[Writerpreneur] Compelling Characters 01

WRITING SALABLE FICTION - Characters are created for the reader. They want someone to identify with. But we have to know what that reader wants in a story to make that character come alive...

THE FIRST REQUIREMENT of fiction (as well as good non-fiction) is — a good story.

A good story is one which entertains the reader. To better define the term, we need to understand reader profiles and their fiction reading habits.

THE READER.

Fiction’s appeal seems rooted in humanity’s unusual place within the world. A newborn child is a complete egoist, caring only for its own appetites, comfort and content, and if a baby could fend for itself, these selfish impulses would dominate its whole life.

Because the baby is helpless, it must conform to the caregivers’ requirements and so joins society. It is man’s prolonged infancy which makes civilization possible.

Among stronger, more intelligent peers, the self-centered individual compromises. Even Tarzan conformed to ape standards, feeling shame at his distinction from his hairy peers.

In short, whoever has roommate, a friend, a family, a neighbor, must curb his selfish impulses and at least make a pretense of accommodating himself to the desires and demands of others. This pretense we call civilization. It is, too often, only a pretense, and one that breaks down.

Regardless, it’s a vital, unavoidable charade. Civilization’s measure lives in one’s capacity to withstand hypocrisy.

Humans exhibit dangerous, combative, selfish traits mirroring a wolf’s instincts. Yet he is also, by necessity, training and habit, a gregarious creature who lives in flocks and herds, like a sheep.

So — his odd situation as a “lone wolf”: humanity is wolfish, yet not solitary.

A CONFLICT OF AUTHORITY.

And yet there is a further difficulty, which even civilization cannot remove.

Man finds himself compelled to live under two flags. Thus, if he kills his enemy, Nature cries, “Well done! The survival of the fittest!” But Society shouts, “Guilty!’’ and hangs the killer for a murderer.

Again, if a man eats a bad oyster, Society only remarks, “Poor fellow!” But Nature yells, “Off with his head! Two unyielding masters control humanity, their commands frequently clashing.

No man can serve two masters. Out of this conflict of authority arises the demand for fiction. The human desire is a world where natural impulses and social standards coexist, enabling both happiness and virtue.

Complete, lasting resolutions are rare. But in fiction this can, apparently, happen. That is why people read fiction.

When we read we are likely to approve and prefer the character who fights for the group, for society — in short, for us. He is our hero because he puts our welfare ahead of his own. While a character who follows his own wolfish impulses earns our disapproval — unless he can do this without injury to us. In that case we may even have a sneaking admiration for him; we may condone his selfishness.

But the mere resolution of this discord is not enough for us Man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward. Trouble is the natural habitat of mankind. Take us out of trouble and we die like fish out of water, for our emotions demand it, and if we cannot find enough trouble to keep us in good health, we then create it. If we’re in good health, we derive pleasure from a conflict, even though real-life troubles can be deadly. Fiction offers a safer outlet for our craving, and since society has tamed us, we find much of our desired trouble in fiction.

And so, fiction comprises struggle, strife and conflict. The narrative ends once these struggles resolve. It almost seems that the writer is only one step above the hangman, for he makes his living by tormenting imaginary characters for the wolfish—or sheepish—satisfaction of his readers!

Yet, by so doing, the writer serves the interests of society, since he thus relieves the pressure of his readers’ pent-up emotions, and so makes civilization more endurable for them—and for their neighbors!

ELEMENTS OF A GOOD STORY.

And so, our story concerns:

(a) trouble or conflict,

(b) natural impulse versus social demands or ideals.

The reader wants these elements, but he wants more than these. He wants fiction—something “made up” to please him; he wants “a good story.” Fortunately, a good story is a rather definite thing. The common phrase, “He made a good story out of it,” offers a clue to its nature. A skilled narrator’s account, streamlined, surprising, logical, will be more captivating.

THE ACTUAL WORLD, as we know it, is a complex thing, extending on all sides far beyond the reach of our feeble senses. Something from a time beyond comprehension. A limitless entity. Its vastness and intricacy baffle and stagger us. Such immensity overwhelms us, and our finite minds recoil. All that we experience springs from such complex and remote causes we cannot estimate them by any stretch of the imagination. And so the poet has suggested that if we could grasp the scheme of things entire we would shatter it to bits and then remold it nearer to the heart’s desire.

Likely, the poet was wrong. If we could understand the entire scheme, we might not want to destroy it, as we could then comprehend it and discover our own place within it. But now, in our vast ignorance, we cannot comprehend it, and so it seems altogether too haphazard, too casual for our comfort. We want something simpler, smaller, neater, something we can grasp. And so we implore fiction writers: fabricate something more captivating and sensible than known existence.

We demand a good story.

Many recount the story of the fish that got away. But an old Indian tale suits our needs.

A TALL TALE.

The Indian who made this story wished to amuse and interest his hearers. The tale stems from a hunter’s empty-handed return from the woods.

His comrades and rivals would make fun of him unless he could give them an adequate excuse. The narrator embellished that excuse. He transformed the hunter; now, he’s skilled, lightning-fast, unmatched in tracking. a fawn, and set out on the trail at his usual pace. He ran full speed all day, never losing sight of his goal—a feat few could match. The interesting part was its unusualness. More interesting — a hunter’s eventual capture of the animal would be more compelling. Despite being a known fact, the narrator extended the trail, turning it into an old and long-existing one — days, weeks, years, an entire lifetime ago! Yet the hunter reached its end in one day. What a hunter! He followed the fawn’s trail until its end, finding the creature dead from old age. This yarn’s untrue, however interesting! A good story, indeed.

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE.

That story fulfills one requirement: interest. This delivers a unique, real-life impossible experience. Thus, all good stories are tall tales. They are, as we say, too good to be true.

It takes more than a tall tale. A fresh reading experience hinges upon the reader’s ability to imagine every step. It must affect him like a genuine experience, and to do this it must “hang together.” The whole yarn must be so logical, so coherent that nowhere can the reader put down his finger and say, “This is impossible!”

SEEING IS BELIEVING.

Readers doubt what you tell him. But he cannot help believing everything you show him. So the only way you can make a story “hang together’’ is to show the reader everything. Especially those things which are most difficult to believe. Otherwise he cannot imagine them, feel them, and so believe them.

The woods, hunter, and fawn’s trail are believable elements. Accepting the hunter’s speed is easier than the creature’s death from old age, which created the fawn’s trail.

The narrator faces a challenge in gaining our belief. Otherwise we cannot follow, we cannot feel them.

He must therefore show the hunter running, describe his mighty muscles, his tireless legs, his long strides in action as the trees whiz by. He won’t claim the animal’s death resulted from age. He needs to show us the bones. We only see horns and teeth; the bones disintegrated long ago. You may think that no reader would accept such an outlandish lie. But you would be mistaken. Rider Haggard, in his romantic novel *She*, caused his readers to accept a scene far more improbable than that: the queen, centuries old but magically preserved, dwindled into old age and death in mere seconds, leaving only a single tooth behind. The book was a best seller.

Thus the fiction writer has the job of making a tall tale plausible. A good story is a plausible tall tale.

THE TRUE STORY is often dull and incredible.

Whether a real true story exists remains unproven.

Stories do not occur in real life; that is why writers get paid to create them.

You may test this by stripping away the camouflage from the stories you read in magazines or see upon the screen. If you will state, in a few brief sentences, the bare plot of any good story, you will put your finger upon one possibility, and more likely a dozen impossibilities.

You will find this a useful test for your own work: If your plot — thus stated — displays no rank impossibility whatever, it is not a good plot, and you had better discard it. Your story is not fiction.

There must be fact in fiction. There may be wisdom in fiction.

But there is no truth. Truth and wisdom are two things. Do not confuse them.

THE GNAT AND THE CAMEL.

Too many writers lose sight of the fun, the element of play, in literature. To the hard-working writer fiction may be an art or a business. Readers, however, view it as a game.

The reader craves a good story, he is eager to collaborate, ready and willing to swallow a camel—but you must beware lest he strain at a gnat. If you can contrive to hide or destroy the gnats (the small improbabilities), the reader will gulp down your camels (the huge impossibilities). If you give him half a chance, he will swallow a dozen and cry for more.

The fact is, as history shows, that mankind finds it easier to believe a thing the more impossible it is. Faith is very often as the small boy said it was: “believing what you know ain’t so”! Mankind has an eagle eye for slight errors; but its ability to recognize truth is negligible.

Thus, radio listeners will be skeptical about real happenings in the next block. When you tell them Martian landings destroyed a city; thousands now flee. Fiction writers are not just congenital liars. They have to lie. A lie is the only thing their readers will believe! For all that, the reader insists upon believing. Editors insist writers make readers believe. They argue that, once a reader loses faith in the magazine’s fiction, he will also lose faith in the magazine’s advertising! To repeat: a good story is a plausible tall tale.

TWO TASKS OF THE FICTION WRITER.

A fiction writer’s chief responsibilities are twofold:

(a) Craft a fanciful story, unbelievable yet desirable. Something that never happened and never could happen. But something the reader wishes might happen, and

(b) to make that impossible yarn plausible, at least for the time being, and just as demanded by his reader.

METHODS OF PERFORMING THE TASKS.

First: craft a narrative where nature and society find common ground after considerable struggle. The hero then finds it possible to be both “good’’ and “happy” at the same time. This is what the magazine reader wishes might happen.

The second task: Organize details to create a believable story.

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In your writing, you now have a plausible tall tale that the reader has suspended their belief enough to swallow your premise.

Next is to start fleshing out the hero, the viewpoint character. With all their conflicts and foibles – just what the reader can identify with on their own journey through your book...

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This excerpt is from “Forgotten Bestseller Secrets” — one of the Writerpreneur Series. You can get instant access to your digital ebook copy and all three mini-courses from that link.

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