Showing posts with label guide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guide. Show all posts

Friday, June 1, 2018

Writing Monsters: A Review: Part 2

Copyright 2018 by Gary L. Pullman



In Writing Monsters, Philip Athans offers a number of definitions, his own and those of others, to suggest that the concept is fluid and open, at least to some extent, to individual writers' interpretation:

A monster is something alive and uniquely strange that we instinctively fear.—Alan Dean Foster

[A monster is] inhuman, it's animate, and it wants to destroy you. Many monsters are supernatural or [act] outside the norms of nature in some way, but that's not always necessary.—Richard Baker

A monster is something that is frightening because it is inhuman . . . . It may be incomprehensible.—Martin J. Dougherty

A monster is a species that is neither a part of the civilization of sentient people [n]or among the ranks of mundane flora and fauna,” and a monster is “scary.”—Philip Athans


Later, Athans, who often exemplifies the concept by reference to such animals as slugs, sharks, and lobsters describes them as as-yet-undiscovered animals.

He also suggests that the effect of monsters can be heightened by relating them to fears or phobias common, if not universal, to human beings, such as arachnophobia (fear of spiders), social phobia (fear of a hostile audience), pteromerhanophobia (fear of flying), agoraphobia (fear of the inability to escape), claustrophobia (the fear of enclosed spaces), acrophobia (the fear of heights), emetophobia (the fear of vomit or of vomiting), carcinophobia (the fear of cancer), astraphobia (the fear of thunder and lightning), and taphophobia (the fear of being burned alive).

Athans points out that readers know only as much about a story's monster or monsters as the author allows, and , as long as the writer is consistent with how the monster's characteristics, abilities, and behavior, readers will accept its existence within the story. It is best not to divulge too much information about the monster, he suggests, as readers will tend to “fill in the blanks” with their own ideas about the monster.


Typically, monsters, have a number of qualities, Athans says, among which are that they are frightening, mysterious, violent, predatory, amoral or immoral, uncontrollable, unpredictable, and terrifying in their appearance. Monsters usually isolate their prey, often defy humans' attempts to use technology against them, undergo some type of physical transformation, do not think like people (if they think at all), may be more intelligent than the average person, and are purposeful (they perform a task). Most monsters have otherworldly origins; they may come from outer space or hell. Others result from scientific experiments gone awry or from such natural processes as mutations of diseased states. They may come from underground, underwater, or other remote places.

Monsters may also be metaphorical. They can represent “ideas, feelings, dangers,” states of existence, the effects of bullying or greed, or any number of other real behaviors, conditions, or situations. Although Athans doesn't discuss Buffy the Vampire Slayer in this context, fans of the show are likely to know that its creator frequently made the series' monsters the metaphorical reflections of real-world problems. In the episode “Beer Bad,” for example Buffy Summers adopts the crude, almost animal-level behavior of a woman after she drinks enchanted beer. Her state of drunkenness is a metaphor for her uncivilized conduct. Likewise, in “Out of Sight,Out of Mind,” a high school student who is ignored by her peers actually becomes invisible, her invisibility a metaphor for her being neglected and unheeded. In the same way, Athans says, Godzilla is a metaphor for the atomic bomb. He is born of a test involving an underwater nuclear detonation, and he terrifies Japanese cities with his devastating radioactive breath.

Monsters introduce and sustain conflict throughout the story, but they also help characterize the human characters, showing them as tenacious, loyal, trustworthy, and as having the capacities to forgive and to join forces against a common threat. At the same time, they may exhibit self-centeredness, a capacity for exploitation, and vindictiveness.

It is important, Athans says, to provide monsters with an offense, a defense, and a “utility.” By “utility,” he means a signature behavior, such as the Blair Witch's “marking her territory [with bizarre] “stick figures” or vampires' needing to be invited into one's home.


With monsters, size is not important, as long as the monsters are frightening and have monstrous qualities and abilities.

Monsters must have a weakness or two so the human characters can kill or otherwise neutralize it. For example, vampires suck blood, can “live” for centuries, are extraordinarily strong, can turn into bats and fly, have hypnotic power, and can even levitate, but they can't abide crucifixes, sunlight, mirrors, or holy water; they have to be invited into one's home; and they can killed by being drowned or decapitated or by having a wooden stake driven through their hearts. When a monster is familiar to readers, writers must “tweak the trope,” Athans observes. An example he doesn't offer makes the point: Stephen King makes a crucifix's effect on his vampires depend on the faith of the character who wields it.

Athans suggests horror writers use the first-person or the limited third-person point of view.


Descriptions of the monster should involve as many of the five sense as possible. Readers respond best to horror stories that have visual, auditory, olfactory, tactile, and gustatory appeal. Only near the end of the story should the monster be fully revealed; until then, writers should rely on the other senses, providing only snapshots, instead of more detailed, glimpses of the monster so that it remains mysterious and terrifying. What a monster looks like, smells like, and feels like are often interrelated, Athans points out: “a slimy monster” is apt to “be shiny, to be heard slithering along, and to leave a trail of slime,” signs that warn people “not to touch the slimy thing.”

Use short sentences to increase pace and to suggest terror and hyperventilation, he suggests, and long sentences to reflect a character's breathlessness.

Athans also has a tip concerning the omnipresent cell phone. Isolate characters, and then banish their phones. They could have dead batteries, succumb to poor reception, get broken, or be left behind on purpose.

On Amazon, Writing Monsters has generated eighteen review. The lowest, two stars, found it a good basic guide for beginning writers, but not the manual the reviewer was seeking; he wanted a book that would guide him through the process of creating bigger (and badder?) monsters, rather than one that walks him through the process for creating them to :”exist at all.” The review is more about the reviewer's interests, unfortunately, than it is about the book that Athans actually wrote.

A middle-of the road, three-star, review found the book to generic, “a victim of its own wide-spectrum approach” that ended up being more about “how to write speculative fiction” than a “specialized work” concerned with monster-making. Perhaps this reviewer wanted less context and more hands-on material.

A five-star review reads:

Enjoyed this immensely. Great insights into the subject of monsters in fiction, their roles, suggestions on monster design, how to handle strengths vs. weaknesses, etc. I dislike zombies as monster du jure [sic] but I benefitted [sic] from the observations offered by the author who visualizes zombies as a force-of-nature, like Godzilla, with the real conflict of a zombie story between the people involved. Monsters, of course, figure into horror, fantasy, and science fiction. Notwithstanding frequent references to science fiction monsters, I believe science fiction requires some more in-depth examination of creature creation than this book can provide, [sic] however useful it may be, especially when aliens are involved. That's just a whole separate topic.. [sic] But an excellent book, [sic] I can't recommend it enough.

How would I rate Writing Monsters? It's an interesting, well-written book that offers food for thought in the creation and deployment of monsters. Perhaps a few writing exercises, at the end of each chapter, would have improved the work, but, overall, the author provides much for monster-makers to consider, the approach is easy to understand, and the book supplies solid tips. The final chapter reprints a short story, “The Unnamed,” by H. P. Lovecraft, whom Athans admires. Athans annotates the story, but his annotations do not zero in on the techniques of horror that Lovecraft uses in any detailed or comprehensive manner. This is an example of the overall criticism I have of the book: it offers a lot, but it lacks focus and detail, so it is more a survey than an analysis of monster-making. It deserves a place on one's bookshelf, as a basic guide or a series of reminders, which, unless we're Stephen King, we can all use from time to time.

Thursday, May 31, 2018

"Writing Monsters": A Book Review

Copyright 2018 by Gary L. Pullman

Philip Athans's 210-page Writing Monsters offers some good tips on creating such monsters as inhabit fantasy worlds and horror domains.


He lays the foundation for most of his book early on, with "The Monster Creation Form," a tool that helps writers plan their monsters as they consider such questions as:

  • What's it called?
  • What does it eat, and how does it eat?
  • How does it move?
  • What does it look like? (Overall form, head, eyes, ears, nose, mouth, limbs)
  • How big is it?
  • What covers its body, and what color is it?
  • How smart is it?
  • What motivates it?
  • What scares it?
  • What hurts it?
  • What senses does it possess?
  • In what way is it better or more powerful than the average person?
  • In what way is it weaker than the average person?
The remaining chapters of his book flesh out these considerations.



Philip Athans

The tips are practical, as how-to tips should be. Athans's own advice, observations, and insights are sprinkled among his tips, as are recommendations by other fantasy and horror writers. Lynn Abbey, for example, echoes Edgar Allan Poe's advice, in "The Philosophy of Composition," that writers plot their stories backward: "Start with the monster's fall," she suggests, "then dismantle the characters' knowledge and preparation, then construct the plot details that allow the characters to pick up the pieces they're going to need" to neutralize the monster. 


Lynn Abbey

Athans recommends that, as a rule, writers avoid supplying exact measurements of a monster's size. Instead, authors should provide such information indirectly, through comparisons or dialogue. If a monster is "twice as tall as the king's watchtower," the reader can learn that the tower is twenty stories tall by having earlier observed the king as he climbed "twenty flights of stairs" to its top. Likewise, a writer can give readers an idea as to a monster's weight by having it fall through a rooftop before a character observes, "that roof can hold three thousand pounds."


Edgar Allan Poe

He suggests that writers reveal their monsters slowly, in a piecemeal fashion, in three phases, "The First Encounter," "The Growing Threat," and "The Tipping Point." The first and third will offer brief glimpses of the monster or perhaps only its effectsthe "aftermath" of its visitswhereas the second phase will provide details about the beast, showing its killings of several characters, inept or inconclusive attempts to neutralize the monster, some :misdirection" (e. g., in Jaws, "a shark" is killed, but not "the shark" [emphasis added]). Only toward the end of phase three should the monster be revealed fully, in all his, her, or its glory. (The Tipping Point occurs, Athans says, as the heroes, armed with knowledge about the monster. its qualities, and its behavior, take charge of the situation and seek to kill or otherwise neutralize it.


H. P. Lovecraft

Athans illustrates his tips with excerpts of novels and short stories, especially those of Stephen King and H. P. Lovecraft, respectively.

He has other tips that are likely to be helpful to writers interested in creating monstrous monsters. We'll take a look at them in the second installment of this review.

Monday, May 14, 2018

Poe's Influence on H. G. Wells

Copyright 2018 by Gary L. Pullman



Although H. G. Wells claimed that the only standard for judging the value of a short story is whether it has readers, he also suggests, by way of his literary mentor, Edgar Allan Poe, that a few additional criteria may be used to assess the quality of such a work of fiction. He learned from Poe that a short story exists to create a “single effect.”

Whereas Poe wrote, in “The Philosophy of Composition,” that a writer, after “having deliberately conceived a certain single effect to be wrought, he then invents such incidents . . . combines such incidents, and discusses them in such a tone as may serve him best in establishing this preconceived effect,” Wells wrote, in “The Contemporary Novel,” “a short story is, or should be, a simple thing; it aims at producing one single, vivid effect; it has to seize the attention at the outset, and never relaxing, gather it together more and more until the climax is reached.”

According to J. R. Hammond, having learned this lesson from Poe, Wells “adhered to” it “throughout his long career as a practitioner of the short story” (20).

Based on Wells' own statements, then, it seems that a short story, which he suggests can be read in less than an hour, should be judged on the bases that it:

  1. Produces an effect that is both “single” and “vivid”;
  2. Seizes the reader's “attention at the outset”;
  3. Heightens the reader's attention as the story progresses;
  4. Attains a “climax”;
  5. Can be read in an hour or less; and
  6. Is a work that people want to read.

Hammond elucidates several of Wells' terms. By “effect,” Wells seems to have in mind a narrative outcome that is of a specific sort (“informative, amusing, or terrifying”), “depending on the particular story” and which is also unquestionably real. In other words, the story's effect may be cognitive, diverting, or emotional in nature, relating to epistemology, amusement, or affect (20). Wells' own short stories, Hammond says, are often of a “disturbing quality” (20).

As in Poe's fiction, Wells' short stories are concerned with generating a “single effect”; all incidents of the plot, like the story's tone, are intended to produce what Poe calls “the predetermined effect.” Therefore, of the six elements which Wells suggests are the bases for the criticism of the short story, that of the effect seems paramount.


In writing his stories, Wells developed a formula, or “characteristic devise,” Hammond observes, for depicting the climax of any of his stories: “a moment of revelation or discovery in the life of an otherwise unremarkable individual whose outlook is transformed as a result,” and “the story focuses on the moment of crisis or climax and in doing so sets in motion speculations and doubts in the mind of the reader” concerning what he or she might do in a situation or set of circumstances similar to that of the story's protagonist (20). Due to the abbreviated length of the short story, as compared to the novel, Hammond says, “in place of the leisurely working-out of the plot through character and incident there is a single moment of illumination or decision” (20).

Hammond's elucidations allow the critic, as Wells envisions him or her, to expand on his or her analysis and evaluation of the story's effect, the story's climax, and, possibly, the narrative techniques by which the author motivates people to want to read the story. Therefore, one who is interested in criticizing a short story by Wells should begin by isolating its climax, for this is the “characteristic devise” by which Wells provides the transformational “moment of revelation or discovery in the life of” his “otherwise unremarkable individual.”

Then, if desirable, the critic can contend with the other five elements of what may be called the Wellsian critical approach: the production of an effect that is both “single” and “vivid”; the seizing of the reader's “attention at the outset” of the story; the heightening of the reader's attention as the story progresses; the story's length; and the techniques by which the author motivates people to want to read his or her story. (Part of the heightening of the reader's interest must surely lie in the ironic juxtaposing of the life of the “otherwise unremarkable” protagonist's view of the world “before” the revelation or discovery that shatters his [all of Wells' protagonists are male] complacency and the protagonist's view of the world “after” his complacency has been so shattered.)

Hammond is helpful, once again, in identifying the climax of Wells' short story “A Slip Under the Microscope”: The protagonist, a biology student named Hill, is seeking to “identify a specimen placed on a glass slide under a microscope.” Students are “strictly forbidden to move the slide,” but, as Hill adjusts the instrument, he accidentally slips, moving the slide. No one has seen him do so. Now, he must decide whether to “own up to the fact” or “remain silent.” His actions, Hill says, presents a “grotesque puzzle in ethics” (106).

According to Hammond, the climax of the story should be the vehicle by which Wells presents the “moment of revelation or discovery in the life of” Hill, “an otherwise unremarkable individual whose outlook is transformed as a result.” If the slip hadn't occurred, Hill would have continued in ignorance of the significance of “how easily normal life can be deflected by chance . . . occurrences” (20)

Wells heightens the reader's interest in the outcome of the story by relating Hill's ethical dilemma to a personal situation. Hill resents another student Wedderburn, because Wedderburn, whose parents are wealthy, has both the means and the confidence that Hill himself lacks—and because they are both interested in the same coed classmate. If he does what he believes to be the right thing, he may be expelled and lose any chance to court the coed.

When Hill informs the college's authorities, he is, in fact, expelled. He suspects that Wedderburn, who may also have cheated, chose not to confess; by not telling the truth, Hill's rival remains in school, able to woo the coed student whom they both admire. As Hammond points out, Wells implicitly asks his reader whether any “circumstances” may warrant one's lying by omission. The narrative, in this way, is, in effect, “disturbing,” as most of Wells' short stories are.

Hammond, J. R. H.G. Wells and the Short Story. Basingstoke, Hampshire: Macmillan, 1992. Print.

Friday, January 9, 2009

The Fill-in-the-Blank Guide to Writing Fiction

Copyright 2009 by Gary L. Pullman
 
Creating Characters
 

1. Create the Character’s General Profile

Creating a character is largely a matter of making choices, or decisions. To aid you in making these decisions, you can use a fill-in-the-blank decision-making template. We will start with a blank template. Then, we will fill in its blanks to show an example of how the template can be used to create a character. Notes: If one of the blanks does not apply, simply write "N/A" in it, to indicate that the blank (and the situation to which it refers) is “not applicable.” When necessary, add more blanks--for example, your character may have more than one friend or coworker. You may want to add brief notations in parentheses after an entry. For example, if the character is separated or divorced from a spouse, you may want to indicate this situation by the parenthetical notation “(separated)” or “(divorced).” You can add other elements, represented by labeled blanks, to further extend the construction of your character.

____________________ (name of character) is a(n) ____________________ (age of character) ____________________ (social role of character), who works as a(n) ____________________ (vocation of character), supervised by ____________________ (name of character’s supervisor) and assisted by ____________________ (name of coworker or coworkers; add blanks as necessary); his or her friend (or friends) is (are) ____________________ (name[s] of character’s friend or friends; add blanks as necessary), whom he or she met while he or she was ____________________ (name of activity that the character was performing when he or she met his or her friend or friends). The character lives in ____________________ (name of hometown and state) at (in) ____________________ (type of residence--for example, home, apartment) with ____________________ (name[s] of family member or members or roommate or roommates; add blanks as necessary), his or her ____________________ (type of relationship between other resident or residents and the character). His or her boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse is ____________________ (name of character’s boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse), whom he or she met at ____________________ (name of place at which the character met his or her boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse), while ____________________ (type of the activity that the character was performing when he or she met his or her boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse).

Here is an example:

Buffy Summers (name of character) is a(n) 16-year-old (age of character) high school student (social role of character), who works as a(n) vampire slayer (vocation of character), supervised by Rupert Giles (name of character’s supervisor), and assisted by Xander Harris, Willow Rosenberg, Cordelia Chase, and others (name[s] of coworker or coworkers; add blanks as necessary); his or her friend (friends) is (are) Xander Harris, Willow Rosenberg, Cordelia Chase, and others (name[s] of character’s friend or friends; add blanks as necessary), whom he or she met while he or she was attending high school (name of activity that the character was performing when he or she met his or her friend or friends). The character lives in Sunnydale, California (name of hometown and state or country) at (in) home (type of residence--for example, home, apartment) with Joyce Summers (name[s] of family member or members or roommate or roommates; add blanks as necessary), his or her mother (type of relationship between other resident or residents and the character). His or her boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse is Angel (name of character’s boyfriend or girlfriend, husband or wife), whom he or she met at The Bronze (a club for teenagers) (name of place at which the character met his or her boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse), while he or she was dancing (type of activity that the character was performing when he or she met his or her boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse).

To make your character profile easier to read, simply eliminate the underlines, any unneeded or redundant material, and the parenthetical elements:

Buffy Summers is a 16-year-old high school student who works as a vampire slayer, supervised by Rupert Giles, and assisted by Xander Harris, Willow Rosenberg, Cordelia Chase, and others; her friends are Xander Harris, Willow Rosenberg, Cordelia Chase, and others, whom she met while she was attending high school. The character lives in Sunnydale, California, at home with Joyce Summers, her mother. Her boyfriend is Angel, whom she met at The Bronze (a club for teenagers), while she was dancing.

Notes: If the character’s situation changes, update the template. For example, Buffy Summers graduates from high school and attends UC Sunnydale. Thereafter, she drops out of college and returns home. She also acquires a kid sister, Dawn, and her mother dies. Her friend Willow moves in with her, and they acquire another roommate. For a while, Giles moves back to England, so she is without a supervisor, or mentor. Her friend Cordelia Chase moves to Los Angeles, and Buffy sees her only rarely thereafter. Other slayers (Kendra and Faith) are introduced, as are a group of Potential Slayers, all of whom complicate the plot and its various conflicts. Using a copy of the blank template, repeat the process for each character in your story.

2. Create the Character’s Back Story. A character’s back story makes him or her more believable as a character and can help to establish his or her motivation for taking the course of action that he or she adopts in his or her present situation. Make sure that the back story relates to and supports the main story that is presently being told. Otherwise, it will be irrelevant and confusing to the reader. To aid you in making these decisions, you can use a decision-making template, such as the one that we use, which takes the form of a fill-in-the-blank format. We will start with a blank template. Then, we will fill in its blanks to show an example of how the template can be used to create a character’s back story.

Notes: Many of the same notes apply to creating the character’s back story as apply to creating his or her general profile.

Before _________________ (name of character) _________________ (incident that precipitated the character’s present situation, in general), he or she was a(n) _________________ (social role of character) living in ____________________ (name of hometown and state) at (in) ____________________ (type of residence--for example, home, apartment) with ____________________ (name[s] of family member or members or roommate or roommates; add blanks as necessary), his or her ____________________ (type of relationship between other resident or residents and the character). His or her boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse is ____________________ (name of character’s boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse), whom he or she met at ____________________ (name of place at which the character met his or her boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse), while ____________________ (that the character was performing when he or she met his or her boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse). At this time of his or her life, the greatest difficulty or problem that he or she faced was ____________________ (type of difficulty or problem), which resulted in ____________________ (result of difficulty or problem), and now affects him or her by ____________________ (brief explanation as to how the difficulty or problem NOW affects the character).

Here is an example:

Before Buffy Summers (name of character) moved to Sunnydale, CA (incident that precipitated the character’s present situation, in general), he or she was a(n)high school student (social role of character) living in Los Angeles, CA (name of hometown and state) at (in) home (type of residence--for example, home, apartment) with Joyce Summers and Hank Summers (name[s] of family member or members or roommate or roommates; add blanks as necessary), his or her parents (type of relationship between other resident or residents and the character). His or her boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse is N/A (name of character’s boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse), whom he or she met at N/A (name of place at which the character met his or her boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse), while N/A (that the character was performing when he or she met his or her boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse). At this time of his or her life, the greatest difficulty or problem that he or she faced was her parents’ divorce and her calling to be the current vampire slayer (type of difficulty or problem), which resulted in her blaming herself for her parents’ divorce and her desire to live a normal life (result of difficulty or problem), and now affects him or her by making her desire to please her father and causing her to divide her loyalties between her duty and her desire to socialize (brief explanation as to how the difficulty or problem NOW affects the character).

Again, if the character’s back story is further developed, update the template. For example, Buffy Summers’ father comes to visit her in Sunnydale on several occasions, and a demon uses her guilt concerning her parents’ divorce to emotionally manipulate her. Buffy’s desire to date and to socialize with her friends often causes problems between her and her supervisor, the Watcher Rupert Giles, and between her and her mother, Joyce; in addition, it sometimes endangers others. At one time, she even considers “quitting” her “job” as a slayer and letting others (Kendra, Faith, and her friends) take over her duties. Although she remains true to her calling, doing so requires many personal sacrifices.

Finally, simplify the result to facilitate the ease with which it is read:

Before Buffy Summers moved to Sunnydale, CA, she was a high school student living in Los Angeles, CA, at home with Joyce Summers and Hank Summers, her parents. At this time of her life, the greatest difficulty or problem that she faced was her parents’ divorce and her calling to be the current vampire slayer, which resulted in her blaming herself for her parents’ divorce and her desire to live a normal life, and now affects her by causing her to seek to please her father and to divide her loyalties between her duty and her desire to socialize.

3. Define the Character’s Major and Minor Conflicts. The character must be involved in at least one major and usually several related minor conflicts between or among aspects or elements of nature, him- or herself, other characters, and/or God. In other words, conflicts will be natural, psychological, social, and spiritual or theological. Use the following template to identify this conflict or these conflicts. Notes: Many of the same notes apply to identifying the conflict in which your character is involved as apply to creating his or her general profile. If several conflicts are in operation in your story, you may want to develop a template for each type of conflict and each specific example of the conflict that your character encounters rather than try to represent all of them on a single template.

As a(n) ________________ (social role of character) and a(n) _________________ (vocation of character), __________________ (name of character) is in conflict with __________________ (force, plant, animal, person, group, or spiritual being) concerning __________________ (brief description of the nature of the conflict), which conflict is resolved by __________________ (method of conflict’s resolution), when __________________ (brief description of character’s action in resolving the conflict) in (at) __________________ (location at which the conflict is resolved).

Here is an example:

As a(n) high school student (social role of character) and a(n) vampire slayer (vocation of character), Buffy Summers (name of character) is in conflict with her calling (force, plant, animal, person, group, or spiritual being) concerning foregoing a “normal life” in favor of slaying vampires (brief description of the nature of the conflict), which conflict is resolved by the near death of her mother and one of her friends because of Buffy’s neglect of her duties as the slayer (method of conflict’s resolution), when Buffy resumes her duties as the slayer (brief description of character’s action in resolving the conflict) in (at) Sunnydale, CA (location at which the conflict is resolved).

Again, simplify the result to facilitate the ease with which it is read:

As a high school student and a vampire slayer, Buffy Summers is in conflict with her calling concerning foregoing a “normal life” in favor of slaying vampires, which conflict is resolved by the near death of her mother and one of her friends because of Buffy’s neglect of her duties as the slayer, when Buffy resumes her duties as the slayer in Sunnydale, CA.

4. Identify the Character’s Motivation(s). The character must act because something internal (intrinsic) or external (extrinsic) compels him or her to act. This compulsion, the character’s motivation, must be both significant (meaningful and important) and powerful, especially if his or her acting upon this motive could or actually does endanger him- or herself or others. As a result of a past or present experience, this motive will be grounded in some belief, emotion, or value. At the same time, the character’s motive may make him or her sympathetic to the reader. Use the following template to identify the character’s motivation.

Notes: Many of the same notes apply to identifying your character’s motivation as apply to creating his or her general profile.

________________ (name of character) is motivated to ________________ (vocational role of character) by his or her ________________ (belief, experience, emotion, or value) because ________________ (name of experience, past or present, which established the character’s motive).

Here is an example:

Buffy Summers (name of character) is motivated to slay vampires (vocational role of character) by his or her valuing of human life and social justice (belief, experience, emotion, or value) because her friends and family were nearly killed by a vampire (name of experience, past or present, which established the character’s motive).

Again, simplify the result to facilitate the ease with which it is read:

Buffy Summers is motivated to slay vampires by her valuing of human life and social justice because her friends and family were nearly killed by a vampire.

Plotting the Story

Literary critic Gustav Freytag divided plots into five parts, or acts: (1) exposition, (2) rising action, (3) turning point, or climax, (4) falling action, and (5) resolution (comedy) or catastrophe (tragedy). In addition, he identifies two other points: (1) the inciting moment, which concludes the exposition as it initiates the rising action and (2) an optional moment of final suspense, in which the reader or viewer is left in doubt for a moment as to whether the protagonist shall succeed or fail in his or her attempt to realize the goal that he or she has set or that has been set for him or her. In the exposition, background information (such as the introduction of the protagonist and other characters, the identification of the setting, and the introduction of the basic, or main, conflict) is provided. The inciting moment initiates the rising action, wherein the conflict is complicated as a series of increasingly more difficult obstacles is placed between the protagonist and his or realization of his or her goal. The turning point, or climax, occurs as the protagonist begins to succeed or fail at his or her attempt to achieve his or her goal. (In a comedy, which is defined as a story in which the main character is better off at the end of the story than he or she was at the beginning of the story, things will go badly for him or her at the beginning of the story but will begin to improve at the turning point, or climax. In a tragedy, which is defined as a story in which the main character is worse off at the end of the story than he or she was at the beginning of the story, things will go well for him or her at the beginning of the story but will begin to worsen at the turning point, or climax.) The falling action unravels the conflict that was complicated during the rising action. If the story is a comedy, it will end in a resolution, whereas, if it is a tragedy, it will end in a catastrophe. With this information in mind, you can use the following template to structure the plot of your story:

The main character, _________________ _________________, wants to_________________ because _________________ , but he or she must struggle against _________________ _________________, who wants _________________ because _________________. This story takes place in _________________ (location) in _________________ (time period). To attain his or her goal, _________________ _________________ (the main character) must overcome the following, increasingly more difficult obstacles: _________________, _________________, and _________________ (add more if desired). For the main character, for whom everything goes _________________ (well or poorly) at the beginning of the story, the turning point (climax) occurs when he or she _________________, and then the opposite state of affairs ensues, as things begin to _________________(worsen or improve). At the end of the story, _________________ _________________ (the main character) _________________ (attains or does not attain) his or her goal, because _________________ (reason), learning that ________________ (lesson learned from the experience; the story’s theme) and, as a result, changes by _________________ (how the main character changes).

Here is an example:

The main character, Dorothy Gale, wants to return to her home in Kansas because she is homesick, but she must struggle against the Wicked Witch of the West, who wants Dorothy‘s ruby slippers because they are magic. This story takes place in Oz (location) in the present day (time period). To attain her goal, of returning home, Dorothy Gale (the main character) must overcome the following, increasingly more difficult obstacles: escape the fighting trees, survive the deadly poppy field, and seize the Wicked Witch‘s broomstick (add more if desired). For the main character, for whom everything goes poorly (well or poorly) at the beginning of the story, the turning point (climax) occurs when she is sent by the Wizard to seize the Wicked Witch‘s broomstick, and then the opposite state of affairs ensues, as things begin to improve (worsen or improve). At the end of the story, Dorothy Gale (the main character) attains (attains or does not attain) her goal, because Glinda, the Good Witch, tells Dorothy how to use the ruby slippers to take her home (reason), learning that there‘s no place like home (lesson learned from the experience; the story’s theme) and, as a result, changes by being content with her life on her Kansas farm (how the main character changes).

Again, simpifly the result to facilitate the ease with which it is read: eliminate the parenthetical elements, redundancies, and underlining, and make any other minor changes that are needed or desired:

Dorothy Gale wants to return to her home in Kansas because she is homesick, but she must struggle against the Wicked Witch of the West, who wants Dorothy's ruby slippers because they are magic. This story takes place in Oz, in the present day. To attain her goal, of returning home, Dorothy must overcome the following, increasingly more difficult obstacles: escape the fighting trees, survive the deadly poppy field, and seize the Wicked Witch‘s broomstick. For the main character, for whom everything goes poorly at the beginning of the story, the turning point occurs when she is sent by the Wizard to seize the Wicked Witch‘s broomstick, and then the opposite state of affairs ensues, as things begin to improve. At the end of the story, Dorothy attains her goal, because Glinda, the Good Witch, tells Dorothy how to use the ruby slippers to take her home, and she learns that there’s no place like home and, as a result, changes by being content with her life on her Kansas farm.

Establish the Setting

The setting of a story includes the time and place and the historical and the cultural milieu in which the action, or what happens, takes place. It is the container, as it were, of the story. Often, the setting will help you to determine who your characters are; what their interests, goals, and motivations are; and maybe even what the conflicts and the theme of your story will be. Use the following template to establish your story’s setting. Notes: Many of the same notes apply to establishing your story’s setting as apply to creating a character.

The story takes place at in (at) _________________ (place) at (in) __________________ (time period), during _________________ (historical period or event), and is important to the character’s _________________ (emotional or psychological state or conflict) because it _________________ (reason).

Here is an example:

The story takes place at in (at) Kansas and Oz (place) at (in) the nineteenth century (time period), during N/A (historical period or event), and is important to the character’s feelings about her home (emotional or psychological state or conflict) because it represents a place with which she is dissatisfied at first but a place with which she is content later (reason).

Again, simply the result to facilitate the ease with which it is read:

The story takes place in Kansas and Oz in the nineteenth century and is important to the character’s feelings about her home because it represents a place with which she is dissatisfied at first but a place with which she is content later.

Paranormal vs. Supernatural: What’s the Diff?

Copyright 2009 by Gary L. Pullman

Sometimes, in demonstrating how to brainstorm about an essay topic, selecting horror movies, I ask students to name the titles of as many such movies as spring to mind (seldom a difficult feat for them, as the genre remains quite popular among young adults). Then, I ask them to identify the monster, or threat--the antagonist, to use the proper terminology--that appears in each of the films they have named. Again, this is usually a quick and easy task. Finally, I ask them to group the films’ adversaries into one of three possible categories: natural, paranormal, or supernatural. This is where the fun begins.

It’s a simple enough matter, usually, to identify the threats which fall under the “natural” label, especially after I supply my students with the scientific definition of “nature”: everything that exists as either matter or energy (which are, of course, the same thing, in different forms--in other words, the universe itself. The supernatural is anything which falls outside, or is beyond, the universe: God, angels, demons, and the like, if they exist. Mad scientists, mutant cannibals (and just plain cannibals), serial killers, and such are examples of natural threats. So far, so simple.

What about borderline creatures, though? Are vampires, werewolves, and zombies, for example, natural or supernatural? And what about Freddy Krueger? In fact, what does the word “paranormal” mean, anyway? If the universe is nature and anything outside or beyond the universe is supernatural, where does the paranormal fit into the scheme of things?

According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word “paranormal,” formed of the prefix “para,” meaning alongside, and “normal,” meaning “conforming to common standards, usual,” was coined in 1920. The American Heritage Dictionary defines “paranormal” to mean “beyond the range of normal experience or scientific explanation.” In other words, the paranormal is not supernatural--it is not outside or beyond the universe; it is natural, but, at the present, at least, inexplicable, which is to say that science cannot yet explain its nature. The same dictionary offers, as examples of paranormal phenomena, telepathy and “a medium’s paranormal powers.”

Wikipedia offers a few other examples of such phenomena or of paranormal sciences, including the percentages of the American population which, according to a Gallup poll, believes in each phenomenon, shown here in parentheses: psychic or spiritual healing (54), extrasensory perception (ESP) (50), ghosts (42), demons (41), extraterrestrials (33), clairvoyance and prophecy (32), communication with the dead (28), astrology (28), witchcraft (26), reincarnation (25), and channeling (15); 36 percent believe in telepathy.

As can be seen from this list, which includes demons, ghosts, and witches along with psychics and extraterrestrials, there is a confusion as to which phenomena and which individuals belong to the paranormal and which belong to the supernatural categories. This confusion, I believe, results from the scientism of our age, which makes it fashionable for people who fancy themselves intelligent and educated to dismiss whatever cannot be explained scientifically or, if such phenomena cannot be entirely rejected, to classify them as as-yet inexplicable natural phenomena. That way, the existence of a supernatural realm need not be admitted or even entertained. Scientists tend to be materialists, believing that the real consists only of the twofold unity of matter and energy, not dualists who believe that there is both the material (matter and energy) and the spiritual, or supernatural. If so, everything that was once regarded as having been supernatural will be regarded (if it cannot be dismissed) as paranormal and, maybe, if and when it is explained by science, as natural. Indeed, Sigmund Freud sought to explain even God as but a natural--and in Freud’s opinion, an obsolete--phenomenon.

Meanwhile, among skeptics, there is an ongoing campaign to eliminate the paranormal by explaining them as products of ignorance, misunderstanding, or deceit. Ridicule is also a tactic that skeptics sometimes employ in this campaign. For example, The Skeptics’ Dictionary contends that the perception of some “events” as being of a paranormal nature may be attributed to “ignorance or magical thinking.” The dictionary is equally suspicious of each individual phenomenon or “paranormal science” as well. Concerning psychics’ alleged ability to discern future events, for example, The Skeptic’s Dictionary quotes Jay Leno (“How come you never see a headline like 'Psychic Wins Lottery'?”), following with a number of similar observations:

Psychics don't rely on psychics to warn them of impending disasters. Psychics don't predict their own deaths or diseases. They go to the dentist like the rest of us. They're as surprised and disturbed as the rest of us when they have to call a plumber or an electrician to fix some defect at home. Their planes are delayed without their being able to anticipate the delays. If they want to know something about Abraham Lincoln, they go to the library; they don't try to talk to Abe's spirit. In short, psychics live by the known laws of nature except when they are playing the psychic game with people.
In An Encyclopedia of Claims, Frauds, and Hoaxes of the Occult and Supernatural, James Randi, a magician who exercises a skeptical attitude toward all things alleged to be paranormal or supernatural, takes issue with the notion of such phenomena as well, often employing the same arguments and rhetorical strategies as The Skeptic’s Dictionary.

In short, the difference between the paranormal and the supernatural lies in whether one is a materialist, believing in only the existence of matter and energy, or a dualist, believing in the existence of both matter and energy and spirit. If one maintains a belief in the reality of the spiritual, he or she will classify such entities as angels, demons, ghosts, gods, vampires, and other threats of a spiritual nature as supernatural, rather than paranormal, phenomena. He or she may also include witches (because, although they are human, they are empowered by the devil, who is himself a supernatural entity) and other natural threats that are energized, so to speak, by a power that transcends nature and is, as such, outside or beyond the universe. Otherwise, one is likely to reject the supernatural as a category altogether, identifying every inexplicable phenomenon as paranormal, whether it is dark matter or a teenage werewolf. Indeed, some scientists dedicate at least part of their time to debunking allegedly paranormal phenomena, explaining what natural conditions or processes may explain them, as the author of The Serpent and the Rainbow explains the creation of zombies by voodoo priests.

Based upon my recent reading of Tzvetan Todorov's The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to the Fantastic, I add the following addendum to this essay.

According to Todorov:

The fantastic. . . lasts only as long as a certain hesitation [in deciding] whether or not what they [the reader and the protagonist] perceive derives from "reality" as it exists in the common opinion. . . . If he [the reader] decides that the laws of reality remain intact and permit an explanation of the phenomena described, we can say that the work belongs to the another genre [than the fantastic]: the uncanny. If, on the contrary, he decides that new laws of nature must be entertained to account for the phenomena, we enter the genre of the marvelous (The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre, 41).
Todorov further differentiates these two categories by characterizing the uncanny as “the supernatural explained” and the marvelous as “the supernatural accepted” (41-42).

Interestingly, the prejudice against even the possibility of the supernatural’s existence which is implicit in the designation of natural versus paranormal phenomena, which excludes any consideration of the supernatural, suggests that there are no marvelous phenomena; instead, there can be only the uncanny. Consequently, for those who subscribe to this view, the fantastic itself no longer exists in this scheme, for the fantastic depends, as Todorov points out, upon the tension of indecision concerning to which category an incident belongs, the natural or the supernatural. The paranormal is understood, by those who posit it, in lieu of the supernatural, as the natural as yet unexplained.

And now, back to a fate worse than death: grading students’ papers.

My Cup of Blood

Anyone who becomes an aficionado of anything tends, eventually, to develop criteria for elements or features of the person, place, or thing of whom or which he or she has become enamored. Horror fiction--admittedly not everyone’s cuppa blood--is no different (okay, maybe it’s a little different): it, too, appeals to different fans, each for reasons of his or her own. Of course, in general, book reviews, the flyleaves of novels, and movie trailers suggest what many, maybe even most, readers of a particular type of fiction enjoy, but, right here, right now, I’m talking more specifically--one might say, even more eccentrically. In other words, I’m talking what I happen to like, without assuming (assuming makes an “ass” of “u” and “me”) that you also like the same. It’s entirely possible that you will; on the other hand, it’s entirely likely that you won’t.

Anyway, this is what I happen to like in horror fiction:

Small-town settings in which I get to know the townspeople, both the good, the bad, and the ugly. For this reason alone, I’m a sucker for most of Stephen King’s novels. Most of them, from 'Salem's Lot to Under the Dome, are set in small towns that are peopled by the good, the bad, and the ugly. Part of the appeal here, granted, is the sense of community that such settings entail.

Isolated settings, such as caves, desert wastelands, islands, mountaintops, space, swamps, where characters are cut off from civilization and culture and must survive and thrive or die on their own, without assistance, by their wits and other personal resources. Many are the examples of such novels and screenplays, but Alien, The Shining, The Descent, Desperation, and The Island of Dr. Moreau, are some of the ones that come readily to mind.

Total institutions as settings. Camps, hospitals, military installations, nursing homes, prisons, resorts, spaceships, and other worlds unto themselves are examples of such settings, and Sleepaway Camp, Coma, The Green Mile, and Aliens are some of the novels or films that take place in such settings.

Anecdotal scenes--in other words, short scenes that showcase a character--usually, an unusual, even eccentric, character. Both Dean Koontz and the dynamic duo, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, excel at this, so I keep reading their series (although Koontz’s canine companions frequently--indeed, almost always--annoy, as does his relentless optimism).

Atmosphere, mood, and tone. Here, King is king, but so is Bentley Little. In the use of description to terrorize and horrify, both are masters of the craft.

A bit of erotica (okay, okay, sex--are you satisfied?), often of the unusual variety. Sex sells, and, yes, sex whets my reader’s appetite. Bentley Little is the go-to guy for this spicy ingredient, although Koontz has done a bit of seasoning with this spice, too, in such novels as Lightning and Demon Seed (and, some say, Hung).

Believable characters. Stephen King, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, and Dan Simmons are great at creating characters that stick to readers’ ribs.

Innovation. Bram Stoker demonstrates it, especially in his short story “Dracula’s Guest,” as does H. P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, Shirley Jackson, and a host of other, mostly classical, horror novelists and short story writers. For an example, check out my post on Stoker’s story, which is a real stoker, to be sure. Stephen King shows innovation, too, in ‘Salem’s Lot, The Shining, It, and other novels. One might even argue that Dean Koontz’s something-for-everyone, cross-genre writing is innovative; he seems to have been one of the first, if not the first, to pen such tales.

Technique. Check out Frank Peretti’s use of maps and his allusions to the senses in Monster; my post on this very topic is worth a look, if I do say so myself, which, of course, I do. Opening chapters that accomplish a multitude of narrative purposes (not usually all at once, but successively) are attractive, too, and Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child are as good as anyone, and better than many, at this art.

A connective universe--a mythos, if you will, such as both H. P. Lovecraft and Stephen King, and, to a lesser extent, Dean Koontz, Bentley Little, and even Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child have created through the use of recurring settings, characters, themes, and other elements of fiction.

A lack of pretentiousness. Dean Koontz has it, as do Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, Bentley Little, and (to some extent, although he has become condescending and self-indulgent of late, Stephen King); unfortunately, both Dan Simmons and Robert McCammon have become too self-important in their later works, Simmons almost to the point of becoming unreadable. Come on, people, you’re writing about monsters--you should be humble.

Longevity. Writers who have been around for a while usually get better, Stephen King, Dan Simmons, and Robert McCammon excepted.

Pacing. Neither too fast nor too slow. Dean Koontz is good, maybe the best, here, of contemporary horror writers.


Popular Posts