Writing From Personal Experience

Recently, I had an experience at a restaurant that I'm definitely going to use as the first scene in my side project (which I will talk about later). So I figured now would be a good time to talk about writing from experience. 

Say your character is a high schooler who is being relentlessly bullied. And-- happy coincidence-- you were also bullied to tears in high school. You can write from those experiences to make the bullying feel real. 

Now, I'm not saying you should retell a story from your high school days where some idiot told you you were fat. I'm saying that you should use your emotional experience to write from the point of view of a character.

Emotional experiences are basically how you felt when the aforementioned idiot called you fat. Did you feel angry? Ashamed? Did you even care? Describe how you felt, rather than the exact events that went down. 

Let's use another example. Say you're at your dad's funeral. In the middle of your grief and sadness, a little writerly voice whispers in your ear, "Hey, at least you can write about this." 

So you do write about it. But maybe none of your characters' dads die. That's okay. The feelings of sadness and grief are pretty much universal. You could just have them lose someone or something important to them. It doesn't matter who or what. The reader will feel for them, because everyone has lost something. 

The gist of this post? Use universal emotions to ground your story, to keep your readers interested and feeling for your characters, and to vent a little (just a little. Don't get carried away.)

Happy dumping piles of feels onto your readers and bathing in their tears! *Glares pointedly at Rick Riordan and J.K. Rowling*

An Old Book of Mine

You thought you were done cringing at the writing from my elementary school days, didn't you? Well, you were wrong. I'm gonna dump the first (and only) chapter of a book I wrote a long time ago. This is just the first 4 1/2 pages, but I figure that's enough cringe for one day. Warning: Most of this is awful

Chapter 1:  I get run over by a lion and now I turn into a fairy or something

Ever try to hide an amazing, life threatening secret from an inquisitive family of eight? That's what I have to do every day. Is it hard? You bet!

What's my secret? Funny you should ask. Short answer: Magic. Long answer: well, it's kind of a long story (the one you're reading now, perhaps?).

Right, introductions. My name is Chelsea Peterson and I live in Portland, Oregon with my parents and my three sisters and two brothers. Oh, and the cat.

So one day (Tuesday, January 3rd), me and my sister Sami went shopping at Fred Myer. Just the usual, her driving like a California maniac, me sitting in the backseat staring into space, counting the trees and the buildings and the rabid lion... "rabid lion!!!"I screamed. Sami leaped in her seat then regained her stance and shot me a look. "Her games just get weirder and weirder,," she muttered.

I kept watching the lion. It was running alongside us, which should have been impossible because Sami drives at least five miles above the speed limit, but it wasn't even breaking a sweat. This was my first indication that something was wrong.

Then it totally went bonkers. The lion decapitated a horse statue and a John F. Kenady statue, then grew 20 feet and threw itself on the road ahead of us.

"Stupid light!" Sami growled. "Although, I don't remember seeing one here..." "Light?" I asked. "That one, dummy!" my sister snapped.

And then it pounced. Three tons of teeth, fur, and fangs crashed through our windshield, smashing the front half of the car. Sami flew backwards in a dead faint. I raised my hands and looked away, shaking.

But suddenly, the lion's roars faded and then came the sound of- a squeaky toy? I opened one eye, then the next, and there at my feet lay a squeaky rubber lion.

"Woah," was all I could say in that moment.

Naturly, the police came and roped off the scene, then took Sami away in a stretcher. You can guess what happened next.

"Young lady." I turned and saw a mustachioed police officer, resting a hand on my shoulder. I brushed the hand off.

He growled, and just when I thought he would bite my head off, a nice lady officer turned me around and said very nicely "Sweetheart, could you tell us what happened, please?" So I told her the story.

"Uh, dear," she said when I had finished. "That's very exciting and all, but if we can't get the truth from you, who can we ask. Did anyone else besides your sister witness anything?" "It was a lion!" I insisted. "I have the toy to prove it!" I showed her.

The policewoman glanced at Mr. Moustash, then back at me. "Well," she said quietly. "I guess you'll need a ride home.

When we arrived at home, the police went to talk to my parents and I, of course, stormedup to my room (OK, I do share it with my two little twin sisters, but it's not like it was my idea or anything.)

"It was a lion." I told my teddy bear. "it was a lion, and I know it was a lion but nobody will ever believe me." I put my hands to my chin, but they slid off. I heard fireworks in the distance.

"Interesting" a voice said out of nowhere.

I whirrled, and nearly jumped out of my skin! In front of me hovered a larger-than life projection of a man's face.

Moving Away from Your Outline

You may be the best outliner in the world. You may know everything about your characters, from their hair color to their shoe size to the alignment of the planets at the moment of their birth. And then, along comes the all-powerful Muse, right in the middle of your manuscript, and whispers in your ear: "Hey, your outline is awful. Your protagonist needs to be a good singer. This character needs to die. The bad guy needs to win." 

And you say, "Hey, I outlined all this. I have my protagonist outlined, I need that character to live, and the bad guy needs to lose. What are you doing in my head anyway?"

Yet you find yourself putting your protagonist in the middle of a duet, killing that character you love, and ending the book with a declaration from the antagonist that he's now the king of the world. 

"But my outline," you whisper sadly to yourself as your fingers follow the Muse's directions.You spent hours, days, maybe weeks plotting this book. And now it's spiraling out of your control.

But that's not necessarily a bad thing. You may find that you were headed in the wrong direction with your outline. You may find that what you wanted to say wasn't what your outline told you to say. You may find your voice in this change. Remember, "a definition excludes the possibility for change."

You could also be steering off the road and into the path of a deer migration, which wouldn't be fun for anyone. 

My advice for when you don't know what to do with the changes? Make them anyway. Keep your outline handy, but it isn't the Bible, (Qur'an, Torah, etc.) You can change things about your plot and characters whenever you want. This is just an early draft. It's "shoveling sand into a box so that later [you ] can build castles," (Shannon Hale). Shovel all that sand into your computer, and take the time to reshape and mold it until you have a castle.

Don't be afraid to leave behind your outlines, and happy writing!

Describe a Color Without Using its Name

Image credit Shutterstock

I've wanted to do this for awhile now. What I'm basically going to do is write up a description of a bunch of colors and see if you can guess what color I'm describing. I'm not allowed to use the name of the color in the description. 

Okay, our first color:

It is the color of the sky after Thanksgiving, when everyone has left. It is the color of the snow that lays dirty and packed into brittle sheets along the side of the road. It is the color of every other car on that packed highway, and the color of their drivers, those lifeless nine-to-five drones. It is the color grey.

Did you guess that one before I told you? Try this one:

When you step off that cramped plane, it is the smell of the salty sea air. When you first sink your toes into the sand, it is the color of the ocean. It is the color of your mother's vintage teapot, the one she's had since the seventies, the color of its chipped enamel. It is the color of the sky at sunrise, the color that surrounds the more vibrant pinks and yellows, but is beautiful in its own right. It is the color turquoise. 

Okay, that one wasn't as good. Let's try this one.

Everyone fears this color. It is the color you see in the middle of the night, when you wake in a cold sweat. It is the color of the shadows that follow us wherever we go, and stand in the closet when we turn off the light. It is the color of the sounds at bedtime, the things your parents say are just the house settling, but you know better... It is the color black.

I'm having a lot of fun with this! 

When you tell her you love her, it is the color of her cheeks. When you walk into the Hallmark store to get her a Valentine's card, it is the color you're assaulted by. It is the color of the diamond you picked out of for her months ago, the color of the sunset reflecting on the pond as you kneel down. It is the color of her squealed, "Yes!" and the color of her bouquet as she says, "I do." It is the color pink.

This is probably the best prompt I've ever been set. 

This color is disappearing, and we must protect it. It is the color of the soft carpet  you turned cartwheels on in your childhood, the color you kissed under on your first christmas with him, the color of the willows you walk under in your old age, holding his hand. It is the color of the salad you despised as a kid, and love now. It is the color of the water in your cup when you paint. It is the color green. 

That one was less than impressive. So here's your homework: pick a color and write about it. And then post it in a comment on this blog. And have fun doing it!

Life Advice for Writers

1. The most important thing for a writer to do is to get out sometimes. Even the most reclusive of us need to see the sun eventually. 
2. Stay hydrated. Writing with a headache=writing you will not be proud of.
3. It's just a first draft-- you can spruce it up later.
4. If a publisher says no, find a different one. 
5. Stay focused, even if you have to use earplugs to keep out all noises and a typewriter to keep out the internet. 
6. If someone laughs at your writing (and you didn't intend for it to be funny), don't ever show them your work again. Your writing is your baby. Keep it away from bullies.
7. Read a lot. 
8. Buy beat-up books at garage sales and scribble in them-- stuff they could do better, stuff that was awesome, etc.
9. Write where and when you're most comfortable. If you need to stay in your PJs until noon or stay up until 6 am in order to write, go ahead.
10. Keep everything you write. Look back on it from time to time, and chuckle or cringe at what younger you wrote.
11. If writing isn't your passion, stop.
12. If it is your passion, don't stop. 
13. If you aren't sure, stick with it until you are sure.
14. Write what makes you happy.
15. Keep the reader in mind, though.
16. Google is your friend. 
17. No matter what your teachers tell you, Wikipedia is too.
18. When you feel down, remind yourself of your goals. Wanna write a bestseller? You gotta write.
19. This list is getting too long, so I'm just going to say one more thing
20. Happy writing, and see you tomorrow!

Adverbs and Adjectives

So I finally found a topic I feel qualified to give advice about: adjectives and adverbs.

Now, most people will tell you that these are the bane of your manuscript. Stephen King even said, "The path to Hell is paved with adverbs." But that isn't necessarily true. You can use modifiers (adjectives and adverbs) but you don't need to to load up your manuscript with them when strong nouns and verbs will do.

What is a strong noun or verb? They're nouns and verbs that convey the image you want without any modifiers. For instance, "the tall woman with long limbs and brown hair," can be changed to "the lanky brunette". You'll notice there's still an adjective there, but it's serving its purpose. Those modifiers that I used in the first example (tall, long, brown) aren't doing much, and they're not very interesting. The word "lanky" conveys a better image than "tall [with] long limbs".

Now, let's practice strengthening nouns and verbs with this sentence: "The huge,tall house was next to the long, wide street."  Not a very good sentence, is it? No, it isn't. So we're going to fix it. 

Let's start with "The huge, tall house". Instead of using all those modifiers, let's just call it a mansion. Now, let's tackle, "was next to". How about we replace it with a strong verb and adverb: "towered over". The word "towered" tells us that the house is very tall, without explicitly telling us.

And now, for the "long, wide street." Let's call that "Pheasant Way," because pheasants. Putting all this together, we get: "The mansion towered over Pheasant Way." Much better, don't you agree?

What was the point of this exercise? To show you how much difference can be made by swapping out imprecise modifiers for sturdy nouns and verbs. 

Happy writing, and don't forget to strengthen your prose!

Some of My 4th/5th Grade Writing

So, I haven't posted in awhile, so I figured I'd make a really long post to make up for it. I've been wanting to do this post for awhile. I'm going to post some of the writing I've saved from 4th and 5th grade, just for giggles. It'll at least make you feel better about your own writing. I like to look back at it when I'm feeling bad about my writing, for comparison. So here goes:

First up, a nonfiction piece titled: Texas. 

Texas

Welcome to Texas- the Lone Star State. Did you ever wonder how this state got its names? When spanish explorers came to Texas, the Caddo Indians called them Tayshas, or friends. The explorers named the region Tejas, then changed it to Texas. Many years later, the Mexican governor Henry Smith needed a seal for an important document. He took a button off of his coat and sealed it, hence the Lone Star. And, did you know that you could fit Rhode Island into Texas 220 times?!

 During the sixteenth century, Spanish explorers peeked at the area known as Texas. Later, Spanish missionaries established the first settlements near what is now El Paso. Most of Texas belonged to Spain until 1821. Then Mexico broke from Spain and took Texas with it. Texas revolted against Mexico and became its own republic in 1836. In 1845, Texas became the twenty-eighth state in the USA. During its statehood, Texas chose the bluebonnet and the mockingbird as the state flower and bird. The bluebonnet has beautiful purple flowers shaped like the sunbonnets pioneer women wore in the eighteenth century. The mockingbird is a grey-and-white bird which mimics the calls of other birds and is very popular as the state bird of five different states. The current governor is Rick Perry. You can get his autograph in Austin, the capitol.

Texas has eight land regions. There are the Coastal Plane, along the Gulf of Mexico; Northeast Texas, a swampy area; Hill Country, hilly of course; the High Plains, a popular pasturing area; the Panhandle, a flat, dry area to the north; the Trans-Pecos Region, full of mountains; and West Texas, the desert. Texas shares many characteristics with its bordering states: Louisiana, New Mexico, Alabama, and Oklahoma. Only two of these are in Southwest region with Texas: Oklahoma and New Mexico. The climate is very hot and and dry, with only 27 inches of rain per year. July temperatures average 83 degrees Fahrenheit every day, and January temperatures get around 46 degrees Fahrenheit! Or course, this is normal for the 2,200,236 people living in Houston, the largest city.

If you were to get a job in the Lone Star State, what would you choose? You could be a farmer, rancher, fisherman, oil worker, park ranger, electricity worker, and of course any job you could get in any other state.You could also be a tour guide to show people the most interesting places in the big state. 

One of the most interesting places is the tiny town of Marfa, Texas. Really. In the desert just outside of town, tiny lights flicker in the night sky. No one knows what makes the light although they have appeared every night for over 100 years. 

Many famous people have been born in texas, one of them being Dwight D. Eisenhower, the 34th president of the United States. He was born in Denison in 1890. During World War Two he commanded the Allied Troops in Europe and led the D-day invasion of Normandy, France. While president he established the US Air Force Academy. Then he died in 1969. 

That's the Lone Star State-- Texas. It became a state in 1845. It has more cattle, oil, and pecans than any other state. Texas is a great place to visit on your next vacation.

Okay, now for an untitled piece on Dogs v.s. Cats. 

Arf, arf! That is the joyful sound greeting you want to hear when you walk in from a long day at school and feel just exhausted. I think dogs are the best pets to have. Dogs are useful and can be trained. They have cool features that help them do amazing stuff. And they really love people. 

Dogs have many different jobs. It's in their blood to help out a pack leader. A dog can find lost people, run agility courses, and guide blind or deaf people across busy roads. They are loyal, energetic heroes who use their amazing talents to help us with our everyday lives.

All dogs have many amazing features, including their intelligence, to help then be man's best friend. A canine's lean, muscular body helps it run to catch its prey, maybe a duck, maybe a squeaky toy. Dogs are high-powered smelling, seeing, and hearing machines. Capable of separating the contents of a full garbage can, which to us registers as only unpleasantly stinky. These guys are awesome.

Dogs are called man's best friend for good reason. They take to life with a human family like fish to water. My grandparents have two little dogs, Betsy and Roscoe. They are way old and like to sit up on the leather seats and watch TV with Papa. They like cheerios and running around outside, too. They like their people, and my grandparents like their dogs. And that's why I love dogs!

Dogs make excellent pets. They are fun-loving, heroes on four legs. They can be trained, have outstanding abilities, and really love people. Next time you get the chance to take home the the perfect pet, a dog is what you should get. Arf, arf!

And now, for my futuristic story that makes very little sense. 

A girl with a future

"What?" I yelped. "We have to go to garage sales today!? But Anna was gonna come over!"

My mom remained firm as ever. "Come on, Emma! It'll be fun! Would you like a few dollars to buy something special with?"

But I was already long gone, huffing and growling as I threw on my sneakers in front of the door. "Hmph. 'Bout as fun as handwashing Timmy's cloth diapers. Beautiful day my foot!" I stormed out to the minivan and slammed the door, hard. Mom and my little brother came out the other door. They hummed a tune while Timmy pulled a slinky. "You know this song, Emmie! My mom called. I rested my hand on my fist and said nothing.

As expected, the first four houses were a total bore. But at the fifth sale, something caught my eye. It was a deep blue disk streaked with every shape and color, and a few more besides. It looked as if someone had taken the most beautiful things in the universe and melded them together in this perfect blue plate. I fingered the change in my pocket. A quarter, two dimes, and a penny. Maybe, if the owners were nice. 

"Interested?" and old woman's voice croaked. Without turning, I murmured, "How much?"

Ok, so maybe it was rude, but I couldn't take my eyes off of it. I reached out a hand to stroke its sleek surface.  The voice cackled, with delight as the disk began to spin, blurring dizzily, and growing until it filled my whole vision. The world seemed to tilt and lurch under my feet. I stumbled, and my head fell through the glass! Then the rest of my body followed, and I fell onto a cold tile floor, the plate beside me.

I rolled over, still sick, and surveyed my surroundings. It was a large room bare of all furniture and plastered with buttons, dials, meters, levers, scanners, and screens. Seeing no immediate danger, I stretched out-- and was blasted upwards on a cushion of air! 

I screamed, and a girl materialized next to me. She was tall, with long blond hair and a Hello Kitty T-shirt. Her blue eyes were wide open with shock. "Who are you and what are you doing getting tossed around on our couch with no security warning?" she asked. Then she noticed my time plate. "Oh my gosh! That's great great great granny Emma's time plate!" she yelped. She ran through the maze of seemingly nonexistent furniture and punched a code into a panel on the west wall. A photo slid out, and she held it up for me to see. "It's you! You look just like me! You-- you have to go back. Granny won't come home without her special youth chemical because she's over 200 years old. I don't know where it is, so you need to talk to her!"

"Ok," I said. "Do I just--" 

But  before I could finish my sentence, I tumbled off the space couch and was sucked into the plate. I lay on the soft grass of my own time and scowled at the time dish, because my shorts were coming down. An ugly face loomed over me-- a thin mop of frizzy white hair, cracked lips and teeth, and wrinkles. Wrinkles upon wrinkles upon wrinkles upon wrinkles. 

"Well," the old woman cackled. "Have you got your great great great granddaughter's message? Look, if you don't want to look this way and be mortified enough not to come see your grandbabies, find it. Drink it. It's made of the same stuff as the time plate. It's in the cella. The access code is the value of pi. Go!" She grabbed my shoulders and shook me. I touched the plate and sailed back to the 23rd century. 

I landed upside-down hanging off the space couch with my shirt flipped up over my head. My face reddened, and I climbed down. 

In front of me, the girl was literally doing air-chair on the coffee table and biting her nails. A tiny machine hovered nearby with a tray of false fingernails that she was ignoring. When she saw me she tackled me with a bear of a hug. "Did you talk to her? Will you help?"

I nodded. "So where's the cellar?"

In reply, she pushed a button on a small remote control attached to her jeans. The tiles underneath us slid downward, taking us with them. Fearlessly, the girl leaped off me and a tile levitated up to catch her. She splayed her limbs like a surfer, then drew them in as a wave of cold air rose up to meet us. We touched solid ground, and she frowned. "Oh well. Do your duty, Lady Emma. Lights!"

Bright industrial lights flickered to life, and just ahead, brandishing purple plasma torches, stood ten three-eyed, green, shaggy aliens snarling for blood. "Who dares enter our, um, thingy!" roared the first one. 

Another alien with a blue handlebar moustache pushed forward. In a deep, exaggerated voice, he cried "Oh Lady Emma and lovely Felicity, dost thee remember the password of thy force field?"

"Um, yeah," I ventured, "3.14, right?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, the Christmas tree-shaped creatures practically scrambled over each other to hug the walls and leave a clear path to the ominous stone table at the other end of the room. I gave Felicity a thumbs up. "Cool name. Is that what Future me said to drink, that glass beaker with that weird black stuff floating around inside? Ick!"

Felicity nodded grimly. "I'll just go away for this part, ok?" She pressed a button on her ring and disappeared like a mirage. 

Before I could lose my nerve, I rushed across the room and chugged down the inky chemical. I shook my head to clear the taste of rats and old pennies. I didn't feel any changes (except lightheadedness). What if it was expired?

A beautiful young woman crashed to the floor, a deep blue plate in her hand. It was just like mine, but the beautiful streaks formed the number two. The woman stood up and pushed three gigantic books into my hands. "Thank you for my beauty. This is all I can do to repay you. They are for everything you will invent in your lifetime. You have a great future, Emma."

I liked that. After I said good-bye and came home to my own time, I jotted in the first notebook, "Time plate. Two in set. Make from comet's tail, gold, and moon dust?"

Okay! I hope you enjoyed that, because I did not. Stay tuned for more of my horrible childhood writing.

One more thing: here's a picture of those aliens I described in this last story

Happy writing!

A Short Writing Exercise

So the twitter poll I mentioned in the last post was a complete bomb, since nobody but my dad voted. But he said he wanted to see more of my writing, so I'm going to do a writing exercise. 

This exercise is called "Defeat," yet another VWA by M. Krin.

__________________________________________________________________

It's over... It's over. The words run through my head at a million miles per hour. Earthquake stood at the helm of the ship, counting down the seconds. And all I could do was watch. 

I wondered who would survive the fallout. I wondered if the team was safely hidden away. I couldn't lose my best friends-- yet I feared I was about to. 

Three.. Earthquake's triumphant voice called out. But I heard it as only a whisper, lost among the other thoughts racing through my brain. What would happen to them? Did they hate me for what I had done? Or would they forgive me? Did they know? What did Earthquake intend to do with them, if they survived?

Two... I burst into tears. It was all my fault. My fault Destiny was gone. My fault Firestorm had betrayed us. My fault that Earthquake now held the nuclear launch codes in his hands. The world truly followed Murphy's law: everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. 

One... Earthquake was giddy with delight. And then, I realized. The meteor sought Earth's champion. Yet it had found me. Did that mean...?

Zero! Earthquake shouted. And his hand clamped the button. Just as the wires connecting it to the launch pad were cut. Cut by a flash of green light...

"No!" Earthquake stared in boiling anger at the button, then rounded on me. "You whelp! You will pay in blood!"

"I don't think so," I said, rising to my full height. "I am Earth's champion. It is I who will defeat you."

________________________________________________________________

Okay, that was weird. I kind of like it, though. Whatever. 

Alright, now, for my followers who are actually writers, I want you to watch the video and share at least a little bit of writing in the comments of this post, because I'm lonely. 

Another Change to My Blogging Schedule

So, after posting yesterday's mess of a blog, I realized that I wrote at least three posts telling you the exact same things about description. I'm wondering if I should even keep blogging. But you weirdos seem to love this stuff, so I'm going to keep posting every day, just maybe not writing advice every day. I do do other things. Maybe I'll post quotes, life advice, short stories, writing prompts, etc. Who knows? From today on, I'm posting whatever comes to mind. And it's gonna be awesome.

I'm also considering blogging a book. You know, where you post a scene at a time. I could see myself doing that. I'll consider it. Maybe I'll have a twitter poll or something. IDK why I even posted this.

Sorry for wasting your time. Here's a picture of my dog, because she's cute.

Setting the Scene

I hate it, you probably hate it, we all need it to see what we see. I'm talking about setting the scene; sending the images in your head to your reader's head via words. We all know what we see in a scene, but, since, you know, our readers don't, we have to spell it out for them. 

How do we go about this? I'm glad you asked. (Actually, you probably didn't ask. But I'mma tell you anyway.)

First of all, please don't write a big chunk of text that rambles on and on about how pretty the scenery is, or how creepy the abandoned house is, or... you get the point. Like all good descriptions, the description of your scene should be sprinkled throughout the actual scene. Like this: 

Jason stepped out of his car and switched on his flashlight. Shining it on the centuries-old house, he felt a chill run down his spine. The cobwebs in the windows shone ghostly white, and the moth-eaten curtains shuffled ominously, waving in the cold wind.

But a dare was a dare.

The door swung on one hinge, and Jason pushed it open easily. It squeaked as it turned, and he nearly leapt out of his skin at the sound. He swept the beam of his flashlight across the chipped hardwood floors.

And so on. You get what I'm trying to say. Scatter your descriptions among actions, tossing them together into a salad of fun-to-read prose.

Okay, now, with that out of the way, let's tackle the next point: keep all the senses in mind. To give you an example, here's more of Jason's spooky story, this time with more of the senses integrated.

The stench of rotting mice-- and worse-- attacked his nostrils. He covered his nose with the fabric of his shirt, but it didn't help. He stepped over the splinters in the floor with caution, and the squeak of each footfall made him wince. Outside, he could still hear the wind howling. It seemed to have gotten louder. He pressed on. If he could just make it to the back of the house...

There, we used some of the senses to transport the reader. (If you weren't transported, I'm sorry. I'm not a great teacher.) 

Alright, you should be good. I'm setting you free with just two tips: Scatter your description and keep your senses in mind. Combine that with all the other advice I've given you about description, and write some settings! With action in them, of course. Don't wanna bore those readers!

Happy Writing!

(Sorry for the stupid post. I think the fumes from my lizard cage are affecting my brain.)

Writing Immortal/Slow-Aging Characters

Alright! And, we're back, now with even more advice!

There are lots of characters that age slowly, can only be killed in special ways (Thus living for a long time), or are simply immortal. Examples include vampires, Wolverine, most polytheistic gods, jellyfish and lobsters (if you think I'm joking, look it up), and many wizards and/or alchemists. But how do you make these characters relatable? I have some tips.

First off, they have to be human. Not actually human, just characterized with as much depth as you would any other human. Your readers have to see and know them just as well as your other characters.  

Beware of falling into what I call the "Broody trap". (Get it😂?) Sure, your immortal character can be sad or even terrified of losing their friends and family to time and space, but the focus of their character shouldn't be on their laying on their bed staring at the hundreds of portraits and photographs that line their walls. Make them witty, make them stupid, make them rude, make them kind, give them a bunch of cool Earth-saving powers, but please don't make them angsty and moody. You might as well give them a big scar and dye their hair green. 


If your protagonist is immortal, they can still lose. Just don't bother putting them in life-or-death situations; people won't care, because your character will ultimately live. Instead, put them between a rock and a hard place. Maybe have your antagonist give them a choice between, say, saving the world or saving their friend.  

If your antagonist is immortal or at least hard to kill, prepare to be writing for a really long time. The exact book on how to kill your antagonist can't just fall out of the sky and into your MC's lap. Unless you want your antagonist to win, don't make him immortal. He can lose by being knocked out, tied up, and taken to prison, but be prepared for your readers to want a sequel. Bad guys have a tendency to break out of prison.

So those are my tips on writing immortal characters. If you can think of any others, tell me in a comment and I'll make a sequel to this post or something. 

Happy writing!

Another Novel Update!

So, I have no idea what to write, either in my book or my blog, so I'll give you another quick update on the book. 

Asof the writing of this post, I'm a page into chapter four, which means I'll need to write about .9 pages a day in order to have chapter five finished by May 31. Then I can start on the next fifth of my 25 chapter book. I have a goal of 10 pages per chapter, which means that in June, I'll have to write 1.6 pages a day to meet my five chapter quota. Eventually, hopefully by September, I'll have 25 chapters and I'll be able to spend tons of time making it the best book it can be. In October I'll start sending it out to beta readers, and start plotting the next book in the series, which I hope will be my first successful NaNoWriMo book.

Whew! What a huge chunk of text, am I right? Here's a picture of a writerly Dory.

Just keep writing!