Pub Rants

Category: Genre

Never Let the Truth Get in the Way of a Good Story

by Angie Hodapp

“Never let the truth get in the way of a good story” is one of those fun pieces of campfire wisdom sure to elicit a laugh. It encourages hyperbole, color, embellishment. It places greater value on the experience of a well-told story and the skill of the storyteller than on the mundanity of whatever really happened. But interpreted in a slightly different way, this adage offers a useful lesson for fiction writers.

I’ve read many a manuscript in which the author has become so bogged down in truth that they forget they’re telling a story. This happens in all types of fiction, but it’s especially prevalent in historicals. The author has done a ton of research—and rightfully so!—on the particular time and place in which they have decided to spin their tale. But then they frontload their novel with all that research…which, sadly, does little to engage the reader.

I’m sure the impetus is to establish both an authentic setting and narrative credibility. Good things to establish. But if the reader isn’t immediately pulled into the story by character, concept, and conflict, then no amount of careful research or meticulously described setting in the world will make the novel successful.

What do I mean by frontloading with research? I mean that the writer spends too much time and energy “papering the walls” with details that don’t drive story. Often in historicals, such opening chapters feature:

  • Food (what it is; how it was prepared, seasoned, and served; what rituals or traditions exist around eating it)
  • Clothing (what it looks like, what it’s made of, how it was put on, what all the various articles are called)
  • Dialect (phonetically spelled accents, regional phrasing, occasional foreign words in italics)
  • Music (Cyndi Lauper’s new song “Time After Time” comes on the radio)
  • “Current” events being mentioned or discussed in the background (the Berlin Wall is coming down)

All this is wallpaper in your novel unless…

  • the food is poisoned
  • the character dressing herself is stowing the Golden MacGuffin she has just stolen in a hidden pocket in her underskirts
  • the dialect causes a misunderstanding that launches a war
  • the protagonist believes the song on the radio was written for him
  • the fall of the Berlin Wall sends the protagonist on a journey to discover the fate of the child she was forced to abandon on the other side thirty years earlier.

OK, obviously not every setting detail has to launch a plot or subplot. But I did want to illustrate the difference between wallpaper details (yes, #notallwallpaper is bad) and plot-driving details.

Details are also wallpaper if they appear only in the opening chapter and never again. To wit, I recently read a 1980s-set manuscript in which every (teen female) character in the opening chapter was clad in carefully described acid-washed jeans, crimped hair, neon slouchy socks, and Keds. But once the story got off the ground, no character’s appearance was ever mentioned again. It was almost as if the writer thought, “There! I got all that setting stuff out of the way, so now I can just tell the story.”

Does this mean you can’t open with food, clothing, dialect-laden dialogue, music, or references to current events? No. But avoid overseasoning your dish. Too much too soon hits the palate too hard. When I encounter an opening chapter that falls into this trap, one note I’ll send the agent is, “The writer’s research is showing.”

Another example—one that can happen at any point in a story, not just the opening—is when the writer goes into extensively minute detail about a particular real-world place:

“I walked into the mansion’s grand foyer and stared in wonder at the glory all around me. Approximately five feet to my right was an ornate bench upholstered in red-and-gold brocade. It was two-and-a-half feet wide and twelve-inches deep and fourteen inches high, and on either end sat two small pillows. They were ten inches square and made of red velvet with gold tassels tied to each corner. I turned to my left, where, approximately eight feet away, a statue of a knight stood guard. He was made entirely of gray marble with veins of white and black and tiny flecks of purple. He was about ten feet tall and holding a sword high above his helmeted head that stretched out over the foyer like he was pointing the way. I took exactly fifteen steps forward, crossing the tiled floor, noting that the tiles were royal blue and arranged in a parquet design and that each tile was exactly the size of my size-six Louboutin pumps…”

You get the idea. I can’t tell you how many passages like this I’ve come across. When I suggest that the author cut them, the objection is, “But I’ve been there! It’s a real place, and that’s exactly what it looks like!”

My response? “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.”

Photo by The Lazy Artist Gallery

Writing Excuses

by Angie Hodapp

NLA’s podcast pick this month is Writing Excuses. Hosted by Brandon Sanderson, Mary Robinette Kowal, Dan Wells, and Howard Tayler.

Hugo Award-winning Writing Excuses offers quick, fifteen-minute episodes—58 so far—for writers at every stage of their journey…”because you’re in a hurry and we’re not that smart.” Episodes cover a wide range of topics, like genre, the writing life, career building, character development, and story structure. In addition to the core crew listed above, additional hosts include Maurice Broaddus, Wesley Chu, Aliette de Bodard, Piper J. Drake, Amal El-Mohtar, Valynne E. Maetani, and Mary Anne Mohanraj. Check out their website or listen now on Apple or Spotify.

Give Your Women’s Fiction a Glow Up

by Angie Hodapp

We here at NLA were talking a couple weeks ago about women’s fiction. The consensus is that WF seems to be transforming. Expanding. Shedding dusty old tropes. Reinventing itself. It’s having a glow up, and more readers than ever are showing up for it. We as an agency want to show up for it too. So if you write women’s fiction and want to catch this train with us, here are some tips to get you started.

Defining Women’s Fiction

Women’s fiction is generally written by women, about women, for women; therefore, the themes and conflicts that drive the stories are deeply, personally familiar to, well, women:

  • Fertility, motherhood, empty nesting
  • Marriage, infidelity, divorce, loss of spouse, love after loss
  • Caring for aging parents
  • Complicated female friendships
  • Family secrets, dysfunctional families, sisters
  • Homecomings, returning to one’s roots
  • Balancing any or all of the above while also…
    • navigating societal expectations that women do/be/have it all
    • building a career
    • re-entering the workforce after raising a family
    • searching for happiness and personal fulfillment
    • dealing with life-altering tragedies

In sum, WF has traditionally boiled down to one thing: Women overcoming obstacles.

Women Overcoming Obstacles: Handy but Dangerous

It’s handy when an entire genre can be distilled into three words. But it’s also dangerous. What we’ve found after reading a few thousand WF submissions over the years is this: Too many WF plots can also be summarized “woman overcomes obstacles,” and that isn’t a concept that will support the full weight of a novel. In fact, it’s not a concept at all. (For an excellent class on what concept is and isn’t, read Great Stories Don’t Write Themselves by Larry Brooks.)

In other words, just because the genre can be summarized that way doesn’t mean you should write a manuscript that can be summarized that way. In today’s WF marketplace, editors, publishers, and readers demand more.

Why do so many WF manuscripts get rejected?

We just covered one possible reason: too much suffering or victimization, too many run-of-the-mill obstacles, too many tropes that haven’t been twisted, subverted, turned upside down, or otherwise made unique. Another possible reason is that you’re using tired tropes but you don’t realize they’re tired. Here are a few we’ve seen in submissions far too many times to count, plus some possible ways to start thinking outside the box:

  • Tight-knit mommy or friend groups comprised of stereotypical Mean Girls in Lululemon or Balenciaga that our protagonist feels inferior to.

Instead, maybe play with developing a diverse ensemble of unique humans, each three-dimensional and complex, with her own secrets, goals, stakes, etc.

  • Yoga, spin class…and running. So much running.

Somewhere it is written that a WF protagonists must be runners. We know, we know: A lot of bestselling WF features protagonists who de-stress with a quick 5K around the park, but it’s become so overdone that it’s almost comical. Instead, what surprising, interesting, or unique ways might a female character address her concerns about her health, those extra pounds, or her stress levels?

  • PTAs that are the high-school cafeteria writ large: the Mommy Mean Girls sit over there, single dads over there, the problematic president’s cronies over there…

As mentioned above, what unexpected characters can you develop for your PTA, and what surprising motivations might you give them to have joined? Further, what unexpected—rather than typical—conflicts might arise among members?

  • PTAs grappling with problems that feel too typical or too familiar—anything from the outlawing peanut butter to installing gender-neutral restrooms.

Whether you’re going for comedy or drama, what surprising “no PTA has ever had to deal with this” issues could you force on your fictional PTA? How did that predicament occur, and what even more surprising outcome will feel brand-new to readers?

  • The opening scene in which the protagonist is dealing with a screaming toddler, a food-flinging baby, a phone call from the PTA president (“Don’t forget you promised to bake cupcakes for Principal Johnson’s retirement party today!”), and a flustered husband who can’t find his car keys. Conversely, the opening scene in which the protagonist is spreading organic sunflower butter on gluten-free bread while her cute kids finish their breakfasts and pouring freshly brewed French roast into her husband’s travel mug as he pecks her on the cheek and heads out the door to the Tesla in the driveway…all while feeling so alone and overwhelmed.

Whether it’s the “I’m a complete mess on the outside” or the “I’m a complete mess on the inside,” these opening scenes are like siren songs to WF writers. Which makes sense, because they cut right to the heart of the universal, the relatable. But that means a ton of other WF writers are using these opening scenes too. So instead, in what surprising, unique way could you open your story? (Reminder: Avoid running in the opening scene.) What’s a hookier entry point or more compelling introduction to your character?

The Familiar: Also Dangerous

If your WF places too much focus on the familiar or too much hyperbole of the familiar—too much “it’s funny/sad because it’s true”—then your story lands more as satire than well-conceived, concept-driven fiction. Step outside that box! Explore stories, characters, settings, scenarios, and concepts that, while perhaps rooted in the familiar, also provide readers with an escape from the familiar.

How do I give my women’s fiction a glow up?

If you’re searching for that singular concept that will feel like a must-have to agents and editors, then start by upping your market awareness. What’s on the bestseller lists right now? Read the back-cover copy and zero in on the concept. Remember, “woman overcomes obstacles” is not by itself a concept, high or otherwise; it’s a genre. What are bestselling WF authors adding to that to the idea of women who overcome obstacles? How are they elevating it? Which tropes are they using and which are they perhaps inventing?

Don’t skimp on the stakes!

This one’s so important I’m giving it its own heading. Far too many WF submissions are far too light on stakes. If what’s at stake in your story is emotion based (“at the end of my story, my character will be sad or disappointed if X happens or doesn’t happen”), then your story might be in trouble. Sadness or disappointment are not compelling stakes. Again, circle back and make sure you have a strong concept, and then raise the stakes in any way you can. Do only this, and right away, your submission will stand out in the slush pile.

In WF, we at NLA are currently excited to see:

  • Stories that show women exercising their power and agency in a plot-driving way from page one rather than stories about women who don’t discover their power and agency until the end.
  • Sister, mother-daughter, or best-friend stories that dive deep into the complexities of those relationships throughout the whole story rather than stories about relationships under stress that are reconciled at the end.
  • Hopeful, funny, poignant WF with charming ensemble casts we wish we knew and could hang out with in real life.
  • Contemporary WF with speculative or magical-realism elements—like time travel (Emma Straub’s This Time Tomorrow is a current obsession).
  • Dark, twisty, suspenseful stories or domestic thrillers that are rooted in women’s power and agency rather than solely in their victimhood, jeopardy, or struggle.
  • Stories where no character is either completely good or completely bad (think Liane Moriarty).
  • Stories that play with 80s, 90s, or 00s nostalgia in plot-driving ways rather than as fun “wallpaper” for the background of the story.

Photo by cottonbro: www.pexels.com

Balancing the Explainable with the Unexplainable in Speculative Fiction

by Angie Hodapp

Any fiction writer who deals in speculative elements must eventually decide: How much of this story requires a realistic, grounded explanation at the end, and how much can I leave unexplained because, hey, it’s magic, supernatural, paranormal, metaphysical, or miraculous? Can’t I just get to the end and say it was all unexplainable and leave it at that?

My short answer is no. In broad strokes, stories ask questions and then answer them. The human brain has some hardwired, logic-based pathways where story is concerned. Part one: Set up the pins. Part two: Knock them down. Sounds simple, but let’s be honest. It’s not.

The first half of any manuscript is easier to write than the second—which is why millions of would-be authors never finish anything. It’s fun to set up lots of evocative, compelling, mysterious, hooky questions at the beginning of a story. Then you get to the halfway point, and you must come up with answers. And not just any answers, but satisfying answers. Meaningful answers. Twisty answers. Worthwhile answers. Delightfully shocking or surprising answers.

That’s hard.

I attended a panel of speculative-fiction writers at AWP many years ago. One panelist admitted that he, years prior, wrote 150 pages about a guy who lived in a house with a door to an upstairs room that couldn’t be opened. Every now and then, a light would come on in that room and shine through the cracks in the door frame. Although the author was having fun writing about this guy and his creepy house, he eventually abandoned the novel—he himself couldn’t figure out what or who was behind the door. He had some ideas, but he knew that after 150 pages of setup, readers would be expecting a big payoff, and he just didn’t have it.

Stephen King tried three times over several decades to write what eventually became Under the Dome. He knew he wanted to write about a town suddenly and mysteriously trapped under a massive, impenetrable bubble…but he didn’t know where the dome came from. He knew he couldn’t write the story without that key piece of information. His understanding that readers wouldn’t accept “the dome just was”—and his unwillingness to accept it himself—is part of what makes King a master storyteller.

Heart-Shaped Box by Joe Hill is based on a stellar, high-concept premise: An aging rock star who collects occult objects buys a haunted suit on the internet. It’s not enough to ask readers to just accept that the suit is haunted and be satisfied. Readers are literally reading the book to find out the answers to who is haunting the suit, and why, and what the suit wants from the protagonist, and how the protagonist is going to defeat it. Why is the antagonism between them viscerally personal and not merely incidental? Couldn’t anyone have bought the suit on the internet? Turns out, no. And that is part of the mystery that makes Heart-Shaped Box such a satisfying read.

The fun thing about being a speculative-fiction writer is that your explanations can be spectral. They can defy the laws of our natural world. They can presuppose technologies that don’t exist, discoveries that have not been made. But that’s also what makes writing spec-fic more challenging. Since spec-fic writers can leave some things unexplained, they must search for their story’s best ratio of explainable to unexplainable.

For instance, in Heart-Shaped Box, we suspend our disbelief only so far as is necessary to accept that a vengeful ghost inhabits the suit. That’s all. For everything else, readers’ logical story brains require rational second- and third-act explanations. How did the ghost end up in the suit? How did the suit end up on the internet? How did our protagonist, who was the intended buyer all along, happen to be browsing the internet at just the right time and click “buy” before anyone else did? If Hill had said, “It just worked out that way because it’s supernatural,” the book never would have been published.

Leading readers down a path that ends with “it was all supernatural” is too easy—and whatever is too easy for writers is often not satisfying for readers. Think about the relationship between real life and fiction. In real life, people get obsessed with some dark mystery or true-crime drama, like the Amityville Horror house. We search the internet and watch all the documentaries and movies and TV shows and interviews about Amityville. We feed our imaginations with information. The question of what really happened there is just too compelling to let lie! We consider rational explanations (it was just a crazy kid killing his family with a shotgun) as well as supernatural ones (the evil entity that resides in the house made the kid do it) as we try to arrive at our own conclusions. All the while, we are driven almost mad by the reality that we can never actually know the truth.

That is exactly why fiction is so satisfying! Because the author takes us where reality cannot. The author gives us conclusions and explanations that in real life we will never have. The author answers all the hard questions in ways that our logical story brains accept—at least for as long as we are inside that story world, and sometimes longer. Sometimes, with the very best fiction, forever.

After all this, I wish I could give you some magic ratio of explainable to unexplainable that will make every story you write satisfying. I can’t. Every story is different. Every speculative subgenre shoulders its own set of reader and fan expectations.

What I will offer is this: Readers won’t suspend their disbelief if you’ve given them nothing to suspend it from. The more suspension of disbelief you’re asking of readers, the stronger your story’s logical, rational, realistic framework has to be. Build plausible conditions in which your speculative conditions can thrive, and tie up all your loose ends. If you want happy readers, that’s a good place to start.