Where To Start (Part 1)

Posted on May 1, 2012 by MHP

A notebook for fiction writers and aspiring novelists. One editor’s perspective.

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Exploring your Inciting Incident
Also: How to jump-start creativity.

I’ve previously mentioned that finishing one’s novel is pretty damn important. So important, it’s my very own (previously stated and completely subjective) Rule #1. However, I’m aware that Rule #1 presumes that a writer already has a potential, novel-length idea in mind—and both the technical knowledge and self-confidence to begin crafted the tale exactly as envisioned.

But for many novice and/or hesitant fiction writers, that’s not always the case. Rule #1 loses a significant amount of value if you lack the experience, insight and/or courage to begin jotting down that first line.

And yeah, it takes a great deal of courage to begin a novel.

Before one even considers writing that first line, perhaps ponder your inciting incident. A misconception that some newbie writers have is assuming that “writing a novel” begins with tentatively scribbling out that first line on the first page of the first chapter. But writing a story typically begins with a vague or promising idea—one that may pester you for hours, days, weeks or even years, buzzing around your brain like an angry mosquito. Often (not always but often) this incomplete but essential What if…? premise will become either the beginning, or the crux, of your story—a simple idea that puts into motion all circumstances and events that will eventually produce a completed novel. This originating concept—whether a cause or effect, a grandiose event or random occurrence, conflict or dare, even a character’s Eureka! moment—will become inciting incident.

Or think of it this way: Your inciting incident is the necessary spark that will ignite the remainder of the story. If you were to visualize your novel’s plot (story line) as a string of exploding firecrackers, the inciting incident is you, the writer, lighting the fuse with a match. You’re telling readers that something different—wonderful or romantic or terrifying or mysterious or silly or mind-blowing—is about to happen.

For instance: What if a skinny third-grader named Johnny is beaten up by several sumo-sized fifth graders? That’s an inciting incident. Johnny begins to formulate a cunningly sophisticated, yet bloodless, idea for revenge and eventually sets the plan in motion. Either he succeeds or fails miserably. Maybe Johnny fails but learns other important lessons about friendship or love or the downside of revenge. That’s the plot.

Or: What if a nuclear power plant is struck by a massive lightning bolt in the dead of night? An inciting incident, right? Those few late-shift engineers on duty wake from a stunned stupor and suddenly realize they’re telepathic. How do they adapt to their lives in the new normal? Do they become social outcasts? Do they save the world from some secret government conspiracy? Or just always win at poker? The moment those engineers awaken and realize what’s happened to them, your story will begin to produce an endless series of What if…? scenarios, until you decide upon a viable story-line and an ultimately satisfying conclusion.

One’s inciting incident can either be prominently or discreetly plot-relevant. Your first line or opening scene need not directly relate to your story or its outcome. (See Writing That First Line). Maybe you want to introduce a character or two. Or establish a definitive time and place to better ground readers in your fictional realm. However, I do suggest that one’s inciting incident—whether revealed on Page 1 or as distant as the second or third chapter—provides a direct link to your primary plot. (It’s inciting, after all.) So provide the necessary correlation.

I realize that many writers may be unsure or only vaguely aware of where the plot’s heading when they begin writing. A solid plot might not be evident for a chapter or two. Even those with a plot in mind may not know the book’s ending for another 100 pages or so. Me? I usually have no idea how or where my book might end until I’m midway through the story. I may have a vague concept, or several potential options to choose from—but rarely is my Act III a certainty.

Some writers cobble together a plot as they write, relying on intuition and Outlining. Others don’t really care at this point (those adventurous pantsers among us. Although sooner or later, to avoid encroaching insanity, even pantsers will have to structure a definitive ending, if only inside their heads before they write that last page).

Also note that in character-driven stories (as opposed to plot-driven narratives) a central plot—or series of plots—may be little more than an afterthought. It’s the drama of human emotion that drives the book, not any particular event (an alien encounter or zombie invasion, or a murder or finding true love) that befalls a character. There may be far fewer external events and far more internal growth. So one’s inciting incident may simply be a decision to hike through the wilderness or stop for a cup of coffee at a local cafe—only to discover what might happen next. Drama is, of course, a necessary ingredient in fiction, but in a character-driven novel, the story’s outcome need not be directly connected to any specific opening. (See Character Development.)

One final thought about your inciting incident. While the incident itself need not be grandiose or imposing—lightning need not crash, thunder need not rumble—think of your inciting incident as whatever gets your protagonist off his/her butt and into motion. Without that inciting incident, your hero would likely sit passively in front of the TV, eating bon-bons, waiting for something to happen.

Your inciting incident is the something that happens.

Jump-Starting Creativity

Most fiction writers are overflowing with creativity. Daydreams and potential story ideas flood our waking hours, and sometimes fill our dreams as well. And yet our zest to actually begin writing a novel can freeze our thoughts and suck dry our best intentions.

So what happens when we’ve concocted a potentially marvelous character or two, but suddenly realize they’re all dressed up with nowhere to go? Or perhaps we’ve visualized an impressively complex realm or a dazzling location—cabaret-rich Paris in the 1920s, or a colony on one of Jupiter’s many moons, or an alt-reality where dragons rule the skies and magic permeates everyday life. How to populate such a potentially fertile environment with a suitably engaging story? So many possibilities, so few brain cells!

If you don’t have a basic plot in mind, don’t overthink your options just yet. My suggestion is to start with a simple, basic concept… and see where that might take you. For the moment, you’re just looking for that aforementioned inciting incident.

For instance, let’s say that we’ve envisioned a medieval type fantasy, filled with warring castles and jousting knights, with dragons and fair maidens and evil wizards and such.

A young knight sits on his trusty stead, observing the castle’s yawning gates. Let’s call him Sir Navnløs. His horse’s name is, dunno—Pepper. (We’re just making stuff up at the moment…because that’s how novels are born.) Sir Navnløs has never ventured this far from his village, and cautiously ponders the overwhelming size of this newfound kingdom.

Okay, to make our story a bit more interesting, let’s make this is a mystical realm. Lord Navnløs knows a bit of magic, but his skills are sketchy. Sometimes his spells work. Sometimes they don’t. Which may lead to some interesting drama later in the story. We need not dwell on what sort of magic Lord Navnløs knows just yet—we’re teasing a bit of info for readers to ponder. We’re character-building, plumping up our young night’s personality with powers that might come in handy. (Think “Hodor.”)

So why is Sir Navnløs even here? Maybe he’s searching for something specific. Excitement and adventure? That’s kind of vague. What if he’s looking for his lost sister, or his long lost father, or even for his lost dog, Spoticus. Or perhaps bandits have sacked his his village, and Sir Navnløs is seeking revenge. Their tracks lead here, to this castle. So he’s gonna ask around.

He enters cautiously crosses the drawbridge, aware of archers watching him from the turrets… but then what? Maybe he begins to lead Pepper through the castle’s bailey (courtyard)—a great time to reveal some mondo scene-setting. Is it a ginormous castle? Old and rundown? Or magnificent in overwhelming splendor. Bustling, energetic? Is it raining? Sunshiny? Grey and misty? Is the young knight aware of tantalizing aromas? Are animals braying? Are the stone streets alive with the horns and drums brightly-clothed musicians? Or maybe not. Perhaps he confronts a more ominous scenario. Are bodies hanging, rotting, from the gallows? Ravens circling overhead or munching on the corpses? Are the streets suspiciously empty? Do fearful eyes observe him cautiously from doorways? (Whichever direction you proceed, you’ll immediately open up more options, more possibilities. S’up to you.)

Perhaps Lord Navnløs spots a fair maiden cowering in the street, being bullied or beaten by an angry young man in noble garb—a prince of some sort, Lord Navnløs deduces. He’s displeased by what he sees, but he’s a visitor here, and the nobleman is obviously his ‘better.’ What can he do without losing his head? Perhaps he has a sudden, clever idea. Maybe he…?

Or… what if Lord Navnløs is instead met inside the gate by a dozen knights on horseback, in full armor. They’re about to embark on a dangerous mission to slay a dragon, a cranky creature burning nearby villages and eating babies like popcorn. The captain of the guard gruffly insists that the young night join them in the hunt! And by the unrelenting snarl on the captain’s face, Lord Navnløs realizes he has little choice but to agree. Ready or not, adventure looms…!

In either scenario—the abused fair maiden or the potential bout of dragon slaying—that’s your inciting incident, a single occurrence (grandiose or subtle) that propels the remainder of your story forward. It’s the spark that ignites all the drama and passion, all the twists and turns, all the head-lopping, maiden-saving and dragon-slaying to come. Once a writer has an inciting incident in mind, the rest of the story should eventually fall into place. (An Outline at this point may be advised.) Or else it’s time for a little more contemplation, percolation and deliberation to concoct various additional What if…? scenarios sufficient to infuse your story with a constant stream of drama and excitement.
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Good Writing, Bad Advice

Posted on January 2, 2012 by Dave Workman

A notebook for fiction writers and aspiring novelists. One editor’s perspective.

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Good Writing, Bad Advice.

My name (once again) is Dave Workman. I’m a content (developmental) editor IRL. I’m also an author. Over the years, I’ve accumulated a bit of knowledge that may help new writers beginning a long and often arduous (although hopefully rewarding) journey. Might I impart any significant pearls of wisdom on this page? I offer no assurances. Nobody in this business—in any business—can guarantee success. Finding a publisher is sometimes more luck (sadly) than skill. Good timing rather than dedication. Sometimes it’s who you know. Sometimes it’s who your daddy knows. Success is a subjective son-of-a-bitch with a chip on one shoulder and a crazed twinkle in its eye.

But knowing how to write well can’t hurt. And knowing a few basic rules along the way can definitely ease the process. Success may be elusive, but for an unprepared or apathetic writer, success is probably little more than a fuzzy daydream.

Do you know the Numero Uno, Most Common, Most Discouraging, and the Tragic Probable Outcome of all novel-length endeavors? It’s not finishing the book. Losing interest or losing your way, losing your nerve or losing your religion. It’s fear of success or fear of failure or fear of wrestling all those words into place, from “Once upon a time…” to “…They lived happily ever after.” If you can overcome the multitude of hurdles you’ll face and finish a manuscript (even a first draft!) you’re already closer to success than most.

Finish the book. That’s Rule #1.

In this and subsequent posts, I’ll attempt to reveal what many publishers seek in terms of a desirable manuscript, although—bottom line?—it’s very likely a polished, professional and unique voice. Yes, voice. A publisher (or agent) is far more likely to accept an uncanny voice over a complex, complicated or convoluted plot structure. Lock two fully-developed characters in a closet, give them exceptional dialogue and quirky or witty personalities worth exploring, and a publisher will likely consider that manuscript over a done-to-death story about brain-sucking aliens attacking Las Vegas. (Although if your aliens have quirky, well-constructed personalities, a potential agent/publisher will take a close look as well.)

But let’s face it—only so many finite plot-lines exist in literature. They’ve all been covered ad nauseam. Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy is eaten by giant squid. (It’s been done.) But a unique voice is yours alone. Exclusive. Inimitable. Priceless. For a writer, creating a unique voice, creating memorable characters, is imperative. By infusing excitement, passion, eccentricity, pathos, wit and charisma into your story’s various characters can be money in the proverbial bank.

Okay, enough preamble. Although I do have one significant bit of advice to share: Don’t listen to anybody (and certainly not to me) if the advice doesn’t resonate. Go with your gut. Go with your own instincts. By all means, listen selectively to proffered advice—accept feedback when it’s constructively given—although I suspect some 80-90% of what you hear won’t work for you. However, that remaining 10-20% may prove priceless. So do keep an open mind! (See Confronting Criticism.) Remember, success is as much about breaking rules as following them. If it feels right, crayon outside the lines. I think Gandhi said that. Maybe not.

To illustrate, here’s a true story. This one still gives me nightmares. I still wake up cringing.

The most single, most horrific, most god-awful perverse piece of advice I’ve ever encountered occurred during a week-long writers’ conference in Southern CA. (And while a writers’ conference can be a wonderful, magical, scintillating experience… again, be careful who you listen to.)

One evening, a panel of “editorial experts” bequeathed their brilliance to a capacity filled auditorium of eager, fledgling writers. An attendee stood and asked a panelist a question, and in doing so happened to mention that her nearly-completed novel filled some 360 pages. About 90,000 words.

Without a moment’s preamble—without a speck of empathy or a grain of intelligence—the so-called expert replied, “It’s too long. Cut twenty thousand words.”

This Expert of Knowing Everything While Knowing Nothing had no clue about the nature of the story or its genre, or of the writer’s level of craft, the tenor of the book. Simply “cut it.” The writer was, of course, crushed. And I have never forgotten my frustration over that absurdly idiotic remark.

Should anyone tell you to arbitrarily cut (or add) pages without otherwise knowing your story—it’s intent and purpose—smile politely and walk away. I’ve read too many manuscripts that feel truncated and unfinished… only to discover that the writer had been previously advised to “cut, cut, cut!” without further direction or counsel. In desperation, many writers blindly begin hacking all the style and nuance from an otherwise excellent story.

Think of a novel as a living, breathing person. As an editor, if I feel a story needs to lose a bit of weight, I’ll not advise a writer to remove its liver or stomach or left arm. The process is to shrewdly exercise your book—cautiously trimming adverbs, adjectives and excess verbiage like so many bloated fat-cells. Eliminate scenes or chapters that do nothing for the story but flatter your ego. Prune those sections carefully, little by little. Or feed it more Skittles, should the opposite be true.

I acknowledge that the above-referenced workshop occurred before the Age of e-publishing. Stricter rules applied once upon a time (although stupidity didn’t count back then, either). And I continue to hear agents and editors and the so-called “people in the know” advising writers to cut or add pages, to alter a manuscript in order to satisfy some personal itch or the guidelines of a publishing system that no longer exists.

The biggest problem today? Since the emergence of e-books and self-publishing (around 2008-ish), the industry remains in flux. No one’s certain of the new rules yet. But in this rapidly changing paradigm of 21st century novel writing, here’s my best advice: Trust yourself—and hone those basic skills of storytelling in the (somewhat paradoxically) simplest, yet most exciting voice you can muster.
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Posted on January 1, 2012 by Dave Workman

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A notebook for fiction writers and aspiring novelists. One editor’s perspective.

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Welcome to the blog!
……Here’s what’s what.

My name is Dave Workman. I’m an author and freelance editor (formerly an acquisitions and developmental editor for Muse Harbor Publishing). I began writing Rules of Engagement for beginning (or curious) writers, based on what I perceive to be fundamental obstacles that many of us confront when starting, or struggling through, a new novel. Perhaps I can offer useful advice—or maybe not—although I certainly know what excites me as a reader. Thus, the following comments (although RoE remains a work-in-progress) may be worth a look.

INTRO. Good Writing, Bad Advice. Ultimately, it’s your book.
Rule #1: Finish your book.

1. Where to Start. (Part 1). Exploring your inciting incident.

2. Where to Start (Part 2). Your first line should be the most thoughtfully crafted sentence of your story. • Also, don’t know exactly how or where to start? (I have a suggestion.)
Rule #2: Make your story’s first line enticing enough to immediately hook readers.

3. Where to Start (Part 3). Outlining. (If you’re a first-time novelist, outlining may be more important than you think. Even if you’ve written a dozen-or-so novels…it’s still important.)

4. Where to Start (Part 4). Getting down to it. (Starting for real).
Rule #3: Write to please yourself.
Rule #11: Get acquainted with your story.
Rule #100: Expecting perfection? Well, get over yourself. Beginning a novel is often messy, complicated and fraught with sleepless nights of panic, self-doubt and uncertainly. However, trust me, you’ll improve. Patience, pilgrim… patience. (Also see #13: Perfection below.)

5. First Drafts. Writing is a two-part process—Part 1: The Idea. And, Part 2: The Implementation. A first draft is a writer’s attempt to make that difficult transition between creative right-brain thinking and logical left-brain doing. • Also, don’t expect perfection (or even coherence) in a first draft. It’s not a finished product, but rather a basic, rough-draft of half-baked ideas and fragmented concepts that will eventually help us ‘get to where we’re going.’

6. A Few Common Obstacles. The 6 most common obstacles that most novice novelists confront. (Also See: More Common Obstacles—#39 below.)

7. Fundamentals. Discovering those so-called ‘pillars’ of a successful novel. Sometimes it’s nature. Sometimes it’s nurture. Success is likely a combination of both. • Also, the Hierarchy of Competence.
Rule #17: Make a hard copy (paper) back-up of your manuscript every now and then, even when working in draft mode. (See Finagle’s Law. But brace yourself.)

8. Simple, But Exciting. Juggle precision with passion. • Also: Introducing the novel’s Three Essential Components.
Rule #7: Write in clear, precise sentences. Communicate to your reader in intelligent thoughts, carefully constructed, while providing a constant, continual procession (discreetly or indiscreetly) of relevant information.
Rule #5: Continually 1. scene-set; 2. character-build, or; 3. move the plot forward. When writing fiction, nothing else matters. Page by page, a good novel should seamlessly blend all three components.
Rule #13: Readers don’t read novels to find out What Happens. They read novels to find out What Happens to Whom. Sufficient character development is as essential as your plot.

9. Exciting, But Simple. Juggle passion with precision.
If you’re not fully engaged in your writing, potentially dull and tedious prose won’t thrill readers. But innovative, excited, passionate writers tend to produce innovating, exciting and passionate prose. Too much passion, however (the dreaded ‘purple prose’) can quickly drown a reader in the unintelligible. So it’s important to find that balanced, literary ‘sweet spot.’

10. Active Writing (Part 1). Active Voice. How to find it. How to keep it.
Rule #8: Keep characters in motion. Either through action or dialogue, you’re continually pushing characters toward drama or pulling them away from drama. Also see Show, Don’t Tell below.

11. Active Writing (Part 2). Active Language (Grammar).
Rule #6: The Jumping Cow Rule (Active vs. Passive Voice).

12. Active Writing (Part 3). Active Composition (Plotting)
Rule #14: Develop your story from A-to-Z. Know where you’re going.

13. Perfection. Do your best, and then move on.
Rule #25: Perfection in writing doesn’t exist. (Don’t burn out or waste years attempting to find it.)
Rule #4: Do the best you can. That’s all readers can ask.

14. Action/Reaction. A novel is an endless series of relevant connections. Every paragraph you write is like a puzzle piece that must fit into a specific, coherent place within a specific, coherent premise.
Rule #10: In fiction, for every action, provide an appropriate reaction. Over and over and over.

15. Show, Don’t Tell. What’s it even mean? Because we’ve all heard this advice a thousand times before… but it’s still a valid axiom. So don’t dismiss it! • Also, exploring E-Prime writing.

16. What’s Your Intention? A brief guide to rational writing.
Rule #29: Your characters may remain mysterious, elusive or distracted, but your prose must remain clear and concise.

17. Focus on the Now. Stay in the moment.
Rule #16: Focus on the now. Write one thought at a time, and don’t worry about the rest. • Also, Foreshadowing, Telegraphing and Recapping. (The good, the bad and the ugly.)

18. My Favorite Films About Writers and Writing. A personal aside.

19. Finding Your Voice (Part 1). Find a style and stick with it.
Rule #9: A great novel is not so much what you tell, but how you tell it. All writers develop a unique style. Finding yours is imperative.

20. Finding Your Voice (Part 2). Do your characters speak to you?
Rule #12: Shut up and let your characters tell their own stories.

21. Finding Your Voice (Part 3). Forms of narration: Narrative vs. Authorial Voice.

22. Write The Daydream. What’s a novel, but a daydream we write down and embellish, expand and hone into something coherent, dramatic and hopefully entertaining?

23. Plotting (Part 1). “I want to write a book, but…”

24. Plotting (Part 2). Fiction is all about drama. (Even raucous comedies are about the drama.) So don’t dismiss the drama.
Rule #27. Make drama (big drama, little drama) your novel’s constant companion.

25. Story vs. Plot. What’s the dif? • Also, resolving the “My-story’s-too-short!” dilemma.

26. Action vs. Information. The Oil & Water of Novel Writing.
Rule #26: Don’t mix Action and Information scenes. Keep these two incompatible concepts (relatively) separate.

27. Dialogue (Part 1). Writing Great Dialogue: An Absolute Necessity.
Rule #30: Create dialogue that—like the basic fundamentals of fiction—accomplishes one of three specific goals. Dialogue must: 1) Set a scene; 2) Develop/refine a character and/or; 3) Move the plot forward.

28. Dialogue (Part 2). Writing Great Dialogue: Balancing reality and fiction — two very distinct styles of chit-chat.
Rule #39: Never reveal too much relevant information too quickly.
Rule #39A: ...but relevant or not, always keep dialogue witty and compelling.

29. Dialogue (Part 3). Writing great dialogue isn’t about epic plotting. It’s simpler than that. Rule #41: Great fiction isn’t about ‘what happens.’ It’s about ‘what happens to people.’

30. Dialogue (Part 4). Dialogue vs. Internal Monologue. The key to precise communication with your readers is knowing when to use what. • Also: Communication via TV, Radio, Social Media and Texting

31. Dialogue (Part 5). Writing Great Dialogue in First Person (POV).
Rule #45: First Person POV readers aren’t expecting absolute authenticity so much as absolute personality.

32. Dialogue (Part 6A). The Q. & A. page.
Rule #48: Don’t use dialogue as an alternative to directly depicting action or drama.

33. Dialogue (Part 6B). The Q. & A. page (Cont’d).

34. Dialogue (Part 7). Attribution. (AKA: Dialogue Tags.) The ‘he said/she said’ of writing dialogue. Because sometimes visual subtleties matter.
Rule #55: Don’t just write dialogue, write active dialogue. Avoid ‘talking heads’ scenes by maintaining visual stimulation or plot momentum during scenes of intense dialogue.

35. Dialogue (Part 8). When not to use dialogue.

36. Character Development. Quite possibly the most important part of your story.

37. Scene-Setting. Scene-setting is often the most overlooked of the three essential components of novel writing.
Rule #28: Every scene we write, before we begin (or before we continue) to propel our plot forward, we must establish a viable setting for our characters, and a firm grounding for our readers. And we must do so every time we move a character to a new time or place, scene after scene.

38. Confronting Criticism. Sooner or later, we all confront criticism. How we regard such feedback can be crucial to our eventual success.
Rule #99: Knowing the difference between constructive criticism and counter-productive criticism is crucial. (And this is where I tell you why.)

39. More Common Obstacles. Are you still finding those first few scenes/chapters difficult or impossible to write? • Also: The neurodivergent writer. I’ve already mentioned a few common obstacles that writers face. (See #5 above.) Maybe it’s time to look inward and investigate further.

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