Take Your Places, Everyone!

By Pamela

When I’m writing, I focus on the story—the characters and how they act and interact. I’m not always aware of my weaknesses, but thankfully, a helpful critique partner lets me know pretty quickly. Setting is not my strong suit, but at least I’m cognizant of it. Isn’t that the first step?

Hello, my name is Pamela, and I’m not the best at settings.

In The Novel Writer’s Toolkit, Bob Mayer defines setting as: the where and the when to your story. Points to consider, Bob suggests, are: weather, socioeconomic structure, seasons, architecture, etc.

Noah Lukeman cautions writers in chapter 18 of The First Five Pages about too much setting vs. too little. He also writes that authors typically get caught up in telling vs. showing when it comes to setting. Do you tell me that the carpet had a dark stain and the air smelled rancid or do you show your character picking at the dried food on the cushion and coughing as the cigar smoke burns his lungs?

Certainly, placing a story in a location you’ve never been to requires some research on your part. Miss a detail and someone is sure to call you on it. Plus, placing a story in the Bible Belt of the Deep South calls for different characters than one in The Big Apple.

Setting often plays a huge role in novels, with telling titles such as these: Big Stone Gap, At Home in Mitford, Patty Jane’s House of Curl, Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet, House of Sand and Fog. And in some stories, the setting is a character. Cold Mountain, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, Memoirs of a Geisha, The Devil in the White City. So, where you set your story can hugely impact your writing.

A recent blog post helped me get a firmer hold on the setting in my WIP. EditTorrent suggested creating a settings list. With two full manuscripts under my belt, I have to confess, I’d never done this. So, stalled for moment in the middle of a chapter on my current story, I decided to write up my list. (To set this up, my story revolves around two main characters: a 42-year-old woman and her 17-year-old son. And the entire story takes place in North Texas, current day.)

Here’s my list:

The Howard home
The Howard’s back yard
Portraiture by Nella (photography studio)
Parkview Village (retirement home)
Presbyterian Hospital
The lake (does it need a name?)
Seth’s Jeep
Seth’s bedroom
Meagan’s bedroom
The cemetery


I’ve also made a more detailed list that describes each setting, which I’ll not share here. Now I don’t have to go back and reread my story to find the type of tree growing in the back yard, the color of Seth’s Jeep, the hangings on Meagan’s bedroom walls, and such. Not every detail will end up in the story because we may not need to know what type of flooring is in the entryway or the brand of appliances in the kitchen, but if I know, then I don’t risk making a mistake.

Now my characters can comfortably take their places. It’s up to me to make them come alive in their environment.

(Almost) everything I need to know about writing, I learned from watching movies

By Pamela


That’s a pretty bold statement. And obviously, I learned grammar, sentence structure, vocabulary—the nuts and bolts of writing—very early in my life. I owe a lot to great English teachers.

But when it comes to crafting story, developing characters, building suspense, defining plot and creating a story arc, much can be learned from watching movies.

Since every great movie begins with a screenplay, it makes sense that movies can tell us a lot about how to formulate a story. Unlike a novel that might take days to read, a movie can usually be watched in two hours or less. Gone is the text that describes the scene, sets up the back-story or tells us what a character is thinking. A movie must show us, not tell us—an important element to keep in mind when writing a novel.

I’ve attended two writers’ conferences where NY Times best-selling author Bob Mayer gave lectures on fiction. In one class, he showed movie clips to help illustrate certain elements of great story telling such as symbolism and foreshadowing. “Whenever you finish watching a movie,” Bob said, “go back and watch the first scene again.” He said we’d be surprised at how much the opening scene ties into the final one. Now, I do this nearly every time I rent a movie.

My son recently developed an interest in writing screenplays, so I figured reading one might help him. Since he loved the movie Juno, written by Diablo Cody, I bought the screenplay for him. I was surprised at how much I learned by reading it as well.

Elements I didn’t initially catch while watching the movie became clear when I read the script. I enjoyed the movie mainly for the snappy dialog and quirky characters, but what remained below my radar were brilliant uses of symbolism and foreshadowing. “It started with a chair,” Juno (Ellen Page) narrated. And in one of the final scenes—spoiler alert!—Vanessa (played by Jennifer Garner) was shown in a rocking chair with the baby as Juno intoned: “It ended with a chair.”

Two separate basements were used for scenes that provided life-changing moments for Juno. Fingernails were used as a repeating element. (Juno is reminded outside an abortion clinic that her unborn baby already has fingernails, and Juno’s step-mom is a nail technician.) When I went back to writing my work-in-progress, I discovered the potential for a similar technique was right under my nose. I just had to change one minor detail.

So now when I watch a movie, not only am I enjoying the moment of escaping into someone else’s story, I’m paying attention. Whether I’m watching Disney’s latest installment with my six-year-old, a bro-mance or comedy with the boys, or something just for me, I learn something. Whether it’s clever dialog (“This is one doodle that can’t be undid, homeskillet.”) or a well-placed symbol (a chair) or a repeated component (the basements), there’s craft.

And you don’t have to leave home to find it.


Movie Lessons 101:

1. Use the scene selection option on the DVD. Think of each scene as a chapter. Watch one scene at a time and note how it starts and ends. Is there a hook to keep you watching?

2. Watch the first scene and then the last one. How have the characters changed from the beginning of the movie? (character arc) The main character must have experienced some sort of growth (or decline), maturity or gained some sense of awareness over the past two hours.

3. Notice how much time has elapsed. Is it an epic story that covers a lifetime (Ray, Walk the Line) or one that encompasses a much shorter period of time (Sliding Doors, 27 Dresses)? Your story should have a definite beginning, middle and end.

4. Pay attention to dialog. Great dialog is hard to nail. Ever think of a great response to someone—but it came to you hours or even days later? When you write a story, you have the luxury of time. If a line you’re writing isn’t working for you, let it sit a day or so until you have the brilliant revelation. In movie dialogue, chances are the words have been altered until they really fit. One of my favorite lines from Juno: Nah, I'm already pregnant, so what other kind of shenanigans could I get into? isn’t in the screenplay. I’m assuming Ellen Page threw that one in herself; maybe after a few takes, Diablo “heard” it.

5. What did you gain from watching the movie? Watch the trailer of the movie and that’s the elevator pitch. The movie’s plot? (for Juno: Faced with an unplanned pregnancy, an offbeat young woman makes an unusual decision regarding her unborn child.) That’s an example of a logline, one you should be able to rattle off at the drop of a hat when someone asks, What’s your story about? The back of the DVD case paralels what you might read on the back cover or inside flap of a novel. It’s the story (plot) but not the whole story—just enough to pique your interest.

6. Watch the movie with the commentary option. You’ll learn as much as you might if you’d read the screenplay. Directors, actors and writers love to talk about their movies. I’ve watched several this way, including Walk the Line, and learned so much about why certain scenes were added/cut/adapted. Great advice when you have to ‘kill your darlings’ in your own story.

Nature vs. Nurture vs. Mixture

By Pamela

A few weeks ago my teenagers humored me by allowing me to take their annual first day of school photo. My two boys, Ben a sophomore and Jacob a senior, hammed it up in the driveway, laughing so hard their eyes were closed and mouths open in most shots.

I’m often struck by how different they are. Given the option, Jacob would take only music and drama classes and hasn’t played organized sports since grade school. Ben constantly keeps a soccer ball between his feet (there’s one under my desk right now), plays on club and school teams, and completes his homework days before it’s due. Even on the outside—from the way they dress to their haircuts—they are polar opposites. They share parents, upbringings and a love of funny movies and Taco Bell, but the similarities trail off from there.

We encouraged them to pursue their passions and only directed them toward a few common interests including Tae Kwon Do (they both have black belts)—nature and nurture collided. While studying the photo, I wondered how much heredity plays into shaping who we become.

I’m pretty creative when it comes to sewing, crafts, baking and other domestic arts. But prop me in front of an easel, and you’d probably swear a first grader has taken over my body. Art lessons might help, but I doubt my work would ever generate any interest outside my family.

I know a woman who plays the piano and took lessons for many years. Even though nearly every note is played correctly, you can hear effort. The music is only tolerable.

As an avid reader, I’ve finished novels that continued to haunt me for days afterward. Others, although not poorly written—every word spelled correctly, every sentence formed completely—didn’t leave an impression on me.

Certainly artistic talent can be nurtured, but are we limited in scope by our genetics? Are true musical, artistic, dramatic and literary talents born? Stephen and Tabitha King's two sons, Joe and Owen, are both published authors. But are they the products of amazing genes or did they learn from their parents' examples? Or both?

I posted this idea of nature vs. nurture on Facebook and several writer friends commented.

Kim: I’m pretty sure I was born this way…
Philip: You can learn technique, but you can’t be taught creativity and imagination.
Robert: I would say born. I can’t see myself any other way. If it were ‘made’ there might not be the same pleasure I get from writing.

Then I asked around some more.

“For myself, I do feel that I was born to be a writer, in the same way another person is born with the innate capacity to sing well, or to do higher math, or to play pro sports,” said Therese Fowler, author of Reunion and Souvenir. “My own interest in and ability to express myself through the written word seems to have been built into me.

“That said, every innate talent needs to be nurtured in order for its owner to succeed. You can be ‘born to write’ and string together the most marvelous sentences or paragraphs without much effort, but until you've done it repeatedly and studied craft and put your skill to use in service of entire cohesive stories, you may as well not have the talent to begin with.

“I think there are innate levels of ability (same as with singers, dancers, athletes, etc.)—sort of a spectrum of talent, if you will. Some natural writers have the capacity to become great, others just good.

“So, I say nature has more to do with writing ability than nurture does. It's like this: a person may love to sing, love it passionately, do it all the time, take lessons, dream of a singing career—but if that person is tone-deaf or has a grating voice, no amount of practice or instruction is going to turn that person into someone we all want to hear.”

I asked NYT best-selling author Bob Mayer if he always knew he would be a writer and whether he viewed writing as a natural or learned skill. (Bob also teaches writing workshops and has authored a book on the craft: The Novel Writer’s Toolkit.)

“I think you have an innate desire to create,” he said. “But, no, I'm not one of those people who always thought I'd be a writer. I read a lot as a kid, and escaped in my own head with stories. I do think writing can be learned—or else why would I be teaching writing? But 95 percent of students don't really want to learn—they want validation. The few who really want to learn and are willing to, make great strides.

“One of the tenets of my Warrior Writer program is to focus on the author, rather than the writing. Pretty much every writing course is always focused on the product, not the producer of the product, which is kind of backward. I'm focusing on teaching writers how to become authors.”

Like anything in life that brings you joy or satisfaction, if writing is your passion, then by all means pursue it. Write often and treasure what you produce. If your dream is to be published, then devote the time necessary to achieve that goal. Read others’ works, take classes, attend workshops and book signings, learn the business and, along the way, grow a thick skin. Improving requires putting yourself out there for others to judge and accepting the resulting criticism.

Be realistic in your expectations. Only a handful of painters became masters. Many musicians play for only their friends and families. Very few writers become best-selling authors. You don’t have to become famous to be successful. But you do have to write to be a writer.