed for others at her expense. At the front of her mind was the teenage memory of her father demanding that she spend their entire Disney World family vacation watching her infant brother.
Some of the time, sure. All of the time?
At the announcement, she had stared into her parents’ faces, watching for a hint of a wink or smile. They were joking, surely. Her heart dropped as the reality sank into thoughts. No castle, no rides, no fun.
No way.
“But that’s not fair!”…

Dual-Timeline Stories:

Many books consist of multiple stories that interrelate to create one story, such as romance stories that feature both love interests or any story with multiple protagonists. For those, we may alternate scenes or chapters between the characters.

However, what if those stories happen at different times? As an example, what if the story we’ve been using above is a case of generational issues? What if we want to explore not only this woman’s story of learning to set boundaries, but we also want to explore her mother’s history of failing to do the same until she’s inspired by her daughter’s growth?

In that case, a dual-timeline story may make the most sense. With just flashbacks, we’d struggle to create an understanding of not only this woman’s history but also her mother’s story of past situations and choices. Instead, we could create dual stories set at different times so that both timelines are fully shown and not told.

A dual-timeline story gives us any number of scenes necessary to tell a complete story that happened in the past that is somehow relevant to the “present” story. Like any multiple protagonist story, we could alternate chapters or sections, one set in the “present” and one set at the earlier time (but still worded in our usual verb tense).

For our example, we may alternate chapters with the mother and daughter facing similar challenges in asserting themselves. The story set in the past may seemingly end with the mother giving up. Then soon after the daughter finds her backbone in the present, the mother’s story may resume by jumping forward in time to show her inspired to the same, finally leaving her abusive husband.

This time jump at the end is not necessary (or even particularly common) in dual-timeline stories (and in fact, it’s possible to feature the same protagonist in both timelines), but this structure fits with this example. Either way, the dual-timeline story comes together in the end, at least on a thematic level, to illuminate a single story idea.

How Is a Dual-Timeline Story Different from Using Multiple Flashbacks?

Depending on the story we’re trying to tell, the story arc set in the past of a dual-timeline story may also inform the “present” story the same way that any type of backstory provides context to readers. For our example, the alternating chapters could echo each other with similar challenges or show the daughter learning unhelpful coping habits from her mother, explaining more about why she is the way she is.

However, it’s important to understand that a dual-timeline story is not the same as a story with a bunch of flashbacks.

Multiple Flashbacks:

• Only need to be related to current story events
• Can be—but don’t need to be—related to each other
• Are triggered by events in the current story, not the previous flashback
• Don’t need to tell a story in whole
• Aren’t leading up to their own dark moment or climax

In other words, the flashbacks aren’t there to work together to tell a separate story from the present story. Instead, the flashback scenes exist solely to illuminate the current story.

Dual Timelines:

• Each should have their own obstacles and stakes.
• Each should progress as a complete story, with their own independent structure of acts and turning points (dark moment, climax), etc.
• Each scene set in the past should follow the cause-and-effect chain of the previous past scene, not the preceding present-story chain.

In other words, even if we cut out every present-setting scene, the story set in the past should still make sense and be a complete story. The past-timeline story exists for its own reasons, and the dual-timeline structure simply allows the two stories to add meaning to each other.

Need More Understanding or Examples of
Flashbacks vs. Dual-Timelines?
Check out Jami’s companion post!

When Should We Use Each Technique?

If we need readers to know aspects of the past to understand the context of the present, our default should be to use our normal backstory techniques, including hints/phrases, characters sharing stories, etc.

• Use Normal Backstory to share tidbits of necessary context relevant to current story events with readers.

If we want to use our usual showing techniques to share a specific past event with readers, such as to create a deep point of view (POV) experience, we may want to use a flashback.

• Use Flashbacks to show a past defining moment(s), event(s), or scene(s) with the POV character to readers.

If we want to explore a story idea that integrates the experiences of two different timelines to create a single understanding, we may want to use a dual timeline.

• Use Dual Timelines to show two stories set at different times that work together to illuminate each other.

Final Thoughts about Backstory Techniques

With the right writing techniques, we can ensure our backstory elements don’t slow down or interrupt our current story or feel like information dumps to readers. At the same time, appropriate use of backstory techniques can make our story and characters—and our readers’ connection to those—stronger and more compelling. *smile*

Want to learn how the new Fallout TV series juggles both flashbacks and dual timelines? Visit my companion post!

Have you struggled to understand how to weave backstory information into your story? Have you used flashbacks or written a dual-timeline story and have other insights to share? Do you have any questions about these techniques or how to approach backstory, flashbacks, or dual-timeline stories?

The post Flashbacks vs. Dual Timeline: What’s the Difference? appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Archetypes and tropes are popular storytelling elements because of their familiarity. Upon seeing them, readers know immediately who they’re dealing with and what role the nerd, dark lord, femme fatale, or monster hunter will play. As authors, we need to recognize the commonalities for each trope so we can write them in a recognizable way and create a rudimentary sketch for any character we want to create.

But when it comes to characters, no one wants just a sketch; we want a vibrant and striking cast full of color, depth, and contrast. Diving deeper into character creation is especially important when starting with tropes because the blessing of their familiarity is also a curse; without differentiation, the characters begin to look the same from story to story.

But no more. The Character Type and Trope Thesaurus allows you to outline the foundational elements of each trope while also exploring how to individualize them. In this way, you’ll be able to use historically tried-and-true character types to create a cast for your story that is anything but traditional.

DESCRIPTION: This patriarch of a crime family is cutthroat, calculating, fiercely loyal, and holds to a deeply ingrained moral code that may not translate for others.

FICTIONAL EXAMPLES: Don Vito Corleone (The Godfather), Tony Soprano (The Sopranos), Carmine Falcone (the DC Universe)

COMMON STRENGTHS: Analytical, Bold, Confident, Courageous, Decisive, Focused, Industrious, Loyal, Observant, Patient, Persistent, Private, Proactive, Protective, Responsible, Traditional

COMMON WEAKNESSES: Abrasive, Callous, Confrontational, Controlling, Devious, Evasive, Hostile, Inflexible, Manipulative, Obsessive, Prejudiced, Pushy, Sleazy, Stubborn, Suspicious, Temperamental, Unethical, Vindictive, Violent

ASSOCIATED ACTIONS, BEHAVIORS, AND TENDENCIES
Being a strong leader
Being loyal to their family and expecting unquestioning loyalty in return
Commanding respect
Following a specific code of ethics and expecting their family to do the same
Viewing their crime family as blood family
Displaying wealth and living an opulent lifestyle
Thinking critically and strategically
Pandering to, blackmailing, and coercing people in high places who can be of use to the family
Having few (or no) people they are truly vulnerable with
Using violence and intimidation to achieve their goals

SITUATIONS THAT WILL CHALLENGE THEM
Another crime lord horning in on their territory or criminal niche
Being betrayed by someone they’ve been grooming to replace them
Coming under intense investigation by law enforcement

TWIST THIS TROPE WITH A CHARACTER WHO…
Is reluctant to take over the role of don because they lack the necessary ruthlessness and cunning
Is a strong and capable female don
Has an atypical trait: Empathetic, Nervous, Needy, Sentimental, Trusting, etc.

CLICHÉS TO BE AWARE OF
The traditional Italian-American, cigar-smoking mob boss who lavishes care on his family while maintaining his position in the community with an iron fist
The ruthless and violent don with a spiderweb of connections within corrupt law enforcement

Other Type and Trope Thesaurus entries can be found here.

Need More Descriptive Help?

While this thesaurus is still being developed, the rest of our descriptive collection (16 unique thesauri and growing) is accessible through the One Stop for Writers THESAURUS database.

If you like, swing by and check out the video walkthrough for this site, and then give our Free Trial a spin.

The post Character Type & Trope Thesaurus: Mafia Don appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Three years ago, I never would have guessed I’d be writing a blog post on this topic.

Back then, I was focused on pure fantasy stories. My first novel was an epic fantasy, while my second and third were paranormal fantasy.

I thought I had “found my voice” in paranormal fantasy, but then a friend of mine asked me a question:

“Would you like to write a book about the King Midas myth?”

That question, and my answer to it—“Sure, I could give it a try”—opened up a whole new world for me in terms of fantasy writing.

Why?

Because when I started researching the King Midas myth, I discovered something very interesting: King Midas was a real person.

It’s Fun to Find History in Myth

King Midas, according to the latest research by the University of Pennsylvania, ruled the kingdom of Phrygia back in the later 600s and early 700s BC.

As far as the records show, this is the same Midas the Greeks were talking about when they created the King Midas myth—you know, the one about him asking the god Dionysus for the touch of gold. When I found this in my research, I was super excited. Not only did I have the myth to play with in my story, now I had the real life of King Midas, too. Combining them both in a new narrative opened up creative avenues I would have never explored before.

Writing the story was a lot of fun, and though I didn’t plan it that way, “The Curse of King Midas” has now spawned a series called The Midas Legacy. I’m knee-deep in book two at the time of this writing.

What I’d like to share with other writers is the fun that can be had when you try this type of setup for your story. If you’d like to explore something new or get out of a rut, I urge you to give it a try!

It’s Up to You How Much You Use of Either One

The main question I had getting into the story—and the one I still find myself asking as I look ahead to books two and three—is how much to pull from the real history and how much to use of the myth.

With this story, it made the most sense to rely heavily on the myth. This is what most people are familiar with when it comes to Midas. I’ve read other authors like Gregory Maguire (Wicked) and Madeline Miller (Circe) and I could recognize the main story (The Wizard of Oz and The Odyssey, respectively) within their novels. It was important to me to have the same recognition in my book about Midas, as readers attracted to the title will be looking for that.

I did change some things, though. The main one was Midas’ motivation. In the myth, he’s motivated strictly by greed. I couldn’t relate to that. Nor could I imagine a father as devoted to his daughter as Midas was risking it all for gold coins. So I shifted his motivation to something I felt was more relatable and greatly increased the stakes of the story: revenge.

I also played with some of the main characters, and here is where the real history helped me a lot. I needed a rival for Midas, and history gave it to me. According to the records that survived that time, King Sargon II—who ruled Assyria—found King Midas to be a pain in his behind. He often had to face him in battles and didn’t like that he was trying to squelch his expansion plans.

My research on King Sargon II helped me form his character in the story, and he turned out to be the perfect antagonist. He added a lot more drama and action to the story, which was just what the myth needed.

History Can Supply the Time and Setting

The other thing that I pulled from the history of King Midas was the time and setting. Whereas the myth is set in a general time in the past, the real King Midas’ life spanned a limited number of years in a very specific time. This helped create guardrails for my novel in terms of how people lived then and what sort of tools they had.

I was also delighted to discover that archaeologists were in the process of excavating the city of Gordion as I was writing! This is the capital city from where King Midas ruled. It was an amazing coincidence, and I’ve stayed as true as I could to the location of the city at that time.

The geography and the climate were already decided for me—I didn’t have to make them up. It also made creating the map that sits at the front of the book a lot easier!

A Basis for a Series

The last thing history gave me was a way to carry on with the story past the original myth. I didn’t expect that Midas would spawn a series, initially. Book one has a satisfying ending, but it does leave some questions unanswered, particularly concerning a couple of key characters. When my beta readers started asking me if there was going to be a sequel, I knew I had more in this world to explore.

I’ve returned to what really happened during that time as the basis for the second book. It’s presented some challenges for me, in terms of how it has to end. But I like a challenge and have enjoyed tackling a type of story I might not have tried otherwise. And I think it will naturally lead into the third and final book, though what will happen then I don’t know yet!

Might You Like to Combine Myth with History?

If you’re considering this type of approach to a story, here are some advantages I’ve found:

• The myth and the history together will present a ready-made plot, or at least the foundation of it. That can give you a jumpstart on plotting, making it a little easier.
• The history can give you time and place—making the setting simpler to create. (The research is fun too.)
• The myth can provide fun fantasy elements to include. (I used the gods and their magic to plant the story firmly in fantasy territory.)

Overall, this was a fun story to write. As a writing exercise, you may want to try combining one of your favorite myths or fairy tales with a certain time in history, just to see what you might come up with.

Note: To get a glimpse of Colleen’s new book, The Curse of King Midas, click here!

The post How to Combine Myth with History to Create Historical Fantasy appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

By Julie Artz

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After nearly ten years working with writers, I’ve decided the only inviolable rule in writing is that a romance must have either a happily ever after (HEA) or a happy for now (HFN) ending. And yet blog posts like these are full of writing “rules.” I loved Jami Gold’s post on rule breaking in fiction right here on Writers Helping Writers. Today I’d like to talk about one of the first rules she mentioned: Avoid Prologues.

Most writers recognize one of the most famous prologues in English-language literature, William Shakespeare’s sonnet opener in Romeo and Juliet that begins “Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona where we lay our scene…”

But at the same time, you’ve probably been told in a blog post, a conference talk, or writing course to avoid prologues at all costs. I’ve certainly cautioned many a writer against including a prologue. And 75% of the time it’s good advice, because prologues are often catch-all repositories for info-dump, world-building deep-dives, and spoilers. When a prologue works, though, it adds so much to your story. Here’s a checklist you can use to make sure your prologue is strong enough to break the “no prologue” rule:

Does it Pass the Prologue Test?

Does the prologue you have planned:

• Provide a hook that will leave the reader wanting more? This can be a mystery, a unique speculative element, a shocking/cliffhanger event, foreshadowing, or a gripping voice. See “The Importance of a Great Opening” by Lucy V. Hay for more on the hook.
• Foreshadow something that you couldn’t achieve via the main character’s point of view? See “No, Don’t Tell Me” by Jami Gold for more on foreshadowing.
• Introduce speculative elements in a story that starts in an otherwise contemporary or historical world? This can help you ensure you’re making the right promise to your reader.
• Introduce a mystery element or a question that the main character(s) might not be able to convey to the reader? Set up questions the reader will have to puzzle out as they read and you’ll have them turning pages into the wee hours of the night.
• Avoid cliche openings? Even in a prologue, you can’t start with a dream, a character looking in the mirror, or the classic dark and stormy night.
• Keep it short? No info-dump or onerous world-building. You don’t want the reader to be disappointed to learn the first voice they encounter in the story goes away after a short opening chapter, so give them just enough and move on to the main POV character in Chapter One.
• Prove itself absolutely essential to your story? If you can cut it and the story still holds water, you probably should. Make an agent/editor/reader feel that the prologue is crucial and they’ll love it as much as you do.

If your prologue doesn’t tick any of the boxes above, don’t just rename your prologue “Chapter One” and assume you don’t have to worry about it. If it’s a different POV character, a vastly different time, or sometimes even a different setting, it’s probably still a prologue. And that’s OK, as long as you avoid the pitfalls discussed here. Now that you know the elements of a strong prologue, you know what to do to make yours better. And if you’re still struggling, I’ve included some great examples below for further study.

Three Examples of Prologues that Work

Learning to read like a writer is one of the cheapest, most self-directed ways to improve your writing. Examining these three prologues with a writer’s eye will help you peek behind the curtain and think about what makes them work. Then you can go apply what you’ve learned to your own prologue. For more exercises to learn how to read like a writer, get my free workbook here.

Spoiler Alert: The prologue examples I’ve provided below are, by definition, only the opening few pages of lengthy novels, but there are some spoilers below. Understanding why a prologue works includes not only thinking about the opening of the story, but the prologue’s function in relation to the later events of the book. If you have not read one of these stories and don’t want spoilers, skip to the other two examples.

In the Lives of Puppets by TJ Klune

A Pinnocchio retelling set in a post-apocalyptic future, In the Lives of Puppets tells the story of young Vic and the mystery he kicks off when he brings a new robotic friend home from the junk heap. The prologue is from Vic’s father’s point of view and shows both how they ended up living alone in an isolated set of tree houses in the forest and how he came to adopt Vic. It immediately establishes the lonely father’s deep love of his new charge, which creates reader sympathy, and the fact that someone very bad is after Vic, which creates tension and mystery. But, and here’s the kicker, it also contains a lie that is the lynch pin of the mystery. Neither Vic nor the reader discovers the lie until the end of the book and that tension packs an extra gut-punch into an already wonderful story.

The Fifth Season by NK Jemisin

I don’t know this for sure, but I bet at least one person told NK Jemisin to cut not only her prologue, but the entire 2nd person point of view the prologue sets up in the first book in her stunning Broken Earth trilogy, The Fifth Season. Talk about a rule-breaker!

Jemisin’s world-building is second to none, but it’s also extremely complex. The prologue draws the reader in by beginning with the personal–the story of a mother losing her young child. Then she brilliantly addresses the reader with “You need context” and goes on to deftly, but briefly, paint a picture of the fantasy world. She continues to be the exception that proves the rule as she zooms out and takes on a more omniscient POV, introducing the reader to several important characters, the concept of “stone eaters,” which is central to the conflict, and ends with the apocryphal “This is the way the world ends. For the last time.” Chills! This rule-breaking prologue works because of the tension, mystery, and voice.

Cloud Cuckoo Land by Anthony Doerr

Like In the Lives of Puppets, this prologue includes a misdirection that isn’t revealed to the reader (or the POV character, Konstance) until late in this mind-bending, multi-timeline, multi-POV novel by Anthony Doerr. This prologue is shorter than the other two examples, but makes excellent use of introducing mystery elements. It introduces some of the key threads that will be explored in the story–the Diogenes, the siege of Constantinople, and also poses a question–why is this 14 year old girl alone in a spaceship? The reader doesn’t know how all these pieces come together, but they’re curious enough to read on, even though the ultimate mystery of Konstance’s story isn’t revealed until the very end.

For more information on a Prologue Done Right, check out Becca Puglisi’s post by that name, which deep dives into the prologue of Ruta Sepetys’s Between Shades of Gray.

Do you have a favorite prologue? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

Julie Artz spent her young life sneaking into wardrobes searching for Narnia. When people started to think that was too weird, she went in search of other ways to go on magical adventures. Now she finds those long-sought doors to mystical story worlds in her work as an author, editor, and book coach. She helps social and environmental justice minded writers slay their doubt demons so they can send their work out into the world with confidence. Her clients have published with the Big Five, with small and university presses, and indie/hybrid as well. An active member of the writing community, she has volunteered for SCBWI, TeenPit, and Pitch Wars and is a member of the EFA, the Authors Guild, and AWP. A consummate story geek and wyrdo, Julie lives in an enchanted forest outside of Redmond, Washington. Julie’s stories have been published in Crow Toes Weekly, the Sirens Benefit Anthology Villains & Vengeance, and the speculative anthology Beyond the Latch and Lever. Subscribe to Julie’s weekly newsletter, Wyrd Words Weekly, or connect with her below:

Facebook | Instagram | YouTube | Substack | Bluesky

The post Do You Need a Prologue? Take the Test! appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Whenever we write a protagonist who lost someone important within their backstory, we have some heavy lifting ahead of us. That “unseen” character—a character who has died or who is simply away for one reason or another—is going to need to be developed and brought to the page somehow to deepen the emotion beneath the protagonist’s loss.

It won’t be enough that we tell the reader our character misses that person, or how that we label how the unseen character used to make the protagonist feel—good or bad. That sort of writing reduces the relationship down to what we call “emotional abstraction”—outright naming the way someone feels, rather than letting the reader experience the emotion in a firsthand way.

If the loss or separation is truly crucial to the story of your protagonist, you’ll want to create the illusion of the unseen character so it’s as if we’ve actually met them.

To better understand why developing an unseen character is worth the work, let’s look at an example based on emotional abstraction. The protagonist (Lila) has recently lost her father, and is reflecting on a memory:

Lila was happy every time she and Dad rode in his truck together.

In this example, the writer tells us Lila was happy in an outright way. Though you’d think this would be enough for us to know what she’s lost in losing her dad, it winds up falling flat. The reader knows how they should feel, but the head and the heart don’t quite connect. The difficulty with naming emotions—or emotional abstraction—is that reader doesn’t actually feel the emotion with any precision or depth. The word happy means different things to all of us, and so it’s a missed opportunity for the reader to know exactly how happy Dad made Lila. The happiness in this example isn’t Lila-shaped, or precisely Dad-induced.

Now, consider this example that seeks to avoid emotional abstraction by creating the illusion of Dad:

Lila couldn’t explain why she always preferred to sit right beside Dad whenever she rode with him in his truck. Maybe it was his warm shoulder swaying side to side alongside hers over each and every bump in the road. She never minded sitting on the big tear in the worn leather of the bench seat as long as she was next to Dad. He always gave Lila complete control of the radio, even if the music she chose made his face wrinkle up like he’d eaten a lemon. He kept a pair of drumsticks in the glove compartment so she could practice drumming on the dashboard as they made their way around town for their usual Saturday errands.

“Louder, Lils.” He’d say every time they drove past the town library. She’d grin and he’d wink back.

Dad never learned how to play the drums. But Lila would focus on his rhythm as he thumped his palms the steering wheel, and try to sync her own beats with his.

Notice how in the second example, we accomplish so much more than the first example. We have a sensory-based memory with dialogue and body language that we can picture within our own minds. We feel how it feels for Lila to sit near Dad. We hear that cringey music Dad endures because Lila loves it, or the sounds made drumming along to the music. We can imagine the emotions they likely each feel with far more precision. We can better gauge his love for her, and who he was for her based on his actions. We can even judge the way she loves him back based on the way she tries to cover up his lack of rhythm by adjusting her own rhythm.

All of these details evoke an illusion that allows us to better comprehend and feel what it must be like for Lila to have lost Dad. We have unpacked “happy,” and we’ve given it precision and depth. We’ve made it Lila-shaped and Dad-induced.

In letting us indirectly meet an unseen character, we better understand both who they were as an individual and what their relationship with your front-story character/protagonist was like. As such, we better understand the emotions the protagonist is experiencing due to whatever has put distance between them and the unseen character.

If you have a character who isn’t technically in your front story but who is crucial to your protagonist’s backstory, you’ll want to consider creating the illusion of them on the page.

Let’s pull out our writerly magic wands and talk strategies for bringing an unseen character to life:

1. Backstory/Flashback: As with the second example above, crafting vivid, punchy flashbacks that let us glimpse the relationship your protagonist had with the unseen character can be a powerful tool. Flashbacks are especially effective because they give you the chance to bring an unseen character onto the page despite their absence in your front story.
2. Front-Story Objects: You can use objects to bring an unseen character to life. If we were to step into spaces they inhabited, or to go through their belongings, what would we learn about who they were? What objects does your protagonist hold onto that they were given from the unseen character? What mementos from time spent with that lost character does your protagonist keep? What can’t your protagonist bring themselves to get rid of? Which objects—wherever the protagonist goes—evoke memories?
3. Front-Story Dialogue: What do other characters say about who the unseen character was? What do they not say about the unseen character? What does your protagonist say or not say about them? Are there characters your protagonist avoids ever since they lost the unseen character?
4. Front-Story Locations: Where does your character avoid going because it’s a painful reminder of the lost character? Where does your character linger because they can’t let go of the unseen character?
5. Front-Story Activities: What hobbies or activities does your character avoid because of losing the unseen character? Are there activities they’re especially fixated on since losing the unseen character? What are they losing out on in life because of the loss?

Creating the illusion of the unseen character is only part of the heavy-lifting, though. We have to consider why we’ve chosen to include this lost character in your protagonist’s life in the first place, and how it relates to the journey ahead.

So much of what makes an off-the-page character work is what they do to challenge the protagonist in your front story.

Consider the following questions:

What didn’t your character know about the lost character that your front story might reveal to them? How is losing that character holding your character back when we first meet them? What events might occur to provide your character aha moments about letting go? What plot points might reveal the truth about something the protagonist couldn’t see back when the other character was around?

How did losing that unseen character turn out to help your protagonist figure out what they needed all along? What is it about who your unseen character was that reveals your protagonist to us at each flashback point? What are we learning not just about the unseen character in a flashback, but about your protagonist? How do those flashbacks show us change in your protagonist? Does each flashback reveal something slightly different? Is there a truth that needs to be revealed?

Consider why this specific loss of another character in your protagonist’s backstory matters and how it relates to their needs in your front story. Why, in other words, is losing that unseen character a starting point in what your protagonist needs to do externally and how they need to grow internally? How might the unseen presence of a character slowly draw your protagonist in toward some sort of journey of discovery? How do the memories of the unseen character or new discoveries about who they were shift your protagonist? How do the memories ask them to face some sort of fear or inner truth they’ve been incapable of seeing—likely something about themselves—when the dust settles?

What type of unseen character is part of your protagonist’s backstory? How does the loss of that character give rise to the journey you have planned for your own book? Do you have favorite examples of books, movies, or films that feature an unseen character?

Happy writing!
Marissa

The post Write Like a Magician: Creating the Illusion of an Unseen Character appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

We’ve probably seen advice warning that any time our story revisits information, we risk the idea feeling repetitive or redundant to readers if we’re not careful. Not surprisingly, the same risk can apply even across books in a series.

Yet when we write a book series, we usually need to repeat some information from book to book. Depending on the type of series, we might need to repeat character introduction or worldbuilding information, or we might need to touch on events from previous books, and so on. So how can we avoid the repetitive/redundant risk when presenting information in a book series?

Series 101: Types of Series

To understand our options for how to handle repeating information, we first need to determine the type of series we’re writing. In general, books are designated a series because they share at least one element:

• Shared Setting: These series take place in the same “world” but each feature different point-of-view (POV) characters. The characters of book two may or may not have been introduced in book one. The events of book two may or may not be dependent on the events of book one.
• Shared Character(s): These series feature the same POV character(s). The events of book two may or may not be dependent on the events of book one.
• Shared Story Arc: These series follow a story arc over several book installments. Each book usually features at least some of the same characters. Sometimes a story will end with a cliffhanger to be resolved in the next book. These books need to be read in order.

Which Category Best Fits Our Series?

We need to determine which category best fits our series, as the writing techniques that work best for handling repeated information vary for different types of series. For example, when series books are standalone, we use different techniques than when the books must be read in a certain order.

What if the books can make sense out of order but are connected enough to make events of one book affect the next book?

In this case, the series usually has less focus on the overall Shared Story Arc than the other shared elements, so the standalone techniques of the Shared Character or Shared Setting categories will likely be the most helpful to us. However, it’s also possible that that our series may change category near the end.

Some series can be read in any order until the last book(s), when the minor Shared Story Arc threads referenced throughout the series grow in importance to create a series-level story. For these series, to get the most out of the final book, readers should be familiar with the rest of the series first. In this situation, we can use the Shared Character/Setting techniques in the earlier books, and then when that Shared Story Arc finally takes over as the main focus of the book, we can change to use the Shared Story Arc techniques in the later book(s). We should just let readers know that they’ll get the most out of the last book(s) if they read the other books first.

Want to learn the Techniques for Series Based on Shared Setting
or the Techniques for Series Based on Shared Character?
Check out Jami’s companion post!

Techniques for Series Based on Shared Story Arc

The most important aspect of Shared Story Arc series is that if we intend to write the books with an assumption that readers have read previous books, we need to include that information in our marketing materials. For example, our book description/back-cover blurb should mention that this is book number-whatever in our series, and readers should start at the beginning of the series.

So if readers will read the books in a certain order, does that mean we shouldn’t bother repeating information at all? Unlikely.

Even within a single book, we still need to give readers hints about small details they may have forgotten since the earlier reference. For example, we might mention how a minor character is related to the story if they haven’t been on the page for several chapters, such as using a tag like “her brother.” (She couldn’t go to George for help, as her brother still hadn’t forgiven her for the last catastrophe.)

With a series, there’s usually months or years between the releases of our series’ books, or even if we release the series in a bundle, readers might not binge them all at once. So just like our techniques within a single book, we often need to find ways to trigger readers’ memory of earlier information.

Assuming we’ve let readers know that it’s essential to start the series at the beginning, we can focus on repeating a minimal amount of information with these 3 techniques…

#1: Use Just Enough Information to Trigger Readers’ Memory

In standalone series, we need to share enough information to get new readers up to speed, and that means re-introducing characters, the story world, and treating previous events as backstory. However, in story-arc series, we can shortcut a lot of repeated information by sharing just enough to trigger readers’ memory.

For example, rather than re-establishing why our protagonist is estranged from their family, we might just allude to the fact that they’re estranged from them. Or rather than sharing paragraphs of explanation to introduce main characters or the setting/story world, we might just state aspects of characters and the story world as facts and avoid the feeling of a re-introduction. In other words, focus on facts not explanations.

This memory-triggering process may look like one of these options, depending on the importance of the details:

• a short tag: her office nemesis,
• a sentence: She’d still never forgiven her coworker for stealing her idea, or
• a paragraph: She’d still never forgiven her coworker for stealing her idea. In fact, the more she’d thought about Andrew’s undeserved raise and promotion, the more upset she’d gotten. Soon, though, her plan for revenge would have its day.

The more important a fact, such as a major aspect of the story, the more strongly we should trigger readers’ memory with essential details in case they can’t remember. Do readers need to know the protagonist is traumatized by her father’s death in the previous book? Share how that trauma is affecting her currently, and thus include the fact of the death event along the way, much as how we’d treat any backstory.

If we need more than a paragraph or two to share the necessary details of important information with returning readers, we can try the next suggestion to avoid repeating ourselves too much.

#2: Use Different Circumstances to Mention Repeated Information

For important information, we need to ensure that readers remember enough that they’ll understand events. When our story requires us to repeat more than a condensed paragraph of information, we can avoid the feeling of too much repetition by changing the circumstances of our reveal.

For example, if we initially revealed the information in a shocking twist, a follow-up book may remind readers of the information via:

• a dialogue exchange,
• a different character bringing it up,
• internal monologue,
• an exploration of the aftereffects,
• a traumatic flashback, or
• being part of a conflict, etc.

Different techniques will fit best with different storytelling styles. The point is to change the circumstances so we’re forced to use different words, phrases, and descriptions to reduce the sense of déjà vu.

#3: Focus on How the Information Has Changed

In addition, we can emphasize how any repeated information has changed over the story’s arc. Or if the information itself hasn’t changed, we can bring it up by mentioning how characters have changed their perspective about it.

For example, we may explore how the POV character feels about it, how skilled they are at dealing with it, how they plan on taking advantage of it, etc. Revisiting the repeated information with some type of update can be a great way to ensure the repetition isn’t redundant, as readers are learning something new.

Final Thoughts about Avoiding Repetition in Series

With the right writing techniques, we can avoid—or at least minimize—the issue of readers feeling a sense of déjà vu as we repeat information in our series. When we find ways to change the information or how we deliver that information, we ensure readers are learning something new or seeing the information through a different perspective, and that gives them a reason to keep reading. *smile*

Want to learn techniques for Shared Setting or Shared Character series? Visit my companion post!

Have you written a series and struggled with how to revisit information? Can you think of any other techniques we can use to avoid a sense of repetition or redundancy? Do you have any questions about these techniques or how to approach repeating information in a series?

The post Continuing a Series: Is This Info Too Repetitive? appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Archetypes and tropes are popular storytelling elements because of their familiarity. Upon seeing them, readers know immediately who they’re dealing with and what role the nerd, dark lord, femme fatale, or monster hunter will play. As authors, we need to recognize the commonalities for each trope so we can write them in a recognizable way and create a rudimentary sketch for any character we want to create.

But when it comes to characters, no one wants just a sketch; we want a vibrant and striking cast full of color, depth, and contrast. Diving deeper into character creation is especially important when starting with tropes because the blessing of their familiarity is also a curse; without differentiation, the characters begin to look the same from story to story.

But no more. The Character Type and Trope Thesaurus allows you to outline the foundational elements of each trope while also exploring how to individualize them. In this way, you’ll be able to use historically tried-and-true character types to create a cast for your story that is anything but traditional.

DESCRIPTION: This character plays the role of a protective, attentive, nurturing, and wise caregiver to the protagonist. Though the father figure often has no children of his own (or he’s estranged from them), this isn’t always the case.

FICTIONAL EXAMPLES: Mr. Murry (A Wrinkle in Time), Albus Dumbledore (the Harry Potter series), Alfred Pennyworth (the Batman franchise, Uncle Iroh (Avatar: The Last Airbender), Obi-Wan Kenobi (Star Wars: A New Hope)

COMMON STRENGTHS: Confident, Empathetic, Friendly, Generous, Honorable, Industrious, Inspirational, Intelligent, Kind, Loyal, Nurturing, Perceptive, Persuasive, Protective, Responsible, Sensible, Supportive, Unselfish, Wise

COMMON WEAKNESSES: Controlling, Grumpy, Impatient, Know-It-All, Manipulative, Nosy, Obsessive, Pushy

ASSOCIATED ACTIONS, BEHAVIORS, AND TENDENCIES
Being protective of their charge
Sharing their wisdom
Taking or creating opportunities to teach
Being supportive of the people in their care
Being authoritative when necessary
Making sacrifices for the people in their care
Offering guidance to others
Manipulating circumstances (when necessary) to work out the way they think they should
Focusing too much on one charge and neglecting the others
Forgetting, at times, that the protagonist isn’t their child, and taking the fatherly role too far

SITUATIONS THAT WILL CHALLENGE THEM
Being unable to both protect the protagonist and do what’s best for the greater good
A physical or social limitation preventing the father figure from being a reliable protector and mentor
Watching the protagonist go their own way and reap the consequences of poor choices

TWIST THIS TROPE WITH A CHARACTER WHO…
Is deeply flawed
Teaches the protagonist to question authority and rebel against societal norms
Is absent in the story but is influencing their protagonist through their example and the advice they once gave
Has an atypical trait: Spoiled, Prejudiced, Hypocritical, Forgetful, Cynical, etc.

CLICHÉS TO BE AWARE OF
The father figure whose infallibility and seeming omniscience render them unrelatable
The afterthought parent who only shows up at key plot points to provide guidance

Other Type and Trope Thesaurus entries can be found here.

Need More Descriptive Help?

While this thesaurus is still being developed, the rest of our descriptive collection (16 unique thesauri and growing) is accessible through the One Stop for Writers THESAURUS database.

If you like, swing by and check out the video walkthrough for this site, and then give our Free Trial a spin.

The post Character Type & Trope Thesaurus: Father Figure appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.