The Confabulator Cafe

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  • POV Corrupts

    Here’s my new saying: “POV corrupts. Omniscient POV corrupts absolutely.”

    Alright, I’m butchering the popular euphemism about power and corruption, but I think I can use my new quote to make a fair point. Bear with me.

    When writing fiction, I only have a few choices for point of view. I’m going to ignore the bizarre (e.g. second person view, or even weirder, first person plural) and focus upon the most common choices in modern fiction: third person limited, third person omniscient, and first-person.

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  • How documentary films show the need to show.

    One of the things I write is scripts for documentaries. If you’ve ever seen a documentary you may have asked yourself “I wonder how much this has been manipulated to bolster a certain point of view?” The answer is, that varies a lot! It ultimately depends on how much the filmmaker tries to “tell” the audience what conclusions to come to. I think at the heart of this question is the matter of showing versus telling and here’s how it applies to writing as well as filmmaking.

    I often hear the writing advice “Show don’t tell.” I agree with this most of the time, in writing and in filmmaking. For example in a documentary it might be easier to interview a subject about an exciting event, but it would be more satisfying to show the audience that event by filming it directly! The pitfalls of telling not showing are clear. But what happens when a movie is all show and no tell?


    When a piece of art is experimental there is more heavy lifting required of the audience and therefore more possible interpretations of the work. This doesn’t only go for films. I can think of examples of writing that are experimental and require some work from the reader. These include the stream of consciousness writing by William S. Burroughs, the postmodernism of Kathy Acker and the babbling prose of Steve Katz.

    In film school I had to watch a lot of experimental films. Some of them were more enjoyable than others, but overall the experience of watching experimental films taught me how to meet my audience halfway. What I mean by this is that I learned to strike a balance between showing and telling, between spoon-feeding the audience a message or leaving everything ambiguous and making the audience do all the work of interpretation. I don’t want to manipulate my audience into seeing only a certain point of view on a subject, but I think relying on audience interpretation too much is an unfair onus to place on people who come to my work with some expectation of being entertained.

    So, mostly show.

  • Show and Tell on a Dark and Stormy Night

    There’s a reason we hear “show, don’t tell” all the way back to elementary school. It’s sound advice. It’s the bedrock of a good story. It’s not just a good idea—it’s the law.

    Despite being repeated forever, the advice isn’t entirely clear, especially to early writers. In fact, the advice is very “telly” and not at all “showy.”

    Let’s see if I can clarify the difference between the two.

     

    Telling:

    It was a dark and stormy night. Mortimer drove his yellow and green Ford pickup truck up the winding road toward the haunted castle. He was dressed in jeans and a red striped shirt with three buttons.

    He saw lightning flash in a jagged spike that hit the topmost turret built of ghostly gray stones. The road was muddy and filled with potholes, making it difficult to drive. A second flash of lightning struck the road in front of him, revealing the pale form of a woman dressed in a white gown with billowing sleeves and a bodice laced up the front. Her golden hair was dry and didn’t flutter in the wind.

    She lifted her arm and pointed at Mortimer. The woman’s face contorted and aged, and she gave a high pitched wail that terrified Mortimer.

    He lost control of the truck and ran off the road into the darkness below.

     

    Showing:

    Mortimer squinted through the windshield, trying to make out the dark road through the rain and sleet speckling the glass. The cracked steering wheel bit at his fingers, but he didn’t dare ease his grip. Twice he’d lost traction in the mud, and the truck had nearly gone over the side of the mountain.

    Lightning hit the turret of the castle up ahead, and Mortimer winced. He dared to take one hand off the wheel long enough to wipe a trickle of sweat from his temple. The fisherman in the village had told him it was haunted, but that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? He wiped away another bead of sweat and doubled his grip on the wheel.

    A second bolt of lightning struck, and the road before him lit up like a flare. Mortimer swallowed a yelp of panic. A woman stood out in the cold and wet. Her hair and white dress were still and dry in the storm. Mortimer rubbed his eyes with a white-knuckled fist. It had to be an illusion.

    As he crept the truck closer, Mortimer’s headlights illuminated the woman. His hair rose from his arms and scalp. The woman lifted her arm and pointed, and her face morphed into a haggish, ugly scowl. She opened her mouth and the scream she let out shot cold fear through his spine.

    Mortimer swerved to avoid coming close to her. The truck’s bald tires slid across the mud and hit a pothole. In panic, Mortimer spun the wheel into the slide, but it did no good. The vehicle jounced against the embankment, slamming Mortimer’s head into the driver’s window, and the truck went over the side into the ravine.

    As he fell, the woman’s wail followed him, drowning out the screams from his own throat.

    So, what’s the difference? One is certainly longer, though that happened by accident. The change has more to do with focusing on the main character. He doesn’t care about the color of his truck. He’s not thinking about that. He doesn’t have reason to think about what he’s wearing, either. And the billowing sleeves and laced bodice of the woman in white aren’t likely to cross his mind unless he happens to be a clothes designer.

    The details are confined to what he sees and what he’s experiencing. It’s not enough to tell us that Mortimer is afraid. Show us the sweat trickling from his hairline. Don’t tell us the road is slick. Show us Mortimer white-knuckling the steering wheel while he fights to keep control of the vehicle.

    There will always be some telling in everything. But where you can, show it.

    Is it clearer, or did I muddy it up even worse?

  • Action!

    I hate writing action scenes. I’m abysmal at it. I write and re-write my action scenes, and even when I’m done I’m not quite sure I got them right. I’d rather just say “and then they had an epic fight” instead of describing the action, blow by blow.

    I skim over the action scenes so I don’t have to explain them. Explaining is hard!

    But it’s not just the action scenes. I have a tendency to want to summarize all of important scenes so I don’t have to delve into the detail.

    I fight with myself constantly to be sure I’m showing, not telling. It’s poor, lazy writing when writers tell instead of show. I think it shows more about the character of the writer, not the character in the story – the amount of telling instead of showing in a novel.

    Telling is heavy handed. It forces your readers to think what you want them to think without any art.

    Showing allows your readers to think for themselves, and apply their own emotions and interpretations.

    But, I’m telling you why showing is better than telling. Allow me to give you an example to “show” what I mean about showing vs. telling.

    Telling: Jasmine was really sad and frustrated.
    Showing: Hot tears coursed down Jasmine’s cheeks and she slammed her fists down on the table.

    I also like to use dialog to show rather than tell. It’s easier than showing by describing.

    Telling: Emma was skeptical of her friend’s claim.
    Showing: Emma frowned. “You really expect me to believe that?”

    Which do you find more engaging? More interesting? Better writing? Do you like it when the writer tells you what to think, or do you like drawing your own conclusions?

    I know which I prefer, which is why I fight with myself so hard to be the writer I like to read.

  • Is that a banana in your pocket, or are you trying to kill me?

    What do you see?
    What's important in your scene? Show, don't tell.

    I’ve already blogged here and elsewhere about my difficulty writing description. My prose tends to be terse and action-oriented, much like the television, movies, and comic books that have influenced my work. I think in pictures, and write only what needs to be shown.

    This was not always the case.

    Back in college, the most baffling comment I ever received from an instructor was to “show, don’t tell.” I had no idea what this meant. I assumed that it meant that I needed more description, but I discovered it was really more than that. It was about setting the scene and putting the reader there with my character.

    It’s one thing to say, “There was someone in my apartment.” That’s telling. It’s quite another thing to show the scene. In order to show the reader what was happening, I had to learn to write on a different level.

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  • Show Me Yours, and I’ll Show You Mine

    For a couple semesters in college, I tried my hand at being a photographer.  I was average at best, but enthusiasm carried me through the classes.  Of all the things that I learned from both a technical and aesthetic standpoint, the critique sessions are what stick with me.

    I have very clear memories of my professor standing in front of the far wall of the classroom where all the students’ assignments had been mounted.  He’d walk up to each photograph, hunch over to examine it, and scowl.  Then he’d invariably say the following, “You shouldn’t need a caption to tell me what it’s about.”

    I think about that phrase all the time.

    Maybe it’s because our defeats cut sharper memories than our victories.  Perhaps that’s why they motivate us so well, because they don’t easily fade.  I prefer to think that this particular memory endures because it was really great advice.  In essence, the professor was saying to any of us who were listening: show me, don’t tell me.

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  • Handing Over the Keys

    “All meanings, we know, rely on the key of interpretation.” – George Eliot

    The axiom in writing is always “show, don’t tell.” With due respect to the originator, sometimes in writing, you should tell. In fact, that is one of the advantages of prose over screenwriting. In screenwriting, you are forced to show out of an inability to tell without seeming fake.

    The question becomes, how much do you want to leave open for interpretation? If you want your reader to really get your theme, you can hit them over the head with it. I know a writer that once told me you should never leave anything open to the interpretation of your audience. I disagree. I want the reader to think about what I wrote and what it might mean.

    There are a lot of readers out there who like to work a little bit when they read. They like to think about the message of your story and decode the various metaphors. There are some that would rather you tell them. Generally, however, you can tell them your theme without bludgeoning them with it.

    Character is defined by thought and action. Story is essentially putting characters in a situation and seeing what they do. What they do, and what they think about their situation is how the reader gets to know them.

    These days, everyone wants to see action and dialogue. Readers have been conditioned by film to look for those two things.  Still, we cannot forget that prose writing, is in essence an interior art. We have the ability to hear our POV characters thoughts. We should take advantage of that.

    Humans think about what is happening to them. Characters should do the same when there is time to do so, and when it doesn’t slow down action.  Action and dialogue are generally vague conveyors of message. Thought is more specific. The art is in finding the balance between the two.

    Writing is a very personal art, a conversation between two people, the artist and the reader. Trust your reader and work with them. Know the expectations of readers in your genre and write to them, then defy them. Make them think. Make them feel like they are a part of your art.  Some genres allow more introspection than others, so know what your readers’ expectations are. Some allow more telling, while others only want action.

    As you can see, I will not suggest doing one and not the other. I will not say “never” tell. Never doesn’t exist in writing. There is only what works, and what doesn’t. Whatever you do, if you do it well, that is all that matters.

    Show, tell, allow interpretation, or explain it all. What matters is that you keep writing, and you write the way you love.  Personally, I love handing over the keys to the reader and letting them drive awhile.

  • The Implications of Action (Week of 5 March 2012)

    The Confabulators came together on a Sunday afternoon last summer and began designing what would become the Cafe, where you’re reading this right now. Though it’s not a physical place, we imagine it being like the interior of a loft with a lot of brick and low-hanging lights that illuminate really only the centers of the tables they hang over, leaving the rest of the place in shadow most of the day.

    When someone comes into the Cafe and looks at the menu, there’s a promise implicit between the two: Here’s what we have to offer and it’s up to you to choose what might interest you.

    Our crew does its best to bring a variety of opinions and insights for your reading pleasure. This week we’re investigating the implications of action: showing versus telling and what that reveals about character. Some of us are exploring how much we trust our readers and how much description goes into our stories. It promises to be a very enlightening week of blogging. Come back as often as you can.

    Who had the tall mocha?

  • What’s Your Favorite Fantasy Story?

    Since the Lord of the Rings trilogy hit theaters, everyone in the world is much more aware of the genre of fantasy storytelling. Looked at one way, every story is a fantasy of some kind including things like superheroes and vampires. With Game of Thrones returning to HBO this spring, fantasy storytelling gets an even bigger boost. We thought that this week we’d take time to find out what kinds of fantasy the Confabulators read, love or admire. 

    Jack Campbell, Jr.:

    I hate to say it is The Hobbit, because anything Tolkien seems like too obvious of an answer, even if it is the truth. I recently finished American Gods by Neil Gaiman, and it was great. Unfortunately, I haven’t read fantasy as a genre on a regular basis for probably 15 years. I am pretty out of touch on the genre.

    Paul Swearingen:

    Fantasy is perhaps the least favorite of my reading genres (okay, I don’t do romance nor erotica very well, either), but a well-written fantasy will certainly hold my attention. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, the original fantasy, probably, is still my favorite, in spite of revelations that its author was more or less a dirty old man. Oh, well. Even dirty old men can write well.

    Sara Lundberg:

    I gave up high fantasy for urban fantasy awhile back. I succumbed to the seduction of the dark modern-day settings, the excessive use of vampires, and the graphic love scenes. High fantasy had too much description, too many stock characters, and not nearly enough hot sex. But then I read The Warded Man, by Peter V. Brett, and I was reminded why I fell in love with high fantasy all those years ago. Beautiful world building, epic battles of good vs. evil, true heroes, and a refreshing lack of vampires and modern day slang. This book encompassed everything about high fantasy that enchanted me the very first time my Dad read us The Hobbit as children.

    Jason Arnett:

    Sword of Shannara was the first fantasy story that got my attention because all my friends were reading it. The Hobbit was good, but I never went on to read the Lord of the Rings trilogy because I found Robert Heinlein’s Glory Road and that was MORE fun. Later on I realized fantasy was more than swords and sorcery (though Robert E. Howard’s Conan stories will always have a place in my heart) and that things like Mike Carey’s Felix Castor novels really were fantasy, too. If I had to pick one, I’ll fudge it a little and say that Neil Gaiman is one of the finest fantasists working these days, from Sandman to Neverwhere to The Graveyard Book. One can’t go wrong with any of his work for great fantasy.

    Ted Boone:

    The Lord of the Rings cannot be beaten. However, The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss is a close second.

    R.L. Naquin:

    I love retellings of fairy tales. My favorite is Beauty by Robin McKinley.  So much of it recaptures the feeling of the original story of Beauty and the Beast, yet it also expands it and makes the characters real. Beauty is not some victim of her own good looks and family tragedy. She’s an insecure, intelligent, courageous young woman with a flair for gardening and a love of horses.

     Kevin Wohler:

    Sometimes the best stories are the most simple. And that’s why my favorite fantasy was also one of my first. Written by Jay Williams, the classic children’s picture book “The King With Six Friends” is a great quest story. It tells of a king who befriends strangers on his quest for fortune. In turn, his new friends help the king with their special gifts. Also, the book is beautifully illustrated by Imero Gobbato. I love this story. It’s a mix of The Wizard of Oz and a superhero story. It’s about magic, friendship, and destiny. Most importantly, it started me down the road to reading more fantasy. And for that, I’m ever grateful.

    I could give the very simple and narcissistic answer of, “The book I’m writing, of course!” Except it’s not my favorite book. Right now I kind of hate it–not because it’s a bad book, but because it requires fine tuning and tweaking… and because I haven’t immersed myself in it for about a month.

    My favorite book is something that consumes my every thought. I live and breathe that book. Which means, that every book I read is my favorite book at some point as long as it is well-written and compelling enough to draw me in to its world. There are several fantasy books and series that I keep going back to:  The Lioness Quartet, by Tamora Pierce (and just about every other book she’s written), The Belgariad by David Eddings, The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede, Xanth by Piers Anthony, The Deed of Paksenarrion by Elizabeth Moon, the Pern collection by Anne McCaffrey (though this is arguably science fiction), Rhapsody by Elizabeth Haydon, and of course Harry Potter by, regrettably, not me.
    I would be hard pressed to pick a specific favorite book or favorite series out of those I’ve listed (and many others). They all have special meanings to me, but none of them are, specifically, my favorite books. Because they’re all my favorite fantasy books. Asking me to narrow it down further would be like expecting me to be able to breathe in outer space. I would give it my best effort, but still be unable to do so all the same.
    So rather than giving a specific book as my favorite, I should tell you what makes books join the hallowed ranks of “favorites.” I want a book that gives me character growth, I want a book that is going to make me laugh just as often as it makes me cry. I want a book that when it makes me cry, it hurts. I want to be taken on an emotional roller coaster with the characters. I want the characters to make me care about them… even if that’s just me wishing them dead. I want characters that will have a moral code that they stick to, even if their morals don’t match with mine. And perhaps most of all, I want a book that I’m not going to know how it ends by the fiftieth page. Surprise me. Make me work for my happy ending. Oh, that’s the other thing. I want a happy ending–well, or for everyone to die. I’m not all that picky.

  • Inspiration Given Form

    There is something truly inspirational about a hardware store.

    Wander down the aisles of any good hardware store and marvel at the vast array of objects, each specifically designed to solve a particular problem and yet infinitely repurposable. What makes this particular 7 mm bolt different than that one? What problem was the designer trying to solve? Which grease-infused wrench monkey decided that what the world needed was a screw with a five-sided slot, and why? What can be built with a 60-degree angle bracket? A 45-degree one? A 120-degree one [0]? Hardware is inspiration given form.

    In a really good hardware store, you’re allowed to wander freely, unmolested by salesguys [1], muttering to yourself, picking up objects, stuffing your basket full, and making it halfway to the checkout before turning around, putting everything back where you found it, and starting all over again. They understand the process of creative problem solving, and set up their stores accordingly [2].

    Any time I’m stuck, a trip to a hardware store goes a long way towards unstuck.

    [0] Trick question, of course. The correct answer is “flux capacitor.”
    [1] Really good hardware store managers understand that not all who wander are lost.
    [2] Really good office supply stores do the same thing.