When Jennie Nash, my new book doctor, offered her initial assessment of my manuscript, I feared Phoenix Cells was on life support (“You are totally not telling a story. You are narrative outside events, and putting cardboard puppet characters through them. It’s not going to engage your reader…”).
I considered simply pulling the plug to put us all out of our misery.
R.I.P., Phoenix Cells…
Then I studied the context of Jennie’s examination more thoroughly, and thought, well, maybe I should upgrade the novel to critical condition (“Your IDEA is awesome and you are a good writer.”)
After a thorough and enlightening two-hour phone conversation, I realized that, in fact, the book is in fair condition–not yet ready to be discharged, but indicators are favourable for a full recovery.
Whew.
So what, exactly, is wrong with my loved one? A common case of Outsideitis. It’s a condition in which the novel focuses on examining events from the outside (“It’s clear you were a journalist — you write as if it’s a camera taking in a view.”)
The treatment: Write from the inside. While I thought I was getting inside Lyra’s head, I was still holding her off at a distance, not yet explaining why she does what she does and how her past experiences affect her perception. (Ummm, yeah, because I don’t know why she does what she does and how her past experiences affect her perception…) Jennie assures me I have good instincts and a good sense of what should be there; I just need help getting it on the page.
What she told me was an eye-opener. An oh-my-god-how-could-I-never-have-seen-that-before kind of reaction. Everything she says makes sense–but it skews my perception of how to write by 180 degrees. Correction: it doesn’t skew my perception on how to write–I’m doing that very well, thank you very much (setting the scenes, writing dialogue, using imagery); it reveals to me that writing well and telling a story are completely different skills–and the one (story) needs to be nailed down before the other (writing) even matters.
Doh.
The medicine:
Create the internal struggle of the character, one that stems from long before the story opens. One of Jennie’s clients and colleagues, Lisa Cron, wrote a book that helps writers do exactly that. It’s called Story Genius:How to Use Brain Science to Go Beyond Outlining and Write a Riveting Novel (Before You Waste Three Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere) (shoulda had that three years ago… and it was wasting 380 pages (x3 full, start-from-scratch drafts), not 327 pages…)
Lisa examines how our brains are hardwired for story (an evolutionary trait that helps us survive–fascinating!) and what readers expect of story: how will this tale help me? She argues (and I’ve read other research on this) that we literally put ourselves in the mind of the protagonist–brain scans show the same parts of our brain light up whether we’re reading about the activity or doing it–so by reading (or watching) stories, we are simulating experiences of others in case we need that information later on. Not to mention the increase in empathy about how we understand others. (Check out Lisa’s “Wired for Story” TED talk: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=74uv0mJS0uM)
What does all this mean for me? A whole new way to approach my story. (And every subsequent story I write…) She focuses on three key questions from which everything else will develop:
- What is the protagonist’s internal desire–what does she truly want? This is different than what she may be searching for on her quest. (i.e: while Harry Potter wants to defeat Voldemort, that’s his external desire. Internally, he’s longing for a family. Frodo, from Lord of the Rings, may have an external goal of throwing the One Ring into Mount Doom, but his internal desire is to protect his friends and family.)
- Why? Why does the protagonist want what she wants?
- What “misbelief”–a misguided perception–is stopping her from getting what she wants? (An example Lisa provides: if a gay character craves God’s love (internal desire) because he grew up in a religious household and saw the love shared among his family (the why), but he comes to believe that God doesn’t love gay people (the misbelief), then he’ll be torn. He wants something, but he feels he can’t get it because of what he believes to be true. The story then, is how the plot (external events) forces him to confront his misbelief (even if he doesn’t want to) until he can resolve his inner struggle. The story (all stories, Lisa argues) is about how the protagonist changes internally.
Jennie, using a similar philosophy, will prescribe remedies for Phoenix Cells over the next few months, and I will dutifully administer the medicine.
Like any recovery, it will take time, but you know what I’m lucky to have right now?
Time.
So no need to send get-well wishes; Phoenix Cells will be up and about before you know it.
